No Weddings (20 page)

My eyes narrowed at Kristen’s smirk. They didn’t know anything. They couldn’t know.

I glanced at the three, who were doing their best to downplay their meddling. “Fine. You want to avoid my wrath? You’re point on Hannah tonight. All three of you. Pretend like she’s one of you tonight—like she’s not just my friend I want to protect, she’s my
innocent
sister. No man better touch her. And if one looks about to, one of you had better body check him before I see, or blood will spill. And it will be on your hands. And then, I will square a debt of revenge on each of you. Individually.”

Hannah laughed, tipping her head into Kendall’s. “I had no idea he’d go all possessive and protective. It’s kinda hot.”

Kendall scrunched her face while Kiki voiced, “Ewww.”

I growled, unhappy none were taking this shit seriously. Then it dawned on me that I hadn’t told my sisters anything about my date tonight, but Hannah clearly had said something for them to know about the wedding. Kristen had seen a glimpse of us together at the charity function, but hadn’t confirmed anything.

How much did they suspect?

It couldn’t be much. None of them knew the depths of what I felt for Hannah, because even Hannah didn’t know. Fuck, even I was still trying to nail down that one. All they could possibly know was that we worked closely together and were about to go out for dinner, which was the truth of the matter.

But that they weren’t jumping all over my shit for a potential breach in their “no doing the help” rule raised all kinds of suspicious red flags with me, not that Hannah was the help. Not even close.

Occam’s razor: simplest explanation is always the most likely. And the simplest explanation? My sisters loved to fuck with me. And that’s all this parading-Hannah-to-look-like-the-sexiest-fuckable-bombshell shit was about.

“Cade!” Lisa wailed her final plea before her mutiny.

“Go.” Kristen shooed me off with waving hands. “We’ll guard Hannah with our lives.”

Hours flew by with barely a breathing break as drinks gushed forth from bottles. Our heads spun with the unrelenting and unprecedented demand. The line outside the door remained over a block long until well past midnight, when the crowd began to thin.

By 1:00 a.m., the dance floor cleared enough to allow movement without mass body contact—actual dancing, rather than group up-and-down bobbing. Hannah and my sisters had popped up off their Cade-reserved barstools and made their way to a center opening on the floor. True to their word, they’d kept Hannah under a tight lock-and-key watch all night.

A slower dance song with a heavy downbeat began, and the four of them swayed their hips. Throwing their heads back and laughing, they moved in together, Kristen coming up close behind Kendall, and Kiki pressing her body up behind Hannah’s.

My breaths shortened as I stared, watching Kiki grind into Hannah. When my cock twitched in my jeans, I scowled, thinking it was a thousand kinds of fucked up to get turned on by anything my sister did, regardless of the woman she did it to.

“Lisa, you got this?” I didn’t glance back at her.

I couldn’t take my eyes off of Hannah. Her gaze had dropped down and locked onto mine. Expression softening, her eyes had closed halfway in sensual invitation. Then she licked her lips and moved her flattened palms from her hips over her waist and up toward her breasts

“Yeah. I’m good.”

I strode out from behind the bar as Lisa finished her reply.

A slow smile curved onto Hannah’s lips. As I came closer, she reached her arms out to me.

I clasped hands with her, pulling her away from Kiki. Kiki had the nerve to smirk before she moved over to attach herself to the back end of Kendall and Kristen’s bump-and-grind train.

Sighing, I shook my head. “You’re all gonna drive me to therapy.”

Laughter rang out from the reckless threesome, but the sounds of the club faded as I wrapped my arms around Hannah, focusing all my attention on her.

She snuggled into me, pressing her hips into my groin as we danced.

We were in full view of my sisters, but I really didn’t give a fuck. They’d messed with me tonight to get me to want to touch Hannah, so let them earn those smug looks they’d worn earlier.

I growled. “
You
are a very bad girl.”

On a slow lip bite, she looked up. “Is that a bad thing?” Her brow furrowed a fraction.

