Craving His Best Friend's Ex

“I’ll let you keep your secrets for now,” she said.

“Should I say thank you?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Ready to go to dinner?”

She nodded. “Let me get my bag and phone.”

She walked out of the room and again he watched her go, knowing he was fooling himself pretending to be her friend. He was good at arguing a point in court and convincing juries to believe his point of view, but he’d never been able to bluff himself. He had always been very aware of his own weaknesses and if he was being completely honest, Crissanne felt like a dangerous vulnerability. There was no way he was going to ever be able to look at her and not want more, not want to feel her lips under his and not want her body twined with his all night long.

Two

The Peace Creek Steakhouse was conveniently located near the downtown area of Cole’s Hill. When Ethan was growing up, his family would rent the wine room in the back to celebrate major accomplishments. As he and Crissanne stood in the foyer waiting to be seated, he remembered how he’d get money from Babs, one of his parents’ housekeepers, to get mints from the machine in the front of the restaurant and how he and his brothers would all scramble to be the first one there.

It was in his childhood that Ethan learned to argue with his words and not his fists. He was never going to be stronger than Nate, who was two inches taller than Ethan. But Nate could be distracted by anyone who didn’t share his point of view. Of course, some of those early arguments had ended in a broken nose for him. But it had been worth it to be the first to the candy machine.

“What are you thinking about?” Crissanne asked.

He shook his head. “Fighting with my brothers to be the first to get a mint from that candy machine.”

“It’s so foreign to me that you’ve lived in the same place most of your life,” she said. “I bet everywhere you go there are memories.”

“There are,” he said. “Don’t you have places where you could go back to?”

“I guess,” she said. “The group home I lived in as a kid was torn down a few years ago, and then as a teen I was in a home in Northern California, but I hated it. I felt so...out of place in my Goodwill clothing. I think I’m better at looking to the future,” she said.

He started to reach out to squeeze her shoulder but stopped and dropped his hand. Desire had always been such a part of the atmosphere when he was around Crissanne. With Mason as a barrier to anything ever actually happening, he’d allowed himself casual touches that were much more dangerous now. He needed to be careful.

She was still off-limits, but it didn’t feel that way.

“That’s the best way to look at it,” he said. “You can’t change the past.”

She moved away to look at the pictures on the wall while he gave their name to the hostess, who was the daughter of one his cousins, Liam Shannon. He exchanged small talk with her as she promised him the first table that was available and then moved away from the hostess stand. Ethan had never noticed the framed prints before. They were all images of cowboys that were at least thirty years old, which he knew because there was one of his father when he’d first inherited the Rockin’ C, standing in front of his F-150 pickup with the Rockin’ C logo. His dad had been the one to take the ranch to the next level of production. The family company had the mineral rights that earned them a large part of their fortune, but Winston Caruthers had made the cattle ranching operation a contender in the portfolio.

“This guy... I love the mixture of confidence and bravado in his eyes,” Crissanne said as Ethan joined her.

“That’s my dad,” Ethan said. “One of his sayings is ‘he who hesitates is lost.’ He’s always just gone for whatever it is he wants.”

She turned to look at him. “You have inherited that. You never hesitate, do you?”

One time.

When he and Mason had both seen Crissanne across the quad and he’d stood there wondering if he should ask her out, while Mason, always willing to take a chance, had stridden over and done just that.

His dad was right.

Again.

He took a deep breath. “I have my ups and downs.”

“Seems to me that you have more ups than downs,” she said. “Your business is very successful.”

“Usually, but I don’t like to brag.”

She mock-punched him on the shoulder. Damn, her touch sent an electric current through him, even though he realized she was still touching him like a friend. He had hesitated...damn, he’d done it again. She rattled him.

He prided himself on being calm and in control, but she was messing with his restraint. He didn’t like it.

If he’d learned anything in his thirty years on this earth, it was that he didn’t do well without some sort of limits.

