How to Handle a Heartbreaker Page 5

  He set her down at the table quickly before taking the seat next to her.

  “Hey, I can’t see the dancing.” She tried to lean around the trees.

  “You’re not supposed to.” He scooted closer and turned her chair, forcing her to face him.

  “Is this a kidnapping? You going to tie me to train tracks any time soon?” she asked with a grin in her voice. Definitely punchy, but not quite drunk.

  “Maybe.” He wouldn’t mind taking her back to his place and tying her up in his bed. But that would have to wait, unfortunately, until she could walk a straight line.

  “Yeah, right.” She tapped her fingers on the table and studied him. “You do look good in black.”

  “Thank you kindly.” He moved his chair closer, spreading his legs to accommodate hers between his knees. He put his hands on her thighs, which were bared nearly to her crotch. God, talk about heaven and hell in the same instance. Abby had creamy thighs, not as toned or muscular as her roommates’, but with shape. That word lush came to mind again. He wanted nothing more than to spread her legs and shove his face into the sweet spot just—

  “Yeah, black. All dark and gloomy. Goes well with your hellhound. Where is he, by the way?”

  Was she wearing a thong? Maybe nothing at all? It suddenly felt unbearably restrictive in his jeans. Way too tight. Before he gave in to his inner urgings, he shifted his itchy hands away from her dress toward her knees, where he held on for dear life.

  “Brody? Or should I call you Black Bart?”

  “What?” He pulled himself from his fantasies and concentrated on what she’d said. “Oh, Mutt? He’s back at my place sulking. He really likes you, you know.”

  She bit her lower lip, and he wanted to smooth the sting with his mouth. Lick her all better.

  “Was I too mean last week, do you think?”

  “To him or me?”

  She put a hand on his chest and spread her fingers. Her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth, and to his extreme satisfaction, her breathing increased. Good thing they remained in public. If he’d been at home with her, he might have said screw morality. Hell, it was all he could do to keep his hands frozen on her legs. Her warm, silky legs.

  “I, um, to him.” She swallowed loudly and seemed to lean closer. “Oh shoot. Why not?”

  He hadn’t been prepared for her to take charge, so he nearly lost his balance when she yanked his mouth to hers. Instinctively, he clutched her thighs to steady himself.

  And then her mouth was over his, and he forgot about the party, the costumes, his name. Soft lips tasting faintly of liquor caressed him and turned him into a man with no other purpose than to claim what he needed. And to hell with everything else.

  Which he would have done, if the woman in his arms weren’t Abby. He let go of her to grip the bottom of his seat, determined to do the right thing, even if it killed him.

  She pulled back, and he saw the heat he knew raged within his own eyes.

  In a gruff voice, he said, “You’re drunk. But I’m not sorry about the kiss. I’ve been waiting for that.”

  “Not drunk enough, because I felt that to my toes,” she rasped.

  He clutched the bottom of the chair so hard his fingers hurt. “You’re killing me, baby. We should probably get back to the others and—” He sucked in a breath. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  Her fingers worked at his waistband. The snap of his jeans came undone, and then the slow slide of his zipper followed. Though the table blocked the view of their lower bodies, and the trees kept them nearly shadowed from the others, Brody had no intention of going too far with Abby in public. He wanted to take it slow, so as not to spook her. They had to do this right. No recriminations, no upset when it ended. But she—

  “Abby, wait… You…” His eyes rolled back in his head.

  He couldn’t think as her hands delved beneath his underwear to stroke him. The tight fit of his clothes, hampered by the jeans, didn’t seem to dissuade her. If anything, she seemed to be having a good time. Her grin wide, her eyes narrowed and concentrated on his face.

  “You’re big. I knew it. Big hands, big feet.” She leaned closer and nipped his earlobe. “Big cock,” she whispered.

