Melt For Him Page 14

  He looked at her, ran a thumb along her jawline, and held her face in his hands. “You drew me a raccoon.”

  She nodded.

  “I love it.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re good, Megan. You’re really good. You’re going to be an amazing tattoo artist. You have so much talent.”

  She ripped the page out. “I want you to keep it,” she said softly, her chest flooding briefly with nerves. She liked giving her drawings away; she’d always made pictures for other people, and she had for him their first night together, so it seemed fitting. Grabbing a pen from her purse, she whipped off a few quick lines, then handed him the paper.

  With his eyes on the page, he read her words out loud. “For you. Some people might think a drawing of a raccoon is silly. I’m one of those people. I’m also not. I’m glad you’re both too. Megan.” He looked up from the lines and brushed his index finger gently along her cheek. “I already loved it. Now I love it even more. And I’m going to add it to my Megan collection.”

  “You have a collection for me?”

  “You did leave me a note that first night,” he pointed out.

  “Now you have another.”

  “That I do. And I love that you draw pictures and leave notes for me. It’s part of what makes you unbelievably hot to me,” he said. He made a noise that bordered on a growl and pulled her in for a hungry, desperate kiss. Soon, they were tangled up in each other, and she was groaning at the feel of his chest against her. He grabbed her at the waist, and she wrapped her legs around him as he lifted her onto the counter and kissed her furiously, his bristly jawline turning her cheeks red. She didn’t care one bit that she was getting whisker burn.

  Finally, he broke the kiss.

  She placed a hand on her chest. “I want to do something.”

  He arched an eyebrow.

  “Meet me on the back porch.”

  The sliver of a smile played on his lips. “As you wish.”

  Pushing open the front door, she waved good-bye with a sexy wink, then walked quickly down the street, around the side of the building, and turned into the alley, lit faintly by a streetlamp that illuminated him. He stood in the doorway, waiting for her, a curious look on his face. As she neared the table where she’d taken that tumble, she started to reach under her skirt.

  When it registered, he grinned wildly. That first night she’d promised she’d show up again in the alley and shimmy out of her panties. She walked around the table, stopped inches from him and skimmed off her undies, handing the little scrap of pink lace to him. “I told you I’d give them to you,” she whispered.

  He brought them to his nose briefly, then stuffed them into his pocket as he tugged her against him. “And I told you I’d make you come again.”

  She tapped her finger playfully against her chin, as if she were recalling the fine details of their naughty conversation. “Why, I believe you did.”

  He scanned the alley. It was as quiet as the night they met. The only soundtrack was the faint rustle of a night breeze in the nearby trees, and the faraway music from the Kings of Leon album playing on repeat from inside the Panting Dog.

  “Let’s make the most of our week then,” he said as he clasped her hand and dropped into a chair a few feet away, pulling her into his lap. He reached into his back pocket and brandished a condom.

  “Excellent. Because I’m already good to go,” she said, since she was amped up from their kisses, and their contact behind the bar. She made quick work of his zipper and yanked his briefs down, freeing his erection. Gripping him in her hand once more, she savored his reaction as he groaned hungrily from her touch, his eyes floating closed as she covered him. Hot sparks spread throughout her body as she hiked up her skirt and lowered herself, inch by fantastic inch, until he filled her completely. She gripped his shoulders as she began to move, upping the pace.

  Grasping her hips, he held on to her, letting her set the tempo. “Like that?” he asked, as he lowered his mouth to her neck, kissing a path down her skin to the hollow of her throat.

  “Yes. Just like that,” she said in broken breaths as they kept up for several hot and heady minutes. She loved that he was such an attentive lover, wanting to know what pleased her, what thrilled her, and what made her shatter.

  The answers were all one and the same. Him.

