Impulsive
Authors: Jeana E. Mann
Felony Romance Series
Intoxicated
Unexpected
Vindicated
Impulsive
Drift
Sway (Release Fall 2015)
Linger (Release Fall 2015)
This book may be read as a standalone, but you will find it more enjoyable if you read the series in order. I hope you enjoy the ride!
Chapter 1
While Tasha Gretzky peeled potatoes in the kitchen, the mental image of Luke Jameson’s naked body, covered in soapsuds, water running in rivulets over his lean torso, ignited heat in her deepest recesses. The bathroom door opened, and Luke emerged in all his glorious hotness.
Oh, yeah. Mashed potatoes. Right.
“Smells good.” Luke’s voice washed over her, deep and smooth like hot buttered rum.
The knife slipped and nearly sliced her finger. After a cleansing exhale, she laid it flat on the cutting board. The woodsy scents of shower gel and deodorant drifted on the air. One of her bath towels hung low on his hips, exposing the sexy V pointing down, down, down to the prize inside. A long-fingered hand clutched the towel together, snowy-white cotton contrasting against his bronzed skin. Drops of water clung to his rippled abs and shone like crystals on the smattering of curly black chest hair. She shivered. He was delicious.
He was also her best friend.
“Thanks for letting me use your shower,” he said.
God bless Luke’s incompetent landlord. The day his pipes burst was one of the happiest days in her life. For the past week, he’d been over to shower every day. This afternoon, he’d arrived sweaty and flushed from a ten-mile run. Life was pretty freaking good.
“No problem,” she replied. “You’re welcome anytime, but I have to ask…” The question had perched on her lips for days. “Why don’t you shower at Rachel’s?”
He shrugged. “It’s over.”
This revelation deserved her full attention. Rachel had fronted the list of a long line of girls waiting to snag Luke’s elusive heart. And there had been many, many others.
“I hope you let her down easy.”
“I always do.” He sauntered over to the stove and stood in front of her, a little too close. The heat from his body pebbled the skin along her bare shoulders.
“I swear you change girlfriends more often than I change my underwear,” she teased. “Ever consider settling down with just one?”
“Absolutely. As soon as I meet a special girl.” Somber eyes met and held hers. “What about you, Miss Serial Dater? You haven’t had a boyfriend since I met you. Don’t you ever think about getting married? Having kids?”
Although Luke’s list of girlfriends was long, he was an unquestionable monogamist. He devoted himself to each girl, taking them on romantic walks along the canal, quiet dinners at classy restaurants, and was—in Tasha’s opinion—too good for any of them. After a few weeks or months, he invariably grew tired of them and broke it off for reasons he never shared. To her knowledge, he’d never cheated, never even looked at another girl during those relationships. Not once. A man with morals was a rare thing in Tasha’s life, and she respected the hell out of him for it.
“I don’t do relationships.” This sentence summed up her dating philosophy. No relationships. No commitments. No broken promises. “I will never make that mistake.”
“Never say never.”
Luke moved to stand beside her. His shoulder brushed against hers, bare skin to bare skin. Desire tickled along her spine like the touch of a feather. Her fingers curled into fists, fighting back the urge to slide her hand over the swell of his bicep. She shouldn’t. They were friends. Sex complicated everything, created feelings, stirred emotions, and ruined friendships.
But I want him.
Somewhere between playing video games and watching him emerge from her shower, he’d gone from platonic buddy to fuckable sex god. The transition had been imperceptible, but today it reared its head, full grown and insistent.
“You know, not every relationship ends in heartbreak, Tash.” His fingertip skimmed along her temple, brushing a rebellious tendril of hair from her face.
“I don’t know how you do it. How you manage to remain friends with your exes.”
“I don’t fuck around on my girlfriends,” he said, dipping a finger into the gravy and popping it into his mouth. “If I’m with a girl, I’m with her until it’s over, and she knows it. You, on the other hand, are like a weapon of mass destruction, laying waste to the land and scattering body parts everywhere.”
“I don’t believe in relationships. Someone always cheats. Someone always gets hurt.”
A hundred different reasons existed for her, but how could she explain all the others to him? He came from a solid family whose parents loved each other to distraction, not a chaotic mess like hers.
“Maybe we should be lovers. I’m between girlfriends. You’re in an epic dry spell.” The rich sound of his voice enveloped her like an embrace. He leaned down to her ear. The puff of his breath against the delicate shell raised gooseflesh along her neck. “Ever think about it?”
No, but I’m thinking about it now.
One deep dimple punctuated his smile. He cocked an eyebrow and lowered the edge of his towel enough to reveal the sharp cut of muscle below his hip. Cocky bastard. Her pulse leaped and skittered like a leaf on a fall breeze. Smiles like his would be her undoing. Smiles like his made her forget her rule about friends.
“Behave,” she chided, and tried not to lose herself in the amber depths of his eyes.
He turned his attention to the stove. “How long until it’s done? I’m starving.”
“Half an hour, more or less,” she replied. “More if you don’t get out of my kitchen.”
