16. Sixteen

Sixteen

Nell knew it was a mistake.

No, worse than that—so much worse. It was the most calamitous, catastrophic, self-destructive mistake she could possibly make. This was crazy. She was crazy. She couldn't let Whit O'Rourke kiss her!

But oh, god, she wanted him to. Wanted it so badly she could scarcely think.

Quickly, she tried to rationalize it. Maybe it would be a bad kiss. Or even just mediocre. She'd spent so much time building it up in her head—what it would be like to kiss him, what it would feel like—that reality couldn't possibly compare. All that smolder of his would fizzle out the second their lips touched. And what infatuation could survive such a massive disappointment? One kiss, and she'd be cured.

Anyway, she had a head injury. She wasn't accountable for her actions. He was taking advantage of her vulnerable state with all that talk of pelvises and chemistry. Completely unethical of him.

Even she couldn't quite believe that one.

The truth was, she had no one to blame but herself. She knew it was a mistake.

And she did it anyway.

When Whit bent to kiss her, she didn't even try to resist. She was right there, meeting him, her mouth just as hungry as his, her traitorous hips pushing against him while her hands crept up his shoulders to curl around his neck, keeping him pinned. Cool fingertips met hot skin. The very air between them sizzled. And she knew instantly that she had been wrong, so wrong. There was nothing mediocre about this kiss.

It was the sort of kiss that wasn't just mouths or lips. The moment they made contact, Nell felt it everywhere. Every inch of her skin tingled with it, every nerve ending a live wire, fully charged, ready to spark. How something that started so soft could be so seductive, she didn't know, but from the first brush of his lips against hers, she felt herself melting. She clutched at him desperately, the only solid object in a world that had suddenly tilted.

Embarrassing, really, how easy she was.

Somehow, she had the presence of mind to pull back. She forced her arms to loosen, her hands to stop molding themselves against him. "You win, O'Rourke." She tried to sound casual. It came out raspy. "You were right. We just needed to get that out of our systems."

His thumb was tracing a path along her jaw, feather-light, making her shiver. "I win, huh? What do I win?"

"Gratification."

He grinned. Wide. Wicked.

"That's not how I meant it," she said quickly.

"Gratification is good," he whispered. His gaze was on her lips again. "But I want your confession."

He hadn't stepped away, and his nearness was making her dizzy. She tried to inch backward, but she had nowhere to go. The cool metal of the bumper was pressing against her legs. "I already said you were right," she told him.

"Right about what, exactly?"

She felt a flash of temper and clung to it like a lifeline. Of course he had to gloat. "Chemistry."

"You mean lust."

There was no way she was going to make that admission, even though it had to be obvious, given that she was still sort of panting. But he probably couldn't tell how much she was sweating under her shirt. Or that her pulse seemed to be located entirely in the upper portion of her lower extremities. "Let's call it curiosity. Mild curiosity. Now thankfully appeased."

God, she was a liar.

A dangerous glint came into his eyes. "I don't know," he said, in that husky tone she felt all the way to her bones. "I don't think all that lust is out of my system yet."

His mouth came down on hers again. And this time, he took no prisoners.

If the first kiss had been seductive, this one was demanding. He shoved a hand into her hair, pulling it loose from the ponytail so that it came tumbling down onto her shoulders while he cupped the back of her head, tilting her face up to meet his. She had a brief, foolish impulse to resist, to prove to him that she could resist, and clamped her lips shut, keeping her body entirely motionless. But Whit only laughed, a low, sensual sound that she felt rather than heard, and then his tongue was there, grazing against the seam of her mouth, coaxing, massaging. Nell gasped. Her hands somehow found their way to his hips and worked their way upward. All thought of resistance vanished. All thought vanished, period.

She gave in. Completely.

Mistake number two, but who was counting?

The terrible thing was, it didn't feel like a mistake. It felt like an epiphany.

And like agony.