A strand of her hair fell forward, and he lifted his hand to tuck it back behind her ear. Her lips parted and she caught her breath. He couldn’t help rubbing his finger down the side of her neck—her skin was so soft—before he dropped his hand.

“Ethan...”

“Yes?”

“Mr. Caruthers,” the hostess called. “Your table is ready.”

Crissanne swallowed hard and then nodded and stepped around him to follow the hostess into the dining room. The dynamic had changed between the two of them.

He had changed it. He’d tried to be casual about touching her, but there was no way he could continue to hide the way he felt, especially now that Mason was out of the picture.

And while a part of him knew that caution would be the noble route, another part of him didn’t care about that, the selfish part that could only see the woman he’d always wanted walking in front of him to a table set for two. Her hips swayed gently with each step, her blond hair swinging back and forth as he watched.

But they were friends.

At least that much was true. He thought about his brother Derek and his best friend, Bianca, and how they’d somehow managed to turn friendship into love. But that wasn’t him and Crissanne. It had never been the two of them in their friendship; it had always been three of them. And it would be ridiculous to think that Mason wasn’t going to come to his senses and return for her.

Ethan knew that was what he’d do.

So tonight had to be two old friends catching up...nothing more.

* * *

Crissanne fell back as Ethan engaged in a conversation with one of the many people in Cole’s Hill who knew him as they walked out of the restaurant. It was safe to say he was a favored son here. She saw in the bones of the streets and its charming historic district that it had been a smallish town but was growing quickly. In fact, the man who was talking to Ethan was discussing a development going in just south of the town limits.

Her fingers itched for her camera. She used the one on her smartphone at times, but she preferred to have the lens at her eye, fiddling with the focus until she could capture whatever it was about her subject that fascinated her.

Maybe if she did that, then she’d be able to understand this attraction to Ethan she was feeling. But she wasn’t holding out hope that it would help. The light from the storefront of the Peace Creek Mercantile was throwing shadows on his features, bringing that strong jaw of his into focus. What the heck. She took her phone from her pocket and opened the camera app.

The light played over his hair, drawing her eye to the fact that he had some light blond highlights. She tuned out everything, watching Ethan through her camera app and moving to get the right angle for the photo. She zoomed in closer, and saw he had a scar on his left eyebrow...she’d never noticed that before.

His expression was earnest and confident as he focused on the man he was talking to. That was one of the things she really liked about Ethan. He gave his attention 100 percent to whomever he was engaged with. She snapped a few photos, but when she moved around to change her angle, she bumped into someone.

“Sorry.”

She glanced up to see a cowboy. Like a legit, thought-they-only-existed-in-the-movies cowboy. He had a leonine mane of brownish-blond hair streaked through with gray, his eyes had sun lines around them, and his skin was tanned. Leathery, she’d say, but he wore his years well. There was something familiar about the set of his eyes and his nose. She knew it would be rude to snap a picture of him, but that face told a story.

“That’s okay. I’m sure you could find something prettier to photograph, though.”

“Than what?” Crissanne asked.

“That shark over there. You know he’s the type to argue,” the cowboy said. “He’s a lawyer.”

“I know,” she said. “He’s a champion at debating just about anything. One time we spent forty-five minutes arguing the merits of fresh salsa versus that stuff they serve at the fast-food chains.”

“Surely there was no competition,” the cowboy said.

“Believe it or not, he thought that the fast-food salsa had its place on the salsa scale.”

“That boy always was ornerier than a mule,” the cowboy said.

“Only someone who knows Ethan well would say that,” she replied. “Who are you?”

“Hello, Pa,” Ethan said, joining them. Then he turned to Crissanne. “I told you my family could be a pain.”

“You did,” she admitted.

“Winston Caruthers,” the cowboy said, holding out his hand. “You can call me Pa—everyone does.”

Crissanne knew it was a casual offer, probably one he made a dozen times a day, but she’d never had a father figure. No man had ever offered for her to call him Pa. And it meant more than she knew it should.

