Accidentally in Love with the Pilot Page 8

  A cramp shot through her jaw, and she unclenched her teeth.

  Just think things through. There would be paperwork about their marriage somewhere. Someone would file something with the county, probably. She’d get online and see what she could find out today, make some phone calls if she had to. She’d track him down if she needed his signature on anything. She knew where he worked. The US Navy wasn’t that big.

  She punched the pillow she held, but then quickly put it aside, not wanting to contaminate it and override his residual scent. Which she shouldn’t want to smell, considering he was such a jerk, but maybe she should put it in a plastic bag, preserve it so she could smell it again later if she wanted to remember him. So the baby, if there was one, would know what his daddy was like. Probably some pheromones that had rubbed off would imprint themselves on the kid and make him big and strong and awesome. But not a jerk. Definitely not a jerk who would leave without a word.

  The damned sun reflected off the windshield of the car parked in her space and bounced through the window into her eyes. She should really shut those shades at night if she was going to ever get up this early.

  Okay. Enough wallowing. Time to boot up her laptop.

  Rising, she crossed to the window and yanked the curtains closed so that she didn’t have to look at Ben’s car parked out there.

  Wait.

  Ben’s car. She’d told him to park it there when they’d arrived yesterday morning, and she used the guest spot.

  He hadn’t left.

  Okay, so where was he?

  She threw the front door open and stepped out onto the bright white walkway, and smacked right into a very sweaty, very sexy chest.

  Chapter Eleven

  “You’re still here!”

  Ben was stunned when Megan threw her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips, clinging for a moment before looking up at him, really looking, like she was trying to memorize him.

  Her smile seemed a little too bright, but her still-sleep-warmed body felt nice against his sweat-soaked, overheated self.

  “Yep. I’m still here.”

  She released him and stepped back, looking away as she said, “Hi. I was, um, a little worried when I didn’t see you when I woke up.” She turned and pushed the front door open. He followed her into the blessed cold air-conditioning.

  “Did you think I was abducted by Elvis impersonators?”

  “Something like that.” She still wasn’t looking at him as she crossed to the coffee maker.

  You’re still here.

  Her words smacked him in the side of the head. He had a memory of himself on Nana’s front porch, unable to call out to the retreating back of his father. Duh. “Hey.”

  “Yeah?” She glanced up and then messed around with the little one-shot pod dripper things. “Do you want Sumatran or Donut Shop Blend?”

  “I don’t drink coffee,” he said.

  “What?” She actually faced him then.

  Good. He knew how to get her attention.

  “How can you be an American and not drink coffee?”

  He dragged his bag from beneath the couch. “I just don’t.” He pulled his sweaty shirt off, traded it for a clean one, and noticed she was still looking at him. Admiring? He didn’t exactly flex, but he took his time reaching for his shaving kit.

  She blinked and shook her head. “No coffee. I’m not sure how we can stay together, even for a few more weeks. That’s just…weird.”

  He knew he was letting her drag him off topic, but a thought occurred to him. “You sure you want coffee?”

  “We don’t want my head to explode, do we?” She froze. “The maybe baby. Crap. I forgot. I did okay yesterday, but the hangover kind of overrode the caffeine withdrawal. I’m not sure I can deal with life today—” She turned anxious eyes to him.

  “It’s probably okay if you start cutting back until you know if you have to give it up completely, right?”

  She nodded slowly. “That sounds good. I mean—it’s not like I’m going to go suck down a gallon of vodka. I’ll just do half-caf until we know for sure, and by then I should be able to quit completely if…if…you know.” Her gaze returned to the coffeemaker with an expression of longing, but he knew her rambling had little to do with coffee.

  “Megan.”

  She made a complete about-face to reach into the cabinet over the sink. “Yeah.”

  Still no eye contact. Okay. He was trying to keep his distance until he’d had a chance to shower, but he had to clear the air first. He followed her into the kitchen, put a hand on her shoulder, and gently turned her around to face him. He bent his knees so he could see her downturned face.

  After a moment, she met his eyes. So pretty. So much energy and light and feeling there he felt like he was in a free fall and suddenly didn’t care if he couldn’t restart his engines.

  He had married this woman in a drunken Vegas spree, and she might be carrying his baby. His baby. Him, Mr. Alone, might be a dad in a few months—but when he looked in her eyes, he wasn’t terrified, like he expected to be.

  He needed her to trust him, but standing here gazing at her like a lovesick calf wasn’t going to convince her, so he forced himself to speak. “I’ll be here. Until we know if we’re pregnant, and till we decide how to handle our marriage, or you kick me out. Whatever comes first.”

  He held up the hand that bore the ring he hadn’t taken off. Decide. That sounded like there was a stay-married option. Hell, even if there was a baby, she wouldn’t want to stay married to him for longer than it took to get the baby taken care of financially. Which made sense, right? She barely knew him. She was the calm center in the hurricane of what might be the craziest family in the craziest city in the world, while his college girlfriend had called him the Poster Guy for Wallflowers of America. Megan had abandonment issues. Ben was genetically predisposed to be gone. No way could their lives mesh.