  Shocked, aroused, and unbelievably confused about what to do, Brody couldn’t logically process while his body answered for him. He arched into her hot hands while trying not to look as if he was getting jerked off by his ideal wet dream come to life. Never in a million years would he have expected this scene from quiet, quirky Abby.

  “I’m in charge tonight. I can do whatever I want. See the dress? I’m the goddess of looovvee.” She giggled.

  Abby didn’t giggle.

  He exhaled on a moan and cursed his bad luck under his breath. “Abby, honey, please. You need to stop. You’re drunk.”

  Her grip tightened, and then she started pumping him.

  Groaning, he released the chair with one hand and put it over hers. To stop her, had been his intent. But her rhythm grew faster. He was already hard enough to split wood, and every time she stroked him she jerked so that her breasts rose and fell, promising a peek at her nipples if she’d shift just so. What made it even worse, her perfume made him as lightheaded as her grip around his cock did. She smelled freakin’ amazing.

  “Abby, stop. I’m gonna come,” he warned in a gravelly voice.

  “Oh, Black Bart is threatening me—a goddess.” She leaned even closer, her lips a breath from his, and stared into his eyes. “You’ll come because I want you to. All over my hand. I’m in charge, Bart. My great big Adonis.” She licked her lips and dragged her hand over his tip, sliding through the fluid gathering there.

  He blinked, still shocked to find this really happening. A hand job from Abby Dunn at a public party, when he could normally barely get her to look at him without scowling. “Abby, I’m not kidding.” He tightened his hand over hers and urged her to move faster. No, stop. Get her to stop. But his body refused to listen to his conscience. “I’m so close.”

  “Yeah. I want you to come hard all over my hand. Come now, Brody. Let me see it happen.” The minx continued to watch him, appearing fascinated more with watching his expression than his dick.

  He panted, moaned, and squeezed her hand over him. “Oh Abby. God, yeah. I’m coming, baby. Oh shit.” He spilled into her palm and closed his eyes, completely done in.

  The pleasure overwhelmed him while she whispered what a good job he’d done, continuing to rub him until he stopped her when the sensitivity became too much to bear.

  Abby released him, and his hand over hers fell away, limp, like his now-flagging erection.

  She wiped her hand under his shirt, over his belly. Then pretty as you please, she slid her chair back, put her shoes back on, and stood. He just sat there, the head of his dick poking out from his boxer briefs, a mess on the bottom of his shirt and belly, and stared at her.

  “That was fun, hmm?” She giggled again and slapped a hand over her mouth. Then she got the oddest look on her face. “My hand was just on your cock.”

  “Stop saying cock.” His shaft jumped at the thought of another go-round, though he’d definitely need time to recuperate. He tucked himself back into his pants, grimacing at the stickiness he’d have to live with.

  “I say it all the time in my books.”

  He stood, the pressure against his fly no longer a concern. Instead, he wanted to find some place to lie down and take a nap with Abby cuddled up next to him. “Books?”

  “The books I write.”

  He stared at her. “But you told me you only write content for websites. You’re a web designer, right?” Yet another layer of Abby Dunn peeled away to reveal more than a shy yet sexy woman hurting over an ex-boyfriend. He found her absolutely fascinating. She wrote books? What kind of books?

  “Ohhhh,” she dragged into four syllables. “Rig
ht. I’m a web designer.” Her overdone wink nearly knocked her over, because she stumbled again. “Shoot. These shoes are killing me.” She blinked. “I wonder where Rick went?”

  “Don’t worry about him,” he growled. “Worry about me instead.”

  She laughed. “You? You’re all bark and no bite. Like your dog.” She waved her hand in the air.

  Only Flynn’s timely interruption saved him from tossing her over his shoulder and showing her just how sharp his teeth could really be.

  He stayed by her and his friends for the rest of the night, puzzled as to how to handle Abby now. She didn’t flirt with him or act as if anything had happened, and if he hadn’t felt the sticky discomfort against his belly, he’d swear she’d hadn’t jerked him off at all.

