Sweet Talker Read online

  I can’t stop thinking about her.

  But watching her with Rylee, I know who ranks highest in her thoughts, and a weird and unwelcome sting of jealousy floats through me. Their bond is one I can’t compete with.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Down and Dirty

  Pascale

  “You’re going down, Nichols.”

  Did Ethan not learn anything from our paintball experience? If anyone is going down, it’s him. “Give it your best shot, Auprince.”

  “Oh, I will,” he confirms with a flash of dimples like they might distract me or something.

  I quickly get busy stretching my legs because, damn him, those sexy indentations are weapons of the highest degree. I’m a strong, independent, not-easily-swayed woman, but Ethan has a way of obliterating my resistance. Not today, though. Today is my tenth Tough Mudder in honor of my best friend, so I know exactly what I’m doing. Hillary had always wanted to try one so I do a course a year for her.

  The hunk beside me is a Mudder virgin. He may look like this isn’t his first time—with his air of confidence in his lightweight athletic shorts, T-shirt, and running shoes—but when he threw down a challenge of best time I knew he had no idea what kind of activity this was.

  Tough Mudders are team-centric events focused on helping each other through the obstacles on the course. Running solo doesn’t mean going it alone. It’s impossible to complete the challenges without the help of those around you.

  Ethan is smart and intuitive, though, so before I share that this isn’t a race to the finish line (even though we can technically race each other and there are participants here who feel an element of competition), he says, “I think Team Pascan should hook up with that group there.” He nods his head toward a bunch of people beside us in bright orange shirts with “Tough Titties” printed across the chest. “They’re talking some impressive strategy.”

  “Team Pascan?”

  “It has a nice ring to it.”

  I stifle a smile. “Totally.”

  He loops his arms around my waist and brings me close enough to smell his minty-fresh breath. “I am all over getting dirty with you for the next hour or two.”

  “By the time we’re through you will have mud in places you didn’t know existed.”

  “Great. That means new places for me to explore when I help get you clean afterward.”

  “It could take a while,” I say, thoughts of a long, hot shower with Ethan sparking flutters low in my belly.

  Rylee is with my parents for the day. They’re taking her to Universal Studios and keeping her overnight afterward. I almost changed my mind about being away from her for the next twenty-four hours when she gave me the biggest hug goodbye. She was warm and snuggly and smelled like her bubblegum shampoo. My chest literally ached when she told me to have fun today and then proceeded to give me one more hug for luck. The image of her skipping down the walkway with one hand in my mom’s and the other in my dad’s is one I’ll forever remember.

  “I hope so,” Ethan says, dipping his head to look me in the eyes and pulling me from my musings.

  I’m glad when the announcement comes for our wave to get into position. I’ve been inside my head so much lately thinking about Rylee and Ethan that I welcome the opportunity to focus on the eight miles of mud-soaked mayhem in front of us. We introduce ourselves to the Tough Titties on the walk to the starting line.

  The first obstacle is a lake crossing, the water coming up to our waists. I suck in a quick breath at the chill, but soon enough my body adjusts. Ethan follows right behind me. “Looking good from back here,” he says, his tone laidback. Flirty.

  There’s not much of me to take in, but I appreciate his comment. “Enjoy the view now,” I say over my shoulder, “because in a few minutes we’ll be covered in mud.” The obstacle up ahead is called the Kiss of Mud. We’ll be crawling on our stomachs over mud-coated ground with barbed wire overhead. I’m talking maybe eighteen inches overhead, so it’s imperative to keep your head down.

  We shake off the lake water and jog to the start of the obstacle. Ethan gets a competitive glint in his eye right before we drop to wriggle through the sludge. There is no way he’ll beat me across this hurdle. I’ve done it many times while the closest he’s probably come to kissing mud is eating the chocolate-coffee goodness that is mud pie at the House of Pies downtown.

  “On three?” He waggles his eyebrows.

