Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate) (13 page)

He smiles, slow and sexy. “No,” he whispers. “You’re just that fucking gorgeous, and they’re all wondering why in the hell you’re here to see me.”

“Psssh.” Slapping at Connor’s chest, I push away. “I highly doubt that.”

Connor rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Gripping my hand firmly in his, Connor pulls me to his station. “So, to what do I owe this wonderful surprise visit?”

Once we’re out of sight, Connor drops to a chair and tugs me onto his lap. Large, warm hands find their way up the back of my shirt, and for the life of me I can’t remember what he just asked me. “What?” He continues trailing his fingertips across my skin and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.

“I asked what brought you by,” he says, nuzzling the side of my neck.

“Oh, yeah…I was in the area. I need to go by the Chef’s Nook down the street, so I figured I’d drop by.”

Connor’s deft fingers travel around my waist, stroking my stomach, and a shiver races up my spine. “What do you need from that place?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the way he’s torturing me.

My body is thrumming with sexual energy, and if I don’t get out of here soon, I’m going to beg him to fuck me right here in this chair. “You have to stop touching me,” I demand, earning myself a bright, white smile from Connor.

“Sorry, I can’t do that. Now tell me what you’re getting at the Chef’s Nook.”

“A pan for lasagna.”

Connor’s hands stop. “You’re making me lasagna?”

“Is that okay?” I ask, suddenly unsure of my supper choice. He did tell me that was his favorite food, right? Shit. Maybe I was so damn horny I didn’t hear him correctly.

“It’s perfect.”

“Good. I realized when I got home that I don’t have the right-sized pan. It might still be in storage, but there’s no way in hell I’m digging through that mess so I’ll just buy a new one.”

“Don’t.” Connor shakes his head. “I’ve got every size pan you can imagine in my kitchen. Just go borrow what you need. Hell, make dinner at my place if you want. In fact,” he says, waggling his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t complain one bit if I came home and you were wearing nothing but an apron. That would actually be really fucking awesome.”

“Is sex all you think about?” I ask with mock annoyance.

“No,” he says, pressing his lips to the base of my neck. The scruff on his jaw abrades my skin, and I squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt to control my ever-growing need. “All I think about is you.”

My body shudders at his words. Damn he’s good. “I like that,” I say, cupping his face in my hands. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

A deep growl rumbles from Connor’s chest. “You can’t say those things to me when I’m at work because it makes me want to lay you flat on that table,” he says, motioning toward the tiny table with supplies scattered on the surface. “And I
cannot
lay you flat on that table.” He pauses and glances at said tiny table. “Well, I could, but we’d end up flat on our asses.”

I push up from Connor’s lap. “Tonight you can lay me on any surface you want. How about that?” I whisper, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“Fuuuuuck,” he says, reaching for my arm.

Laughing, I sidestep his grabby hand. He attempts to glare at me, but it lacks the necessary edge and I end up laughing harder. “Later, I promise. Now are you sure you don’t mind if I borrow a pan?”

“Fine.” He sighs, reminding me of a petulant child. Normally, I would find that annoying, but when Connor does it, I find it cute. “And you’re more than welcome to borrow it.” Connor stands up and leads me out of his workstation toward the front door. “You can go in through the garage. My code is 9080.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re making me lasagna. Trust me, I should be the one thanking you. Oh! By the way”—he snaps his fingers—“is it okay if Logan joins us for dinner tonight?”

“Absolutely. I’d love to meet your best friend.” Lifting up on my tiptoes, I brush my mouth against Connor’s ear. “Just make sure Logan is gone by dessert. I’ve got a can of whipped cream I was planning to bring over.”

“Leave. Now.” I bust up laughing when Connor all but shoves me out the front door. He immediately yanks me back in and gives me a searing kiss that earns us several catcalls from the guys in the shop, and then he shoves me back out again. “Now go.”

“Goodbye, Connor.” I walk out of InkSlingers, and my body feels as though I’m floating down the sidewalk. My heart is full, my soul is happy, and I’m afraid this goofy-ass smile will be permanently etched on my face.

Holy shit
, I’m in love.

“T
his smells fantastic.” Keeping his hands on the hot rags, Connor takes the steaming dish from my hands.

“I slaved all day over a hot stove for you,” I say jokingly as I follow him into the kitchen. “So now what are you going to do for me?”

Connor puts the lasagna on the stove top. “Where’s the whipped cream?” he whispers, wrapping his arms around my waist.

Bringing my hands to his chest, I slide them up his neck. Then I cup his face in my hands and kiss him softly. “It’s already in your fridge,” I mumble, my lips brushing his. “I brought it over when I borrowed the casserole dish. Wasn’t sure what Logan would think if I walked in with a can of whipped cream and no dessert to go with it.”

“But you did bring dessert.” Connor’s husky voice wraps around my body. “I plan to lick it off of you here”—he trails his lips to the base of my neck—“and here”—his tongue darts out, making a path along the tops of my breasts—“and we can’t forget about here,” he says, slipping his hand between my legs.

I’m ready to rip my clothes off so he can fuck me right here in the kitchen, company be damned.

How in the hell does he do that?

“Connor.” I hate to admit it, but yes, I just whimpered his name.

He hoists me up on the counter and pushes my legs apart, making room for his big, sexy body.