“Thank you,” she said, taking his hand. “I’m Crissanne Moss.”

“Pleased to meet you, Crissanne,” Pa Caruthers said. “Ethan, you’ll have to bring your girl out to the house one night soon to meet your ma.”

“Pa, uh, we’re not a couple. She’s Mason’s—”

“Ex. I’m Mason’s ex and I’m here for a job, so Ethan is letting me stay with him for a few days. We were friends in college,” she said, taking control of the conversation. She had no idea what Ethan had been about to say, but Crissanne knew she wasn’t Mason’s anything anymore.

“Your ma would still like to meet her,” Pa Caruthers said in a firm tone.

Ethan’s jaw tightened. “Of course.”

“As I said, Pa,” Crissanne interjected, and it gave her a little thrill to say it, “I’m working here so I’m not sure what my schedule is, but we’ll try to get out there.”

Winston nodded and put his hat back on. “See you on Saturday, Ethan.”

“Yes, sir,” Ethan said. His father nodded at Crissanne and then moved on down the sidewalk.

“He still thinks I’m a teenager,” Ethan said.

“I think it’s sweet,” she said.

Ethan arched an eyebrow at her. “Sweet? He’s ornery as hell. Everyone says that.”

“Do they also say you’re just like him?” Crissanne asked, because he sounded just like his father had when he’d been talking about Ethan.

Ethan chuckled. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean they’re right.”

“Did you get some good pictures of the town?” he asked.

She flushed. She was pretty sure all she’d photographed was Ethan. “I did. Sort of scene shots with the street and the people on it.”

“Good.”

They continued walking in silence back toward Ethan’s Ferrari, which he’d parked at the far end of the historic district on the other side of the Grand Hotel. She thought about how nice this town was, how lovely Ethan’s family was and how she really had to be careful about her emotions. This was a stopgap. Cole’s Hill was meant to be a place for her to breathe and then figure out her next move.

She couldn’t fall for the town or the Carutherses. And she knew that was a distinct possibility. Ethan held her attention—Lord knew, he always had—but seeing him here and not in Los Angeles was bringing him into focus.

And she wished she could say that she was seeing all his scars and his faults, and that was a turnoff. But his scars made her understand him better. Which was dangerous. She could resist perfection. But she was going to have to really stay on her guard to keep the Ethan she knew at arm’s length.

* * *

Ethan had been in bed for two hours listening to the sound of the wind blowing and the scrape of the tree branches against his window. He really needed to take care of that. But he knew that wasn’t what was keeping him awake.

Crissanne was in his house. Sleeping just down the hall in the spare room. He had never slept with her under his roof before. It wouldn’t have mattered before, but now he knew it did.

He’d told himself over and over that she was just a friend.

She was still Mason’s girl until his best friend told him otherwise.

And of course that just sharpened the ache of desire inside him. His skin had felt too tight for his body all night, except for those few moments when she’d smiled at him, and then he’d forgotten she wasn’t his. She was here as a friend. And she was her own person.

She’d come to him for friendship, and he was going to deliver.

He rolled over and saw the empty expanse of the bed next to him. He closed his eyes and swore he smelled the scent of her perfume drifting through the open French doors that led to the balcony.

He got up and walked to the open door and saw the shadow of someone standing at the railing.

Crissanne.

He reached for his jeans and drew them on over his naked body. He carefully pushed his erection out of the way as he buttoned his jeans, and then scrubbed his hand through his hair as he stepped out.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, keeping his voice low so he didn’t startle her.

“No. Too much in my head,” she said, turning to face him. She wore a thin sleeveless nightgown that ended at her knee. The moon was full tonight and it shone down on her, making her look almost as if she wasn’t of this world. As if she didn’t belong here.

Hell.

He knew she didn’t.

“Did I wake you?” she asked, leaning back against the railing. The breeze stirred her hair, catching it and making it flow against her shoulder and then across her face. She tucked it back behind her ear.