Whit was thorough in his torment. His mouth urged hers open, gentle, insistent, taking his time with her, tugging, tempting. He tasted like salt and bubblegum, sharp and sweet, and he explored her with infinite patience, using his lips, his tongue, his teeth. Nell, less patient, deepened the kiss, plowing a hand into his hair and turning his head, dragging his mouth back to hers whenever he paused to draw breath. Who needed air? If they stopped for even a second, she might start to think again. She might remember all the reasons she shouldn't be doing this, shouldn't be reveling in the feel of him, all that thick hair curling beneath her fingertips, the delicious friction of their jeans .

She wouldn't release his mouth, but his hands were free to roam. His fingers left hot trails everywhere they touched: the delicate skin of her throat, where his thumb traced light circles as he burned a path toward her collarbone, shoving at the edges of her sweater to push it off her shoulders, then sliding down the curve of her back and settling there.

He made a noise low in his throat. Something possessive, primal. Distantly, the thought intruded that maybe he hadn't planned to take it this far. Maybe his only aim had been to teach her a lesson, to show her how irresistible he really was. Just a quick, hot kiss to make her melt and leave her gasping. She was gasping, all right… but so was he. The rapid thud of his heart shot a thrill straight to her core.

He murmured her name. She willed him not to speak. She wasn't done with him yet, not even close. All that time she'd spent denying what she wanted, who she wanted, had left her starving, and now she intended to have her fill. She was playing with fire and she didn't care. She wanted to be burned.

Tonight there was no reality. No before, and definitely no after. Right now he was hers. If this was the only chance she ever got, then she wanted it all: the warmth of his mouth, the feel of his skin, the solid pressure of his body… even that faint prickle as his stubble scraped along her face. Her heart bucked against her ribcage as his hands skimmed further down her spine and curved around her ass, lifting her against him. Heat coiled in her belly. There was no mistaking the hard ridge in his jeans. When he caught her lower lip with his teeth, teasing it gently, she actually moaned.

A kiss shouldn't be like this, she thought hazily. Not so erotic, not so quickly. But this was so much more than a kiss.

This was surrender.

She had been waiting for this forever. Fighting it forever. Wanting it forever. An eternity of aching.

"We should slow down," Whit rasped, even as he shoved her back against the car again and his hands slipped under her blouse. The shock of his fingertips along the bare skin beneath should have sent her crashing back down to earth. Instead it set her on fire. His mouth dipped to her neck and when he unhooked her bra, his palms sliding up to cup her breasts, she felt herself arch toward him. He breathed hot words against her skin. "We need to slow down."

"No." Her response came out half protest, half plea. If they stopped, they could never start again—ever. Didn't he understand this was only a lapse? Unrepeatable. Temporary. "Don't you dare stop."

That chuckle again. "That sounds a lot like lust, Miss McLean."

She didn't care what it sounded like. She wasn't the only one lusting. Slowly, deliberately, she lifted her right leg, easing it up, up along his calf, his thigh, curling it halfway around his waist to pull him even closer.

"Jesus," Whit gasped. And then he went back to kissing.

Reason probably would have returned, eventually. There were only so many mistakes Nell could make in one night, and she was fast approaching her limit. The fog of hormones clouding her brain would have lifted, common sense would have come screaming back, her judgment would have reasserted itself, and Nell somehow— somehow —would have managed to put on the brakes. Probably. But in the end, she never actually made it that far, because the universe chose to do it for her.

Noise buzzed in her ears. Dimly she became aware of a sound that wasn't just the ragged churn of her breath or the wild kick of her heart. It tickled at the edge of her thoughts, a faint hum that became a deep mechanical rumble, low and gravelly and oddly familiar, sort of like… an automobile engine.

An engine that was rapidly getting closer.

Her eyes flew open. That dizzy spill of light in the distance wasn't just Nell seeing stars.

It was headlights.

Pure panic rushed through her. "Oh my god."

"Yeah. No kidding." Whit's voice was a gruff whisper as his stubble grazed her neck.

Nell's own voice came out thin and wheezing. "You have to stop now."

His only answer was a growl .

He had her pinned to the car, his hands under her shirt, his mouth still leaving hot trails along her collarbone. She did the only thing she could think of to stop him. She dropped a hand to the stab wound in his ass and squeezed.

Instantly, he released her. "What the fuck?"

