Wrong Number, Right Guy Read online

  Jason holds the door open, letting me go first before he follows me. His hand finds my lower back as we walk to the elevator. I stiffen and take a deep breath. Relax, I order myself. It’s normal. Lots of guys, especially in the Midwest, place a hand on the back or shoulder of the woman they’re walking with. It’s a kind of primitive gesture, a throwback to a more chivalrous time when men felt honor bound to protect their women.

  Slowly, my muscles soften and my hips gently sway beneath his touch. Even through my coat and blouse, I feel the warmth of his palm. It comforts me, easing some of the tension I’ve carried since the birth of my daughter and I aligned myself with the mob.

  How long has it been since a guy has touched me and I haven’t felt the need to throw up all my defenses?

  Too long.

  Lately, every time a man makes a move to touch me, I spend all my energy trying to evade their advances. It’s nice to not have to worry about that for once, to simply take comfort in feeling a hand on my back and the knowledge that for now at least, I’m not alone.

  I slide a sideways glance at Jason and the realization hits me like a truck. While I don’t know what the next few hours are going to bring, he’s come back into my life, even if just for a little while, and I’m not over him. Attraction continues to burn low in my belly. I want him to be mine, if only for a little while, which is all we can safely enjoy.

  Based on how he kissed me on the street, he’s still very much attracted to me. And my warming blood is proof that my libido still fancies him. Denying him is about as futile as trying to deny a rising tide. Some things simply can’t be held back.

  We reach the elevator and Jason presses the call button. I stand beside him, surreptitiously studying him out of the corner of my eye.

  I analyze every single aspect of his appearance, filing it away so I can pull the memory out again the next time I feel lonely.

  He’s changed in the last seven years, but from where I’m standing, the changes are an improvement. Dark, sand-colored hair that looks like it’s cropped short, not for fashion, but rather to contain curl, because already the ends are starting to wave.

  Nicely spaced ocean blue eyes sit above a nose that’s been broken once or twice. His lips are a bit fuller than the average male, and they’re currently tipped up in a very nice-looking smile that makes my internal organs quiver.

  His shoulders are wide and his stone-gray button-down shirt stretches over a well-developed chest and flat stomach. Clearly, he’s found his way around a gym at some point.

  My eyes slide lower and lower. They skid to a stop at mid-thigh, where his hands rest against the sides of his legs, the long, graceful fingers curved into very loose half fists. They hold me in thrall.

  Wide, deeply tanned palms narrow into wrists that are roped with sinew. His nails are trimmed short and, though they gleam in the light, it’s a healthy gleam rather than the buffed and shined manicure so many men have taken to getting these days. These are masculine hands, hands that aren’t afraid to get dirty, or throw a punch, or…please a woman.

  Even as the thought blasts through my mind, I remember how they felt against my skin seven years ago. How they’d peeled my clothes away, one item at a time, like he was unwrapping a precious gift. How they’d warmed my breasts as he’d kissed the side of my neck. The scrape of his calluses as those same hands slid lower and lower. How they’d held me and soothed me afterwards.

  I clench my thighs together and bite my lip while anticipation zings through me. Startled by the unexpected reaction to the mere sight of something as ordinary as a pair of hands, I rip my gaze away from them and find him watching me, his head tilted to the side and one brow raised as he stares directly at my mouth.

  The ding announcing the arrival of the elevator makes us both jump.

  Memories continue assaulting my mind as I follow Jason into the elevator. I haven’t told him, but when he led me to that abandoned lifeguard station on the beach, he changed my life forever.

  Prior to that moment, I’d never done more than engage in the occasional petting sessions with guys, but even before Jason’s lips touched mine, I knew that he was different, that he was special.

  I’m lucky.

  He could have been rough, he could have been careless, but it was almost as if, even without me telling him, he’d known it was my first time and had taken his time, making the experience a prized and precious memory.

  Maybe that, and not lack of time or concern about how it will impact Kelsey, is why I haven’t felt the desire to go on more than one or two dates with a guy before calling it quits. I’m afraid that they’ll never be able to compete with Jason’s memory.

  Maybe my subconscious believes it’s better to be lonely than try to live with disappointment.

  The elevator doors whisper closed behind us and Jason hits the button for the ground floor. He looks at me and something in my expression has him raising a quizzical brow. “What?”

  Other men might not be able to compare to what my body remembers, but Jason is standing before me right now. And he’s made it very clear that he’s still interested in me.

  No, I can’t afford to build some wild fantasy about the two of us riding off into the sunset together, but is there any solid reason that we can’t spend a few hours making some new memories?

  I moisten my lips. “I don’t want coffee.”

  “Okay.” Jason shoves his hands into his coat pockets and continues studying me. “What do you want?”

  I take a deep breath before stepping closer to him. His breathing quickens.

  Gaining strength from the evidence of his interest, I lean even closer until my lips are the merest whisper away from his. “Do you really want to know what I want?”

  I lift my head a fraction of an inch higher and press my lips against Jason’s, pouring all the loneliness I’ve felt during the past few years into the kiss.

