Hideaway Heart (Cherry Tree Harbor Book 2)
Hideaway Heart: Chapter 9

HE KISSED ME.

On the silent drive home, those three words kept running through my mind.

He kissed me. He kissed me. He kissed me.

He’d done more than that, actually. He’d stunned me. Stopped my breath. Spiked my pulse. Lit a fuse in me.

And I’d liked it.

Sure, we’d gotten off to a rough start yesterday, but by this afternoon it had felt like the last layer of ice had thawed. We’d actually warmed to each other. I liked hearing about his family and his bar. I liked that he took his job to protect me so seriously. I liked looking at him, the way it made my stomach go a little jumpy. Sure, he had an ego the size of Texas and issued his opinions like they were gospel, but he made me laugh. He made me feel safe.

And when he’d kissed me, I’d felt something real.

Had it really been just for show? I mean, maybe the first kiss was a panic move. Maybe he honestly hadn’t seen any other way to safeguard my identity.

But . . . twice?

And that second time, he’d kissed me like he meant it—hard and deep. The man put his tongue in my mouth.

So maybe it was possible both things were true. Maybe he’d kissed me once in order to protect me, but he did it again because he liked it.

Then again, maybe that was wishful thinking on my part.

I glanced over at him. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other on the back of his neck. His bicep bulged inside the sleeve of his black T-shirt, sending a current of desire rippling through me. I wished there was a way I could just ask him for the truth—was he into me that way or not?

But of course, I couldn’t.

I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, imagining what it would be like if we were just a regular couple on our way home from a Friday night date. Would he take my hand as he drove? Maybe I’d reach over and put a hand on his thigh. Tip my head onto his shoulder. And when we got home, we’d undress each other. Slip beneath the sheets. Cling together in the dark. I wondered what it would feel like to be held in those big, strong arms. Cradled against that hot, muscular body. Penetrated by his huge, hard—

“Kelly,” he whispered.

That’s when I realized we’d arrived at the cabin and the engine was off. Just to mess with him, I didn’t open my eyes.

“Kelly.” Gently, he nudged my arm, but I continued to play possum. Could I get him to carry me to the house? Experience a small sliver of my fantasy?

He reached over and checked my pulse, which nearly broke me, but I kept it together.

“After two beers, you pass out?” he muttered. “Seriously?”

Grumbling, he went around to the passenger side of the SUV and opened the door. After unbuckling my seatbelt, he slid one hand behind my back and the other beneath my knees, then lifted me out. Feigning a deep sleep, I looped my arms around his neck and snuggled close—he smelled so good. Had he worn cologne tonight? Or was that just his natural scent?

He kicked the car door shut with one foot, then carried me like a baby toward the house. But after taking the steps up to the porch, he stopped.

“Kelly,” he said, louder this time. “You need to wake up. I don’t know the code.”

I sighed dramatically. “But this is so nice, bear-bear. I like being carried around like your sweet little mudbug.” As I dissolved into laughter, I was abruptly set on my feet.

“Open the door,” he said gruffly. “And no more playing tricks on me.”

“Why not? I particularly liked it when you took my pulse. Nice to know you cared that I wasn’t dead.” We went inside, and he immediately started looking around, like he thought someone might have broken in.

“What are you doing?” I asked, removing my Two Buckleys cap and setting my purse down.

“I’m checking to make sure it’s safe.” He disappeared down the back hallway, and I went over to the kitchen.

“Want one more beer?” I called out, opening the fridge.

He appeared in the living room again, looking uncertain. “A beer?”

“Yeah. We didn’t get to finish our last drink. I thought maybe if you know how to start a fire, we could sit out by the fire pit.”

“I know how to start a fire.”

“Great.” Grabbing two beers, I shut the fridge with my hip. “Let’s go.”

“See? Isn’t this nice?” Relaxing in my chair, just this side of tipsy, I stretched my feet toward the fire, which crackled and sparked.

“Sure.” Next to me, Xander seemed anything but relaxed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes on the flames when they weren’t darting around like he was looking for photographers in the trees. Our two empty beer bottles lay on the gravel between us. He’d talked very little since we came out here, no matter how I tried to draw him out.

“What’s got you so tense?” I looked around. “No paparazzi, no Hart Throbs, no bears.”

“Bears?” He looked over at me, one thick dark eyebrow cocked.