The towel slid lower when he leaned forward to sniff the bubbling pot of chicken and dumplings. She dipped the spoon into the pot and offered him a bite. His hand wrapped around hers to steady the utensil. He pursed his lips and blew on the liquid to cool it, his gaze never leaving hers. When his mouth closed over the spoon and he hummed approval, she melted inside.
“You’re a culinary goddess,” he said. He released her hand, fingertips gliding over her skin, sending tiny explosions of pleasure in their wake.
“Are you high?” she asked. “Or just horny? You must be high, because you’re talking crazy today.”
He laughed. “High? Never. Horny? Always. And hungry,” he added as an afterthought. “But you’re going to take care of me, right?”
The double entendre stole away her breath. This new, sexually aggressive Luke curled her toes inside her combat boots. He’d always been affectionate—a touch on the shoulder here, a kiss on the forehead there—but lately, those gestures had a different effect on her. Attraction and trepidation had her head spinning and her hormones rocketing.
“Half an hour,” he mused. “Plenty of time.”
“You’re serious?”
“Completely.”
The possibility of a real hookup had never occurred to her. Aside from their part-time jobs at Felony Bar, they had little in common. He was a graphic artist, reliable, and steadfast. She moonlighted as a tattoo artist and waitress, flitting from job to job and lover to lover.
He fingered one of the braids in her hair. “Pink today? What happened to the blue?” The touch of his fingers brought a rush of tingles deep in her core.
“Just an impulse, I guess.”
“What color is your hair really?” he asked.
“You’ll never know,” she replied, throwing his flirty tone back at him.
“I want to be one of your impulses,” Luke said. He flipped the end of the braid across the tip of her nose and flashed another smile, turning her knees to liquid. Their eyes met again, and this time there was no mistaking the heat in them.
Desire and need clenched low in her belly. Self-restraint had never been one of her strong suits. She believed in grabbing life by the balls and riding it to the limit, living each day like it was the last and never looking back. Only respect for Luke and their friendship kept her from acting on it.
“You couldn’t handle it, Jameson,” she said. Her nostrils filled with the scent of his deodorant and the zest of shower gel. She placed her hands flat on his chest to push him back. Wiry black hairs tickled her palms. God, he was hard and warm, still damp from the shower. A delicious tingle traveled from her fingertips, up her arms, and settled between her thighs.
“Try me,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear.
Rationalizations shuffled through her thoughts like cards in a deck. Why not? A quick fuck might alleviate the sexual tension stretched between them, taut and thickening by the second. It sounded fun. Harmless. Reckless in the best possible way. No expectations. No awkward morning after. Just sex.
“Hell, yeah. I’m in,” she whispered.
“It’ll be our secret. Right?” Teeth nipped the column of her neck. His voice rumbled between them, his words exciting her in a way she hadn’t known possible.
“Yes,” she said. How could she turn him down with his hard body pressing against hers? She could barely string two words together when he touched her. He was new and familiar, all at the same time, blending the best of both worlds together beneath a towel.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t fuck you right here, against the counter.”
One of his hands travelled up her bare thigh and traced the hem of her flirty skirt. Shivers of delight jolted up her leg. She pressed a kiss into his warm skin. He tasted sweet and salty. With his hands on her, she couldn’t think of anything but getting more. More hands. More lips. More Luke.
“I can’t think of any,” she said against his neck. “Except someone is knocking at the front door.”
Chapter 2
Sunday dinners had become a tradition with the Felony Bar staff. They were a motley crew of misfits, but over the past few months, their friendship had blossomed until they were more than co-workers. They were family.
This week Tasha played hostess to the owners, bartenders, bouncers, and waitresses. She loved to cook and looked forward to the gatherings with an excitement she’d never admit, planning the menu weeks in advance and shopping for the freshest ingredients. Today, the savory aromas of chicken and dumplings, mashed potatoes, fresh bread, and apple pie filled the apartment. She was a vegetarian but varied the menu for Luke. His moans of culinary delight made it worthwhile.
Her mind raced on a libidinous tangent. Did he moan during sex? Would he make her moan?
Stop it, Gretzky
. A deep, cleansing breath refocused her thoughts.
You have an apartment full of friends and an entire meal at stake. Pull it together.
Randy Mackenzie’s deep voice boomed through the hallway, followed by the laughter of his girlfriend, Karly. They spilled into the small kitchen, their smiles and genuine happiness lifting Tasha’s spirits. She wiped her hands on her Hello Kitty apron and turned to greet them as a pair of chubby arms wrapped around her knees. Sparkling gray eyes beamed up at her from a head of curly red hair. She scooped the little boy into her arms and peppered his face with kisses until he giggled.
“How’s my boyfriend today?” she asked Randy’s son, Caleb.
His freckled cheeks flushed red. “Can I have a cookie?” Spying the ceramic jar on the counter filled with sweets, he wiggled to escape her embrace.
“Maybe after dinner,” Karly said. Her daughter, Emma, hung back at her side. Karly smoothed a loving hand over the girl’s riotous curls.
“That’s my sister,” Caleb whispered proudly into Tasha’s ear. “Daddy and Karly got married.”
