Her Aussie Holiday Page 11

  Cora drained the pasta, mixed in the sauce, and served their portions into two bowls. “But doesn’t it…scare you, not knowing how things will be in a few weeks’ time?”

  “When I’m relying on myself, I don’t have too much to be scared about,” he quipped.

  Hmm, didn’t she feel that down to her bones. Relying on yourself was safe… It was everyone else in the world who made things risky.

  They settled at the table, and Trent poured the wine into both their glasses. When they clinked them together, the chime rang through the quiet house. It was so peaceful here, with only the rustling trees and the chatter of birds outside as a backdrop.

  Maybe she’d feel free and breezy like Trent if she lived somewhere as beautiful and still as this.

  He swirled his fork into the pasta and shoved a hearty mouthful between his lips. The sound that followed was enough to melt Cora into a puddle at his feet. “This is amazing,” he said. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  “YouTube.” She sipped her wine. “There’s nothing I love more than picking a topic and watching a bunch of videos so I can teach myself how to do something new.”

  “I bet you did well in school,” he said with a laugh.

  “I did,” she said matter-of-factly. Music conservatory disaster aside, that was. “I like learning.”

  “I hated school,” he admitted. “I’ve always been better with my hands than with numbers and words.”

  The comment drew Cora’s gaze down to Trent’s hands, and it kicked up the memory of them at the beach—him standing close behind her, rough and yet gentle hands guiding hers, hips at her back. There wasn’t a single doubt in her mind that he was good with his hands. Panty-meltingly, brain-numbingly, skin-scorchingly good. Her whole body tingled as though coaxing her to imagine what it would be like to have them sliding over her body—cupping, holding, smoothing, kneading.

  “You look a little pink,” he said, cocking his head.

  “Standing over a stove is…hot.”

  Thank you, Captain Obvious.

  Lordy. No doubt Trent observed every little bit of that fantasy rolling across her face. How was she supposed to hide something like that? Alex had told her once that she had the world’s worst poker face. Hiding her feelings wasn’t a strong suit, and she wanted Trent so badly, it must have been like red ink stamped all over her.

  She twirled some pasta onto her fork. “Doesn’t help that this country is basically a giant fireball.”

  “So that’s it, huh? Just the weather?” He was watching her closely, which made it hard to eat. To breathe. Her appetite had morphed and shifted and turned into something else. Suddenly all the food laid out before them wasn’t all that appealing, not when other hungers needed attention.

  You really want to do this?

  Yes. She knew that it was wrong on a bunch of levels—Trent was her friend’s brother, and Cora was recently out of a breakup, head and heart still hurting. Mind reeling. Emotions running wild.

  But for her whole entire life, Cora had followed the rules. Followed orders. Worked hard.

  And that had done nothing but made her feel like a failure, so why didn’t she deserve to do something reckless for a change? Why couldn’t she seize life in the way so many others did without a second thought? Without worrying what people would think? Without making a list of “what ifs” in her brain?

  Nobody knew her here, and she didn’t need anything from Patterson’s Bluff.

  The thought was freeing. Here, she could be herself and damn anyone who didn’t like her. Damn anyone who rejected her. Damn anyone who didn’t accept her.

  This was her moment and screw the consequences.

  “I’m overheated because I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like if you kissed me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The words came out in a rush, like a whoosh of breath that had been held for too long. It was both a weight off her shoulders and electricity in her veins, the anticipation of his response making her giddy and breathless like a teenager.

  She had never been the first to admit attraction, had never been the first to make a move—if her awkward, too-fast confession could be counted as such. Her mother had drummed into her that the only way to get a man was to make him chase, make him want by being slightly unavailable. Always a little out of reach.

  By playing a game.

  So many rules, so many points of etiquette when what she really wanted was to take charge of her own damn life. And if that meant wearing her heart on her sleeve for once, then she would damn well do it.

  “Say something,” she said, her hands gripping the edge of her chair like it might keep her tethered to earth.

  “Wouldn’t you rather I do something?” His eyes were like twin blue flames, flickering and holding her captive.

  He leaned forward, bracing one hand on the back of her chair and closing the distance with a heart-fluttering slowness. She reached up and slid her hand along the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the gentle prickles of his five o’clock shadow against her palm. The friction sent a subtle shiver through her, kicking up fantasies like a sandstorm.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  It was like trying to talk underwater, her voice distorted and sluggish. Time had slowed to a trickle so she could take in every single detail—the widening of his pupils, so black and bottomless and beautiful. The parting of his lips as he came closer. The scent of shampoo in his hair and wine on his breath.

  When his lips finally connected with hers, it was bliss—warm, sensual, spiraling bliss.

  His mouth was confident as he coaxed hers open, knowing she would melt for him. And she did. His hand was in her hair, fist closing around her ponytail so he could tug her head backward. That grip, so sure and possessive, snapped the last vestige of her control, and she invited him in.

  Their tongues met, and she arched toward him, wanting more, more, more. Wanting everything. The awkward seated position didn’t allow for much contact, but she didn’t dare move, dare twitch, in case it warned him away. Because she could drown in his kiss forever.