I laughed. “My mom is convinced I’m going to be mauled by a black bear while I’m here. She had a premonition about it.”

“Your mom has premonitions?”

“Yes. She calls it ‘the sight.’ She claims certain women in her family have this ability to see the future in these vivid daydreams they get. As soon as she heard about my plan to take this vacation alone, she had a vision of me being attacked by a giant, angry bear who wanted to eat me up, Little Red Riding Hood style.”

“Interesting.”

“I told her there are no predators here—of course, that was before I came out of the shower and found you standing in my living room.” I gave him a pointed look.

“That was an accident. I’m sorry again for scaring you. And for . . . seeing you naked.” His eyes darted toward my bare legs.

“Oh, come on.” I used his words from earlier today to poke at him. “Are you saying you didn’t enjoy the view?”

“I was just as uncomfortable as you were.”

I looked over at him and smiled knowingly. “I doubt that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“The truth, huh?” I looked at the fire again. “Should we talk about the truth?”

“What do you mean?”

“At the bar. That kiss.” I kept my eyes on the flames. “Was it really fake?”

“Of course it was.”

“Because it didn’t feel fake.” I braved a glance at him. “Especially the second time.”

“Well, it was. Entirely fake. The whole thing.”

Talk about protesting too much.

I smiled. “So you didn’t want to kiss me back there?”

“Of course not.”

“And you don’t want to kiss me now?”

He hesitated just a second too long. “No.”

I stood up. Moved in front of him.

“Kelly.” He spoke my name, but what he meant was, Don’t.

I leaned over and put my hands on his shoulders. Pushed him back against the chair while I straddled his thighs. “Are you sure about that?”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t push me away, either. His forearms lay on the arms of the chair, his fingers curled over the edge. The fire popped and hissed behind me.

I flattened my palms on his chest and slid them down his stomach, muscles rippling beneath the cotton. I toyed with his belt.

“You should stop,” he told me.

“I should stop?” I challenged. “Or you want me to stop?”

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You should stop.”

“For my own good?” I laughed softly, putting my hands on the top of his chair, leaning close enough to brush my lips against his jaw. His beard was surprisingly soft.

“Yes. You don’t really want this.”

“I wonder,” I murmured, rocking my hips gently over his, “if it ever occurred to you, or to any man, that I might know what’s good for me. What I really want.”

His breath drew in sharply.

“My God, what would that be like?” I whispered in his ear. “What would I do with that kind of freedom?”

“I have a pretty good idea.” His voice was gravelly and thick.

“But you don’t trust me.” I pulled back slightly, looked him in the eye.

“Trust you?”

“To know what I want. You’d rather treat me like a little girl who needs a big, strong man to decide what’s best for her.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about, Xander? Tell me.”

“It’s about honor,” he said. “It’s about your brother and the trust he has in me. It’s about setting aside what I want and doing the right thing.”

“The right thing.” Closing my eyes, I sighed and shook my head. “Okay. Fine. You win.” I went to get off his lap, but his hands gripped my hips, locking me in place.

“Hey.” His voice was gruff, almost angry. “You don’t know how hard this is for me.”

My eyes flicked down to his crotch. “I would, if you’d just relax and kiss me for real.”

“I can’t kiss you for real,” he said, while his hands told a different story, rising to cradle my face. “I fucking can’t.”

Then he pulled me toward him, sealing his lips to mine. For a couple seconds, I was so surprised, I couldn’t even move. But then his tongue slid between my lips, reigniting that spark I’d felt earlier in the bar.

I bunched my fingers into his shirt and held on tight, as if I was afraid he was going to push me away. His hands returned to my hips and set me in motion, rocking my lower body over his. Our mouths opened wider, his tongue growing more aggressive and commanding. I imagined what that tongue might feel like on the most sensitive parts of my body and felt the shock of it all the way down to my toes.

The bulge of his cock was thick and hard between my legs, and I rubbed myself along its solid length. The kiss grew reckless and messy. His mouth moved down my jaw and throat, and he unzipped my hoodie to my belly button.

“Fuck,” he seethed, taking in the thin, low-cut tank top I wore without a bra. He tilted his forehead to my clavicle, and I felt his breath on my skin. “Fuck. I can’t.”

