Blindsided (4 page)

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.

Her voice had grown husky, her breasts rising and falling unevenly as her breathing grew ragged. Her face showed her struggle to keep herself under control, but her body was unmistakably aroused. Nipples pushed through the wet fabric, and she unconsciously wiggled her bottom against the seat. Despite the world’s worst poker face, she was keeping some part of herself hidden away. He wanted to find it, wanted to know everything she was hiding. Right now, he’d settle for uncovering the curves hidden underneath her clothes.

Earlier, when she had grabbed his wrist, he had felt like he was being branded. Her soft skin on his had been electrifying. The heat in her gaze had told him all he needed to know. Whether she felt any of the emotional connection he could see building, she wanted him. The fact that she wanted him and wasn’t a fawning groupie was gratifying. It was nice to be a man, not some bullshit idol.

“No reason,” he said.

He turned his head to look out the window, trying to get himself back under control. Visions of putting the car in park and hauling her into the minute back seat raced through his head. They were visceral. He could practically feel the damp skin under his hands, her hard nipples against his tongue. He could almost hear her moans as she dissolved with pleasure in his arms. Good Christ, he thought, get a grip.

But the fantasy wouldn’t let go. His imagination had been reined in too long when it came to sex. Now that it had broken loose, it galloped toward the finish line. All too quickly, his mind had him easing her jeans down those slim hips, imagining her underwear. Was she the type of girl to wear a thong, or did she go for basic, cotton underwear? It didn’t frigging matter. On her lush body, a girdle would look erotic.

Okay, time to calm himself down before he got any more erect. His woody was already uncomfortable in his pants. He didn’t need it trying to shove itself out into the world. Especially when he his mind had no intention of letting it get its way.

Afraid to look at her again, Nate glanced around the interior of the car. As a diversionary tactic, it didn’t work very well. Sure, it distracted him from her body, her utterly feminine scent, but it brought out his protective instincts. How could she drive this thing? It was no wonder her brother gave her shit. It was ready to fall apart. The floor under his feet felt mushy, never a good sign, and the upholstery was torn to hell.

The rear view mirror was attached to the windshield with duct tape had to impair her vision and the glove compartment door was hanging by the light cable. If the inside looked like this, what the hell did the engine look like? Or the transmission? He was itching to rebuild the thing. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d dated dozens of women in his life and rebuilt dozens of cars, but he’d never mixed dating and mechanics. This didn’t seem like a good sign.

Rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Nate felt very old. He wanted to protect her, to get her into something a little safer, perhaps a tank.

He had never felt old in comparison to a woman before, but he was twelve years her senior. The groupies had always been on the young side and never cared about much besides the status of sleeping with a rock star. But as something other than a famous name or an image, age did matter. He wished to god he were 28 so he had a shot with her. Hell, he’d take 32.

She was still so full of the kind of passion and drive he’d lost somewhere along the way. In his songs, Nate sounded like a young man angry at the system, but Nate was starting to wonder who The Man was and why he was so pissed at him. His newer songs were more introspective, but his younger fans didn’t relate to them.

Chelsea seemed to have the same sort of contemplative streak that he had developed over the years. Her mind was constantly working. Her combination of maturity and innocence was so appealing, so intoxicating. She wasn’t cynical, wasn’t naïve. Hard but soft. If that wasn’t sensual, he didn’t know what was.

Not that any of those things mattered to his dick at the moment, but they mattered to his head. All his dick cared about, hell, all any of his body cared about was the way her milky white skin flushed when she looked at him. He liked the way she fidgeted, unable to get comfortable in her seat. There was a reason it was called hot and bothered and she was both.

Nate dared a glance back at her, at her breasts and her flat stomach. Not helping the erection department. He dragged his eyes up to her face. Another bad idea. Her green eyes had darkened and she was alternately gnawing on and licking her lower lip. Oh Jesus, Nate thought. I have to get her into bed. His fantasizing was taking a whole new turn now, featuring Chelsea’s pink tongue.

No more one night stands. That was his rule, and he had to stick by it. But with their ages, their lives, how could this be anything more?