  “Three!” I take off. My lead is short-lived when Ethan shimmies right on by me, flashing his exceptionally white teeth. We can’t have that, so I push myself harder. I accidentally bump him and his elbow slips. His chin hits the mud. He makes a spitting sound as I leave him in my wake.

  I climb out of the mud first and do a little victory dance. Ethan makes haste and decides some muddy PDA is in order. He palms the back of my head and brings my mouth to his for a kiss.

  “Blech,” I say, wiping my hand over my lips.

  “There’s plenty more where that came from,” he teases.

  Truth right there, considering there’s an obstacle with waist-deep mud coming up soon. First, though, is a vertical climb made extra badass with high-pressure water jets pouring in from every angle. It’s tough to keep a grip, but Team Pascan, with help from our new friends, makes it up and over.

  Obstacles with rope, inflatables, dirt and more dirt, monkey bars, and climbing walls challenge us over the next several miles. We lend a hand, take a hand, root each other on.

  On the last obstacle, I grab a trapeze bar, swing onto a big-ass descending pipe and shimmy hand-over-hand toward the finish. Ethan does the same on the identical obstacle next to me. A few feet from reaching the finish line, we make eye contact and hold it until we cross over into the end zone. Together.

  He scoops me up in celebration.

  “Did you just try to pull my shorts down?” he asks when he deposits my feet back on the ground.

  “Not on purpose!”

  “I don’t know. It felt pretty intentional.”

  I look at him. He stares at me. And we crack up. Our clothes are like three sizes too big, stretched out from the elements and obstacles we’ve just conquered. Despite the ribbing we gave each other at the start, we joined forces whenever needed, collaborating, encouraging, complimenting.

  There wasn’t a second I was alone on the course.

  Not a second Ethan wavered between himself or me.

  He chose me every time.

  “I’m soggy,” I say.

  “And sexy.”

  “Soggy is not sexy.”

  “It is when it’s attached to you.”

  Gah. There is no contending with his flattery. I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. Glancing around, I see that everyone in the crowd is a marshy mess. Except the man in front of me. “It’s really unfair that you look—” I wave my finger in a circle in front of him “—like that.” His shirt may be stretched well past his waist, but it clings to his chest and upper ab muscles, showing off every ridge through the wet material. His hair is standing up on top of his head in annoyingly appealing disarray. And his thick five-o’clock shadow gives him an edge of danger that really turns me on.

  He notices my nipples poking through my sports bra and shirt.

  “That?” He questions, his gaze bouncing back to mine.

  “Yes, you know. That.”

  “I don’t know, but let’s get out of here so I can properly congratulate you on a course well played.” He takes my hand and weaves me through the Mudder Village Festival, where local eats, lawn games, and entertainment are available for all the participants.

  “Don’t you want to stay and—”

  “Nope. I want to get you home and get you naked.”

  No way am I arguing with that.

  Ethan takes me back to his house. Or more precisely, straight to his master bath. The room is practically the size of my entire home with sand-colored marble everywhere. There’s his-and-hers sinks, a huge bathtub under a window that ov
erlooks the Pacific in the distance, and a glass enclosed shower with enough room for a giant swan floatie. Not that I’d ever bring a pool toy inside, but you get the idea. Several thick, plush rugs cover the floor. He turns on the shower.

  I wiggle my toes in the soft chenille mat underneath my feet. Dirt is caked into every crevice. The shoes and socks we ditched at the front door smelled so bad on the car ride here that we couldn’t stop laughing about it. I look up and Ethan’s blue eyes connect with mine. He’s so handsome, even after eight miles of trudging through mud and grime, and lust pools low in my belly. He gives a little twitch of his lips like he knows the effect he has on me, and then reaches over his shoulder to tug off his shirt. The movement is smooth. Graceful.

  Until the material somehow gets stuck—maybe on his stubble or his ear—and he has to tug far less elegantly. The clumsy act makes him even more attractive, and when he finally pulls the shirt off with a look of humility that makes him perfectly human, I can’t get in the shower with him fast enough.

