Hot Pants Page 4

  “You heard me. It’s probably easier for you anyway. It’s not a hassle, really.” I try to comfort and convince her.

  “That’s not what I’m worried about. I’m worried about going back to your place, with you, alone. I don’t trust guys like you who have a reputation.” She emphasizes the word ‘reputation’ like it’s a bad, sinister word, something she’s not supposed to mention in the presence of others.

  “But you can trust me to save your life?” I chuckle.

  “I didn’t get a choice, did I?”

  “Touché.” I finish my drink, giving myself some time to think about my next move. “You can trust me. You can have my room and I’ll sleep on the couch, plus I can help get you whatever you need. No nightly fee required.” I plaster on my best puppy dog eyes and top it off with one of my best-selling grins. It’s a sure-fire way to melt panties off, but I’ll settle for a sleepover with Beth this time.

  “Ugh,” she mumbles, leaning her elbows on the counter, and running her hands through her hair. “Can I have my phone now?”

  I slide it over to her, hesitantly, and she picks it up, opening her browser once more. I can’t help but smile. I knew a hotel, last minute, would cost too much.

  “I guess I have no other options,” she says. “Take me home, my hero.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  ELISABETH

  “Oof!”

  My foot catches on the entryway step, sending me tottering into Derek’s house. For a second I think I might just make a complete ass of myself and fall, but once again, Derek’s there right in the nick of time.

  His fingers wrap around my bicep, righting me the moment before I succumb to gravity. My heels come down with a loud crack, the sound met immediately by what sounds suspiciously like a giggle.

  “Rum and coke catching up to you?”

  I’ve gotta say, I prefer his usual grin to this new, slightly shit-eating version.

  “Not at all,” I respond, trying to keep my voice as level as possible while I run my hands over imaginary wrinkles in my dress. “Just a stupid place for a step, is all.”

  “Right. Damn architect should’ve left a dead drop there.”

  My face pinches in frustration for what feels like the hundredth time today. Apparently, Derek has that effect on me.

  “I’m fine.” I say simply, looking pointedly at his hand still clenched around my arm.

  He releases his fingers slowly, grin spreading wider as he clings to the slight contact.

  I stifle the groan that tries to slip up my throat in response, forcing my eyes into a roll I can only hope is convincing. Truth be told, my burning irritation with this man has been reduced to a kind of tired smolder.

  I want to hate him, truly I do, but that doesn’t seem to stop my heart from jack-hammering in my chest as he rests those eyes on me again.

  With a force of will, I take a step back, grinning lazily to deny the very real effect he’s having on me. I’m delighted to see him stumble slightly from my sudden movement, a small groan of surprise leaving his lips.

  “I see the beer’s treating you well.”

  I don’t even wait for a response. Still feeling the need to put distance between us, I simply direct myself deeper into the house, ignoring the way my heart skips when I hear him move to come after me. It’s entirely possible coming here was a mistake.

  While logically I know better than to entertain thoughts of Derek, I’m feeling less than rational this evening. It has been somewhat of a trying day, after all.

  Still, I remind myself that I know how this works. Yes he’s gorgeous and he seems fascinated now. But I know his type all too well. The moment he gets his way, as he’s usually certain to do, all the charm and intrigue will disappear in a haze of self-involvement.

  Fun as that might seem to some, I’ll just have to pass.

  “I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re implying.” I hear him call, his voice heavy with feigned offense.

  “Of course not. Perish the thought.”

  I’ve managed to make it to the living room, a space clearly untouched by feminine hands. From the leather couch to the heavy wood, it’s like stepping directly into the mind of the modern bachelor.

  I pause in the doorway, eyes raking over the room in search of an inviting space to rest.

  “What do you think?” Derek asks, startling me with his proximity. Clearly the rum and coke have caught up to me, given I totally missed his approach.

  He gestures around the room, wagging his eyebrows as if waiting to hear my praise.