###

Oh no, Chelsea thought, you cannot, will not do this. Her body, however, was staging a coup. Since he’d started looking at her like she was dinner, all of her nerve endings had gone on high alert. The muscle in his jaw worked tensely and Chelsea knew just what he was thinking. It sounded pretty darn good right about now. Damp skin, hot, steamy car. It wasn’t rocket science. It was chemistry, pure and simple.

With no fat to cover them, Nate’s muscles looked deliciously hard and sleek. She had practically gone into mourning when he’d put a shirt on earlier. His tattoos added interest to his body, rather than distracting from it. So overwhelmingly male, he was a perfect counterpoint to her own feminine softness. Angles and curves, firmness and suppleness. Her femininity had never felt very prominent to her, but now she felt like the old fashioned pin-up girl tattooed on Nate’s forearm.

She would melt under him, simply give way to his hardness. The thought struck with visceral force. His body over hers, strong hands stroking her skin. It was so real, she could feel the calluses on his fingers catch on the lace of her bra.

As they pulled to closer to the house, Chelsea’s body came up with a way to get what it wanted. It just couldn’t give up the real thing without trying to override her mind. Sure, she had given up on dating bad boys, on anyone with more than a cursory familiarity with tattoo parlors, street fights or motorcycles. But dating and sex weren’t the same thing.

Just a quick roll in the hay, no messy feelings, her body assured her mind, just sex. She would only be in town a few more weeks anyway and a one night stand would probably help her overall stress level. Bad boys without the pain. It was the perfect plan. With its superior blood supply, her body quickly trounced her mind.

By the time they had reached the house and she had put the car in park, Chelsea’s body had convinced her that a fling with Nate was crucial to her recovery. Her body needed to heal, and if her heart didn’t get involved, it had no way to get broken.

Then the practical concerns hit. She had never come onto a man for purely sexual reasons before and wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. Did one just jump right in, or was it better to announce your intentions first? Just the thought of one night with Nate made her heart flutter uncontrollably. Her head felt light and airy while the rest of her body tingled with anticipation. At least all this masked her anxiety. Now her heart was racing, but it felt enlivening, not scary.

Neither of them moved to get out of the car. Chelsea’s mouth went dry when his blue eyes narrowed and he shifted his weight in the seat. One well muscled shoulder moved closer to her own. She could feel a sizzle in the inch between their skin and for the first time in her life, she believed in auras.

“Now you’re looking at me funny,” he said.

At the sound of his voice, like gravel coated in molasses, something tightened deep inside Chelsea. She had to do this or never sleep again, never eat again. She wanted him so much now it was like a fever. They stared at each other across the space of the tiny car.

After a long, tense moment, Nate shook his head and stared at the ceiling. He let out a breath in a low rumble that implied frustration, but when he returned his gaze to hers it was with the same resolution that Chelsea felt. Her breath stopped in her throat as she realized they had reached the same conclusion.

“If I read this wrong, feel free to slap me,” Nate said as he leaned closer.

###

Nate pushed a lock of Chelsea’s hair behind her ear, then let his fingers trail lightly cheek. He hoped he didn’t get slapped. It wouldn’t hurt, but he really wanted this to be mutual. Lust usually was, right? Lust didn’t quite explain why after two years of easy abstinence he was suddenly close to exploding with sexual need. Her lips came apart under the touch of his thumb, her eyelids sinking a little lower. No slap seemed forthcoming.

She opened her lips wider, her tongue flicking out to tickle the pad of his thumb, the wet softness of it igniting him further. He was in a delicious haze, the edges of his surroundings blurry. The only thing clear was her. Her teeth nipped his thumb and drew it further into her mouth, enveloping it in moist heat. Christ. He withdrew his thumb gently and grinned in satisfaction as she whimpered a protest.

Obscured by the lusty haze that filled him, his brain tried desperately to get through to him. This was going to lead to exactly the type of thing he had been avoiding, it said. The thought made the haze dissipate, but only a little. Damn it, he had given these meaningless flings up for a reason. When they were over, they just made him feel more alone and he was sick of feeling that way. He was too frigging old.