  In that moment, she felt wanted. Cherished. It was goodness dragged up from the very bottom of her soul, making every cell in her body vibrate.

  She fisted her hands in his T-shirt, trying to bring him closer. But it was no use—her body was twisted to the side and her arm pressed painfully into the table. Growling in frustration, Trent broke free and shoved his chair back.

  “Come here.” The demand was like a lit match, and the sight of him—hair mussed, legs spread in that unabashedly male way, T-shirt rumpled by her hands—was possibly the hottest thing she’d ever seen. “I need you closer.”

  Cora rose out of her chair, and his strong hands guided her over. She straddled him, her skirt bunched around her waist and her back pinned against the table. If she’d wanted contact, then this was it. This was everything. The hard press of him between her legs, lips eagerly seeking hers. He rolled his hips up to rub against her.

  Lord. There would be nothing left of her but cinder and bone.

  He kissed her hard. Deep. She felt the stubble scratch against her chin and the deliciously soft cotton yield to her fingertips, barely hiding taut muscle beneath. His hands circled around, sliding under her dress to cup her ass. She writhed, so desperate for more, it filled the air like a perfume.

  This wasn’t a sweet kiss. This wasn’t a romantic movie, peck on the doorstep with a foot pop for good measure. Oh no. This kiss was dredged from the darkest of Cora’s fantasies. The kind of full-bodied, impolite, totally penetrating kiss that she’d never let herself indulge in on a first date back home.

  You haven’t even gone on a date.

  Cora pulled back for a moment, dazed and aroused and fighting the little voice inside her. Her ponytail was hanging a little loose, some curls spr
inging around her face and brushing her skin. Trent was equally disheveled, but the sexy, unabashed smile on his lips summed up everything she felt right now: good.

  Not worried. Not stressed. Not regretful. Not running.

  Good.

  But when had she ever been able to trust that feeling?

  …

  “God, you’re beautiful,” Trent said, brushing back an errant strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear. Cora glowed—her pale eyes were like stars at twilight and her lips sported a delectable post-kiss flush. Her cheeks and chest were tinted with pink, and the look on her face…bloody hell.

  It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  Maybe that was why he was hard enough to drill nails. Or perhaps it was more to do with the way she’d tugged at his shirt, hanging on for dear life like his kiss was the only thing keeping her afloat.

  She looked like a mermaid who’d washed up on shore, magical and impossibly beautiful.

  Cora’s beauty came from something inside her. Sure, she had a great body and a sweet face and a smile that could power a city, but it was her spirit that called to Trent. There was something inside her, like a treasure, that drew him close, that called on him to look deeper.

  And he was never the kind of guy who looked beyond. Who wanted more than the surface-level stuff. Never the guy who connected with people because connection meant trusting that they wouldn’t knife you in the back.

  “You’re not too bad yourself,” she said with a shy smile, ducking her eyes for a moment before flashing those icy blues back at him.

  He kissed her again, slower this time. Gentler. And when she responded without hesitation, Trent was filled with a roaring pride. It was a lion in his chest, a king desperate to conquer. To take. He kissed down to her neck, sucking in the honeyed floral scent on her skin and letting the curling tendrils of hair tickle his face.

  He could feel the fluttering of her pulse beneath the delicate skin on her neck, and the soft little sigh that escaped her lips when he kissed her there was like a sound bite from heaven.

  “Are we forgetting about dinner?” he asked, thumbing the strap of her dress and trailing his lips along her collarbone.

  “What is this word, ‘dinner?’” she mumbled, letting her head roll back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Good answer.” He tugged the strap down over her shoulder. It was thin and delicate, so its removal didn’t really add to Cora’s nakedness at all. But for some reason, seeing the smooth curve of her shoulder, uninterrupted, freckles free for him to trace with his tongue, churned him up inside.

  He pushed the other strap down and then moved to the line of buttons at her front. The shiny white discs popped easily out of the holes and he peeled the fabric away from her chest. As he’d suspected, she wore no bra underneath. Her chest heaved with each ragged breath, cleavage tempting him closer. More buttons were opened, more skin revealed.

  “My God,” he muttered. There was nothing else he could say and clearly not enough blood left in his brain to be able to fully operate it.

  Cora’s breasts were perfection. Her nipples were peaked and begging for his attention. They were the prettiest shade of pink, and when he palmed her, swiping a thumb across one stiff nub, she shuddered. He felt the vibration of it all the way through him, and his erection strained against the fly of his jeans. If he got any harder, he wasn’t certain his fly would survive it.

  “I want to keep kissing you,” he murmured, rubbing his palm in slow circles. “Everywhere.”

  Her fingers threaded into the hair at the back of his head, and she guided him to her breast. No words. Just showing him what she wanted.

  His tongue darted out to swipe over her and she gasped, her hands curling and nails scraping over his scalp. Yes. He wanted to worship her. Learn her. When he sucked a hard nipple between his lips, tongue flicking, Cora moaned and the sound shot right through him, coiling every muscle in his body.

  “Yes.” The word was like a hiss of steam, sharp and yet soft. And so hot. She clung to him, the weight of her body in his lap like sweet, sweet torture.