  Soon, she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting her head fall onto his shoulder as the pleasure intensified, sweeping through her body like a rainstorm bursting from the sky. “You’re so good to me,” she moaned, concentrating on the climax that was rising up to greet her. He gripped her hips, quickly taking the reins, guiding her moves as he drove her over the edge, her body bathed in the bliss of their coming together.

  Minutes later, he layered kisses on her neck and whispered in her ear, “This is now my favorite image of Hidden Oaks. You, here on the back porch. With me.”

  She could hear in his voice the smile she was sure he was wearing.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Neither Becker nor Travis was on duty, but they were both at the firehouse for one of the final shoots. Becker as the captain, and Travis because, well, because he was a ham. But the photographer hadn’t arrived yet, so Becker pulled his friend aside. He wasn’t going to hem or haw, or let this gnaw away at him anymore. He didn’t know how Travis was going to handle this, and he didn’t know if this was the end to a friendship. But he knew this much—telling the truth was much better than the alternative. It was the only option.

  “Hey, man. I need to talk to you.”

  Travis nodded, a serious expression on his face. He probably figured it was about work. They walked outside the firehouse and stood by the open garage.

  Becker steeled himself for an unhappy reaction, but he didn’t mince words. “Trav, I know you asked me not to get involved with your sister, but I wanted to let you know that I’m planning on taking her out tonight. On a date. Hoping that’ll be all right by you.”

  Travis narrowed his eyebrows and tilted his head, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. He didn’t speak, just gave him a curious look. Becker had been expecting some huffing and puffing. Some lecture. Some man-to-man, don’t-you-ever-hurt-my-sister kind of talk. Not this stony silence.

  Travis scratched his ear. “What? What did you say?”

  “I’m going out with Megan. Tomorrow night,” he repeated.

  Travis breathed out hard. Shook his head. “What the fuck?”

  “She’s a grown woman. She can date who she wants.”

  “Yeah, I know that. But I told you to stay away from her…” He let his voice trail off, then held his hands out wide. “You know how I feel about this.”

  “I know. I know, man. You did, and I didn’t listen to you. And for that I am sorry. But the truth is I met her the night before I knew it was her, and we connected, and there’s just something there we want to explore.”

  Travis cringed. His features contorted; his eyebrows nearly twisted. “You connected? What the hell?”

  Becker nodded, keeping his voice steady and even. “We did, and we’ve spent time together on the shoot, and working on the calendar. And I know you said you don’t want me involved with her, but we feel something for each other. Something real.”

  Travis kept shaking his head, as if he could rid himself of what Becker was saying. “I thought you were against relationships. I thought you didn’t even believe in them.” Travis slashed his hand through the air. “Never, you said. It only leads to trouble. And with my sister of all people? I love her like crazy, man. Do you have any idea what she means to me? Do you have any clue? Growing up, we had nothing but each other.”

  “I do have an idea. I have a brother. I know what it’s like to care about someone, Trav.”

  “She deserves the world, man. And you’re still stuck in Chicago.”

  The words cut him to the quick. They sliced through him cruelly with the truth, and he swore for a second he could feel the pain as if he’d truly been cut.
But then the feeling drifted away, like it had with Megan. Maybe he was moving on. Maybe he was finally starting to heal.

  “I was,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m starting not to be, and it feels good.”

  Travis narrowed his eyes, like he didn’t believe him. “So that’s it? You just changed?”

  Was it that simple? Hell, maybe that was it. “Yeah, things changed. I met your sister. And I’m crazy about her.”

  Travis scoffed. “You telling me you’ve been involved with her already?”

  Becker swallowed a thick knot. “Yes.”

  Travis cursed, then let out a long stream of air. “You lied to me, man. That is not cool.”

  “I know. And I hope you’ll forgive me for it.”

  “So you’ve been messing around with her the whole time she’s been in town?”

  “Look, we met the first night,” he said, shoving a hand roughly through his hair. “I didn’t know she was your sister, and we agreed to stay away from each other after we realized. But that didn’t happen, and I’m sorry, but I’m not sorry as well,” he added, standing his ground.