  My tongue traces the outline of his lips, marveling at how soft they feel against mine as his arms wrap around my hips, pulling me into him until his warmth surrounds me. He opens his mouth, allowing me to deepen the kiss.

  Restlessness courses through me and I squirm against him and groan against his mouth. I slide one hand up his back until my fingers tangle in his thick, silky hair. My other hand finds his collar. I slide down the zipper of his coat and toy with the buttons on the shirt he wears underneath, exposing a vee of chest.

  Riding instinct, I pull my mouth away from his and rain kisses along his jaw and down the side of his neck until I reach the base of his throat.

  As my tongue swirls in the hollow below his Adam’s apple, Jason clenches at my clothing. “Good God, Ella,” he gasps.

  I rise up on my toes, brushing first one and then a second kiss against his parted lips before grinning at him. The elevator grinds to a halt and the doors slide open.

  “I want you to take me somewhere that we can be alone.”

  10

  Jason

  I kill the Porsche’s engine as the garage door slides closed behind us, and glance at my passenger. She looks so good, so natural sitting there. We didn’t exchange a single word on the drive from the ugly office building to my house.

  Until she kissed me in the elevator, nothing about this reunion has gone the way I imagined it would. Up until that point, Ella acted like she barely knows me. I’d be lying if I didn’t say that her attitude shook my confidence, made me doubt what had I thought we’d both experienced in that lifeguard station seven years ago. For the first time, I thought maybe my world had been the only one to shift on its axis.

  Talk about karma kicking me in the teeth. I work my ass off, make sure I have everything a modern woman could possibly want and keep myself emotionally available. Then, when I finally find the girl I want more than anything in the whole world, she barely remembers me.

  Then she kissed me in the elevator. I still can’t believe I didn’t self-combust from the heat in that single kiss.

  Since then, Ella hasn’t sa
id a single word. I’m afraid she changed her mind. I can’t bear the thought. I don’t want to know, but I must find out.

  “Ella?”

  She turns away from the window, her eyes meeting mine. Fire and desire burn in their depths.

  Relief zings through me. Nothing has changed. She still wants me.

  Unable to resist temptation, I lean over the gear shift and kiss her, pouring seven years’ worth of emotion into the kiss, silently praying she understands.

  We’re both breathing heavily when I pull back. I lean against the car door and give my heart a moment to drop back down to a regular rate.

  She stares at me, eyes wide. “Wow,” she murmurs and lifts her hand, pressing her fingers against her trembling lips.

  I smile wickedly at her and steal another kiss. “Just a preview.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You’re a tease.”

  “And this surprises you?” I push open my door and practically hurl myself from the car, barely taking the time to close it before I jog around the front and open Ella’s door.

  She looks around the garage. There’s not much to see. It’s designed to hold four cars, but so far my Porsche and a year-old Land Rover are the only vehicles. I plan on adding a classic ‘Vette, but haven’t gotten around to shopping for one. It irritates me that now that I finally have the money to spend on whatever I want, I don’t seem to have any time.

  “Big,” Ella murmurs.

  I pull her close. “Good,” I say against her lips. “You remember.” I take her hand and guide it to the front of my pants, letting her feel how hard I am.

  She throws her head back and shrieks with laughter. It’s not a low, sexy laugh that most women would consider appropriate for the situation, but rather a shrieking laugh that echoes throughout the garage and makes me feel good. She’s been so solemn this entire time that I was beginning to think the girl who had walked hand in hand with me on the beach and laughed at all my bad jokes was gone forever.

  I love knowing that she still exists, and that I have the power to unearth her from the layers of quiet dignity Ella seems to have buried her under. But I’m burning up trying to figure out what – who – happened to her. What made her like this.

  Ella caresses me and I nearly hit my knees. I catch hold of her wrist and lift it away from my cock before I embarrass myself.

  Coming inside my shorts isn’t part of the reunion fantasy I’ve spent the past few years building, and now that it’s back on track, I don’t want to do anything to spoil it.

  Ella snorts. “Looks like maybe we should skip the grand tour for now and go straight to the main feature.”

  “Best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  Riding instinct, I bend down and sweep one arm around her knees, lifting her so she’s cradled against my chest. Her new position not only brings us eye to eye, but also mouth to mouth. I take advantage of its proximity and move in for a kiss.

  It’s different from our other kisses, deeper, hotter, wetter. By the time we finally break apart we’re both panting. Blood roars in my ears as I wonder if I should attempt to follow through with my original plan of carrying her into my house and up to my bedroom, or if I should give in to my body’s demand, set her on the hood of my car and take her right here, right now.

  Ella blows out an unsteady breath and rests her cheek on my shoulder. “Oh, man,” she gasps. She’s trembling in my arms, her body already warm and pliant.

  There’s no doubt in my mind that if I do set her on the car and slide her pants down her thighs and move between her legs, she’ll welcome me. She’s as turned on and desperate as I am.

  I can’t.

  My cock all but howls a protest as I tighten my arms around her and move away from the Porsche and toward the door that leads from the garage to the house.

  Ella is precious. She deserves better than a quick tumble in a garage. And if I’m going to prove that I’m worthy of her, that I deserve all of her love, then I need to start making my case right now, starting with showing her that I do have some self-control.