  We race to see who can get naked first.

  He wins, but that’s okay because it means I get a few more seconds of seeing his hard, defined biceps, strong chest, lean, muscular thighs dusted with light brown hair, and the big, beautiful package between them.

  “Ladies first,” he says, gesturing through the open shower door.

  I run the pads of my fingers across his chest as I step into the enclosure. He pats my bottom, giving me a little heave-ho. “Jesus,” he says softly. I assume he’s referring to my nice ass, but the moment I’m standing under the spray of warm water, he’s at my back with one hand on my waist and the other gently caressing my left shoulder blade. “Does this hurt?” he asks.

  “A little.” I banged my shoulder on one of the climbing walls and knew I’d have a bruise.

  He kisses the spot. “You were unbelievable out there.”

  “You weren’t too bad yourself.”

  “I held my own, but you made it look easy.” He reaches around me for the bar of soap then delicately glides it over the bruised skin.

  Out of nowhere, my eyes fill with tears. His tender touch and sweet words are a dangerous combination. For ten years I’ve done this on my own to honor Hillary’s memory, and having him beside me today means more than he’ll ever know. There isn’t a day that I don’t think about my best friend, but lately she’s taken up more space. I wish she were here to meet Rylee. I wish…

  “How about here?” Ethan asks. “Does it hurt here, too?”

  Not as much as the pain I hear in his voice. He brushes his lips over the back of my arm.

  I scraped it on some barbed wire and figured I’d have a pretty good cut. “Just stings.”

  “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got me to make you feel better.”

  And make me feel, he does. He washes my entire backside with care, then moves to my sides where his fingers brush the outside swell of my breasts. The scant touch is enough to turn my nipples into hard, aching points.

  As if he can read my body without seeing the evidence, he wraps his arms around my middle and washes my chest, slips lower to my abdomen, and lower still to the curls between my legs. His soapy hands roam up and down several times, teasing and taunting, and every single part of me is tight and needy now.

  He nuzzles the side of my neck. “Nothing feels as good as your body underneath my hands.” He presses his erection against my ass. “Or wrapped around my cock.”

  My sex clenches in response. Yes, please.

  I turn to face him. “I’m happy to make you feel good right now.” Cos, boy oh boy do I know it will make me feel good, too.

  Piercing blue eyes hold so much emotion I tingle behind my knees. “I really want to fuck you without a condom.”

  “Then by all means, do it. I’m clean and trust you wouldn’t have said that if you weren’t too.”

  “I am. But what about…” Something new flashes in his gaze and for a split second I want to run away. From him. From us. From the uncertainty I think I just saw before he locked it down.

  “I’m on the pill.”

  Apparently, those are the magic words because with a renewed sparkle in his eyes he claims my mouth in a searing kiss. It’s drugging and delicious. Our hands are everywhere at once as rivulets of water slide down our bodies. Steam fills the space. The scent of mint and vanilla, too. His hard length presses against me, velvety hot.

  He lifts me up. “Wrap your legs around me.”

  I climb him like a tree and cross my ankles to stay latched on. Loop my arms around his neck. Droplets of water cling to his eyelashes. His full lips part. And then he’s at my entrance where I welcome him inside with one swift upward thrust.

  The fullness has me seeing stars. My breasts are heavy. My heart is pounding. He exudes power and masculinity, holding me entirely on his own in the middle of this luxurious shower.

  “Fuck, I’m not going to last long,” he pants. Or warns. Whichever it is, I’m right there with him. The pressure building inside me is dizzying, sensations barreling down my spine bordering on the most pleasurable kind of pain.

  He pumps faster, his palms pressing into my bottom, his fingerprints no doubt branding me. Heavy breathing. Murmurs. Sighs. The sound of our bodies slapping. I look down at where we’re connected and that’s it. My orgasm crashes over me and I come, humming Ethan’s name and how good it feels. He’s right behind me with one last drive, spilling inside me for the first time. It’s the most intimate I’ve been with someone.