  I can’t help but laugh, and his answering smile has now-familiar chills washing over me.

  Yes, coming here was definitely a mistake.

  “I think I should have booked that hotel.” I say, my thoughts spilling from my lips before I can catch them.

  The smile dies on his face, his eyes taking on a stronger intensity that makes me feel dizzy.

  “Oh?”

  “Well… sure, it’s just… such a bachelor pad,” I stammer, feeling more foolish by the moment. “But I guess it’ll have to do.”

  Hoping I’ve regained at least a little ground, I make a beeline for the couch, trying my utmost to hide the blood currently rushing to my face.

  It’s the rum. Definitely the rum.

  I let myself sink into the overstuffed cushions, laying my head back in exhaustion. It really has been a hell of a day.

  I don’t move as Derek sinks in beside me, no longer trusting myself to meet his eyes without swooning.

  “Well, I for one, am glad you decided to come. Even if you didn’t really have any other options. It’s safer here, you know.”

  Despite myself, I raise my head, meeting his eyes again.

  “And you’re under the impression you need to protect me? I don’t know if you noticed, but they already put the fire out.”

  “We already put the fire out. And yes, I do know, but I think with Officer Brady suspecting arson, it’s best to be cautious.”

  His words hit me like a punch to the gut, instantly sending my mind reeling. I know he keeps talking, I can see his mouth move, but all sound seems to be smothered beneath the alarm bells springing to life in my mind.

  Arson?

  It takes me a long moment to realize I haven’t actually spoken aloud.

  “Arson?” I actually ask this time, my voice heavy with shock.

  He falls silent instantly, regret flashing across his face.

  “Shit. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

  Panic floods my mind—overwhelming, heart-stopping panic—and on its heels, surprising even to me, cold, hard anger.

  “You knew this and you weren’t going to say anything?”

  “I—well, it seemed better to wait until we knew for sure.”

  I spring from the couch, immediately falling into a frantic pacing. My hands come up to my head, fingers tangling through my hair as my heels slap angrily at the ground.

  Over and over the word repeats in my thoughts: arson. I can’t seem to quiet it. It’s on a loop. Like, if I hear it enough times, I’ll find a nicer meaning to it.

  “Look, Beth, it could be nothing.” He’s at my side, his voice calm and measured. Soothing. If anything, it only makes my blood boil hotter.

  “Yeah, sure, or it could be arson.” I reply, not so much as slowing my crazed pace.

  I feel his hand on me, strong fingers pulling me to a stop. Against my better judgment, I let him. At this point, I don’t quite feel capable of smacking him away, nor storming out for that matter. At this point, I’m terrified enough to enjoy the sensation of his hands on me, his touch.

  He pulls me near him, his eyes actually looking sympathetic for once.

  “I’m sorry I let it slip like that. I understand it’s scary. We don’t actually know anything, though, at this point. It’s all speculation. Just… try and relax a little. Deep breaths.”

  I feel myself nodding, my eyes locking on the soothing green of his own. With a concentrate
d effort, I slow my breathing, my thoughts, calming slightly.

  “Better?” he asks, his hand still anchoring me to the spot.

  I nod again. “A little. You should have told me, Derek.”

  “I know. You’re right. I should have mentioned it. Honestly, though, I was just trying to avoid what’s happening right now.”

  Considering I did just pretty much lose my shit, it’s hard to argue his point.

  “Fine.”

  It’s as close to agreement as I’m going to get to. Now my blinding panic is subsiding, my anger seems to have disappeared as well.

  Its absence brings me back to reality, to my situation, and to Derek. For the first time I notice how close he really is. I take stock of his hand, fingers still pressing into me, his eyes reverently glued to my face.

  I look down at myself as I finish, noting the lingering soot with disapproval.

  Derek tracks my line of sight. “If you want a shower, all you have to do is ask.” His grip loosens, his hand falling limply to his side now I’m no longer in need of restraint.