I gazed into dark eyes that began to sparkle. With the beginnings of tears?

I was usually an expert at reading people. Back as far as my memories stretched, I’d known when my sisters deceived, when a kid manipulated, when adults told white lies. In negotiations, I saw beyond ploys. When a person stood before me and “played a part” to cause a response in me, I detected their ruse the moment they began. And the woman in my arms right now? Had no idea what she did to me. Seemed to actually think she’d done something wrong.

Bending down, I buried my nose in the sweet tropical scent of her hair. “No, Hannah. It’s a wonderful thing.”

She pulled away and smiled at me, then leaned up on her toes, pressing her lips to my neck. “Good. I think I like being just a little bit bad.”

I groaned. “My sisters are a horrible influence.”

She laughed and turned around, pressing her ass into my groin, mimicking the movements she’d done with Kiki.

I sucked in a breath as she ground against my already hardening cock. Gripping her hips, I held her there, delivering back as much as she gave, no matter how much aching pressure hammered against the inside of my fly.

Her head dropped back against my chest, and she sighed, closing her eyes.

I swallowed hard, lowering my head down toward hers. “How long again do we have to wait?”

A smile lit her face, but she kept her eyes closed. “Third date. The musical rule.”

I growled low, drawn to Hannah in ways I’d never imagined. Pressing my lips along the side of her neck, I grumbled, “Damned musical rule.”

S
unday mornings were a favorite lazy ritual at my place. Mase always had Laura stay the night and well into the next day. Lately, Ben showed up about 10:30 a.m. with his new girl, Stacy. And, after another night of closing down the bar at 2:00 a.m. and stumbling into bed by 3:00 a.m., I stayed in bed until almost noon, waking to mouthwatering smells of coffee, bacon, and something cooked by one of them on the griddle. Smelled maybe like French toast this time.

I stretched as images from Friday night of a very sexy Hannah flooded into my mind. I’d dropped her off at her place early Saturday morning after closing down Loading Zone, then went home and crashed from exhaustion. And after a grueling Saturday night tending bar, with no Hannah there to brighten my mood, the idea of waking up with her became more than tempting. Too bad I couldn’t have talked her into staying the night this early in the game.

But Hannah wasn’t ready yet for a sleepover. The three-date rule proved that. And maybe I wasn’t quite all there yet either. We weren’t talking just sex here. She knew it. I knew it.

Slowly, steadily, we were getting used to the idea of taking the risk, of moving beyond our friendship, for the reward of something more. And for two people who’d been blindsided by love so horrifically, damaged almost beyond repair, the wait was necessary. The slow dance of ours had become much-needed therapy.

Grabbing another pillow, I groaned, shoving it over my face, thinking I deserved a medal of honor for what would go down in history books as legendary restraint. No, not a medal. Sainthood. You know, for the whole lack-of-sex part.

Not one logical part of me wanted anything to do with the sticky-note list of eight, however, my body begged to differ. I was used to getting sex. Often. Like four, five times a week.

Now, I’d been left to soaping myself up in the shower, thinking of Hannah. Which, I had no doubt, was nowhere near the same as Hannah in the flesh. Even so, that tattered list paled in comparison.

Unable to deny the aromas of breakfast any longer, I dragged my ass out of bed. After a few minutes in the bathroom, and the coldest water imaginable splashed on my face, I pulled some flannel pants on and stumbled into the kitchen.

Bright. It was very bright in the window-filled room. I squinted.

Four faces turned toward me and burst out laughing.

“Nice hair, Trollhead,” Mase mocked.

I shot my audience two stiff birds with a wide smile. “Good morning to you too.”

A muffin sailed through the air at my head, and I caught it. “Nice. Blueberry banana.” I stuck it on my plate and surveyed the spread. “Ha! French toast.” I shoveled the last of the still-warm food onto my plate.

“What’re you guys up to today?” I opened the fridge, grabbed the carton of orange juice, and poured it into a tall glass.

“We’re headed up to Central Park.” Mase tugged Laura onto his lap.