“No.”

“I’m glad,” she said. “But what’s keeping you awake? Maybe talking will help.”

He doubted it was going to help either of them sleep if he told her he’d been consumed with images of her and that he couldn’t stop thinking about her mouth and wondering about her kiss. He rubbed his hand over his chest as his skin started to feel too hot. He needed her. He knew what lust felt like.

But this was Crissanne. Not a stranger, not someone he could simply hook up with and then smile at the next morning.

They had history.

And on his side...attraction.

So much wanting, he thought. In the moonlight with the shape of her body hidden by the flowy nightgown she had on, his imagination was running away from him. He wanted to lift the hem of that gown—

“Ethan?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “No. What about you?”

“I definitely don’t,” she said.

“Want to play sips and lies?”

She laughed. “The last time we played that I won.”

“Only because I let you,” he said.

“Uh, sure.”

“It’s true,” he called back over his shoulder as he walked to the wet bar at the end of the balcony. “I’m a gentleman.”

“Whatever you say,” she said, moving over to the padded lounge chairs that were clustered around a portable fire pit. She sat down and pulled the throw off the back of the chair, drawing it over her shoulders.

He busied himself looking through the bottles searching for the Patrón that he knew was her favorite. And then he sliced a lime and put it on a serving tray next to the shaker of salt and two shot glasses.

He set the tray on the end table between two of the chairs. “Are you cold? I can light the fire.”

“I’m okay with the blanket,” she said, pouring both of them a shot of tequila.

“Who’s going first?” she asked.

“You.”

“The gentleman thing again?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Haven’t had time to think of a lie that you’ll believe.”

She started laughing.

He loved the sound of her laughter. He still remembered the first time he’d heard it all those years ago. She’d been sitting on the arm of Mason’s chair and someone had said something and she’d started laughing. It was such a joyous sound it always made him smile and at times had cut through the fog he’d allowed himself to live in for a few years.

The game, which they’d played many times in college and since then, was simple. They took turns telling a story and the other players had to guess if it was true or false. If the guess was right, the one telling the story had to drink, and vice versa.

“Topic?” she asked.

“First kiss,” he said. It was the first thing that had come to his mind, and as soon as he said it he knew that he was in trouble. He shouldn’t be sitting in the moonlight with Crissanne, drinking and talking about kisses. He didn’t have the strength that he’d need to keep his distance.

“First kiss? Well, that’s an interesting one. It was that time I kissed a frog,” she said. “I was at this party at school and I remembered the fairy tale about the kiss turning a frog into a prince. Molly Moore dared me to do it, and I thought what the heck and did it.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Was the frog an actual amphibian?”

“What other kind is there?” she said, not really answering his question.

“I’m going to go with lie,” he said.

“Truth. I got in trouble for kissing the frog and had to have detention,” she said.

“Why?”

“Molly and I were really there to free the frogs from the science lab, so me kissing one was the distraction while she set the others free.”

Their eyes met as he licked the back of his hand and shook some salt on it before licking it off again. Then he tossed back the shot, keeping eye contact with Crissanne, before he brought the lime wedge to his mouth and bit it, the tangy juice filling his mouth.

As he tossed the used lime wedge onto the tray, Crissanne reached forward, brushing her thumb over his lower lip and sending a jolt straight through him as she pulled her hand back and licked her thumb.

Yeah, this has bad idea written all over it.

Three

It was August in Texas, so even this late at night it was hot, or at least that was the excuse Crissanne was going to use for the heat sweeping through her. It had nothing to do with the fact that Ethan sat across from her wearing a pair of low-slung faded jeans and nothing else. His chest was bare, and he had more muscles than she’d expected.

He was a lawyer. Surely that meant he spent a lot of time at his desk not working out. But to be fair his muscles weren’t overly large...just enticing. He had a flat stomach but no washboard abs, so realistically she knew that there were probably women somewhere in the world who would argue that he wasn’t the sexiest man alive. But sitting here in the moonlight with the taste of lime on her tongue and his warm voice telling her a tale that she knew was a lie, she knew she wouldn’t agree with those women.