  And it occurs to me I’m not—in need of restraint, that is. I’m a responsible, levelheaded woman who’s just had the day from hell. Restraint is not what I need right now, not in any way.

  What I need is some good old-fashioned fun.

  Without letting myself think any further, I reach for the hand Derek so recently removed, twining my fingers through his as I gently tug him towards me. Suddenly, the space between us feels cavernous, a rift in need of closing.

  I mold against him easily, my lips finding his in a rush. There’s no hesitation on his part, no bare second of confusion. The moment I touch him, he’s right there with me, his tongue pressing, his hands pulling me even nearer.

  The rush is even stronger than I expected. Sparks race down the length of me, electricity working its way into my core. In an instant, I’m wet, my body humming around me. I feel his answering need, his cock already straining against the fabric of his jeans, his enormous length pressing against me.

  Pulling back, even for the slightest instant, is sheer agony. Somehow I manage it, breaking away long enough to meet his smoldering eyes.

  “A shower sounds perfect.”

  His smile is completely breathtaking. Not missing a beat, he springs into action. With deceptive ease he lifts me from my feet, pulling me roughly against him. Before I can fully process his movements, we’re going… his long legs eating up the distance between us and wherever the nearest shower is.

  In stark contrast to the overtly masculine living room, his bathroom looks like a place a girl could really get comfortable in: huge walk-in shower, dark tiles, and jets for days.

  I’m so surprised by the sudden shift I actually need a moment to take it all in. Not that I’ll be receiving one anytime soon.

  I’m back on my feet in a flash. Derek’s hands undress me with practiced ease, his mouth claiming mine all over again.

  My interest in his tile work disappears instantly, my thoughts once again overcome by him alone. I reach frantically for his belt, pulling wildly at the smooth leather.

  I hear more than feel my thong give way beneath his rough hands, see it falling into the steadily growing pile of shed clothing. We pull and tear, hands searching, need growing, until there’s nothing more between us—not so much as a shred to interfere.

  He stands before me, chest heaving, eyes burning, and it’s all I can do not to moan at the sheer sight of him. I mean, obviously I knew the man was big, there are some levels of fitness all the fabric in the world can’t hide. But damn if I didn’t underestimate him.

  Everything about him is perfection. His skin is practically glowing, pulled taut by the mountains of muscle that ripple across him. His cock stands throbbing between us, huge beyond even my wildest imagination.

  I haven’t completely lost my mind. I still know this is undoubtedly a bad idea. Given the day I’ve had, though, and the promise of what’s about to happen, I’m fully willing to allow myself this one night of fun.

  That, at least, is something you can count on men like Derek for—one single, amazing night.

  I’m swept back into his arms, conscious of the heat of him as he carries me into the shower. Water instantly soaks us with a simple flick, liquid spraying from countless jets as he settles me back on my feet.

  He spins me in place, my hands finding purchase on the smooth tile as he presses himself against me. My hair is tossed to the side, his lips caressing my neck.

  One large hand snakes around to my breast, strong fingers finding my nipple immediately while his other hand slips between my legs. I let out a moan as he finds my clit, fingertips pressing into me with all the skill I knew a man of his type would possess.

  I press back against him, desperate now to feel him inside me, to take all of him. Every. Throbbing. Inch.

  Not one to leave a girl hanging, he responds immediately. He positions himself behind me, and I feel the amazing pressure as he begins to slide into my dripping pussy.

  Now, I’m not a prude by any means. I’ve had my fair share of sex, my fair share of great sex, in fact. This, though, is on another level entirely.

  The moment he’s inside me, the moment he’s filled me completely, I already want to come.

  My fingers slide uselessly against the slick tiles, my body frantically pressing back against him, trying desperately to take him deeper into me.

  “Fuck,” I cry, my head flying back of its own accord.

  Hot water pours down my face, dripping slowly down my body. I can hardly feel it, I’m so overcome by Derek.

