Page 21 of Cowboy’s Last Stand (His to Protect #1)
“You can’t manage it?”
“No, I can’t.”
When she sighed, shaking her head, he took the grout mix out of the bag and poured the powder in a nearby bucket.
“I want to kiss you goodbye in the morning,” he said. “What harm would that do?”
“It would give Marcus the wrong idea.”
“The idea that we’re more than friends?”
“Yes.”
“He already has that idea.”
“We don’t have to reinforce it.”
Jason didn’t argue because he shouldn’t be kissing her at all.
He’d decided to stay to protect her, not to take her to bed.
If they slept together, and she found out who he really was, she would never forgive him.
She wouldn’t forgive him, regardless. Sex would just make his deception more treacherous.
Being aware of this problem didn’t mean he was capable of doing the right thing in the heat of the moment.
He couldn’t resist her. His physical desire was an unstoppable force.
She needed only to crook her finger, and he’d come to her.
He’d considered acting cool, like he wasn’t crazy about her.
It simply wasn’t in him. Instead, he would focus on menial tasks and exhaust himself with strenuous activity.
He’d been using this avoidance strategy for months, with good results. Why not continue?
After he mixed the grout, he showed her how to apply it to the backsplash in the kitchen.
“Did you buy these?” she asked, indicating the new tile.
“No. There was a box in the garage.”
“My grandparents had a box of everything in the garage.”
“They didn’t throw away much,” he agreed.
“I think I’ll go visit my grandma tomorrow. We skipped last weekend.”
“You go every week?”
“Yes.” She smoothed the grout with the trowel. “I didn’t mean to tell you a sob story about my childhood. I was better off with my grandparents. They were good caretakers. They treated me like gold.”
“As they should.”
“I’ve always wondered if my mother was born shallow or became that way because of her looks. Did I tell you she was Miss Texas?”
“Beauty didn’t make you shallow,” Jason pointed out.
She concentrated on the grout, falling quiet. He left her to the job and started his own. He had to cut out the damaged section of flooring. The process was time-consuming. He’d only done a third of it when Natalie came to him, ready for the next task.
“Do you want to try the sander?” he asked.
“Sure.”
He instructed her to don a dust mask and knee pads. She complied gamely. He showed her how to run the sander, which required strength to control the vibrations. While he continued to remove floor pieces, she sanded a different area. He kept his eyes averted from her backside with some difficulty.
She gave up after an hour, pulling off her mask. She’d already discarded her sweatshirt. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion. “I can’t do this anymore. My arms feel like jelly.”
“No problem,” he said. “Take a break.”
“It’s time for lunch, anyway.”
He finished the floor repair before she returned with a plate of sandwiches, a handful of vanilla cookies, and two Cokes.
She’d taken the bandanna out of her hair, releasing her dark curls.
They ate sandwiches sitting side by side on the wood floor.
She snuck a few glances at him, chewing speculatively.
“How long can you run that sander?” she asked.
“As long as it takes.”
“I got tired after one hour.”
“I have more upper body strength than you.”
Her gaze moved from his face to his biceps. “You’ve already put in a full day.”
He shrugged and eyed the second half of her sandwich. She passed it over. “We have to return the sander in the morning or pay double.”
“I should pay you double.”
“You already are,” he said, lifting the sandwich.
Her mouth pursed with annoyance as she nibbled at a vanilla cookie.
She didn’t like his tendency to overexert himself or his attempts to avoid payment.
She had good instincts. Women always did.
They knew that men didn’t help for no reason, and nothing in this world was free.
He didn’t want her money, but he wanted her.
He wanted every comfort she could give. He wanted to sink into her and forget everything else.
“I have to get Marcus in a few minutes,” she said.
“Do me a favor before you go.”
“What?”
“I need to check the shower repair. Stand in there while I turn on the water. If it leaks, shout at me.”
She set aside the plates and took a sip of soda. “OK.”
He jogged down the steps and around the side of the house to the main water valve.
After he cranked the valve, he waited for a shout.
He didn’t hear anything, so he walked toward the staircase.
The sound of spraying water and female yelling greeted him.
Cursing, he returned to the water valve to shut it off.
When he went back upstairs, he found her in the shower stall, soaked to the skin. She looked as mad as a wet cat.
“It doesn’t just leak,” she said through clenched teeth. “It sprays .”
Jason couldn’t help it; he chuckled. “I didn’t think you’d stand inside the stall.”
“You told me to stand in here!”
“I meant the bathroom.” He held a hand to his stomach, still laughing. “Sorry. I’ll get your sweatshirt.”