“When you say my name like that, it makes me want to do dirty,
dirty
things to you.” His mouth descends and he attacks my neck. My head drops back between my shoulders, giving him better access. There is no way we’re going to make it through—

“Connor, can I get another towel?” My head snaps forward at the sound of a delicate voice—a delicate
female
voice. Then, as a half-naked woman rounds the corner, my heart seizes in my chest. Long, dark hair spills over her shoulders, water dripping down her bare arms, and miles upon miles of long legs are on display.

I think I’m going to throw up.

“Oh, shit.” The woman’s steps falter when she locks eyes with me. “I’m so sorry,” she says, fisting her hand in the knotted towel, just above her breasts. She looks as shocked as I probably do.

Connor groans, dropping his head to my shoulder before turning around. “Logan, this is—
holy shit, woman
! Go put some clothes on.”

Logan.

Connor’s best friend is named Logan.

Oh no.
No-no-no-no.

“I need another towel,” she says, right before giving me a bashful smile. “I really am sorry.” She takes a step toward us and my entire body freezes. “I don’t usually”—her words trail off and she waves her hand in the air—“you know, walk around here…like this.”

I’m at a complete loss for words as she stares at me, presumably waiting for me to tell her that’s it’s all right and I understand. But it’s not all right, and I most certainly do
not
understand. And—oh great—now Connor is staring at me.

“You know what?” Logan says, gesturing toward the hall. “I don’t need that other towel. I’ll just…go.” She scurries off and I watch her until she disappears. I can see out of the corner of my eye that Connor hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

“Hey.” Connor puts his face in front of mine. “Are you okay?” He runs soothing hands down each of my arms, and my body stiffens. Scooting forward, I nudge him back, and when there’s enough room, I slide off the counter.

“So…” Running my shaky hands down the front of my shirt, I sidestep Connor. “That’s your best friend Logan?” I’m proud that I was able to keep my voice from wavering because, really, I don’t want Logan to be his best friend.

“It is.” Those two little words are said with so much caution that I know he knows I have a problem with it. “Are you okay?”

I would be, except you forgot to mention that Logan is of the vagina-yielding species.

My lungs fight to suck in air, but it’s getting more difficult with each passing second. Pressure builds behind my eyes and I blink several times to keep the tears at bay, though I know it’s only a matter of time. “Wow.” I blow out a long breath. “Your best friend is a woman.”

“Brittany.” Connor steps in front of me. Tilting his head to the side, he studies me. We’re not touching, but God do I want to touch him.
So bad.
I want him to wrap me in his arms, tell me this is all some horrible mix-up, and promise me that everything will be okay. But that won’t happen and I need to quit being so damn naïve. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that Logan was a girl. To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. She’s like a sister to me.”

Funny, Tyson said the exact same thing.

How in the hell did I not see this coming?
“Of course she is,” I mumble. My heart is screaming at me not to make any rash decisions, but my heart is also the traitorous bastard that got me here in the first place.

I look at the front door and then down the hall. Logan hasn’t reemerged and I’m wondering if she has her ear pressed to a door, trying to listen. Bile rises in my throat and I swallow hard. I’m seconds away from losing my shit, and I sure as hell won’t lose it with another woman here. “I need to go,” I say, scurrying toward the front door.

“Wait.” Connor snags my wrist and spins me around. Brows dipped low, he shakes his head. “Are you upset because I didn’t tell you Logan is a girl?” he asks. “Because I would’ve told you if I thought it was going to be an issue—hell, if I’d even thought about it.” His voice is no longer gentle and careful, instead it sounds as though he’s frustrated.

Welcome to the club, buddy.

“I’m sure you would have.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Releasing my wrist, Connor steps back and runs a hand through his hair. Lacing his fingers behind his neck, he releases a heavy sigh. “I’m so fucking lost right now.”

“She’s your best friend,” I state simply, as though he should understand. I know in my heart that he doesn’t, but we’ve already established what an idiot my heart is.

“So what?”

So what?
So what?
I’ll show him
so what
!

“You have a key to her place.” I wasn’t asking, I was making a statement, but Connor answers me anyway.

“Yes, I do.”

“How often do you use it?” I don’t even know why I’m asking. I guess I’m hoping that if he only uses it once a month then maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to move past this.

“What the fuck?” he growls, tossing his hands up at his side. “I don’t know. A couple of times a week, maybe. But what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“Have you slept with her?”

His jaw drops open, but he quickly recovers. “No,” he snaps. “I haven’t
fucked
her if that’s what you’re asking. Look, I made a mistake. I should’ve told you and I’m sorry. Please”—he shakes his head—“don’t do this. I know what you’re doing, and I’m asking you not to do this.”

“You don’t know what I’m doing,” I say with a tad more bite than I intended. Connor’s eyes widen. It looks like we’re having our first official fight…and ironically, our last. “Do you love her?” I want to punch myself in the fucking face for asking. It’s completely unfair to him—and to Logan—but I need to hear him say it.

It doesn’t matter what his answer is
, I tell myself.
You need to leave now. Make a clean break while you can.

“Of course I love her. She’s my best friend.”

My heart twists painfully inside my chest. It’s as if I’m right back where I was when Tyson left. I can’t do that again. I can’t pour my heart and soul into someone—and I would’ve poured my heart and soul into Connor—and risk being left again. I’ve regained some strength over the years, but I’m not that strong.