  “Are you just fucking her?” he asked, and it sounded like a vile accusation, one Becker had to defuse.

  “Travis. Listen to me. I know I lied to you when I said nothing had happened. And I’m sorry. But get this through your head. I’m fucking crazy about her, and the last thing I want to do is hurt her. I swear. I know things about her. I know that Mud Pie Brownies are her favorite, and she made them with you and sold them in the town square when you were kids. And you also taught her to make a dam, and spent endless hours with her by the river when you were kids. I also know that she’s afraid of losing the people she loves. She’s afraid of losing you, but somehow she’s managed to live with that, too. And I know she’s an amazing cartoonist and draws these incredible pictures of silly animals, and I know she’s smart and funny and sarcastic and vulnerable as hell. And that she cares so deeply about you and what you think of her, and she hates the thought of letting you down, because she looks up to you so damn much.”

  Travis was silent for several seconds. “Damn,” he said, finally speaking as he chased that word with a low whistle of admiration.

  Becker continued. “So we can do this the easy way. Or we can do it the hard way. But either way, I’m taking her out, and I’d much rather do it with your blessing.”

  Travis shook his head several times. The look on his face bordered on resignation, but not acceptance.

  “I can’t do that yet. I just can’t. You just dropped this on me, and I can’t stand here and say I’m okay with it. I won’t plaster on a happy face because you say you’re all fixed up now,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “But I get it. You’re doing it regardless, and the two of you are adults, so this is your choice. Just remember this, if you hurt her…”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t need to. Becker understood he’d be dead to him if he did wrong by Megan.

  …

  It was a scene that could cause rubbernecking for miles.

  Megan thanked her lucky stars that she knew how to shoot a picture. Because it didn’t get much better than this. Today was the requisite beefcake shot—the necessary photo of the guys washing the truck. Funny thing was, the setup wasn’t just calendar man-candy. The firefighters really did wash the trucks every day. With schoolkids coming by to visit the firehouse, as well as citizens popping in when they wanted to, the engines acquired fingerprints and dirt quickly. The men kept the engines spit-shined and polished since they were always, effectively, on display.

  Jackson looked mighty fine soaping up the door, dressed only in his navy-blue pants and work boots, his chiseled abs on display and his wavy dark hair wet at the tips. He’d make quite the fantasy man for some woman someday, Megan mused as she shot more pics. Smith, naturally, ably filled the part, too, as he sprayed the hose over the tires. Megan snapped a few extra close-ups just for Jamie, who’d probably squeal when she saw them. Even though Jamie got to partake of the real thing, she was proud of her man’s role in the calendar, and the fact that he’d likely grace the cover again.

  There were other guys, too, and as Megan captured more action shots of the men at work, including her brother, she had a hunch that this calendar would be enjoyed. Her work on the shoot was almost done. She’d snagged most of the solo shots she needed, as well as the group pics of the guys, including one of four of the men silhouetted against a dark sky, helmets low on their foreheads, heavy tools in their hands. Pure dark smolder and enough variety in the size and shape of the men to please most red-blooded women. That Becker was one of the guys in that shot didn’t inform her unbiased, professional opinion at all. At least, that’s what she told herself. Though as soon as the thought had flickered into her brain, igniting a private little grin, she knew she was a goner.

  Something had changed last night. Shifted. They’d admitted their fears and decided to give things a shot, even just for a week. Would that make it harder for her to leave for Portland? Already, she cared deeply for him, more than she’d ever expected to. Was she opening herself up to the possibility of a whole new level of heartache when she hit the road in seven days?

  She pictured the week unspooling in days and nights of bliss, and then slamming cruelly into the finish line in only one week. That end was bound to hurt in a new fresh way.

  A knot of worry crept through her from all the unknown.