"Someone's coming!"

"You could have just said that," he grumbled, rubbing at the sore spot while he glared at her.

"Oh my god," Nell groaned again. Her mind was shrieking c aught in the act! caught in the act! like she'd just been discovered robbing a bank while burning down a house and burying a couple of bodies. Frantically, she yanked up the fallen fleece blanket, cocooning herself inside it like it would somehow hide her from view. Her bra was still unhooked, her lips were swollen, her hair a mess. She rounded on Whit. "What were you thinking?"

" Me ?"

"We're in a high school parking lot! There are probably cameras all over this place. This time we'll probably end up on TMZ !"

"For making out? Hardly." His gaze skimmed past her to study the approaching vehicle, which Nell quickly recognized as the powder blue pickup that belonged to his grandfather. Whit lifted his hand in a short wave before turning back to Nell. "It's just Grandpa. It's dark and his night vision is crap. I doubt he saw anything."

A hope that was swiftly dispelled when Bucky pulled up alongside them, rolled down the passenger window, and said genially, "Figured I should interrupt before the two of you did something to get yourselves arrested."

Nell wanted to melt into the pavement. She thought she'd be perfectly happy if a giant meteor came hurtling out of the sky and smashed her to cinders.

Whit just looked irritated. "You couldn't have done a few laps around the lot?" he asked his grandfather.

Bucky's voice crackled with amusement. "Who says I didn't? "

Nell was reasonably certain Bucky was joking, but that did nothing to lessen her mortification. A giant meteor would not be nearly quick enough. Her only prayer was spontaneous human combustion.

Whit was apparently impervious to embarrassment—and not all that concerned about Bucky's supposedly terrible night vision—because he tugged open the truck's passenger door and started maneuvering Nell inside. The truck didn't have a backseat, which meant she was going to have to spend the ride wedged between Whit and his grandfather. Lucky her.

This was her just desserts, she thought glumly, keeping her gaze aimed firmly downward as she climbed into the seat next to Bucky. Her punishment for giving in to her baser desires and letting her libido override her better judgment. As she sometimes had to remind her students, actions had consequences, and this was hers.

She'd have preferred the meteor.

"What are you even doing here?" Whit asked, sounding a lot more grumpy than grateful. He slid into the truck beside her, his arm brushing her shoulder and his thigh right up next to hers. Even through the thick blanket and two layers of denim, she could feel the heat of his body—a body she'd been doing her best to plaster herself to less than a minute ago. And since any attempt to move away would end up with her sitting in Bucky's lap, she was basically trapped.

Bucky shrugged. "It was getting late. I thought if I showed up, it might hurry things along."

"I was going to text you when we were done."

"Uh-huh," said Bucky. "Done with what, exactly?"

Nell slunk as low in the seat as she could.

Whit aimed a stern look at his grandfather. "Knock it off. You're making Nell uncomfortable."

She didn't want to tell him that he was making her a lot more uncomfortable through his sheer proximity, so she kept her mouth shut.

"I'm way too old for tact," Bucky answered, unabashed. He tossed a glance back at the mangled Audi as he steered his pickup toward the exit. "You're leaving your car here? "

"Sawyer said the tow company will pick it up in the morning." Whit's tone was casual, but Nell didn't miss the slight hitch to it, or the way his shoulders immediately tensed. "Thanks for letting me know he was in town."

"Hey, Whitney! Sawyer's back in town!" Bucky called, earning himself another glare from his grandson. "You hear his dad kicked it a year ago?"

"Yeah. So what the hell made him come back?"

"You'd have to ask him."

Whit just muttered something that sounded like, "I'll get right on that."

By the time they made it out of town and reached the long dirt driveway that led to Bucky's farmhouse, Nell realized there was something worse than an unbearably awkward drive sandwiched between a cranky jock and an octogenarian with questionable eyesight—and that was the conversation waiting for her at the end of it. There was zero chance Whit was going to agree to pretend the past half hour or so had never happened. The second they were alone again, he would corner her, and Nell was in no way prepared for the reckoning she had in store. For her part, she intended to develop a sudden fascination with jigsaw puzzles and spend the rest of the night helping Bucky assemble them. Maybe not the most inspired plan, but she was desperate.

