He's No Prince Charming (12 page)

She wanted this way too much.

Her anger, though, simmered beneath the surface, and she could feel his own frustration in his touch, his kiss, but Dakota understood. It was simple, really. His scars were emotional as well as physical, and she knew where he was coming from. . . . When you are no longer on top, you find out who your true friends are, and they are few and far between. Trace was angry because he didn’t want to risk his heart by caring, but it was too late. Although he pretended to be a badass, she should let him know he was a big fat phony. But in order to do that she would have to quit kissing him, and she really didn’t want to stop.

The man could kiss.

Still, Dakota knew he was pissed that he couldn’t resist her, and she remained pissed that he had been such an ass, but their mutual anger only served to fuel their desire. The kiss was hot, deep, aggressive, and sexy as hell. And his half-sitting position against the pillows allowed Dakota’s breasts to slide seductively against his chest. With a groan he wrapped his big hands around her waist and lifted her up so that she rested intimately against his shaft. He felt hot and hard—big and ready.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured, low and husky in her ear. “Do you want this, Dakota?” He guided her hips so she could rub against him.

“Yes.” Dakota nodded. Her heart thumped and she ached with need, so she gripped his shoulders and watched his face while she lowered her body to his. “I want this,” she gasped at the delicious sensation of him sliding into her slick heat, inch by glorious inch. She also knew he was going slowly for her benefit, her comfort, and she was moved by his concern and her anger evaporated. He was big; she was small, and, dear God, he felt amazing.

Dakota leaned in and kissed him softly while easing her body up and then slowly back down. Trace helped her, guided her with his large hands and strong body until desire took over. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moved faster, loving the feel of warm skin over hard muscle. She moved faster, needing more of him, all of him. Dakota squeezed his shoulders while he filled her, loved her until her pleasure climbed higher, escalated, and then exploded. When she cried out, he joined her, thrusting upward, climaxing with her before pulling her head down for a long, heated kiss.

Dakota fell against his chest and he held her there. They didn’t speak, but he gently moved her to his side and pulled the covers up over them. “Are you going to stay with me?” she asked as she snuggled against him. He didn’t answer, but she felt his muscles tense. “It’s okay; you don’t have to,” she quickly added, but swallowed hard.

“I’ll stay for a little while, but then I should go,” Trace finally answered.

Not wanting him to hear the emotion in her voice, Dakota merely nodded. Sleeping with Trace Coleman probably wasn’t the smartest thing she could have done, but she refused to beat herself up about it. Tomorrow she would dust off her guitar and knuckle down to do some serious songwriting, and stay out of Trace’s way. And yet she snuggled in close, savoring the sensation of her skin next to his and knowing this might be the one and only time in his arms.

She felt the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and couldn’t resist kissing him softly on his chest. He didn’t respond, and at first Dakota thought he might be asleep, but the slight tensing of his arm curled around her let her know he was awake but didn’t want her to know it.

A hot wave of sadness washed over Dakota. She had felt so alone, so lost, for such a long time, with no one to turn to. Her parents thought all was fine, and she intended to keep it that way because of her father’s fragile health. She was a big girl and she was determined to find her way, and the last thing she needed was the entanglement of a relationship, especially with a broody, bruised, and battered cowboy who would likely fight her every step of the way.

You need each other; can heal each other
, seemed to whisper to her on the edge of the night breeze. Emotion clogged her throat, and she wanted to reach up and pull his head down for a tender kiss.

But she didn’t. Couldn’t. Instead she lay very still, hoping he would think she had dozed off. After a few minutes, she did.

Trace could tell by Dakota’s even breathing that she had fallen asleep. He kissed the top of her head, which was an oddly tender gesture for him to do and yet somehow felt right. He fully intended to ease from the bed, but she stirred, mumbled something like “Don’t go.” Or perhaps it was only his imagination. Still, he decided to stay until he could escape undetected. At least that’s what he convinced himself. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to untangle himself from her body or hold her in his arms all night long and make love to her again as the sun peeked over the horizon. No, never that.

Dakota stirred, sighed, and her warm breath caressing his chest was almost enough for him to wake her and make love to her all over again. It didn’t help that her shapely leg was tucked between his and her hand had slipped precariously close to his groin. Her scent, soft and alluring, filled his head and, although having her in his arms like this was incredibly arousing, Trace also found himself relaxing. He decided to allow himself this moment and leave then shortly thereafter, not giving a thought to falling asleep, since he often suffered from insomnia, especially if his leg ached. He’d just rest his eyes for a few minutes longer.

This wasn’t his bedroom. Um, and this wasn’t his bed. Damn. And there was a very sexy little leg entwined with his. He had fallen asleep with Dakota. Trace ran a hand down his face and turned his head and took in her sweet, sleeping form. Sometime during the night she had rolled from his chest to her own pillow, but one small hand remained on his abdomen. Her blond hair was mussed and her lips slightly parted, and damned if she wasn’t a gorgeous sight to wake up to, he thought with a reluctant smile. And he had slept like a baby. For the first time he could remember, Trace felt totally rested and relaxed. In the back of his mind he knew why, but he didn’t allow himself to go there.

Trace took in the delicate curve of her shoulder, and he had the sudden urge to reach over and caress her cheek, making him wonder where all of these damned touchy-feely urges were coming from. Balling his hand into a fist, he refrained, but then she shifted, causing the sheet to slip down her back.