“Hey! I’m not done eating.” She reached for her fork, but Mase flipped it out of the way. He then proceeded to feed her by hand. With narrowed eyes, she ate from his fingers, sucking them clean while he groaned.

I chanced a seat by the other couple, the ones who didn’t look like they might bare all and fuck right there in the chair in spite of the audience. Stacy was quiet, but intelligent. Ben had gone exclusive for her, which was quite the feat. But I’d caught her occasional looks at him when she thought no one was looking, and there was something wilder that sparked there.

“Want to come?” Ben leaned back, sliding his hand under the table toward Stacy.

“Nah. I’ve got a paper due tomorrow.” My phone started ringing from my bedroom. No one ever called me this early on a Sunday. Officially, I was still sleeping. I sighed and stared at my loaded plate.

Then suddenly, I realized who it might be. I raced to my room, made it to the phone, and pressed “answer” before it rolled over to voicemail. I grinned like an idiot when I saw the ID that’d flashed on the screen.

“Hannah.” I strolled back toward the kitchen. I didn’t give a flying fuck whether or not it was rude to talk on the phone at the table. They had their girls, now I had mine.

“Hey, Cade.” Her voice was soft. Sleepy.

“You just wake up?” I sat down and folded half of a French toast slice covered in syrup and took a bite.

“Yeah.” A sexy moan filtered through the earpiece.

I chewed once more, then swallowed the lump down my throat. “Did you just stretch?”

“Mmm-hmm…”

I looked up from my plate to the sudden silence in the room and found the entire table gawking at me. I narrowed my eyes and shook my head, ignoring them.

“What are you wearing?”

I swear I could hear her smile.

“What I always wear.”

“Which is…?” I wondered if she was a flannel-pajama girl, or a T-shirt-and-boxer sleeper, or maybe naked…

Soft laughter. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you?”

For a second, I focused on the commotion at the table. There seemed to be a great debate over whose vehicle they would take on the ride up to New York: our Jeep or Ben’s Escalade.

No one paid any attention to me. “Better than me imagining the possibilities: cotton…silk…burlap…”

A long pause. “Nothing.”

“Fuck.”
Sunday mornings just shot stratospheric. On a slow exhale, my plate finally came into focus again. “I can’t wait to share a lazy Sunday morning with you.” And it wouldn’t be here at my house, either.

She hummed, but it broke midway through into a purr. Damn. I wanted to hear that sound again. My life’s mission had suddenly become: make Hannah purr.

“Lazy Sunday mornings sound nice.” Another slow moan.

I lifted a piece of crispy bacon into my mouth.

Hannah’s stretching moans silenced. “What are you doing? Are you eating?”

“Yep. That was bacon.”

Soft laughter now replaced the breathy moans.

Purrs and laughter. My favorite sounds from Hannah. I began a new list. The only list I would ever have.

The thought of lists reminded me of my calendar. “Oh, I meant to call you later today anyway. Kristen sent me an email. They want to go over the plans for our next event. Want to do dinner at Kristen’s tonight?”

Ben dropped his fork onto his plate, clanking echoing out.

“What?” Ben and Mase both shouted in protest.

Blinking, I glanced up to both of them staring at me, looking slighted.
Figures.
Take away their gourmet food source, and they became all ears.

“Shut it.” I glared at them. “You can have her Monday and Wednesday.” The comment prompted an epic inquisition from their women over the secretive dinners they’d been told nothing about. Good. Serves those meddling fuckers right.

Hannah laughed. “That the boys?”

“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes at them. “Babies.”

“Awww, I think it’s kinda cute. They’re addicted to my cooking. And yeah, I can make Kristen’s tonight after I close up the shop; I promised Chloe I’d close if she opened.”

“Good. And they are addicted. They’re also addicted to you. But not like how I am.”

She laughed. “God, I hope not.” A pause. “Because, if you recall, I don’t do foursomes.”

“Me either. I’m a twosome guy.”

“Yeah? Never a threesome? Not even once?”