Chapter Seven
“You never answered me.”
Abigale lay sprawled on her belly, her head on Zach’s chest, and for once, her brain was a dazed, blissful blank. “Huh?”
She looked up to see him watching her. The smile on his face was one that made her heart flip over in her chest, for the oddest damn reasons. It wasn’t that wicked grin, and it wasn’t the mischievous one, either. She loved both of those, but this was a smile that was a little more rare from him and it was one that had always melted her heart.
It was almost the same smile she’d seen on his face when she saw him holding his baby nephew for the first time. A lot of pleasure, mixed with awe . . . but this was different, because he was looking at her, a grown woman and there was something possessive in his gaze, too. She couldn’t quite define it, but having him look at her like that was doing bad, bad things to her.
“You didn’t answer me,” he said again, reaching up to brush her hair back.
She caught his hand to distract herself. Her brain had just realigned with her body and she knew what he was talking about. And everything in her screamed . . . Stall! So she did. The brilliant red burn along the back of his hand had her wincing in sympathy. And sure enough, it was starting to blister in a few places. “We should be more careful.”
Zach grunted and tugged his hand away. “It’s fine. I’ve gotten worse helping my brother on his bike.” Then he grimaced and wiggled his fingers. “Granted, it’s usually not as big as this but still.” He stretched his arm over his head and focused back on her face. “You’re still avoiding the question.”
“No.” She wrinkled her nose and sat up, heaving out a sigh. “I’m actually trying to figure out the right answer. I . . . damn it, Zach, you went and got in the way of a good plan, you know that?”
“And how did I do that?”
She closed her eyes. There was no getting around this. She either had to come clean and explain about the journal or just screw the idea entirely. But he might be mad . . .
“F*ck it.” She shoved up off the bed and walked over to the little secretary where she kept her journal. As of a few weeks ago, her pretty little leather-bound journal had picked up a partner, the paperback one titled Wreck This Journal. “By the way, just so you know ahead of time, this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t bought me this goofy journal. So keep that in mind if you get mad at me when I go to explain all of this.”
She turned around to see him pushing up onto his elbow, gold-streaked brown hair falling around his face, blue eyes locked on her face, and that long, lean body showcased in jeans and a black t-shirt. Once more, she found her gaze drawn to the tattoos twining around his arms and she wanted to go to him, kneel down by him, and just spend hours learning his body.
“Be mad about what?” he asked, lifting a brow at her and drawing her attention back to the matter at hand.
A conversation.
They were having a conversation. Right?
Tapping the journal against her palm, she sighed. “My new plan.”
“Why would I be mad about your new plan?”
It wasn’t so easy to force the words out now. Wasn’t so easy at all . . . a knot the size of baseball lodged in her throat and she could feel her breath coming in harsh little bursts as she stared at him. “I . . .” She stopped and licked her lips. “I—shit.”
She covered her eyes with one hand and tried to find the words. “Look, damn it, I wasn’t planning on this. None of this. I just . . .” Lowering her hand, she stared at him. “I felt empty inside and I . . . I wanted to not feel empty. So these ideas . . . they kind of came to me. The tattoo. The thing with Roger.”
Slowly, Zach pushed up into a sitting position, his eyes narrowing on her face. Drawing his knees upright, he braced his elbows on them and continued to watch her. “The photographers . . . not worrying. All of that sounds fine. What’s to get mad about?”
“I also planned on having an affair.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw and something dark moved through his eyes. But to her surprise, it wasn’t anger that she got from him. “Abby, you’re thirty years old . . . that’s plenty old enough for an affair.”
“Except I can’t think about anybody else anymore,” she snapped, glaring at him. “The past few weeks all I can think about is you. And I can’t have a damned affair with you. You’re my best friend. I love you and I can’t—”
He rolled off the bed and the words lodged in her throat as he came prowling across the carpet toward her.
When he reached out and caught her arms in his hands, the book fell from numb hands to bounce onto the carpet. Abigale barely even noticed. “Why not?” he murmured, stroking his thumb along the skin of her arm.
Who in the hell would ever have believed such a simple touch could be so amazing? But it was . . . it was like he was stroking her everywhere else, all at once. “Why not what?” she asked, dazed.
“Why not have an affair with me?” His hair fell around them as he lowered his head and caught her mouth. Right before he kissed her, he muttered, “I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear that I want you like hell.”
“But . . .”
He stole the breath from her with a kiss. “But what?”
“We’re friends, Zach.”
“Yes.” He eased her closer and the feel of him against her was nothing she could even describe. One hand slid around to press against her back, his fingers splayed wide and she shuddered at the feel of it.