  11

  Ella

  I barely have time to get more of a fleeting impression of the house before Jason pushes open a door that leads to his bedroom.

  He sets me on the side of a massive bed that’s covered with a navy blue and green velvet bedspread and settles beside me. His warm thigh presses to mine. He keeps one arm looped around my waist, his hand curved around my hip. I swallow. The sudden change in our position makes him seem larger and more imposing than he did when we were in his small car.

  As if sensing my sudden trepidation, he slides a finger under my chin and gently urges my head around until I’m staring directly into his eyes. He leans closer and places a light peck on my lips.

  “Are you sure about this?” he whispers.

  In the face of his genuine concern and caring, my trepidation melts like frost in bright sunlight.

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  I lick my lower lip. The movement catches his eyes, which darken. Moving with exquisite slowness, Jason leans forward to kiss my lips.

  My heart pounds slowly against my sternum, each beat marking the amount of time it takes him to close the distance and touch his lips to mine.

  Even though I know it’s coming, I shiver at the connection. His lips caress mine, once, twice, a third time. Despite the layers of clothing I’m wearing, I feel his grip tightening, his fingers biting into my hip. I lean into him and part my lips, sending him a silent invitation, one that he readily accepts.

  His tongue slides between my lips, brushing mine in a way that causes brilliant red and yellow fireworks to explode behind my closed lids. His kiss is more intoxicating, more addictive, than any drink I’ve ever had.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, threading my fingers into his hair, and press myself against the hard expanse of his chest.

  I want—no, need—to feel more of him. While our mouths continue to tease and torment with little nips and long explorations, I fumble with the buttons of his shirt. It’s more complicated than it should be. Jason’s taste makes my fingers clumsy and the way his teeth close on my bottom lip make it nearly impossible to stay focused on my task.

  Finally, the last button slips through the hole and I push the shirt off his wide shoulders, revealing his exquisite chest.

  Jason’s hands glide up my body until his hands grasp the collar of my coat. He slides it off me and tosses it to the floor before reaching for the bottom of my thrift store sweater.

  “No.” I reach down and wrap my fingers around his thick wrists.

  His eyes widen and he draws back, confusion replacing desire.

  I realize he doesn’t understand, that he thinks I’ve changed my mind.

  “No.” I soften my voice. “Not yet. I want to look at you.”

  Understanding dawns and a bright smile unfurls across his face. He leans back on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. “So, do you like what you see?”

  “Very much.” I knew he’d look different than he had seven years ago. Even with clothes on, it was impossible to not to notice how much he’s bulked out in the last seven years, but I hadn’t realized just how much until now. Seven years ago, he was lean almost to the point of gauntness, but now he is built, seriously built.

  If Greek statues were capable of feeling, they’d be jealous of Jason’s chest, which is far more impressive than theirs.

  I reach out and place my hand against one of his pecs, thrilling in how big and solid it feels beneath my touch. “Spend much time working out?”

  “A bit.” Jason moves my hand. His eyes capture and hold my own as he raises my hand to his mouth, turning it so he can bite the tender underside of my wrist. His tongue sneaks out and licks the same place, easing the sting of the bite and causing my stomach to twist as my heart rate doubles.

  “It looks good on you.” I lean forward and scrape one of his nipples with my teeth. He gasps and a shudder runs through his body.

  “Enough,” he
says, twisting away from me. “It’s my turn.”

  He tugs at me until I’m stretched out beside him. Again, he reaches for the bottom of my sweater but this time I make no move to stop him, submitting as he folds the hem upward and pulls the sweater over my head.

  For the first time since getting into his car, a wave of insecurity washes over me. Jason’s not the only one who’s changed in the past seven years. But unlike his, which has done nothing but improve, my body bears the marks of motherhood. I love Kelsey, but hate that my body will never be bikini ready ever again.

  Jason props himself up on one elbow and stares down at me. It takes all my self-restraint to lay still and not use my hands to cover myself.

  “Beautiful,” Jason murmurs, his voice little more than a guttural growl. “Simply stunning.”

  He reaches out, cupping my left breast in the palm of his hand, his thumb rubbing against my nipple through the material of my bra. I bite my lip to silence my instinctive cry. The touch is so simple, so basic, something the average eighteen-year-old experiences on a regular basis, but it’s been so long since I’ve felt the touch of a man, it’s enough to steal my breath and send a wave of euphoria crashing through and over me.

  Jason shifts on the mattress. His mouth closes over my neglected right breast. I arch my back, using my body to beg for more.

  I’ve relived the memory of the night that Kelsey was conceived a million times. I thought I remembered it with perfect clarity, but there was one aspect of Jason’s lovemaking I had forgotten.

  He doesn’t rush through anything, preferring to see to his lover’s needs before he even begins to consider his own gratification. Each touch, whether it’s made with his hand or his mouth, is long, slow, and sends tidal waves of desire rushing through me. And one touch isn’t enough; each time I gasp with pleasure, it encourages him to repeat the motion over and over again until my brain glazes over, and over, and over...