Dirty Distractions Read online

  If relaxed meant gripping the arms of her chaise as if the chair was all that stood between her and certain death.

  “You’re being stubborn. Want me to ask him? He even owns a tux. Cleans up pretty well too.”

  Brad and a tux were a recipe for disaster. Naked disaster. “Thanks, but I’m sure I can—”

  To her surprise, Kim frowned and waved a hand, cutting her off. “Are you fighting with him? Is that why he’s not here?”

  “Of course not. Why would we fight? We have nothing to fight about.” Even Sara thought her laughter sounded forced. Okay, I give in. Wave temptation in a tux in my face. I can take it. “Fine. I’ll ask Brad. He might be busy, but I’ll ask.”

  “Good. And I bet he’ll be happy to come.”

  Her mind shot into a bad place at that particular statement. She popped to her feet before Kim noticed her constricted expression. A red-blooded woman could only disguise so much.

  “We’ll see. But I promise I’ll ask.”

  “Great. I think the four of us will have fun.” Kim rose and handed Sara one of the bags of groceries.

  The storm clouds had already cleared from Kim’s eyes. She really did just want everyone to get along. To be one big, happy, sexually charged family.

  Well, maybe not the last part.

  It wasn’t as if Brad lived across town. He slept feet away from her own bed, separated by a few flimsy walls. If they…came together, she’d have to face him every day across the toaster. And she’d be damned if her actions caused her to leave before she was ready.

  Sara sighed and juggled the paper sack, noticing the box of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies sticking out of the top. She grinned. Her best friend knew her too well. “It will be fun,” she agreed, renewing her vow not to let anything ruin the good thing she had going.

  She could handle Brad O’Halloran.

  Brad didn’t check his messages until he returned home later that night. He’d skipped painting the porch—and watching Sara sashay around in next to nothing—in favor of heading down to Harley’s Bar. He’d spent most of the evening there, drinking a couple of beers, watching the game. A few times he’d caught women giving him the eye, which upped his mood even if he had no intention of pursuing any of them.

  It wasn’t as if he collected phone numbers for rainy days, but he couldn’t say he minded attention occasionally. He knew he wasn’t the most gorgeous guy around. Fine by him. He’d never wanted to be some pretty boy who was afraid to get his hands dirty. He spent every day up to his elbows in grease and didn’t bother with his appearance beyond regular haircuts.

  He reached back to brush his fingers over his raggedy ends. Speaking of which, he needed to take care of that soon.

  Long hair, car grease, nights spent shooting pool and drinking longnecks. No wonder Sara wouldn’t look at him twice. They were as different as—

  He didn’t even have an analogy for how different they were. She would. She always had a smart comeback or a sassy comment. Any guy unprepared around her would be left in the dust.

  Rubbing his eyes, he fumbled through his texts. And saw Sara’s name.

  When you get home, stop by my room.

  His palm immediately dampened. How annoying. She made him feel like a teenager again, completely unsure of his moves. Worse, like he didn’t have any moves. Those girls at the bar didn’t make him feel like that. Yet he kept returning to the same damn well again and again.

  Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was that her brain was as sexy as her amber eyes.

  Or maybe it was the bikini.

  Brad grinned and pocketed his phone as he stepped down from his truck. The bikini definitely weighed in.

  He entered the house without making any attempt for quiet, forgetting it was heading toward eleven. His sister never stayed up too late unless she had a guy over. Since there were no strange cars in the drive, he guessed she was alone.

  Sara never brought men home. After her assertion today about how much she’d seen and done—not a subject he wanted to dwell on overmuch—he had to think she was keeping her male friends away from the house intentionally. The question was why. It was her place too, for as long as she was staying there. She could have anyone over she wanted. He couldn’t guarantee the guy would leave in the same condition he’d arrived in, but she could’ve invited him anyway.

  Except she didn’t.

  If he were an optimistic sort, he’d think that meant maybe his preoccupation wasn’t one-sided. But she’d tossed enough disdainful looks his way he had to conclude she didn’t want to step on his sister’s toes.

