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Her heavily made-up eyes studied him. “You don’t like the stuff we do?”
She looked vulnerable, and because of that, Armie kept his tone gentle and reassuring. “If you have to ask that, then you weren’t paying attention.”
“But you just said—”
“It’s your thing, honey, not mine. But I’m always happy to oblige.”
She leaned closer, and her voice went lower. “Now?”
Half smiling, he said, “Except for now.” Her pout was cute, but had no real effect on him. “If you’re getting married, you should be saving all those looks for him.”
“Like you’d ever be faithful.”
“If I got married, damn right I would. Now go.” He turned her, swatted her on the ass and said, “All things considered, you shouldn’t contact me again.”
Face flushed and eyes dreamy, she rubbed her tush. “I guess.”
“And you’ll talk to the fiancé?”
“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’ll tell him. But if you’re wrong, I will come back here just to smack you.”
Armie grinned. “You can try.”
As soon as she headed down the steps, he went in and shut the door, strode to the couch and fell facedown onto the cushions.
Did Merissa have any fetishes?
God, he’d love to find out.
Turning his head to the side, he checked his cell phone one more time, and there it was. A text message that read, Rissy was here.
* * *
SITTING ON THE STEP, smothering in indecision, Merissa avoided looking at the brunette who went past her with a polite nod. The woman was smiling, happy and on her way out.
Merissa wasn’t a natural-born eavesdropper, but when she’d gotten to the top of the stairs and heard Armie speaking to the woman, she’d frozen.
Once she caught the conversation she couldn’t have moved even if she’d wanted to. Her feet had turned to lead blocks and her ears had been attuned to every single word they shared.
Sure enough, Armie had turned the woman down.
But the things they’d discussed... What did the woman like?
Merissa held her phone, waiting, hoping, and the text message dinged an alert.
Licking her lips, she read: You okay? Need to talk?
Yup. Yup, she did. She texted back, Busy?
No.
Wow, that was fast. She twisted to look up at the landing, saw the still-closed door, and turned back to her phone. He was so close. In person?
Seconds ticked by. She compressed her mouth, held her breath, tapped her foot rapidly on the step.
Finally the message appeared: You shouldn’t drive.
Merissa thumbed in the reply, hesitated, hesitated some more, then hit Send. Already have.
* * *
ARMIE STARED AT the message. Already have. What did that mean? Was she out tooling around?
Bad idea.
He typed in: Where are you? If he needed to, he’d go get her. Somehow. But hell, he was drunk and he knew it.
A cab. He’d take a cab—
Here.
His eyes went wide. Here? Stupidly, he looked around his apartment, then sent another text. Here?
Yes.
Here-where?
A very soft, single knock sounded on his door.
He went still, then everything accelerated. His heartbeat, his breathing.
The rush of blood through his system.
Coming to his feet, Armie crossed the room and jerked the door open and—ah, hell. He didn’t blink. “Hey, Stretch.”
One brow shot up. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” Definitely. And because of that, he felt sluggish and pretty damned unsure how to welcome her.
Or should he send her on her way? He knew he wouldn’t, wise as it might be, so maybe he should call Cannon—
She came in uninvited.
His back still to her, his thoughts struggling to catch up, Armie stood there.
“You’re in your underwear.”
Oh shit. He’d forgotten. Leaving the door open, he faced her. Damn, she was close. Like kissing close.
Like fucking close.
“They’re cute.”
“They’re absurd,” he corrected. The boxers sported two arrows—one that pointed up and said, The Man, and another that pointed to his junk and said, The Legend.
“I like them.” She leaned in—nearly stopping his heart—and gave the door a push to close it. Then she stayed right there, letting him breathe her in and feel the heat of her slender body and smell the scent of her skin.
She touched his head as if to check the butterfly bandage. “You showered.”
“Yeah.” And jerked off while he was in there. Not that his dick seemed to remember it now.
“This isn’t as tight as it should be.” She prodded gently at the special bandage, securing it again.
Taking her wrist, he pressed her palm to his jaw and closed his eyes.
“Armie?”
Get it together, he warned himself. “Come here.” Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he walked her to the couch and got her to sit. “Want a drink?”
She lifted his glass and sniffed, took a tiny sip and made a face. “Whatever you’re drinking would be fine.”
He tucked in his chin. “You don’t drink whiskey.” Except she’d just sipped it straight from his glass.
“Today is a good day to start, don’t you think?”
Yeah, probably. “One.” He glanced at her slim jeans, flat-heeled boots and the oversize hoodie, but didn’t allow himself as long a look as he’d have liked. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
On his way to the kitchen he felt her gaze on his ass. Literally felt it. He needed some jeans, only that’d look chicken shit. Or maybe modest.
He wasn’t either.
After getting another glass he poured her a shot of whiskey and went back to find her sitting cross-legged, a pillow hugged to her chest, her head down.
Softly, he said, “Hey.”
She looked up, those sparkling blue eyes sad but filled with so much pride and strength. “Will you sit with me?”
Armie clenched all over. She might as well have asked, “Will you rub your naked body over mine?” because his body reacted as if she had.
But damn it, he had control and somehow he’d find it. “Sure.” He lowered himself to the couch about a foot from her. “Here.”
She took the glass, sipped, made another face, then licked her lips.
Blindly he reached for his own glass and downed it.
Merissa studied him. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not enough.” Clearly. Because all he could think about was pulling her close, kissing her, laying her down on the couch.
Under him.
Her lashes lowered. “Are you still thinking about it, too?”
Sex? “Yeah.”
“I keep remembering...”
Not sex. Letting out a breath, Armie took her hand. “Maybe you should have spent the night with Cannon.” He could still get her there, either by calling a cab, or Cannon himself—
“No.” She snuggled in, her arms around his waist, her head on his shoulder. Her long hair teased his skin and the rest of her teased his libido. He wanted to put his hands all over her, but instead kept them on her shoulders.
Until she said, “I’m sorry, Armie, but I’d really rather stay here with you.”
He lurched back so fast he almost fell off the couch.
They stared at each other.
Usually, when he balked at her suggestions, Rissy’s feelings got hurt, which in turn made her pissy. Not this time.
This time she smiled gently and slid over to sit closer again. “Is that asking too much?”
He croaked, “No.” Nothing was too much for her, but how the hell would he handle it?
“Good.” Sighing, she hugged him. “Thank you.”
Um... “Welcome.”
“You really are drunk, aren’t you?”
He shook his head—which made the room spin. Lethargy and lust battled. “I’ll take the couch.”
Instead of arguing, she again snagged her drink, settled back against him and sipped. “What are we watching?”
He glanced at the TV. “I don’t know.”
She picked up the remote. “Do you mind?”
Against him, away from him, against him, away from him. Her bouncing back and forth made him more than a little nuts.
A hand in his hair, Armie shook his head. “Help yourself.” As she flipped through the channels, he wondered what the hell had happened. One minute he’d been sitting alone worrying about her, and now she’d put on an old movie and was tugging off her boots.
Drink in hand, she made herself comfortable—back against him again. After a second, she readjusted, taking his arm and looping it around her shoulders, then wiggling in closer. “Is this okay?”
He had a boner, his heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and every muscle on his body contracted, but whatever. “Sure.” He dropped a throw pillow over his lap.
“I saw before that you’ve got a terrible raised welt on your back. Does it hurt?”
Sexual need muddled his brain further. “No.” Though tomorrow he’d probably be feeling it.