  But she had. Now what to do about it, and how to make sure that fuckhead Rick kept his distance?

  In the end, he hung with Flynn, Maddie, Vanessa, and Abby, watched her dance with Rick, Gary, and a bunch of others, then joined the girls when they left to go back to their house for the night.

  He followed them in his truck, all the while trying to figure out how to handle this sexier side of Abby he’d never known existed. And how to bring it out again when she no longer had the taint of alcohol clouding her decisions…

  Chapter 4

  Abby had a throbbing headache when she woke the next morning. Her feet lay on a pillow and her head dangled perilously close to falling off another pillow at the edge of her bed. She cautiously glanced around and saw someone else covered by her grandmother’s handcrafted quilt.

  Big bare feet sat next to her head. What the…?

  “Finally. She wakes.”

  “Brody?” she squeaked, then moaned when tiny men with hammers struck her temples.

  “And this is why you should stick to coffee,” he grumbled. He sat partially propped up by her headboard with his feet by her face and stared at her like a science experiment gone horribly wrong.

  She pushed his sasquatch feet away and ran a hand through her snarled hair. Her loose bun must have unraveled during sleep. Brody continued to watch her, his expression flat, not telling her a damn thing.

  He’d been awake and watching her. Had she drooled? Did she have bedhead? Bad breath? Wait. “Brody?”

  “Yeah. Remember last night?”

  “I, um. Well, sure.” She cautiously peeked under the blanket and sat up, more than relieved to see her costume still in place. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

  “What exactly do you remember from last night?” He crossed his arms over his chest. His bare chest. How in blazes had she missed that? A glance at his ankles showed denim, so he wore pants, at least.

  Bummer. She felt her cheeks heat. “I never drink. I mean, like maybe twice a year. I’m a lightweight.”

  A slow grin started at the corner of his mouth and took over his entire face. When happy, Brody lit up like the sun, showering all those within view with equal joy. Abby wanted to sigh and stare at him all day. That face, that body…

  But she needed to fill in a few gaps in her memory. How embarrassing to be so out of control, and around Brody of all people. And speaking of which, how had her roommates not thrown a hissy with the blond trickster in her room? In their house?

  “So you’re a lightweight…?” Brody paused, waiting for her to continue.

  “Seriously. I don’t drink. But yesterday I finished my, ah…”

  “Your project?”

  “Right. My project.” Abby didn’t advertise that she wrote erotic romance. People tended to get the wrong idea—men especially—that she went out and researched everything she wrote. Instead, she directed attention to her other job as a web designer—what her parents still thought she did for a living.

  “How much did you have to drink last night?”

  She worried her lower lip, unable to stop the bad habit of nibbling when she grew nervous. “Vanessa brought home some champagne. I had a cup or two, which is about all I can handle. But then at the party, I think I had two Long Island Iced Teas.” She frowned, recalling her conversation with Rick. Him buying her another drink, a big one. The cute bartender smiling at her and telling her he’d made it extra strong. A phone number on a napkin? Whose?

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” She swallowed. “I remember talking to Rick, then Flynn came over and said some woman was bothering you. Or maybe he wanted me to meet your friend? Either way, we said good-bye to Rick. Then, um. You and I, we…” They what? “We talked and stuff, and here we are. So that’s fuzzy for me, how we got here. How exactly did you get invited into my room?”

  He looked as if he was biting back a smile.

  “Am I missing something?”

  “I guess not.” His shit-eating grin grew, and she had a bad feeling. But for the life of her, she couldn’t remember anything but a few sexy dreams of doing him at the party. In public. Like Abby would ever do something that crazy. Plus, if she had, no way would Brody not have said something already.

  “Anyway,” Brody continued, “we had a fun night. Vanessa spent time hanging out with her work friends and asked me to see you got home okay.”

  She frowned.

  “Maddie and Flynn were wrapped up in each other, and you needed help with those shoes.”