  She wasn’t shy. If she wanted him, she would’ve gone for it. For whatever reason, the sex bug that had nipped him in the ass the first time she’d smiled at him and announced herself as Dr. Carmichael hadn’t bitten her as well. And that was too damn bad.

  He swung by the kitchen on his way up to Sara’s room and snatched two golden apples out of the basket on the counter. One thing he and Sara had in common was a fondness for midnight snacks, though their usual choices were greasy and laden with calories. But he didn’t really feel like digging around for a bag of chips or searching through his sister’s chocolate stash. The apples would suffice.

  After a moment’s debate, he headed to his room first to change into his well-worn pajama pants. It was the same thing he wore when the three of them got together for movie night, and Sara had never blinked twice. Of course he’d never been alone with her in her room late at night either.

  First time for everything.

  He palmed the apples and headed down the hall, unsurprised to feel his heart thudding in his chest. Anticipation rose inside him, hot and irrepressible. What would she be wearing? Probably her usual bedtime outfit of boxers and a snug T-shirt. In theory, completely unsexy. On her, they made him stone-hard in seconds.

  She had one hell of a sweet body. Not too curvy, not slight. Long legs, nice breasts. Some guys might have seen her as average, but those guys sure weren’t him.

  Brad knocked on her closed door, briefly wondering where his sister was. Not that it mattered. This would be a quick chat, not some sort of loud, erotic sexfest.

  Unfortunately.

  “Come in,” Sara called.

  He stepped inside her spacious bedroom. The room appeared the same way it always did. Tidy and classically stylish, full of the antiques his mother had spent so many hours collecting at estate sales. The lights were low, casting a soft glow on the small woman huddled, sans book, surrounded by pillows in the center of the enormous bed. He’d expected her to be reading under the covers. More than once he’d walked past her open door and caught a glimpse of her with her face in a book, reading glasses perched on her nose. So cute. But tonight she hunched under the sheet, the high collar of a nightgown encircling her neck.

  “Sara?”

  “Don’t come closer.” She fumbled for a tissue from the box on the nightstand, getting it to her nose just as she sneezed. “Sorry. Sick.”

  “Since when? I saw you this afternoon.”

  “Must be some kind of tsunami virus or something. Knocked me on my ass at dinner.”

  He set down the apples on her nightstand and reached for the light blanket tossed on the rocker beside the bed. Late August in Pennsylvania could be unpredictable, and tonight had turned cool. “Here,” he said, draping the blanket around her shivering shoulders. “Want me to turn up the heat?”

  “No, you and Kim will roast. I’m fine. God, what a pain.” She grabbed her glass of water, knocking off her box of cold meds in the process. “I can’t be sick this week.”

  “Yeah, the sanctuary will have to close if you’re not there for a couple days.” He sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed down the blanket, avoiding the temptation to keep touching her. Even through thick layers of cotton, her body proved almost too much for him. Her eyes couldn’t quite focus, her cheeks were pink with the beginnings of a fever and she’d pulled her long, brown hair up in the messiest topknot he’d ever seen.
She was still the most beautiful woman he knew.

  She sneezed again and rubbed her eyes, looking positively woeful. “It’s a super busy week. We have the big fundraiser coming up. Which is why I texted you, by the way.”

  She sounded a little stuffy. Absolutely adorable. He grinned. “Need a date?” he asked, hoping it was true.

  “Not a date,” she said hurriedly. “Just someone to go with me. Kim insisted it be you,” she added.

  He reached for his apple and crunched it, watching the way her gaze lingered on his mouth. He chewed slowly, licking his lips between bites. “If Kim insisted, I think I’m busy.”

  “Come on, Brad. I didn’t mean that.” She glanced at the other apple. “Is that for me?”

  “Mmm-hmm. You look kind of weak. Want me to feed it to you?”

  She laughed, though her laughter soon turned into a pitiful cough. “How can you feed me an apple?” she asked, her voice scratchier—and sexier—than normal.