  And yet she raised her own left palm and interlaced her fingers with his. They both stared at their hands like that—united. Was it wrong of him to be glad that he had a good reason to stick around for a few weeks?

  With a shaky breath, Megan released his hand, turned back to her coffee, and said, “Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you did take off. I was just pissed you didn’t say goodbye.”

  “Sorry, babe.” The endearment slipped out.

  “Yeah, well, whatever.” But when she turned her head slightly to reach for a mug, he could see that she was smiling in spite of herself.

  …

  He called her babe.

  It was a little thing, but it felt huge. It both unnerved and attracted her.

  Meanwhile, he was standing in her kitchen in nothing but a flimsy pair of running shorts, shoes, and miles of smooth golden skin over muscles and bones and veins… Yeah, she could think about logic and consequences and broken hearts later. Right now, she itched to touch him, to see if he was real. He smiled and glanced down at her lips, then back into her eyes.

  She swallowed and looked back at him. Let him see how much she wanted him.

  Her phone bleated. Without breaking eye contact, she picked it up, pushed the power-down button, and dropped it on the counter.

  Then, slowly…millimeter by millimeter…he moved closer, giving her every opportunity to signal him to stop, but she would have no sooner stopped him from kissing her than she’d turn down the winning Powerball numbers.

  His lips were soft when they met hers, warm and sweet, and a little salty, taking her mouth. She savored the taste and feel of his lips and then his tongue—oh God, he was consuming her, and she was ready to be his appetizer, entrée, and dessert—all three, please.

  She touched him then, put her hands on his hard, hot chest for support, because she was about to fall, and he ended the kiss, gaze incinerating her.

  He took her hands, steadied her on her feet, and backed up. “I, uh…I need a shower,” he said, sounding a little hoarse.

  “Yeah—I do, too.” She shook her
head. “I mean, after you. Take a shower. I have to start running errands, Beth needs to borrow my not-my-mom skirt, and then all that other stuff, and we have to go try to get unmarried—”

  “That’s right. We’re married, aren’t we?” His smile held the tiniest hint of a raised eyebrow.

  She cleared her throat and raised her eyebrows. “We certainly are.”

  Was it possible that he was as uncertain about things as she was? He’d picked right up on her freak-out over his possible defection this morning. Granted, she’d run out of the house in her nightshirt looking like God only knew what…

  She’d hesitated too long, because he backed out of the kitchen, holding his hands out in front of him and saying, “Not that we have to—”

  “Yes.”

  He stopped. “Yes?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We are married. It’d be a shame to spend the next few weeks tiptoeing around each other, pretending like we’re not both desperate to find out if we can be even half as good together as I think we both sort of remember. Or something like that.”

  “I have to take a shower,” he repeated, a slight smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

  “You know what? So do I.”

  “How ’bout that.”

  “And you’re a guest in my state. My state which is mostly desert. You should do everything you can to conserve water.”

  He laughed. “Babe, I have a feeling that if you follow me through that door”—he pointed at the bathroom—“that we’re going to need to do more than a few rain dances to refill Lake Mead.”

  “Can they be naked rain dances?” she asked, taking his hand and tugging him with her toward the door.

  “Sure. They can be anything you want them to be.”

  Wow. She’d never known a guy to be so…agreeable. Even in a hypothetical, hyperbolic sort of way. He was agreeable, he was reliable…he was sexy as all sin.

  The way his back muscles flexed as he moved into the bathroom before her, reaching up to pull the shower curtain aside, nearly made her pass out.

  And when he bent over to turn on the water, his backside in those shorts—yowza.

  Then there was the wide white smile when he caught her looking—

  So she whipped her nightshirt up and over her head with one movement and his smirk turned to admiration, dark heat filling his eyes as they roamed over her from the top of her tangled mass of hair, over her face, to her breasts, which tingled as her nipples hardened under his gaze. Then lower, over her tummy, which for once she didn’t try to suck in, and down to her basic white bikini underwear, focusing where her thighs came together, making her clench from the ache of wanting him.

  She swallowed when he put his thumbs beneath the waistband of his shorts and yanked them down, revealing himself. He didn’t give her time to gape at his impressive…impressiveness. Instead, he pulled her to him and lowered his head for a long, wet kiss that left her breathless.

  She stepped back, wanting to get next to him in the water. But there was something she had to take care of. “Wait. We need— I mean, it might not matter, but it might, so we should—”

  He stared for a moment, and then his eyes widened in understanding.

  She raised a finger. “One moment.” She bent and dug under the cabinet, found the box, and checked the expiration date. Just barely.

  “Aha!” She held the packet aloft and noticed him watching her, all Mr. Natural and Aroused.

  He motioned for her to step into the shower first.

  She reached out a hand to test the water, decided she had no idea if it was too hot or too cold and that it didn’t matter, and stepped over the edge of the tub.