In hindsight, it probably would have gone a lot better if Bucky hadn't straight up thrown her to the wolves. They'd barely started work on a thousand-piece painting of sailboats when he stood up yawning and declared his need for beauty sleep. Whit, the wolf in question, had been biding his time by playing with one of the cats and throwing the occasional comment their way—but as soon as his grandfather disappeared down the hall, he turned to Nell with the sort of focused intent that would have made her squirm even if she hadn't just spent the better part of twenty minutes playing tongue hockey with him.

Nell shot to her feet. "I'm tired, I'm crabby, I'm concussed, and I need a shower," she told him in the best no-nonsense teacher voice she could muster. "So don't even think about following me. I'll see you in the morning, O'Rourke." Then she rocketed toward the door .

Okay, so she was a coward.

She could live with that.

***

Escaping into the shower got her away from Whit. Unfortunately, it left her alone with herself.

And herself was someone she really didn't want to deal with.

Nell grimaced. The steady, soothing pulse of the water might have cleared her head and calmed her nerves, but it did nothing for her guilty conscience. And she was guilty, there was no denying that. It was time for her to face some ugly truths—the ugliest of which was that she'd known exactly what she was doing in that parking lot. And she had known exactly what it meant. All it had taken from Whit was a sexy grin and a couple of bone-melting kisses, and she'd tossed away all of her carefully constructed disinterest. She'd basically hurled herself at him.

The worst part was, their make-out session had done nothing to get Whit out of her system. So much for her cure-with-a-kiss plan. He had completely invaded her senses. She swore she could still smell him—his warm skin, that tang of sweat. Just the thought of his hands sliding down her body made her hot all over again. Instead of being properly ashamed of herself, she was more than half hoping he'd ignore her command not to follow her. A soft knock… a heated look… in the cramped space and thick steam there would be no time for words, just the anonymous rhythm of flesh, two strangers responding to mutual need.

Except that he wasn't a stranger. That was the whole point. She didn't want some faceless, forgettable hookup. She wanted him. Just like she'd wanted him four years ago—only more, because now there was something real between them. Maybe not something she could define or label, but something . A connection. As foolish as it was, she didn't want to lose that .

The look on his face when he'd told her he wasn't worth defending… she'd wanted so badly to comfort him in that moment, to just pull him into her arms again and keep him there. He'd let her see that raw and vulnerable part of himself, and her own defenses had come crashing down.

One thing was certain: she needed to limit the amount of time she and Whit spent in private. Despite her earlier threat, she had no intention of leaving. Nell had given him her word, he'd held up his end of the deal, and she owed him. And recent evidence to the contrary, it wasn't as though they were a couple of horny teenagers who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Any sort of physical relationship between the two of them would only complicate an already complicated situation. Even Whit would be able to see that.

Steeling herself with that knowledge, she toweled herself dry, pulled on her pajamas, and slipped back out into the hall, tiptoeing past the wedge of lamplight that spilled out from the living room.

She pushed open the door to the guest room and found her reckoning waiting for her.

He was—predictably—lounging on the bed, idly tossing a baseball back and forth between his hands. That long, athletic body looked ridiculously large on the narrow mattress, even with his ankles crossed and his back tucked up against the headboard. He'd changed his T-shirt and swapped his jeans for a pair of baggy sweatpants, but he still looked just as gorgeous, if a little grumpy. He hadn't bothered to drag a comb through his rumpled hair—though Nell supposed she couldn't criticize, seeing as she was the one who had rumpled it.

"Took you long enough," he said. "I thought I was gonna have to break in there and perform mouth-to-mouth."

Nell shot him a glare to let him know just how hilarious he wasn't.

He gave the mattress a little bounce. "You know, with Grandpa's objection to sleepovers, I never actually got to nail anyone in this bed."