  “Allow me to demonstrate.” Without reaching for her apple, he leaned in and lifted his to her mouth, raising his brows when she shot him a questioning glance. “Now you take a bite.”

  “I have germs.”

  “I love Sara germs,” he said, nudging her chin with the apple.

  Shaking her head, she grinned. “Fine. Don’t cry to me when you get sick too.” She took a quick bite and drew back, lapping up the droplets of juice that slipped over her full lips. “Dammit, I can barely taste it.”

  “You didn’t get enough.” He bit in and turned his head, lowering his face to hers. Her eyes widened. “Open up,” he murmured, slanting his mouth over hers before she had time to argue.

  Her lips parted, and he tasted a hint of cherry cough syrup before their tongues tangled in the briefest, hottest kiss of his life. She accepted the apple and swallowed, her tongue retreating from his too fast. He chased after it, licking the inside of her mouth with tender strokes designed to cause her to relax. Again her tongue slid against his, almost as if she were collecting the last of the juice. Then she pushed him away, gently but firmly.

  “I’m sick,” she reminded him, her warm breath puffing against his cheek.

  “So you keep reminding me.” He returned to his apple, hiding his smile at the sound of her forced breathing. Unaffected? Not hardly. “Want more?”

  “Of the apple or you?”

  “Whichever.” His gaze roamed her face. “A minute ago you looked cold. Now you look too warm. Wonder how that happened?”

  “Brad,” she said, her tone weak and soft. “I can’t deal with you when I’m loopy on cold meds.”

  “You could try going with it.”

  “Going with what?”

  “Letting me take care of you.” And he didn’t just mean by offering her tissues. He set aside the apple and motioned for her to move. “Shove over.”

  “You want to get in bed with me?”

  “Thought that was obvious.” She rolled her eyes but, shockingly, she didn’t protest. She shifted onto her side as he settled in and turned his cheek toward hers on the pillow. “There. That’s not too scary, is it?”

  “I’m not scared of you.” Her soft scoff contrasted with the wary expression she wore as she worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Much.”

  “Finally she tells the truth.” He traced his fingertip over her temple. “I’m almost thirty.”

  She smiled, but her eyes remained serious. “Thanks for the update.”

  He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her face, driven to keep touching her until he somehow found a way through the stubborn shell guarding her heart. And all the rest of her. “I come with good references.”

  “Oh yeah? Who?”

  “Not my ex, that’s for sure. But I have a business. I’m financially solvent, responsible, good with birds,” he added when Telly, Sara’s conure, sent out a series of chirps from his cage in the corner of the room. “I’m also excellent with my hands.”

  She made a clucking noise and looked at him from under her thick fringe of lashes. “As if you’d say otherwise.”

  “I’m a mechanic. Making things hum is my specialty.”

  “Right.” She yawned and snuggled into the pillows, still watching him through hazy eyes. “Are you going to come to the fundraiser with me?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if you admit you really want me to come.” It was a gamble, one he hoped paid off.

  She whisked her tongue along her upper lip. “I’m too tired to want anyone to come. Even me.”

  “Dr. Carmichael, that sounded suspiciously like flirtation.”

  “Cold medicine,” she mumbled, arching as his hand strayed to her back. He circled his palm over her spine, his pulse bumping as she let out a quiet sigh. “That feels good. I’m so achy. It’ll be time for me to take more meds soon.” She groaned. “If I live that long.”

  “I have a better idea. How about a massage?”

  “Why do I have a feeling there’s only one answer you’ll accept?”

  “Because you’re smart as well as sexy.” He kissed the tip of her nose and continued stroking her back, pressing his fingertips into tight muscles. “You’re awfully tense.”

  “Hello, I’m in bed with my best friend’s brother.”

  He laughed, low and appreciative. At least she hadn’t called him little again. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you think of me as Brad? Just Brad. Kim’s not in this bed with us.”

  “Thank God.”