He glanced around the empty apartment but couldn’t find it.
He only had his T-shirt. He tugged it over his head, intending to hand it to her.
She emerged from the bathroom just as he was about to enter.
They didn’t collide, but it was close. Her eyes settled on his bare chest. His landed on her wet shirt.
It was one of those record-scratch moments. Time stopped.
He’d been able to see the faint outline of her panties earlier.
This was different. This was better. Her pale pink T-shirt clung to her breasts like wet tissue.
Her bra appeared thin and insubstantial.
Both layers of clothing were soaked to transparency, revealing teardrop-shaped breasts and pouty brown nipples.
She accepted the shirt from his outstretched hand, but she didn’t put it on.
He was grateful for that because he didn’t want her to cover up.
He swallowed hard, dragging his gaze to her face.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips slightly parted.
His brain, though sluggish, registered the signs of arousal. She wanted him.
This stunning woman with a lush mouth and perfect breasts wanted him .
She seemed to find his body as attractive as he found hers.
His bare chest wasn’t anything special, though he was in good shape.
He wasn’t bulging with muscle. Even so, she stared at him in dazed appreciation, as if he was some kind of masculine ideal, and…
Damn. It was sexy.
He couldn’t resist breaking her rule more forcibly than before.
He backed her into the bathroom, crushing his mouth over hers.
She made a surprised sound, like a feminine squeak, as she melted against him.
The coolness of her wet shirt met his bare chest with an almost audible sizzle.
His blood thickened with desire. He skipped the preliminaries and plundered her with his tongue.
She smelled like vanilla frosting and tasted even sweeter.
He wanted to eat her up right there and then.
She wound her arms around his neck as his hands found her luscious bottom.
He squeezed the soft flesh, reveling in the feel of her.
His erection swelled to a painful fullness.
She moaned as if in approval of his reaction.
She was so sleek and supple, so responsive.
She kissed him with an open mouth and seeking tongue.
He lifted her onto the edge of the sink and fitted himself between her thighs. Her sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement he needed. She was eager for this too. She was panting for it. He was stiff and hot, his pulse throbbing.
Her hands twisted in his hair as he angled his head for better access to her mouth.
They kissed again and again. He imagined stripping her bare and feasting on her pretty flesh.
He wanted to taste her slender throat, her taut nipples, her sultry sex.
In that order, and then back up again. She was having similar thoughts, judging by the way she wrapped her legs around his hips and rocked forward.
He thrust back crudely. His tongue mimicked the motion his body wanted to do.
He was losing control, and he didn’t care.
The only thing he cared about was finishing what they’d started.
The way she was arching against him drove him crazy.
Her hands left his hair and began a frantic exploration of the muscles in his chest. He pressed closer, grinding against her, still gripping her bottom, and her back bumped into the sink faucet.
She made a little sound of discomfort, and he realized he was acting like an animal.
If he didn’t slow down, he was going to take her right here on the sink.
He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against her neck.
He wanted to continue, but not at such a “frenetic pace,” to borrow her phrase.
The sound of his rasping breaths, along with the dripping shower faucet, echoed in the quiet space.
She went still in his arms as if second-guessing her own actions.
Her limbs, once clinging to him, fell away.
He couldn’t ignore her signals to stop, even while his body screamed to proceed.
He disentangled himself from her and turned his back.
His fists clenched at his sides, and his heart hammered a wild rhythm.
“Sorry,” she said. “I got carried away.”
Jason closed his eyes, trying to summon calm. His erection could drive nails.
“I have to pick up Marcus,” she said after a pause.
“Go ahead,” he croaked. He needed to be alone, to stand here and breathe until he returned to a more relaxed state.
She hesitated for another moment as if she couldn’t drag herself away.
He felt her gaze on his back, his muscles bunched with tension, but he didn’t glance over his shoulder at her.
One look would be his undoing. He pictured her parted lips and topaz eyes, hair a dark halo around her head.
His fingernails dug into his palms with the effort to stand still.
She finally climbed down from the sink and left.
Jason didn’t take another breath until she was outside the apartment.
He listened to her nimble footsteps on the wooden staircase.
Her swift, graceful motions contrasted sharply with his current state.
He was molten iron, burning to the core.
He couldn’t have walked anywhere. Maybe he’d found the cure to his wanderlust—regular lust.
Groaning, he rested his forearm on the towel rack. The metal felt chilled against his hot skin. He needed to climb into the shower stall and stand under the cold spray, but he couldn’t. He’d turned the damned water off.