  Ben’s enormous hard body was immediately at her back, heating her up even more than the steaming water covering her from the front. She stayed still for a moment, savoring the sensation of being on the edge of something while also being right in the middle. Then his arms came around her and his hands slid up her sides to cup her breasts, his chin coming down over her shoulder as he whispered, “I could stay right here, right like this, for the rest of the day.” His erection bumped her backside and she shifted, feeling him right against the crease of her butt. He groaned, and a shiver ran from her neck to her breasts and down lower, tightening her body, even as it softened, and she couldn’t let him stay right there like that for one more second.

  Turning, she pressed her body into his, loving the way her breasts pressed into his chest, the rough hair there rasping her nipples, feeling him nudge her between the legs. Her arms wrapped around his neck, and she turned her face up to his, and he kissed her again, sweetly, softly, before the water pouring over their heads threatened to drown them standing up.

  He backed up and held up the condom, then rolled it on. Sure and efficient, and hot. He turned them both so her back was to the tile wall and leaned his head over her shoulder so he could lick and nip her right where her neck met her shoulder. His big hand roamed over her hip, then gripped her butt and squeezed, his breathing ragged, before he slid his hand around to the front, stroking the top of her thigh.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough. She whimpered, and he chuckled, which sent more vibrations through her entire body. His fingers moved again, between her legs, sliding between her folds and soothing and arousing at the same time. Still not enough.

  “Ben.” That was all she said. All she could say, but he got the message, because he moved.

  The way he lifted her and entered her body was as hard and fast as his kisses had been soft and sweet, and she groaned at the invasion, the stretching, the—oh God—the tension from where their bodies met.

  He looked down into her eyes, his cheeks flushed, eyes half focused. “You okay?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He huffed a laugh, shifted so one of her legs draped over his arm as he pressed her back into the tile wall and began to thrust.

  Within moments, the tension began to gather in her lower belly. He was at the perfect angle to stroke every part that needed to be stroked.

  “Oh God,” she cried, holding on to his shoulders for dear life as her orgasm blasted through every blood vessel in her body, flooding her with heat.

  “I’m gonna—” he ground out as his movements became erratic, his breathing more labored. “Oh fuck.”

  He came then, slowly stilling within her, around her, as both of them caught their breath.

  She sighed as he slipped out of her body and stepped away, lowering her carefully to stand on her own feet, the shower water no longer blocked by his big body. “The water’s getting cold.”

  He laughed again. “You’re telling me?”

  “Yeah. But I think we’re pretty well rinsed off enough to count as clean, don’t you? I bet we could slide back under some nice warm sheets and warm right back up.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ben was breathless, naked, and damp, and his world was still rocking when Megan leaned over to kiss him and pick up her phone from the charger on the nightstand.

  “I’ve got to get going, but I should be back around one to go wedding chapel investigating,” she said.

  He rolled onto his stomach, raising up on an elbow. Even though he wanted to say, “Come back here and fuck me again, or at least just smile in my direction for a second,” he didn’t. She had an incredible to-do list—he’d seen it when she added a trip to get something called “Bikini Bite.”

  Ignoring his inner bobblehead, he smiled. “I’ll be okay,” he told her. “I saw there’s a library close. I’ll see if they’ll let me check out stuff—I’m behind on the Jack Reacher stories.”

  “Here,” she said, digging through her wallet and coming up with a key tag. “You can use my card.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You can also use this to get into the pool, if you want.” She handed him a larger card with a magnetic strip on it.

  “Good. I was hoping to work on my tan.”

  She raised an eyebrow and scanned him from head to toe. She did that a lot, and
he kind of liked that she liked looking at him. Damn. He liked a lot about her.

  She hesitated at the door to her room, looking torn.

  “I’m cool. I promise not to look for your diary and post it on the internet,” he said, waving her off.

  “I don’t keep a diary. I just feel bad for abandoning you here. You can come with me, if you want to?” The way her voice went up at the end informed him that she really didn’t expect him to agree.

  “I’m fine. I’m on vacation, and I’ve been entertaining myself for thirty years,” he told her. “I’ve got stuff for lunch, so come home hungry.”

  “Ooh,” she purred. “I like the way you think.” With a sexy wink, his wife was gone.

  The moment the front door clicked behind her, however, he was seized with restless energy.

  He rolled out of bed and found a pair of clean shorts and tugged them on. He should do some laundry. He hadn’t brought much, considering he’d planned to carry everything in a backpack up and down a bunch of canyons, so in addition to a very few T-shirts, he had swim trunks, a couple of pairs of shorts, and one pair of jeans, which he’d already worn.

  He opened her bedroom closet door and found a tiny machine that was combination washer and dryer. It was full of laundry, so he pulled it all into an empty basket and replaced it with his stuff. After a few minutes of messing around, he figured out how to get it started.

  Well, that took fifteen minutes out of his day. He checked his watch. Library would be open in another hour.

  He gazed around the quiet space. What did people who didn’t work do all day?

  There were a couple of empty glasses on the kitchen counter and a coffee mug, so he washed and dried those.

  He put the clean dishes away, then pulled everything out of her cabinets, dusted it, and put it all back.

  He rearranged the books on her bookcase so that they were organized by genre, author, and publication date. Decided that was too intrusive, and put them back hopefully close to the way they were before.