His doubts eased his physical reaction to her somewhat, and he studied her face. Green eyes dark with lust studied him, confusion at his hesitance mixing with her obvious desire. She wasn’t a groupie, he reminded himself. She was interesting, she was funny and she had no preconceived ideas about him. There was no reason this even had to be a one night stand, no reason he had to be alone at the end. After satisfying their nearly overwhelming desire, they might find something more durable then chemistry.

For the first time in 38 years, Nate found himself thinking of that odd R word, relationship. He’d heard that was what women wanted anyway. His mind appeased, it fell silent.

The decaying upholstery and the wet driveway disappeared as Nate’s mind went blank. His body reasserted control, his desire to have this woman
right now
flaring in him with alarming strength. Winding his fingers into the hair at the back of her neck, he pulled her close and brought his mouth down on hers. He tried to suppress his urgency somewhat, to inject more tenderness than he was feeling. The confused look on her face faded under surprise as he teased her mouth farther open with his tongue. He shut his eyes and wished he could stop feeling like he was drowning.

###

He had taken his sweet time before kissing her, studying her face for so long she thought she would scream. But it was worth the wait, the world tilting around her when his lips crushed against hers. They were soft, gentle but persuasive. If she hadn’t been sure she wanted to sleep with him, the first touch of his lips would have changed her mind. Surrounded by his scent, his strong hand gripping her neck possessively, he was stirring erotic feelings she didn’t know were possible. Her spleen was aroused, for heaven’s sake.

His tongue slipped along hers, exploring, tasting. She moaned into his mouth and shifted in her seat. Just as she had predicted, she was melting. Her insides were turning to hot liquid that settled in the bowl of her pelvis. She rocked a little in her seat, mindlessly needing pressure on the center of her growing need.

Nate broke away after a few heady moments and Chelsea instantly felt bereft. In such a short time, she had grown used to the heat and pressure of his lips. As if sensing her need, he replaced his lips with his thumb. With his other hand, he reached up and pulled the pen out of her makeshift bun, letting her hair tumble around her shoulders.

“You’re so beautiful,” Nate whispered as he ran his fingers through the strands. “Do you want to go inside?”

Chelsea heard his words as if they were coming through a heavy quilt. Her skin was alive, tingling, but the rest of her senses were blunted by her desire and she had to struggle to understand him. Putting together the meaning of his words, she looked dubiously at the hundred yards or so to the house. It was raining again and the car seemed even cozier. Make it into the house without her hands on him? She didn’t think so.

She looked at the backseat, head filled with visions of impossibly entangled bodies, twining limbs slick with sweat.

“I’m kind of tall for the backseat of a VW, babe,” he said, never taking his thumb off her mouth, reading her thoughts.

She drew her lip and his thumb into her mouth, massaging his thumb with her tongue. It had worked wonders before. If she couldn’t make it into the house, she had to make the feeling mutual. She smirked smugly when Nate groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Fine, the backseat,” the words coming out in a growl.

Chelsea gave him a triumphant grin and climbed gracefully into the backseat. He looked back at her and shook his head. “I’m 38 and about to have sex in the back seat of a VW Rabbit. Where did I go wrong?”

Rather than climb over, Nate got out and pushed the front seat forward to climb into the back.

“Come here,” he said as he grabbed Chelsea by the waist and pulled her onto his lap. Chelsea had thought his kisses were enough to send her over the edge. His hands on her body were nearly magical. She wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, stroking the muscle and tendon beneath his skin. His fingers gently pulled the wet, clingy fabric of her sweater from her warm skin and traced delicate patterns on the skin of her stomach. All the while, he kissed her with such intensity that she couldn’t think straight.

She urgently needed to explore his skin as well. Pulling up his shirt, her fingers found the hard muscle of his chest and stomach. As her hand drifted lower, to the waistband of his jeans, Nate stopped her and pulled her hand up to his mouth, breaking off their kiss. Chelsea looked at him, bewildered, her mouth throbbing pleasantly from the intense kiss and the gentle scratching of his stubble. She had dissolved into need. All that mattered was getting him naked, getting herself naked.