"Well, you're definitely not doing it now, so up and out." She crossed the room and perched on the edge of the window seat, folding her hands in her lap. She'd already decided that the only way she was going to get through this was to be as brisk and professional as possible. Not the easiest task, considering she was dressed in corgi print pajama bottoms, her hair was wet, and her thin cotton top was clinging to her still-damp body. She'd scripted it all out in her head: a new set of rules they needed to establish, boundaries that had to be set. She was posing as his girlfriend, so she couldn't simply order him to keep a permanent ten-foot distance between them, but anything more intimate than holding hands had to be strictly off-limits. Simple and logical, in theory. But when she finally forced herself to meet his gaze, all that came out of her mouth was: "I'm not sleeping with you."

"Bummer."

Bummer ? She'd spent the past half hour agonizing over this, and all he had to say was bummer ?

But Whit wasn't through yet. He maneuvered himself to the end of the bed and sat facing her, holding up a hand. "Before you launch into whatever speech I know you've been preparing, let's get one thing straight. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"Who says I feel guilty?"

"Me. I can just see you've been tying yourself into knots because you've managed to convince yourself you somehow betrayed big sis. You haven't."

"You aren't exactly an unbiased source on the subject."

"That's right. I'm one of the people involved, which means I know what I'm talking about. Paige and I dated for about five minute s four years ago . Are you gonna try to tell me she's never moved on?"

Paige had met an attractive Tai chi instructor three days after Nell's disastrous PEDs revelation, plus there was that whole desperately-in-love-with-Gabi thing, but Whit didn't need to know that. "You're going to be dating her again in a couple of weeks."

That annoyed him. He dragged a hand through his already rumpled hair. "A completely bullshit relationship I doubt Paige has even fully thought through. I'm not her territory, her property, or any other part of whatever sacred girl code you think you've infringed on. You and I are two unattached, consenting adults. Whatever happens between us is our business and no one else's."

"Happened," she corrected quickly. " Happened between us. "

Whit's eyebrow shot up. "You're not going to start denying we're attracted to each other again, are you?"

"I'm not denying anything. I'm—"

"Because it's like I said, we've got chemistry. We always have. We tried to deny it four years ago, and look where that got us."

"You were dating my sister!"

"Only because I saw her first."

Just like that, he defused her outrage. Something hot and painful twisted inside her. Nell dropped her gaze. She needed to say this now, immediately, or she was going to end up throwing herself at him again, begging him to peel off all her clothes and toss her onto the bed so he could start carving notches. "It's not just about Paige. Casual may be your thing, but it isn't mine. I'm not built that way. I can't do the physical without the emotional, and neither of us wants that."

"So you won't sleep with me because you have a crush on me."

"Pretty much."

His expression turned serious. "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, Nell," he said softly. "And I won't hold you to anything. If you want to go home, I'll bring you to the airport tomorrow."

She hopped up from the window seat. "You're kicking me out because I won't sleep with you?"

"What? No!"

"We made a deal, and I don't go back on my word. I just think we need to have some rules."

"That's not what you said earlier."

"Earlier I was pissed off." She was being an idiot, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. Here he was, letting her off the hook, and instead of taking the excuse and running, she was digging her heels in. "I'm your week-long plus one. In name only. Unless you're worried that I'm so irresistible you won't be able to keep your hands off me ."

Which was a completely laughable idea, but the calculating look that came into Whit's eyes made her uneasy.

"So, wait, what are these rules of yours?" he asked. "Besides not sleeping with me."

"That's the main one."

"I assume that kissing is also off the table."

"Everything is off the table. Except hand-holding. You can hold my hand—in public— if you aren't weird about it." She thought about it a moment. "And I guess you can put your arm around my shoulders."

"Kinky." He rolled to his feet, stretching languidly. "What do I get if I win?"

She blinked. "Win what?"

"No worries. We'll figure that part out later." A wicked smile pushed at the corners of his lips. He moved toward the door in full swagger—impressive for a guy with sweatpants and bare feet. When he reached the doorway, he swung back, hitting her full on with another of those hot, lingering looks that she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and everywhere else in between. He tugged ever so slightly at the waistband of his sweatpants. Then he was gone, his voice drifting back to her as his footsteps faded down the hall. "Sweet dreams, Nellie."