Page 16 of Broken Love (Love 2)
"I think we need some of that wine," she says.
"Wine won't help things between us."
"No, it will probably make me want to sleep with you," she says with a sigh. Like she thinks it's a really bad idea. She walks over to the cabinet under the television and starts rummaging through it. "Do you have any cards?" She laughs, pulling out a big box. "I should have known you'd have Scrabble."
"It is a Crawford family tradition."
"Not our kind of Scrabble."
"You're right. I don't play dirty Scrabble with Mom and Dad. I've never played it with anyone but you, actually."
"So," she says, giving me a sexy grin, "shall we?"
I look out at the snow still falling heavily. "Sure, why not. You're not going anywhere for a while. I thought you had a script to read or something?"
"Scrabble sounds more titillating."
"I'll be impressed if you can get that word on the board. Why don't you set up the game and open some wine. I'll go get some wood and get a fire going."
Although the wood I had delivered is stacked neatly next to the house, I wish it wasn't. Staying outside in the bristling cold wind for a few hours chopping wood might be the only thing that could keep me from kissing Palmer.
Hell, who am I kidding? I'd do way more than kiss her. Visions of carrying her to my new four-poster bed cause me to immediately harden. I slam my hand against the wall. Stop thinking about that. You can't.
Why not? a voice inside my head wonders.
She hates you, for one. Only it doesn't really seem like she hates me anymore. Not like before when she wouldn't even talk to me.
I put the wood in a carrier, take it in the house, and get a roaring fire going.
"The fire is so pretty," she says from the kitchen.
"Thanks," I reply.
"I have an idea," she says, sashaying her way toward me with a big smile on her face. Palmer's smile makes my knees weak. And I know that makes me sound like a fucking girl, but whatever, it's true.
"What's that?"
"Pick the coffee table up for me," she instructs. I pick it up while she pulls the grey shag rug out from under it and moves it right up to the fireplace. "Perfect!" she exclaims, then strips all the pillows off the couch, tossing them to the ground. She carefully places the Scrabble game on the center of the rug, bending over and giving me a great view of her incredible ass. Seriously, it's the perfect shape. If I could just strip her naked, get behind her, and grab those hips, we'd have a lot more fun than playing a stupid board game.
"I thought you might be hungry," she says, scooting the big wooden coffee table toward the rug then grabbing a tray from the kitchen and setting it down. "Cheese, crackers, smoked salmon, caviar, and caramel popcorn."
"That's quite the combination," I tease.
"I had to work with what you had. At least there's plenty of wine. Will you grab it?" she asks as she sits her ass on my rug and doles out little square letters.
I set the bottle and the glasses on the coffee table, pour the wine, and sit down across from her.
The lights flicker, then go out, enveloping the house in darkness.
She nervously twists her hair. It's an old habit, something she's done since she was a kid. I remember so clearly her lying in bed after the first time we made love, twisting her hair and wondering out loud if our sleeping together was the right thing to do.
I didn't want her to second guess us then, and I don't want her to now.
I reach out and take her hand, just like I did then. "We'll figure something out," I say, repeating the words I told her that night. Her eyes flicker with surprise at my touch, but then she softens.
"You've always known how to make me feel better," she says, gazing into my eyes and expressing more feelings than the words that came out of her mouth.
When she finally breaks eye contact, she smiles. "I don't think the lights are coming back on. I saw candles in the pantry."
"I'll grab them," I say, quickly getting up. I have to fucking do something besides stare into her eyes, or I'm going to--no. Get that out of your mind. It's not going to happen. It can't happen. Her brother hates you. You can't do that to her.
Using my phone to light the way, I get candles and matches along with a couple flashlights.
"Here, let me help you," she says, getting up and attempting to grab a couple candles from my full arms. But when her hands brush my chest, I stop and stiffen--everywhere.
"Um, that's okay, I've got them," I say, attempting to unload the candles onto the table only to have half of them topple to the ground. "Shit."
"It's okay, Cade," she says, dropping to her knees in front of me--her head now at dick-sucking level.
Fuck my life.
Why did I stop to pick her up again?
I drop down next to her, my knees sinking into the soft rug, and set the pillars on the table. She takes the matchbox from my hand, opens it, and strikes one across the outside. Then she puts the match against the wick to light the candle. She does the same to each, and pretty soon her face is gorgeously illuminated by candlelight.
She smiles and sits back in front of the board game, pulling her legs into a pretzel.
"All good now," she says. "You ready to get this game started?"
"Uh, sure," I say, sitting down, trying to ignore how the fire is reflecting in her hair. I pick up my wine glass, needing to take a gulp.