  “God, Callie,” he says, turning and carrying me two steps so my back touches the marble wall. I love that he isn’t ready to separate us yet. He’s softening inside me, but still lodged deep enough to stay joined.

  I kiss his cheek. Then the other one. His forehead. And finally his lips, tugging playfully on the bottom one with my teeth. “I need to soap you up now.”

  “In a minute. I don’t want to move.”

  “Your legs have got to be tired.”

  “We are definitely napping before heading to the restaurant later.”

  “Is that all we’re doing?” I challenge because I want more of this. More of nothing between us.

  He laughs. “Your eyebrows just told me all I need to know.”

  I frown. “What?”

  He laughs again and runs his thumb over my eyebrow. “They’re very expressive. They tell me things when your eyes don’t.”

  “And what are they saying now?”

  “That you love my dick unwrapped and think we should do this at least two more times today.”

  It’s my turn to laugh because he’s absolutely right.

  *

  The next morning, I kick off the sheets on my bed. I’m hot and clammy and my throat feels like I’ve swallowed razor blades.

  “Hey,” a sleepy Ethan says from beside me. “You okay?” He flops his arm over my bare middle then immediately sits up and places the back of his hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up.”

  “I don’t feel good,” I rasp.

  “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

  You know I’m sick when I can’t even muster enough strength to prop myself up and watch his naked body leave the bed. I hear him rummaging in the bathroom. He returns with a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a thermometer.

  “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.” He slips the digital thermometer under my tongue to the back pocket of my mouth.

  I’m impressed with the ease with which he handles this. He’s put on his boxer briefs and assumed the role of Dr. Auprince without missing a beat. His soft expression holds comfort, not inconvenience, and my heart takes the last step to falling. I love this man. If I’m being honest, I always have.

  The thermometer beeps. Ethan slips it out of my mouth and reads the result. “A hundred and one. Looks like someone is staying in bed today.”

  I close my eyes. I don’t have time to be sick. Rylee’s birthday is next Saturday and while she’s still with my parents I’d planned t
o arrange all the details for a party. I jolt upright. Bad idea. My head swims with pain.

  “Whoa, tiger. No fast movements. Here. Take these please.” He hands me two white pills and the glass of water.

  I down the meds. As soon as they kick in, I’ve got stuff to do.

  “No,” Ethan says.

  I make a face as I hand him the empty glass. He puts it on the nightstand before tucking the covers around me. “No, you’re not doing whatever it is that’s going on in your head. A fever is contagious and could mean an infection. You need to rest.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper because the back of my throat burns. “I need to plan Rylee’s birthday party today.”

  “When is her birthday?” A touch of hurt is stitched within his question, like he wishes I’d mentioned it before now.

  “Saturday.” Six measly days away. I should have been on it sooner.

  “I’ll handle it,” he says leaving no room for argument.

  “Ethan.”

  “I will give her the best birthday party a five-year-old has ever had. Trust me.”

  I drop my chin in my hand, my energy level too low to keep my head up. “What’s your plan?”

  “Pony rides. Clowns. No, not clowns. They can be creepy. One of those huge bouncer things. A petting zoo. And a rock-climbing wall.” He smiles, pleased with his quick thinking.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, but this party isn’t about you and making it some over-the-top production. It’s about Rylee. You don’t need to spend thousands of dollars to make her happy. She likes things simple. So, I think I’ll—”

  “Let me try again,” he interrupts, his expression hopeful. “I promise I’ll get it right.”

  I stare at him before lying back down, my eyelids heavy, my overheated body weary. I was fatigued yesterday, more so after the race, and now I know why. I also know I need to get well so I don’t pass whatever I’ve got to Rylee. Which means bed rest. And letting Ethan run with this.