Sarah M. Anderson - His For One Night

Flash whipped off his hat and launched the smile at her that had melted her heart—and other parts—so long ago. “I wanted to see you again, but I get the feeling that you’re not exactly happy with me right now.”

“You picked up on that, did you?”

“It was subtle,” he replied, that easy grin on his lips, “but I did notice a little anger in those songs.”

“Well, your powers of deduction are in fine form.” She made a move to step around him, but he mirrored her movements. “What, Flash? I’m tired.”

“I want to apologize,” he said, moving closer.

She inhaled sharply. This sounded like a trap. “Oh? And what, exactly, are you apologizing for?”

“Don’t know. But—” he went on when Brooke scoffed heartily “—clearly I hurt you and, judging by the songs I heard tonight—which were great—I hurt you badly. So let me apologize, Brooke.”

Lord, did he have to sound so damned earnest about it? She almost wished he was cocky and overconfident. This would be so much easier if he was trying to talk his way into her panties again. This time, she’d be ready for him. This time, she wouldn’t make a mistake.

But, no—the cocky cowboy she’d taken to bed was nowhere to be seen, and in his place stood a serious man staring at her with so much longing and tenderness that, if Brooke allowed herself to think about it at all, he might take her breath away. So she didn’t think about it.

“Fine. Apology accepted. Good night, Flash.”

“Brooke,” he said, her name a whisper on his lips. “I’ve missed you so much and the hell of it is, I don’t know why.”

“Really?” she snapped at him. Anger was great. Anger was not being seduced by his sweet words or intense looks. Anger was reminding her exactly who he was—a smooth talker with a violent streak—and, more importantly, who she was. He’d gotten her pregnant and she’d had to deal with the fallout without him because she couldn’t trust him. Her whole life had been upended because of this man because she’d fallen for his sweet words and right now, he wasn’t even that smooth at the talking. “That’s not an apology, Flash. That’s an insult.”

“Would you listen?” he said, a warning in his voice. But then the weirdest thing happened—he took a step back and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. “What I mean to say is, you were amazing—gorgeous and funny and smart and so easy to be with, and I’d be a fool not to want more of that. With you,” he added quickly.

She snorted again, crossing her arms in front of her chest as different harmonies for don’t say something romantic played in her mind.

“We had one night. A one-night stand, as you so eloquently put it.” He ran a hand through his hair and then looked at her again, and this time the need in his eyes really did take her breath away. “That was all it was supposed to be, damn it, and...and it wasn’t. Not for me. I wanted more with you then and I want more with you now.”

“That’s all well and good, Flash, but it’s not enough. Not for me.”

She needed to tell him about Bean. It wasn’t fair to him to keep his son hidden away, and it wasn’t fair to Bean to deprive him of his father when the man was right here.

But she couldn’t.

Not until she knew what he wanted and not if all he wanted was another night. Because she couldn’t make a mistake like Flash Lawrence again. She needed him to be a father to his son. She needed him to be a co-parent, at the very least.

She needed to know she could trust him. And right now?

Not a lot of trust to go around.

Eyes closed, he took another one of those weirdly deep breaths and then he stepped up to her. Even though the night was warm and sticky, she felt the warmth from his body as if he’d shined the heat of the sun down upon her. And it only got worse when his hand came up to cup her face and his thumb stroked over her cheek. She knew she should push him away, but when he touched his forehead to hers she couldn’t help leaning into his touch, breathing in the clean scent of him—leather and man and, Lord, it was wonderful.

“I followed your career, watched your climb up the charts. Celebrated your number-one hits and cheered your award-show wins. Saw your face every night I closed my eyes,” he said, his voice soft as his breath brushed over her skin like a lover’s kiss. Her body clenched in an involuntary response to his touch, his words. His everything . “I tried so hard to forget you, but I couldn’t. And I’m so sorry.”

He wasn’t making any sense. He wasn’t . But damn it all if he wasn’t reminding her exactly why she’d taken him into her bed, because even when he was speaking in riddles he still made it sound so good—and feel even better. “Because you can’t forget me?”

“No.” He laughed a little. She looked deep into his eyes and saw unflinching honesty as he said, “I’ll never be sorry for that. But I looked you up and I realized, what if you’d looked me up, too? What if you read about the arrest and trial and plea deals? So I’m sorry for how you must’ve felt when you read the headlines. I’m sorry you saw the worst of me, playing out in real time on the internet. I’m sorry I destroyed a perfect memory of a perfect night, because that’s what you were to me. A perfect memory.”

She inhaled sharply, her eyes stinging even as she squeezed them tight. That was a very good line, one that was already weaving its way into the chorus her brain was trying to write.

“I came here tonight not to tell you I wanted you—although I do,” Flash went on. His other hand settled in the curve of her hip, gently pulling her into him and, weak as she was, she let him.

Her breasts brushed against his chest. “Then why?” she whispered, afraid of his answer even as she was desperate to hear it.

“I came here to tell you what happened after the headlines. After I got sentenced and suspended from the circuit, I did my community service and completed my anger management courses. I made a promise to myself and my family that I was going to rein in my anger and stop letting it rule me.”

“You did?” Somehow, her hand was underneath his jacket on his chest—not pushing him away but resting right over his heart. She could feel it beating, strong and steady.

He turned his head ever so slightly, his lips brushing against her temple, then down her cheek. “I also quit drinking. I won’t say I’m an alcoholic, but when I drank I couldn’t keep a handle on my anger, and that’s when I got into trouble. I’ve been sober for eight months and counting.”

“Tonight?” Her voice came out breathy and tight, and the space between her legs felt warm and liquid with want because she hadn’t had a man in her bed since him and she missed him.

No, no—she missed sex. Which was normal. She’d been cleared to resume her nonexistent sex life from the private OB/GYN—who her mother had made sign a nondisclosure form, HIPAA be damned—six weeks ago, as long as she used reliable birth control, and it had taken everything Brooke had not to laugh in the woman’s face.

So she didn’t necessarily miss this man. She just missed men in general.

Right.

“Ginger ale. In a beer glass.” Then he brushed his lips against hers, and she was powerless to do anything but open her mouth for him. When he licked inside her, she tasted sugar and ginger, not beer.

Pop shouldn’t be so seductive, but this was crazy. How did he know that was exactly what she needed to hear? How could he taste so good?

How could she still want him so damned much?

Because she did.

He broke the kiss but he didn’t pull away. Somehow, they were closer now and she could feel the heat of his erection pulsing against her belly. She could feel her pulse matching his, beat for beat.