  Then she felt a tingling in her spine. She didn’t dare look away from the viewfinder because she was ringing up some damn fine shots. But she knew he’d just walked past her. He hadn’t even touched her. He hadn’t even lazily traced a finger across her back. Instead, she could simply sense the shape of him; she could smell the clean, sexy scent of him; she could simply feel the way he was near her.

  “Can’t wait to see you later.”

  The words were the barest of a whisper on her neck. They sent a rush of heat down through her veins, and goose bumps erupted over her skin. A proper date. Not just a stolen moment in the bar, in his house, by the river.

  Later, as she finished the shoot and started to pack up her gear, she felt a familiar pair of arms wrap around her shoulders. Then knuckles dig into her skull. “You didn’t think I’d stop giving you noogies just because you’ve basically ignored every single thing I told you to do?”

  She shifted around. “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Listen,” he said, his tone shifting to serious. “I only worry about you because I love you. Because I can’t stop looking out for you. And because I want you to have the world.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “I’m not happy about this, but I can’t stop you, so just know that I’m here for you no matter what happens, okay?”

  Her throat hitched, but she held it together. This was her brother. This was the man she looked up to, admired, trusted. He would always be there for her, no matter what. She was lucky to have had him growing up, and she was luckier to have him now.

  He lowered his voice. “I love you, Megan.”

  “I love you, Trav.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Decked out in jeans, red boots, and a silvery shirt that seemed like it was having a mighty fine time hugging her breasts, Megan looked edible to him.

  She also looked enrapt, and that made him so damn happy.

  Her brown eyes were wide and sparkling as she took in the exhibit at the art gallery in a nearby town. His brother, the sensitive, artistic one, had suggested he take her here. He’d emailed Griffin and asked for a recommendation, and immediately he’d sent back the info. If I were in Northern California like you, you’d have to tear me away from an exhibit of cartoon art, his younger brother had written.

  That was all he’d needed to hear. Griffin and Megan had similar tastes and interests in art as far as Becker, with his untrained eye, could tell. Judging from the way Megan studied every illustration in the room, as if she were memorizing all the lines, curves
, and colors, she couldn’t be happier. That reaction to him was priceless. In their short time together—albeit sneaking around—she’d already done so much for him. He’d wanted to be able to do something special for her, to show her that there was more to the two of them than the intense physical connection.

  She reached for his hand and laced her fingers through his, and her touch warmed his very soul. “I think I’m in love with this exhibit,” she said as she looked at him.

  “That makes me happy,” he said.

  Being able to show her something she loved made his heart feel full. It was a foreign feeling to him, and it almost seemed as if he were wearing a pair of shoes that were a bit too tight, or a bit too loose. But his heart didn’t hurt, and it wasn’t painful; it would simply take some adjusting.

  “Thank you for finding this for me.”

  “Griffin gets all the credit. I’m just glad you like it.”

  As they walked to the next work, a slinky woman in a dress wearing a floppy hat, her eyes lit up once more. “That,” she said, pointing in a frenzy as she dropped his hand. “Can’t you just see me inking that on some big burly man’s shoulder or something?”

  He couldn’t quite see it for a guy, but he wasn’t one to knock down her dreams. “The woman with the hat?”

  She laughed and shook her head. “No. The hat. Look at what’s on the hat.”

  He peered closer, spotting a streak of silhouetted birds, flying across the brim. Simple, sleek, and yet powerful. “That I could definitely see,” he said, then turned to her, enjoying the mesmerized look in her eyes. “Look at you, finding inspiration here. Maybe you don’t need to go to Portland,” he said, then he stopped speaking abruptly, the weight of his unexpected statement hitting him hard in the gut. He gulped and stepped back. He hadn’t planned to suggest that; he wasn’t even sure where the notion came from…except maybe from deep inside him. From his hope to know her more, and better. From a wish to have this woman in his life on more than just a temporary basis. For her to stay. But he didn’t want to quash her dreams. He wasn’t going to be that guy.