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“No. I don’t know that,” she snapped, her voice rising against her will. “What I do know is that my relationship with Matt is the most important thing in my life, and for months I haven’t been able to think about anything but him on top of me. I’m going to ruin everything if I act like some bitch in heat every time he comes near me.”
“God, is this all because of that one night?”
“Technically, it was morning,” Nichole said quietly, her focus fixed on a speck of dust conveniently adrift a few feet to the left of Lindy’s accusing glare.
No matter how many times she tried to block it, forget it, or pretend it hadn’t happened, that morning two months ago changed everything, and she’d been in a losing battle with her fantasies ever since.
She and Matt had spent the evening in a marathon game of Trivial Pursuit that began as a battle for bragging rights, and after hours of over-consumption of alcohol, degenerated into a plastic-pie-piece-flinging free for all, ultimately ending with the two of them passed out on the couch together.
No harm, no foul.
At least, not until she awoke from an intensely sexual dream to discover that the hands and mouth she’d been glorying in actually belonged to Matt. His face was burrowed against her neck; one hand cupped her breast, while the other drew her hips against his cock’s hard bulge. Their legs were tangled together, and Nichole’s fingers wound through the silky waves of his hair. For a moment, she wondered what would happen if she feigned sleep.
How far would it go?
A low, rumbling moan ground out of Matt. He rocked his groin against hers and pulled her thigh over his hip. “Nichole….”
The sound of her name on his lips slammed through her like a tidal wave, washing away all reason and leaving her wet and aching with need. It was the blow that shattered her restraint and sent her desire spiraling out of control. After all of the years, maybe there was a chance.
Her thumb traced the line of his brow, possibilities winding through her mind.
“Matt,” she whispered.
He went still against her, the corners of his mouth pulling down as he squinted one eye open and settled his gaze on her.
“Oh, Christ!” He jolted against the back of the couch and scrambled over her to get to his feet. He raked his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. You should have slapped me.”
She shook her head, trying to throw off the disappointment before he read it in her eyes, and forced a light chuckle. “Don’t sweat it. I just woke up, too.”
“Shit, are you sure?”
No. “Of course. It was nothing.”
“God, I’m sorry.” He stared at her, his eyes unreadable. “I can’t believe I did that.”
She dismissed it with a wave of her hand.
“Okay, Nickie. Thanks for being cool about it.” He nodded and escaped to his room.
Yes, that’s what she would do. She’d be cool about it.
Matt went to work, and she took care of her business at home. As the day wore on, she tried to put the incident behind her. Tried not to think about his palm warming her breast or the tightening of his fist on the fabric of her jeans. She tried to ignore the tide of lust that rose as she remembered the husky sound of her name riding his breath. But she couldn’t help wondering… He’d said her name. Which meant, he was dreaming about her. It had to mean something.
Hope bore into her heart and held its ground until that evening. She sat on the couch and tried to focus on her latest paperback, waiting for Matt to get home. She planned to talk to him, to be honest and see if there was a chance for anything more between them. But at nine-thirty, when the door finally opened and Matt burst into the townhouse, he wasn’t alone.
Peg, a leggy blond he’d taken out a couple of times, was with him. He dragged her into his room without so much as a hello—and using no words at all, drove home the point that there was nothing between him and Nichole but friendship.
For romance, he ordered out.
And that was that. Except Nichole couldn’t stop thinking about those few moments of intimacy she’d shared with him. It wasn’t the beginning of a love affair. It was physical.
Sexual.
It wasn’t enough.
After that, she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t get her mind off the possibilities that lay beneath her best friend’s pants. Even now, months later, she wasn’t any better off than she’d been that first night. She needed to get him out of her system. She needed relief. And after that kiss—she intended to get it.
Her justifications were firmly in place as she met Lindy’s stare. “I’m going crazy. He’s all I can think about.”
