“I’m making a mess,” she whispered. “We’re both soaking wet.”
He took her glass in his hand and ripped off his shirt. He kicked open the front door, pulling her into the family room. “Shall I help you with yours?”
Without thinking about what she was doing, she pressed her hand on his firm chest, spreading her fingers across his hard pecs. She let out an audible sigh as her gaze dropped to his tight abs. She tried to swallow, but her throat muscles wouldn’t work. She opened her mouth to suggest anything physical would be a mistake. She tried to lift her foot off the floor, but it appeared to be glued to the planks.
He lowered his chin and raised a brow. “Cat got your tongue?”
She cleared her throat. It was more like she had a furball stuck in her esophagus, and there was no way she would be able to cough it up any time soon. “No. You just had it.”
Boone chuckled as he tucked a piece of her long hair behind her ear. “You’re smart, beautiful, and a dangerous woman, Paget Sour.”
She cocked her head. “Why dangerous?”
He traced a path across her upper lip. “My marriage left me with a bad taste in my mouth for relationships. Hell, it made me want to turn my back on women in general. But you have me questioning that train of thought.”
“You could have fooled me.” She inhaled sharply, taking a slight step back and regaining her composure.
He was just a man. Nothing more. Nothing less. He didn’t possess superpowers, and he wasn’t the greatest thing since sliced bread.
“What do you mean by that?” He squinted.
“Nothing,” she said. “I don’t know. Your drink went right to my head and I’m tired. I have no idea what I’m saying. You said you wanted to show me something.”
He bent over and picked up his shirt, dabbing it on her chest and arm. “Let me get you a dry top first.” He raced up the stairs, not giving her a chance to argue, but it would give her a chance to catch her breath and lower her pulse.
“This should work.” He held a black shirt in his one hand. Standing in front of her, he curled his fingers over the hem of the wet fabric and tugged it up to her chest, pulling it over her head.
And she let him.
She stood there in just her jeans and black-lacy bra, resisting the urge to cover her tiny breasts with her palms. She held her breath while his gaze seemed to scan her body.
He licked his lips as he tossed the damp garment to the stairs. “I’ll wash that for you,” he said with a husky voice. He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs tracing soft feather-like circles on her skin. “I can’t think straight around you.”
“Obviously, I’m struggling to think at all, or I’d be embarrassed.”
He held her chin. “About what?”
She lowered her gaze, staring at the girls pressing against her bra, and she heaved in a deep breath. “Seriously?” While she should be totally mortified by her current situation, she actually found it liberating.
Exhilarating.
“Everything about you is gorgeous,” he said.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“I don’t find too many women to be as lovely on the inside as they are beautiful on the outside.”
“Aren’t you full of great pick-up lines.”
His index finger dipped down her neck and landed on the swell of her breast just above her nipple. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he whispered. “Though you are the prettiest cowgirl I’ve ever met, I’m more attracted to what you think.” He tapped her temple. “And what you feel.” He bent over and kissed her cleavage.
“You really are a charmer who can make a mean whiskey sour and kisses like he’s stolen a little piece of heaven and mixed it with the devil himself.”
Boone growled. “I think that’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard.” He tucked his index finger inside her bra, pulling it down gently, exposing her nipple to the cool fall air filtering in through the windows as a slight breeze kicked up, bringing with it the fresh scent of pine and whiskey. His tongue darted out of his mouth, lapping at her hard nub before sucking it into his mouth. His hands cupped her ass, lifting her off the ground.
She gripped his shoulders, clasping her ankles together at the base of his back. A little voice in the back of her mind kept telling her that this might be the worst idea she’d ever had.
But her throbbing nipple being sucked on so tenderly was sending a different, much stronger message to the rest of her body.
She cupped his face. “Boone.”
He glanced up at her but didn’t release her breast.
She fisted his thick, luscious hair and yanked a little. “If we do this, we’re going to muddy the friendship waters, and I need you as a confidant. Not a lover because the latter won’t last, and sex is just going to ruin everything.”
Gently, he pulled her bra back over her exposed skin. “Are you telling me you don’t want me?”
“No. Not even close to what I’m saying.”
He managed to make his way across the room and started up the stairs with a wicked-ass smoldering grin on his face.
She should kick, wiggle, and scream to get from his embrace. Anything to stop him from making it to the top of the stairs. But instead, she ran her fingers through his silky hair. “I’m not interested in having a boyfriend. I don’t have time for that kind of relationship.”
“I’m a shitty boyfriend anyway.”
“Why do you say that? Do you inherently cheat on your girlfriends?”
He set her on the edge of his massive bed with a whitewashed bookcase headboard and bench at the end. He had matching nightstands and a tall dresser at the far side of the room with a small television resting on the top. He had hockey jerseys from various professional teams framed and hanging on the walls. The comforter was a light gray, and the sheets were a crisp white. For a bachelor bartender, Boone certainly lived like a well-refined man.
“I’ve never cheated on any woman,” he said, kicking out of his pants, leaving only his boxer briefs behind.
She chomped down on her lower lip, swallowing a guttural moan, trying hard not to stare, but his bulging package was right in front of her eyes and wasn’t leaving much to the imagination.
“But since my divorce, I’m not real good at long-term commitment.”
“So what would this be?” She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her lips against his stomach.
It quivered and he hissed. “Do we have to define it other than while we’re together, we’re not with other people?”
“For someone who is relationship-phobic, that’s exactly what you just described.” She looped her fingers into the elastic. “I’m good with not having sex with other people while having some benefits to our friendship, but I will also require that no can know about us and that this isn’t going to be an ongoing thing. This could honestly be the only time it happens. Or maybe it goes on for a week or two. But when it’s over, it’s over. I know it sounds crude, and I’m not a slut, but I am more of a short-term, no frills, let’s not make a big deal out of this kind of girl.”
He gripped her wrist. “That’s the only way I live my life, and since we’re putting it all out there. I don’t sleep with just anyone. I have to care about the ladies I get involved with, and to be totally honest, I haven’t been involved with anyone in a year.”