  Brad shifted closer, his palm spanning the small of her back. She was compact and lithe, a powerhouse in a petite package. She wasn’t an overgrown girl incapable of taking care of herself. This was a woman, a competent adult who didn’t play games.

  At least, she didn’t play games he wouldn’t enjoy.

  “You feel good,” he said quietly, sliding his fingers lower until they rubbed over the swell of her ass. Even when disguised by her decidedly unsexy nightgown, the sensuous curves of her body caused a definite stirring between his legs. His cock didn’t care if she was sick, that was for certain. “You must work out.”

  “Nah, my only semi-regular exercise is sex,” she said with a hint of a smile.

  He cupped her ass and stared deep into her eyes, expecting her to put on the brakes sooner rather than later. “You don’t have it here.”

  She moved against him restlessly, as if she’d realized they were nestled together. “It’s not my house.”

  “It is while you’re living here.” Unable to help himself, he eliminated the distance between them and arrowed his tongue along her lower lip, asking for the entrance he’d simply taken moments before.

  She kept her eyes on his as her lips opened, her tongue snaking out to guide him in for a quick play of flesh-on-flesh. He didn’t expect a torrent of passion, not in her condition. But he also didn’t expect the rush of warmth that descended over him when she sighed again and sidled lower to lay her head against his chest. “You’re a good kisser.”

  “You too.” After he reached over and turned out the bedside lamp, he stroked her back, sliding his hand up to feather his fingertips over the exposed skin above the nightgown’s collar. “You should get some sleep. Try to shake off this cold.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She swallowed audibly. “Are you as good a kisser everywhere?”

  Still rocked by getting somewhere—anywhere—with her, he didn’t understand her question at first. In the intimate dark of her bedroom, it would be easy to ascribe a husky timbre to her tone that wasn’t there. “What exactly are you asking me?” he questioned, his voice strained from the unrelenting pressure in his cock.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Sara.” He lifted her face to his. Even though he couldn’t see her eyes in the darkness, he brought their faces close until their mouths hovered a hairsbreadth apart. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I can’t.” She groaned. “God, I’m not used to feeling uncertain like this.”

  “
You don’t have to be. No one else needs to know what happens here between us.” He rubbed his thumb over her mouth and inhaled deeply as her soft, wet lips enveloped it. “Tell me,” he said as she released him.

  “What if I show you?”

  Now he was the one to swallow hard. Could she hear his heart throbbing in his chest? “Okay.”

  She slipped away, putting space between their bodies. Then she tugged down the sheet and yanked up the hem of her nightgown, giving him a glimpse of long legs and smooth skin in the faint moonlight. He waited as she hiked up the fabric, trying not to pant. Whatever she wanted, he hoped like hell he could last long enough to give it to her.

  “Your mouth,” she said, grabbing his hand and sliding it between her thighs. Her wet thighs. “Put it here.”

  He was dreaming. He had to be. This afternoon when he’d left, Sara hadn’t seemed interested. She’d flushed when he guided her hand to his cock, true. She’d even let out a little gasp. But he never could have fathomed the day would end like this.

  “Is this the cold medicine talking?” he asked hoarsely, afraid he didn’t care.

  “No. I’m thinking clearly. Mostly. But I…I’m not up for full sex. Is that a problem?”

  Brad slid down the mattress so fast that she laughed. “Do you go commando all the time in bed or is this a special occasion?”

  “Since I often wear thongs, I don’t like to wear anything at night.” Her tone turned flirty. “I could slip on a pair, if you have some ritual that involves taking them off with your teeth…”

  Thongs? Really? Now he’d have that in his head every time he saw her. And every time he didn’t. Pretty much every day, always.

  “Intriguing idea, but no. This more than works for me.” He shifted around on the bed until he could wedge his head between her thighs and suck in a breath full of Sara. Damn, she smelled good. How many times had he fantasized about eating her out while he stroked one off in the shower? Now here she was, her hot pussy inches from his eager mouth, the erotic aroma making him lightheaded.