  She followed his glance to the corner, where those heels from hell sat smirking at her.

  “I was ready to leave when the others were,” Brody said. “So I followed you guys back. By that time, I was beat, so I asked for a place to sleep. I was happy with the couch, but you insisted I stay with you.”

  “I did not.” She sat up straight, no longer clutching the quilt to her chest.

  Brody’s gaze centered on her breasts before raising slowly to her face again. He tried to look innocent but failed miserably. “Yep, you did.” Then he did something really strange. He looked past her at her bookcases crammed with her favorite books. Namely romances involving kinky couples, with a row dedicated to her own authored novels. She blinked at a space where a book was missing on her lower shelf.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “N-no. Nothing.” She’d wondered before if Brody somehow knew she wrote erotic stories for a living. But he’d never mentioned it. And he was the type that would take full advantage of any situation. He obviously wanted to get in her pants, but Abby didn’t want to take a chance on either disappointing him or freaking him out with her needs. So she continued to keep her distance. Or she had, until last night, apparently.

  Brody yawned and stretched, and she stared, caught in helpless fascination with so much sculpted muscle. He had a light dusting of blond chest hair that trailed down his belly. But not enough to impede her view of his corded abs. And he had those killer lines, the ones that narrowed over his hips and showcased a slender body filled with muscle. He had tone that Abby would never, ever have.

  No six-pack for her. Just a soft tummy with a rounded bump she’d never been able to flatten, no matter how many sit-ups she did.

  “Abby?”

  Oh crap. Brody had caught her ogling. His obnoxious grin both made her feel better and worse. They seemed to be on even footing again, except for the feeling that somehow he’d gotten one up on her. She didn’t like it.

  “What?” She made a big production of getting out of bed, then realized she should have stayed covered up when his eyes widened. She glanced down to see the edge of her minidress tucked into the tiny side band of her thong. Quickly righting her clothes, she missed him leaving her bed.

  Then he stood right in front of her. So close she could feel his heat.

  “Wh-where’s your shirt?”

  He laughed. “I got something on it. It’s in your washer downstairs.”

  “Oh.” That should be funny?

  “Yeah. Made a mess of myself,” he added in a husky voice.

  An image of her g
ripping him came to mind. At the party, in public? No. No way in hell.

  “You should be more careful,” she said tentatively.

  That big-ass grin stretched impossibly wide. “Oh, I will be. I figure next time I’m in that situation, I’ll use protection.” He leaned down and stared into her eyes. So much taller, he loomed over her, all muscle and strength.

  She worked to suppress a sexual shiver. “Protection from what?”

  “I—”

  At that moment, a knock sounded on her bedroom door. Vanessa didn’t wait before opening it. “What is with all the testosterone in this place?” She eyeballed Brody, then Abby, and frowned. “Seriously? You two fooled around in costume? Kinky.”

  “Vanessa.” Abby knew her cheeks had turned scarlet.

  Brody shook his head. “Dirty mind.”

  Vanessa snorted. “Me? I’m a peasant. The queen of dirty minds is right in your hot little hands. Or should I say big hands?” She chuckled. “So Abby, is it true what they say about a man’s shoe size?”

  Abby forced herself to ignore Brody’s and Vanessa’s snickers and tried to look down at him, which wasn’t easy when she had to tilt her chin up to see him. “I guess. Brody, you wear what, a size five?”

  He snorted. “Yeah, right. Try a twelve.” Then he kissed her on top of the head—the head?—and walked past her and Vanessa out the door.

  Abby and Vanessa stared at each other, then hustled out of the room and down the stairs to follow him.

  “Tell me what happened,” Vanessa whispered as they rushed into the kitchen to watch Brody take a shirt from the dryer, located in what used to be a butler’s pantry. “I’m dying to know.”

  “So am I,” Abby said under her breath. To Brody, she raised her voice. “I thought you said you washed the shirt. You dried it too? Make yourself at home, why don’t you.”