One in a Million(82)

Okay, that was it. He was out. Tanner pushed away from the railing and started to walk off.

Cole grabbed his arm.

Tanner went still and stared down at the hand on him. “You want to let go.”

Cole let go. “Jesus. Touchy, much?” He stared into Tanner’s eyes. “What did you do? How did you screw it all up?”

“I didn’t do anything. And why do people keep assuming I screwed it up? I don’t screw things up. I’m careful not to.”

“When it comes to anything but yourself, yeah,” Cole said. “You’re real good at taking care of the people in your life. You’d give them the shirt off your damn back. Hell, you’d give them your heart and soul—as long as you don’t have to be responsible for theirs.”

Tanner stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re the rescuer,” Cole said. “Never the rescuee.”

WTF. “I don’t need rescuing.”

Cole’s smile was sad. “Man, we all need a good save now and then.”

Tanner thought about that his entire drive home. It was true that he’d done his best to be there for the people in his life. Elisa. Troy. His mom. Cole and Sam. So what? They meant everything to him—even Elisa with all her craziness because she’d given him his son.

But he didn’t have a rescue complex. Nor did he need rescuing. Not in the damn slightest. He took care of himself. He sure as hell didn’t need anyone. Need and want were two entirely different things and—

And the thought scattered on the night’s light wind as he pulled up to his house and saw Callie’s car in his driveway.

She was waiting on him.

His heart, which had been sitting uncomfortably in his gut all damn night, fluttered like a virgin’s. He got out of his truck and jogged up the front walk, stopping at the sight of her sitting on his top step.

She rose, dusted her hands on her thighs, and met his gaze. Her eyes weren’t as bright as they normally were. There were smudges of exhaustion beneath them. Her smile wasn’t quite right either, and his heart squeezed. It was one of those moments where time stood still as something hit him.

He was willing to take whatever she would give him, and if that meant friends with benefits, or just friends, or just benefits, he’d take those crumbs. But if she walked away from him, he would be decimated. Apparently there was a point of no return, and he’d crossed it. Not just strolled over it but steamrolled past it.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “Want a drink? Or we could make something to eat, or—”

She shook her head. “I shouldn’t stay long. I’ve got work.”

“It’s past midnight.”

She shrugged. “Brides don’t notice the time unless their groom is late.”

He unlocked the front door and waited while she moved in ahead of him. Expecting her to stop in his living room and possibly remark on the fact that he had several cans of paint stacked up near Troy’s room, he was surprised when he blinked and she was gone.

He followed her down the hall to his bedroom.

She was kicking off her shoes.

“You sure you don’t want—” His words and breath escaped him in a whoosh when she pushed him onto his bed. “I—”

She climbed on top of him. “No time for a chat,” she said, and then pulled off her sweater.

Beneath she wore a black and nude lace bra that pushed her up and nearly out of the tiny cups. His mouth went dry, even as a part of him recognized that she was wearing pretty lingerie. For him.

When she shoved up his shirt and bent low, putting her mouth on him, a rough groan escaped him. His hands slid into her hair as she took that mouth of hers on a tour south.

Jesus.

She had one hand in pants and him halfway to the finish line before he could draw another breath. “Callie.”

Another stroke with her warm fingers and his eyes crossed. “Callie, wait—”

She shoved his pants down farther.

He moved fast. He had to, or he was going to lose it like a quick-on-the-trigger teenager. Rolling, he pinned her beneath him and held her down on the bed.

She struggled a moment, not to escape but to keep her hands on him, so he collected both of hers in one of his and yanked them up over her head.

“Now,” he said. “What’s going on?”

She blew a strand of hair from her face and said, “Well, I thought we were getting busy.”

“You were,” he said.

She rocked into him with her hips, nudging the hottest—and wettest—part of her over the undeniably hardest part of him. “You too,” she murmured. Her motion hadn’t stopped and her undulating hips were driving him wild. She fought to free her hands, only to clench a handful of his hair, holding his head to hers.