“Damn,” he mumbled when the fact that she was stark naked slammed into his befuddled brain. Touchy-feely turned into touchy-he-wanted-to-jump-her-bones, and to make sure that wasn’t going to happen, he had to get out of her bed quickly and, hopefully, without waking her up. Last night had been a mistake on too many levels to count, and he needed to escape.

Trace held his breath and slowly tried to scoot away from her body, but it wasn’t easy since her leg remained entwined with his. Still, he moved, inch by inch to the side of the bed, and he was at the edge and about to put one foot onto the floor when she suddenly shifted and rolled toward him.

“Whoa!” In his surprise, Trace reacted too quickly and tumbled over the side of the bed, landing with a thump and an oath.

“What? Ohmigod, Trace?” Dakota mumbled, and leaned over the edge, rubbing sleep from her eyes and pushing hair from her face. “What happened? Did I kick you? I do weird things in my sleep.” She covered her mouth with one hand, obviously forgetting her state of undress. She had a habit of doing that, Trace thought, and might have smiled if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. “Hey, don’t worry. I’m always doing stuff like that,” she admitted with a sleepy smile, but then her eyes widened when she looked down and realized she was giving him quite a show. Of course, he was reciprocating.

Dakota scooted back under the covers. “Are you okay?” she asked in a husky, just-woke-up voice that was too damned sexy for words.

“My pride is about all that’s injured,” he admitted, and reached for his boxers that, thank God, were within reach, not that they could hide his obvious response to her nakedness.

“Thank you for staying,” she said softly, and peeked over the edge of the bed once more. A cute pink blush warmed her cheeks, and he had a hard time not hopping right back into bed with her. “Would you like some coffee? I pilfered some from the kitchen,” she offered with a bright smile that quickly faded when she read his expression.

“Dakota . . .”

She lowered her gaze and nervously plucked at the sheet wrapped around her body. “Oh, I think I get it,” she said with a frown. “You fell asleep but didn’t really have any intention of staying.” At his silence, she glanced at him briefly to see if she was correct. She licked her lips, swallowed, and then nodded in what she probably thought was a businesslike manner. “No biggie. This was just one of those”—she cleared her throat and finished—“you know, things.” She shrugged, but made the mistake of swinging her arm in a nonchalant arc, allowing the sheet to slip, baring one bodacious breast. She tugged the sheet back up, but then leaned over with her face flaming and said, “I did live in L.A., you know. In the”—she paused, as if searching her brain—“fast lane.”

“Fast lane.” He gave her a deadpan look as he sat up, and then chuckled.

“Okay, maybe not the fast lane, but definitely the middle lane.” She made a wiggling motion with her fingers, giving Trace another nice peek of skin before she caught the sheet. Then she closed her eyes. “Fine, more like the slow lane,” she admitted. She opened her eyes and looked down at him. “Look, the point I was trying to make is that I’m a big girl, Trace. I’m not going to cause any drama concerning last night. I’ll go back to the staying-out-of-your-way-and-you’ll-never-know-I’m-here plan.” She reached up and crossed her heart. “I promise this time.”

Not knowing what to say, Trace merely nodded, but when he looked up at her, he felt like an ass. It didn’t help that she appeared lost and vulnerable, with her sleep-rumpled hair, heavy-lidded eyes, and white sheet clutched white-knuckle tightly at her chin. But added to the mix was the fact that Trace could see the outline of her breasts beneath the soft cotton. It hit him hard that he knew how those breasts felt in his hands . . . tasted in his mouth, and he had to suppress a moan. Her amber eyes were wide and expressive, but way too trusting. There was no way he wasn’t going to keep tabs on her. He just wouldn’t let her know it. But that was going to be as far as it went. “Well, if you need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks. Will do. You probably need to get to work.”

“Okay, boss lady.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” She came up to her knees in the center of the bed, and damned if the sheet didn’t slide to her waist. “Oh, dammit all to hell and back!” she cursed as she scrambled to cover herself, and wrapped up like a mummy. “In case you’re wondering, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I wasn’t wondering.”

“God, I am such a train wreck!” she muttered, more to herself than to him, and then turned away as if embarrassed at her admission.

Trace hated that she felt that way, and wanted to know more about the circumstances that brought her to the marina, but asking and caring were too dangerous and so he refrained. Trace knew he had to get the hell out of there before he made some stupid mistake and fell into bed with her again. For someone as disciplined as he prided himself on being, Trace had no willpower where Dakota was concerned. He tugged on his jeans, but the location of his shirt remained a mystery.

“In the corner,” Dakota said glumly, and pointed with one finger.

“Thanks,” Trace responded, and in spite of his resolve, she managed to get to him. So while he was snapping his shirt he said, “Dakota, you’re not a train wreck.”

“Be still my heart,” she said, and snorted.

“Okay, that was lame,” he admitted. “Look, about last night—”

“You did
not
just say that.”

“What?”

“Just don’t follow with ‘I’m just not that into you.’ ”

“Dakota—”

She put a hand up in the air and sighed. “I told you I won’t cause any drama, and I truly won’t. It happened. You’re off the hook, so just go, okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, and knew he should feel relieved, but when he got outside in the warm sunshine, all he felt was an odd sense of loss. Deciding he needed some coffee to clear his head, he bypassed his office and walked in the direction of the kitchen, hoping that Sierra made this morning’s batch good and strong.