But then his mouth was on the upper curves of my breasts, his beard tickling my skin. Hooking his fingers over the top of my tank, he tugged it down, exposing one breast, and sucked hungrily on the puckered nipple. I cradled his head against my chest, my fingers threading into his hair. He moved to the other breast without even bothering to pull down my shirt, wetting the cotton, closing his lips over the stiff peak, drawing me and the material into his mouth with quick, hard pulls.

The fire popped and hissed, and the noise startled Xander to his senses.

Lifting me off his lap, he set me on my feet, drew my hoodie back over my shoulders, and backed away. “We have to stop.”

“Why?” I looked around. “No one is here.”

“We don’t know that for sure. Someone could have followed us. This is reckless and unsafe and . . . wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“Yes.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I crossed the line. Your brother trusts me with you. He said I’m the only one he trusts with you.”

“So?”

“So that means something.” He spoke firmly, looking me in the eye. “Trust is important to me.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Me too, Xander! Trust is important to me too.”

Next to us, the fire crackled again, sending sparks shooting up into the dark. I shook my head. “Never mind. Let’s just forget this happened.”

“Thank you. I have to be able to do my job without distraction.”

“Of course,” I said, bristling at being called both a job and a distraction. I zipped my hoodie all the way to my chin. “I’m going into bed.” Then I walked away without another word, not even goodnight.

Ten minutes later, I slipped between my sheets in the dark and curled up on my side. I felt cold and empty, a complete contrast to the way I’d felt sitting out by the fire, or even at the restaurant tonight.

It had been a long time since I’d spent hours on end with just one person, getting to know them, letting them get to know me, feeling a mutual attraction build, giving it room to breathe, testing its limits, sharing a first kiss.

And a second.

And a third.

Recalling the sensation of his mouth on my skin, the firm softness of his lips contrasted with the abrasive rub of his beard, that delicious tug on my nipples . . . I rolled onto my stomach, moaning softly into my pillow. Why did the guy assigned to protect me also have to turn me on so much? It was so unfair.

And yet, if I was honest, I had to admit that part of his appeal was that he was good at his job. For all the things I didn’t like about him—and there were plenty of them—I did feel secure in his presence.

But I also felt sexy. Desirable. Wanted.

Me. The real me—Kelly Jo Sullivan.

The door to the house opened and closed. A moment later, I heard Xander’s slow, heavy footsteps in the hall. He went into the bathroom. The faucet came on.

Was he thinking about me? Was he angry with himself? Did he regret putting the brakes on? The bathroom door opened and I listened for his footsteps thudding back down the hall again. But I didn’t hear them. Just silence.

I propped myself up on one elbow, holding my breath. Was he on the other side of my door? Wondering if he should knock?

Knock, I thought. Knock, you big lummox.

A full ten seconds went by, my heart hammering wildly.

Then I heard the slow thump of his boots on the wood floor as he walked away. Flopping onto the pillow again, I frowned. Damn him for rejecting me! Didn’t he understand how lonely I was? How long it had been since anyone had kissed me or touched me? How hard it was for me to be this vulnerable with someone?

If I was any other girl, I could just meet a handsome stranger and enjoy a sexy little vacation fling without worrying that he’d sell his story to the tabloids. Instead, I was me, stuck sharing this one-bedroom cabin in the middle of nowhere with a smoking hot guy I actually thought I could trust not to betray me, only he wouldn’t come near the bed.

And he’d wanted me too. I knew that he had.

I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes, remembering in vivid detail the way I’d climbed onto his lap, feeling him hard and thick beneath me. I recalled the scent of him—tinged with smoke and fire—and the exhilaration of that moment when he’d grabbed my head and crushed his lips to mine.

Those strong hands on my hips, moving my body over his. His tongue in my mouth. The tingling warmth between my legs. Feeling it start to hum, again I slipped my hand into my underwear. As I moved my fingertips over my swollen clit, I pictured Xander out there in the living room, sliding his hand into his pants.

Behind my eyelids, I saw a huge fist working up and down a mammoth cock in the dark, the flexing abs, the quickened breath, the struggle to be fast and silent. The electric current surging through him, gathering heat and strength. That sensation of pressure rising and rising, until it couldn’t be contained and came bursting forth in hot little pulses that would leave him sweaty and sticky and stifling a groan.

Fuck you, Xander, I thought as I took myself there while I fantasized about him jerking off. Fuck you so hard. As the throbbing between my legs subsided, I rolled onto my stomach, trying to smother my loud breathing.

And I wondered if he actually was out there on the couch, doing the same thing.