  “Sensitive,” he murmured, nuzzling her other breast. “Just the lightest little flick…” He swiped his tongue and she arched against him, like a puppet on the end of his strings. “And you’re about to boil over.”

  Her cheeks were flushed as pink as the sunset outside, which was sending rose gold light spilling into the house through the large windows facing the back. It brought out the golden highlights in her hair and the warmth in her skin. She bit down on her lip.

  “This, uh… I don’t usually rush ahead like this,” she said, ducking her eyes. “Three date minimum, that’s the rule.”

  “We can finish our food first, if you want,” he teased with a cavalier grin. But when she didn’t stop biting down on her lip, he cupped her face and gently tilted her so she was making eye contact again. “Are we moving too fast?”

  “Maybe. No…I don’t know.” She shook her head and folded her arms over her chest, trying to cover herself. “I’m attracted to you, I know that much.”

  “That’s mutual.”

  “But I’m rebounding… This is a rebound and…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “God, why can’t I do something fun and not worry about the consequences for once? I’m broken.”

  “You’re not broken.” He smoothed his hands up and down her arms, the slow, firm pressure melting some of the tension from her shoulders. “And we don’t have to take this any further if it’s too soon.”

  “Do you think it’s too soon?”

  He smirked. “I’d be lying straight to your face if I said I wasn’t thinking about dragging you to my bed, or maybe into the shower, so I could get you out of that dress and keep kissing you all over.”

  The pink in her cheeks intensified. “So I’m the only one overthinking it?”

  “Yep, but that doesn’t mean I’m a Neanderthal who’s going to drag you off to the nearest dark corner if you’re having doubts.” He gave her a squeeze. “Personally, I find the whole sex thing far more enjoyable if there are no doubts. And life’s too short for bad sex.”

  “Life is too short for bad sex,” she agreed.

  “Maybe we stick to a kiss for now and then you can think it over, see if I’m as attractive in the morning.”

  “That is not the problem, believe me,” she said with a laugh. “Your muscles are very distracting.”

  “That a fact?” He lowered his lips to hers and kissed the corner of her mouth. She sighed and her lips parted, her head turning toward his so her nose bumped against his cheek. “I’m more than a hot body, Cora. I’ve got feelings, too.”

  She giggled. “Please, tell me. What feelings are the ones you’re experiencing right now?”

  “Horniness.” He kissed the side of her neck, and she smoothed her hands up his chest, exposing her breasts again to his hands. Oh boy, he would be thinking about those breasts all night long, regardless of where this went. Hell, there was a solid chance they’d be imprinted on his brain forever. “Overwhelming sexual attraction. Uhh…being turned on.”

  “Those are the same as horniness,” she pointed out.

  “Feeling pretty bloody good about myself that a girl as pretty as you is hot for me,” he teased.

  “That sounds like a good feeling.” She wound her arms around his neck. “Is it okay if I ask you to kiss me again?”

  “Just a kiss?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, just a kiss.”

  Can fucking do.

  Trent leaned toward her and she met him halfway, her lips parting for him and her arms tightening around his neck. It was sweet at first. A gentle brushing of lips that was so soft and so light, he could easily have passed it off as being a figment of his imagination. But there was no mistaking the second kiss, because Cora’s tongue darted out eagerly to meet his,
and she rubbed her body against his in a way that made him shudder. Damn. Now he didn’t even want to take her to bed—because that was too far away. He wanted to reach under her skirt, pull her underwear to one side, and stroke the seam of her with his finger to see if she was ready for him. How easy would it be to pull down his zipper and guide her to his cock?

  Too easy.

  But he’d meant every word of what he’d said earlier—life was too short for bad sex. And if there were any doubts in Cora’s mind, then that was a hard stop. Frankly, it wasn’t like Trent had trouble in that area, and he would never settle for a partner who wasn’t 100 percent into it. Why shortchange himself and her?

  But something told him this wasn’t the last time sparks would fly between him and Cora. Because the way she responded to his kiss—with short breaths and soft moans and her body glued to his—it was only a matter of time before a fire like that burned out of control.

  …

  For the next few days, Cora and Trent tiptoed around each other like the floor of Liv’s house was littered in eggshells. The kiss replayed in his mind, but the tension between them had turned from burning passion to…well, thick as soup in the worst way possible.

  He left early to head to work and she spent her evenings scrapbooking or reading and being so polite to him that Trent wanted to shake her. He hated politeness. It was so…impersonal. But he wasn’t going to push the issue. Cora had to be the one to bring it up again, to make it clear she wanted to circle back to their mutual attraction. To pick up where they left off.

  Maybe he should never have kissed her.

  You know there’s no point regretting something like that. Besides, would you avoid kissing her if you had a do-over?

  Hell no. That kiss had marked him like a tattoo gun scratching over his skin. And speaking of skin, Cora was officially burrowed deep under his.

  “This place has every early 2000s cliché,” Hale said as he whacked the end of his chisel with a hammer, dislodging another beige tile from the floor. Now that the plumbing was in tiptop shape, it was time to start on some of the cosmetic side of things.