“I . . .” She shook her head and said, “I don’t want some friends with benefits thing with you. You’re my best friend and I . . .” Her voice trailed off because she just didn’t know what else to say.
“Friends with benefits . . .” He laughed, hooking his other arm around her neck. “Sugar . . . friends with benefits is too casual for the kind of friendship we have. The kind we’ve always had. But I still want you.”
He boosted her up into his arms and reflexively, she wrapped her legs around him, groaning at the feel of him between her thighs.
Staring down at him as he carried her back over to the bed, she tried to let her brain catch up to everything that was happening, but it just didn’t seem possible. He lay her down and bent over her, watching her with a stark, hungry look on his face as he started to drive his hips against hers.
Heat streaked through her and she gasped, reaching up and catching onto his arms, her fingers digging into the swell of muscle there. “Zach!”
He drove his hips against hers again and again and she was so damned wet, she could feel the fabric of her skirt sliding back and forth over her slick flesh. It was so damned erotic, it sent every last nerve ending aflame.
“Do you feel that, sugar?” he demanded, hunkering down over her and catching her chin in his hand. “Nothing casual . . . not in what we have friendship-wise, and not what I want from you. You want to live? You want to have an affair? Do it with me, Abby. I’ll make love to you and leave myself branded on your skin and when you’re ready, if you want to walk, you can walk. But nothing will change our friendship or what I feel for you.”
* * *
Her eyes were glassy as she stared up at him. Slowing down to a stop, Zach cradled her face in his hands and brushed his thumb over the curve of her lower lip. “Abby . . .”
“Zach.” Her lids fluttered down and for a long moment, she lay there, her breath coming in hot little pants, her breasts heaving under his chest.
He had to fight back the urge to start kissing her all over again, strip away her clothing, and take everything that he had wanted for so long. Because he’d wanted this, needed this . . . needed her, though, he had to wait and he knew it. So he contented himself with staring down at her gently flushed face, the dark fan her lashes made against her cheeks, and the pretty bow of her mouth.
Finally, she lifted her lashes and looked up at him. “You’re making this damned hard, you know.”
“You’re one to talk,” he teased, nudging his hips against the soft heat between her thighs.
A blush lit up her face and she jabbed him in the side. “Stop it. I’m trying to be serious.” Then she slid her hand up his side, along his neck to slide it into his hair. “And what happens if we do this and things get screwed up, Zach? You’re the most important person in my life. I can’t lose that.”
“You’re overthinking this . . . but to answer that . . . you’re the most important person in my life, too, and you know it.” He pressed his brow to hers. “We’ve handled everything else life has thrown at us and plenty of it wasn’t fun. This could be damn fun. Sex doesn’t have to screw things up. We just lay the rules out now . . . and we stick to them.”
“Rules?” She wrinkled her nose at him and then nudged his chest. “Rules and an affair don’t seem to go hand in hand very well.”
Rolling off to the side, he watched as she sat up and shoved her hair back from her face. “Anybody who doesn’t lay some sort of ground rules is asking for trouble.” I promise I’m not going to rush you. That’s rule number one for me . . . not that I’m going to explain that just yet. Then he reached over and caught a lock of her hair, winding the dark curl around his finger. “It’s not like we’re writing a guidebook for it or anything. Just laying things out so we understand things. If we do this, then we have a right to know what to expect from each other. I won’t be seeing anybody else when we’re together . . . I’d appreciate the same from you.”
She slid him a look from under her lashes. “Well, seeing as how so many men are beating a path to my door, that’s going to be hard . . . but that’s a deal.”
“So does that mean . . . yes?” His heart just about jumped into his throat and it was a damn good thing he was laying down because if he hadn’t been, he might have found himself falling over his damned feet. Abby . . . shit. Abby was going to—his brain blanked out.
He was going to have an affair with her? Like hell. What he was going to do was make her fall in love with him, damn it.
But she hadn’t answered . . . jerking his eyes up to her face, he found her watching him, that hesitant look in her eyes. Hesitant. Watchful. Like she didn’t know what in the hell to think. Think about me. He wanted her to be as caught up in him as he was in her. That was what he wanted. What he needed.
Rubbing his thumb over the silk of her hair, he waited.
And then she leaned down, pressed her mouth to his. He held still, letting her take the lead, although it almost killed him when he felt the tip of her tongue teasing his lips. He opened for her, but still just waited . . . played the willing recipient and when she took the kiss deeper, he groaned and slid his hand up to cup the back of her head.
Just when he thought he was going to lose control, she broke the kiss and lifted her head, her gaze full of heat and smoke and wonder. “Yeah, Zach,” she whispered. “I think it’s a yes.”
Then she bit her lip and laid a hand on his chest, stroked it down.