Down and Dirty(14)

Her eyes started to drift closed of their own volition, and his mouth brushed hers lightly as he spoke. “You liked what we did, didn’t you, Mary Catherine?” His voice was low, hypnotic, and it made her insides quiver as surely as any touch.

“The way our bodies fit together, nice and tight.” He closed his teeth over her bottom lip, and she whimpered. “The way my mouth felt on you. God, I can still taste it. So fucking good.”

The groan sounded as if it was ripped out of him, and her nipples pebbled in response. The heat of his body called to her, overruling common sense. She leaned forward to press closer, to grind her hips to his and release the sudden tension building deep inside her, but he abruptly stepped back. Her eyes snapped open, and before she could formulate a response, he turned and headed toward the bed, the muscles in his back rolling and bunching with each step. She hesitated, still mesmerized, for a second too long and he turned back, catching her. “See something you like?”

She swallowed hard and wet her lips but couldn’t conjure a response.

“If you changed your mind about running,” he drawled, a challenging brow raised, “we can get right back into this bed. Or the shower. Or on that dresser, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Feeling up to it? What a joke. She was dying inside, and he didn’t even know it. No one knew how she’d felt that night at the lake, not even Lacey. Hell, who was she kidding? Even with all her teenage fantasies, she couldn’t have guessed how perfect their chemistry was going to be until she’d gone and opened up Pandora’s box. And now it was too damned late to do anything about it.

She clutched the sheet tighter, twisting the linen as she stared at him, willing the voice of reason to scream with some advice she could use, but that fucker was as quiet as a laryngitis patient. She cleared her throat to say something, anything, but all that came out was air.

Was he grinning? Oh, hell no. He wasn’t going to treat her like a child who amused him again. That thought straightened her spine, and she was grateful for the anger that quickly replaced her confusion. “Just so we’re clear here. There is no me and you in that bed or shower or on the dresser even. We had sex. Period. Over. Done.”

He hiked a dark brow at her, and she hiked one right back.

“Besides, it isn’t like we’d make a good couple or something.”

“You’re right about that. I only have relationships with grown-ups,” he said flatly, scooping his clothes off the floor. “Run away, little kitten. And don’t be afraid, I’ll be gone when you come out.”

…

“You did what?” Lacey expressive face was lit up with an array of emotions ranging from shock to excitement.

They sat across from each other in Lacey’s cozy, country-style kitchen and Cat debated exactly how much to tell her. They’d gotten back from Atlantic City the day before, and Cat had managed to put off spilling the story until now, with the excuse that Galen had been around every time she’d seen her. Now, with Galen out picking up the sandwiches for tonight’s football game, it was just the two of them, and she hadn’t been able to put it off any longer.

Cat slumped forward onto the smooth butcher-block island, cradled her head in her hands, and nodded. “Yes. Although ‘slept with’ is a misnomer. And worse? It was good.”

“Boring, serious Shane, huh?”

“Do you have to sound so frigging giddy about it?” she groaned.

“Sorry. It’s just…wait, so how come you’re not giddy about it if it was so great?” Her excitement dimmed some and Cat felt a little better that she was taking this more seriously. Lacey pushed her stool away from the island and stood. “You still haven’t told me how you guys left things or what you said to him afterward.” She crossed the room to the refrigerator and pulled out Tupperware containers, setting them on the counter.

What had she said to him afterward? Not much, before she’d stomped off into the bathroom and he’d left. That still burned her ass. He’d tossed down the gauntlet, asking her if she was going to woman-up and work through what happened like an adult, or if she was going to run away and hide, and she’d done exactly that.

Wimp.

Now how was she supposed to save face, especially after his parting shot, when she’d behaved exactly like the child he’d accused her of being? That her actions were born of fear and self-preservation didn’t absolve her. For a split second, she reconsidered committing to the whole drunk thing, but the thought shamed her before it was even fully formed. Making like some wilting daisy he’d taken advantage of somehow? That wasn’t her. Sure, he could’ve spoken up, been the voice of reason, but he’d been asleep and all but molested. And he did try to stop at one point at the end. The fact that he’d given her what she’d begged for was hardly grounds for her disdain. There had to have been a time in there somewhere when they both could—and should—have stopped. But they’d willfully ignored it, the pleasure so keen, it clearly would have taken a person far stronger than either of them to manage it.