"Shouldn't we toast first?" she asks, holding her glass up and making me feel like a manner-less idiot.
"Yes, we should. Would you like to do the honors?" Hopefully, she does. At this point, I may toast to stripping her naked and fucking her in front of the fire.
"To the knight in shining armor who saved me from freezing to death in a snowstorm, to a warm fire, a soft rug, and playing dirty Scrabble by candlelight." She touches her glass to mine then adds, "And to your beautiful new home. I hope I behave well enough to get invited back someday."
It takes everything I have not to blurt out exactly what kind of behavior would be sure to get her invited back. I shift uncomfortably. I've got to stop thinking about her naked.
"Cheers," I say.
"So, I guess I'll start," she says, picking up letters and placing them in the center of the board. "This one doesn't count for points, because I stole it out of the pile but I thought I'd give us a good, if not slightly ironic, start."
"Sideboob? Really?" I laugh. "You chose the word that ended us to start the game?"
She takes a large drink of wine and smirks at me. "Figured we might as well get it out in the open. We've never really talked much since then."
"I know," I say sadly, downing more wine. "Your brother--I really don't want to talk about it. I don't want to fight with you, Palmer. Not tonight. It's nice having you here with me."
"I don't want to fight with you either. I'm really sorry, Cade. I was young and stubborn back then."
"What kills me is that you never did the movie. You've never shown your boobs in any movie."
"I couldn't. That's what kills me, too. It was all for nothing."
"Part of what I loved about you was your stubbornness, Palmer. Your ability to go toe-to-toe with me. Or even better, Pike. Remember that summer here when you wanted to drink beer with your friends, and he had a fit?"
"Which was bullshit because he totally drank before he was twenty-one!"
I laugh. "You got your way."
"Not always," she says, lowering her head but looking up at me through dark lashes.
After hours chilling in the hot tub with Pike, drinking beer, and deciding which girls to invite up to the party this weekend, I'm somewhere between tipsy and drunk when I finally crawl into bed.
A few hours later, I'm having the best dream. Palmer's warm naked body is plastered against mine. Her lips are kissing my neck. I pull her tighter, kissing her and letting my hands caress the places I was admiring today. Her lips are as soft as I imagined. Her skin even softer. She smells of cocoa butter and rain. My tongue gl
ides into her mouth, and our kissing is frantic, getting me all worked up. This is the best dream ever. I can't wait to--
"I want you to be my first, Cade," she says.
Wait. Hold up. What? She wouldn't say that in my dream.
I open my eyes with a start. Panic settles in when I find her actually in my bed, naked.
"What the hell are you doing in here, Palmer?" I hop out of bed. "You have to get out of here."
"But you're ready. I'm ready."
"I thought I was dreaming."
She smiles, happily. "You dream about me? Even better."
"No, fuck. No. I don't. We can't."
"Do you want me, Cade?" she says, pointing to my rock-hard cock. "Because it sure looks like you do."
"Jesus, don't say that. I don't want you. You're way too young. You're my best friend's little sister."
"I won't tell if you won't," she sasses, causing my dick to look like it's dancing--going from hard as a rock, to a horrified limp, and now back to ready-for-action. But then again, my dick isn't used to having a conscience. It's always ready for whatever comes my way. And when you're the star catcher and cleanup batter on your college baseball team and destined for glory, it comes in droves.
Even though my dick is betraying me, I repeat, "You have to get out of my room."
Tears fill her eyes. "Am I not pretty enough?"
"You're fucking gorgeous, but you're fifteen, Palmer. It's illegal. Immoral. You're my best friend's little sister. If he found out--"
"I swear, I would never tell."
"But I'd know. Please, for the love of all that is holy, you have to go."
She gets out of my bed, picks my baseball jersey up off the floor, madly tosses it over her head, and marches out the door with my last name, Crawford, emblazoned across her back. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.
"I respect you for that," she says softly. "Hated you at the time, but now I'm glad we didn't. You would have been a bad boyfriend then."
"Who? Me?"
"Yeah, you and my brother always had a different girl. You needed to grow up before you were ready for me."
"You needed to grow up. Then on your birthday--anyway, I'll go first. I've got a good one. Ball."
She takes a gulp of wine, adds eight points to my score card, and laughs. "I raise your ball with one penis. Which is eight points for me, too. We're tied."
"Speaking of tied," I tease as I refill our wine glasses, wondering where it went so fast.
"Cade!" she screeches. "Don't be naughty!"
"I'm always naughty," I say, my voice deep and throaty, my dick getting hard just remembering the time I brought home black scarves, tied her to the bedposts, and had my way with her. I remember what always made her scream. God, I want to make her scream again.
"You're just stalling because you don't have a word."