He arched one eyebrow at her and she realized he’d stopped talking.

“Uh...lie?”

“Woman, you are wrong,” he said, handing her the bottle of Patrón. And given the fact that her judgment was already a little off-center, she knew she should call it a night and go back to her bed.

Instead she took the tequila and poured it into her shot glass. Their eyes met as she licked the back of her hand, and she noticed that his pupils dilated. She shook the salt out, then leaned forward as she let her gaze drop and licked the salt, watching him from under her eyelashes. She noticed the muscles of his chest contracting as she tossed back the shot and felt the sting of it before she took the lime and bit it.

She put the lime on the tray as Ethan got out of his chair and walked to the balcony railing. She watched him as he braced his hands on the wrought iron and craned his head forward. His back was long and smooth, his neck strong and sexy. That intense longing rose inside her again.

And all the reasons she thought she had for coming to Texas floated away on the night breeze. She watched Ethan, felt the conflict inside him and knew she should go back into her room.

But instead she got to her feet and went over to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and then leaned her head against his back right between his shoulder blades. He went tense for a minute before he relaxed.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice a low rumble that carried no farther than her ears.

She rubbed her hand over his smooth chest, and she knew he was right as she kept her face buried between his shoulders. But she’d been alone for a long time. Even though she’d only just broken up with Mason, they’d been drifting apart. She hadn’t spent more than a few hours with him in the last six months, and she knew a big part of her had already started to move on.

She didn’t want to think about that. About how easy it was for her to lock away her hurt and disappointment and just function. She had thought...well, hoped that she’d left that in her past. That the girl who had never connected with any of the families she’d fostered with had grown into a woman who made solid bonds with her boyfriend.

It hurt to realize how wrong she’d been.

“I don’t care,” she said. Saying it out loud made her realize it was true. “There is something between us.”

He took her arms from around him and stepped aside.

“Yeah. Mason.”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant. I always had you pegged as a straight shooter, but I guess you are probably used to saying whatever you have to in order to win an argument.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

He closed the gap between them in two long strides and reached for her, his hands briefly brushing over her shoulders before he dropped them to his sides.

“Don’t make this impossible,” he said.

“It already is,” she said. “Or maybe I’m the only one who feels this.”

He shook his head. “Dammit. You know you’re not.”

He stepped closer, and the waves of heat from his body enveloped her as he reached for her waist and drew her closer. She put her hand on his arm, and felt his biceps tense as he lifted her slightly off her feet.

He lowered his head toward hers, and she tipped hers back. Their eyes met. A flash of their entire history went through her mind. All the times they’d sat quietly talking in a corner while Mason had been entertaining their friends with some daring trick.

She knew that this was sudden and was afraid that Ethan would pull back. That he’d let his friendship with Mason keep them from kissing. So she did it.

She initiated the kiss.

His lips were warm and firm, but soft. When they parted, she tasted the lime and tequila on his tongue as it rubbed over hers.

She dug her fingers into his upper arm and lifted her head trying to get closer to him. He tasted good. His kiss was perfect, and so was the way he held her to him. She felt him shift so that he was leaning against the balcony railing, her body resting fully along his.

She felt his hard-on against her lower stomach, and her breasts were nestled against his chest. Just the thin layer of her nightgown kept her from feeling his skin against hers, and she wanted more. She let her thigh fall to one side so that his leg was between hers, and he groaned as his hands roamed down her back to her butt, cupping it and shifting her into a deeper contact with him.

She raised her head to look down at him, and he was watching her. Just staring up at her. She wasn’t sure she could read the emotion in his eyes, but it sparked something deep inside her that was more than sexual need.

She started to draw back, aware that she was craving something from him that felt dangerous and edgy, but he tunneled his hands in her hair and drew her head back to his.