  The hand on my clit moves perfectly in time with his thrusting, accelerating as I drive myself more forcefully against him. Fire spreads through me, pumping its way through my veins as Derek pushes me ever closer to complete and utter implosion.

  “That’s right, Beth. Come for me,” he moans, his mouth at my ear.

  I don’t have to be told twice.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DEREK

  There’s a smile on my face even before I’m fully awake. I feel the tug at my lips the moment I float back to consciousness—or some semblance of it, anyway.

  Normally after a night like last night it takes me a while to clear my head, to remember who’s in bed beside me.

  But who am I kidding? I don’t actually have nights like last night.

  Beth stirs beside me, a contented sigh escaping her lips like an agreement.

  No, I don’t have nights like these.

  Or mornings, for that matter.

  For one thing I’m actually pleased to find Beth is still in my bed. That alone makes this a pretty solitary occasion.

  I turn slowly onto my side, careful not to wake her, but somehow desperate to get a glimpse of her just the same. Her hair is wild, spilling freely across the pillow. Her lips are slightly parted, her chest rising slowly.

  There’s no sign now of last night’s panic. On the contrary, she looks completely peaceful this morning. Peaceful and completely gorgeous. My cock, already hard at this early morning hour, stiffens further as I run my eyes over her prone form.

  Last night was amazing, and that’s not a word I use lightly. Something about Beth has me at a loss to describe our time together any differently. It really was amazing.

  I knew we’d be good together. Her with all her fire and life… How could we not be? But the reality was more intense than even I could have suspected. It’s been a long time since anyone has surprised me like that. And Beth, for all her bluster and skill at playing hard to get, seemed equally blown away.

  As cheesy as it sounds, it’s like we had this chemistry between us, something chemical. Something powerful.

  I roll onto my back, stifling the urge to press my mouth onto hers. Last night was fantastic, and I’m certain we’ll have another go of it, but right now I need to think.

  Slowly, carefully, I stand up, making my way to the oversized dresser occupying one wall. As quietly as I can manage, I open t
he top drawer, freeing a pair of boxers and slipping them on.

  I can’t possibly think through this situation this early, not without coffee. With that thought in mind I slip through the door, taking care to shut it quietly behind me.

  I’m not ready for Beth to wake up yet, despite the argument of my now-throbbing cock. So instead of acting out the morning sex scenario currently playing at the back of my mind, I head for the kitchen.

  Officer Brady’s words flit through my head, troubling me more than they ought to. Who would intentionally set fire to Beth’s house, and why? Was this a personal vendetta of some sort or just a random fire bug who happened to be in her neighborhood when the urge struck?

  I weigh the possibilities as I grab for the mugs, thoughts circling while the machine before me works through its own morning ritual, humming its way back to life.

  As much as I might prefer the random fire bug idea, it seems unlikely. No, if this was arson, it was probably personal. Someone with an axe to grind? Maybe an ex?

  Knowing even what little I now do about Beth, the idea seems possible. If any woman was capable of inciting that much anger and passion in someone, it’d be her.

  The thought makes me grind my teeth.

  Images of Beth’s panic last night seep into my thoughts, her fear at the idea of possible arson. It’s understandable, of course, her reaction. Any sane person would have felt the same.

  What I’m struggling to understand, however, is my own response.

  Thinking of it now makes my blood boil, makes my heart beat harder in my chest. For some reason, I feel protective of Beth—and not just in a professional sense.

  Sure, I like to play the hero, to be the guy who runs wildly into burning buildings, to be the one who saves that damsel in distress. And then, of course, I like to be the guy to reap the rewards from said damsel after.

  Like I said, I play the hero. Doesn’t mean I actually am one. Not normally, anyway.

  This thing with Beth, though, it just feels different. I actually want to keep her safe. No, I need to keep her safe. It’s a new and strange feeling, but now, in the cold light of day, at least I can identify it.