Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1: Xander) Read online

  He figured he’d be in the clear. She wouldn’t be there at this hour, not when the likelihood of other pool patrons was so high. It was obvious she wanted to be alone to try to swim. But up at the roof he stopped at the door. Because she stood by the edge of the water.

  Freaking fate. Sarcastic serendipity. Seems he was paying for some past misdemeanour in the grand old scheme of things, because he was screwed to the rack here and stretched out something painful.

  She’d not looked up. Not seen him. He didn’t move. Just watched. He’d never been a voyeur, preferring an all action approach. But he didn’t want to disturb her yet. Plus, he’d gotten hard just from the sight of her and he needed to sort that out. Except he remembered the soft, smooth warmth of her skin, the sexy little sigh as he’d touched her, the passion she’d unleashed when he’d kissed her.

  Temptation screamed. Pure want clawed at him, urging him to move closer. How could he not go for that again? Mercurial thoughts whispered—demand cloaked in desire. Maybe what she needed was a quick fling? Some fun to clear the cobwebs? He could so do that for her.

  But then she turned slightly so he saw her profile more clearly. Even from this distance he saw the anxiety etched into her frozen features. It killed his lustful edge. Other instincts rose fast and sharp. He stepped nearer the glass, narrowing his gaze to watch her every movement.

  Except she wasn’t moving.

  She was holding her breath and she wasn’t even in the water. Her hands were fisted at her sides as she stared into the depths. Xander’s lungs ached as he held his breath right along with her. It was a beautiful pool. Warm, clean, soothing. He couldn’t wait to dive right in there. He’d take her in with him if she wanted. But it was pretty clear she didn’t.

  His head told him to back away and pretend he hadn’t seen but his body, not listening, pushed forward. He couldn’t walk away. What if she got into trouble? All his training insisted he stay. That he step right out.

  Damn it, he couldn’t bloody well resist.

  Chelsea turned at the sound of the door to the stairwell opening. Her vision locked on to the guy now walking towards her. No way. He didn’t look ready for a swim, not in those jeans and that damn ancient baby blue tee. She opted to go on the offensive—mainly to mask her own feelings from herself.

  “Are you stalking me?” she asked.

  He stopped walking, grinning at her from five paces away.

  She felt the smile like a flame from the sun—scorching her nerves. How did he do that? “Every time I come to the pool now, you’re here,” she added, more defensively.

  His brows lifted and he whipped off his tee-shirt. “Doesn’t that make you the one who’s stalking me?” He dropped the tee onto the nearest deck chair. “I told you I swim every day.”

  In the middle of the day? In the middle of the week? She’d never have thought he’d be here at this hour. That was why she was here now. Plus she’d thought trying in broad daylight might help her unease.

  He cocked his head to the side. “I’ve never seen you actually wet, though.”

  Wet? She wasn’t thinking crude. She refused to think crude. Oh hell. She was thinking just how wet she was. Already. But maybe that wasn’t so bad. One second in his presence and her fear had fled. So had every intention of trying to get in the water.

  “I’ll teach you how to swim if you want,” he said, his hands on his belt. “I’m a very good swimmer. I worked as a lifeguard for years.”

  “I thought you were a doctor,” she said, startled.

  “You’ve been thinking about me?” His smile broadened. Something flashed in his eyes. A glint of satisfaction?

  Chelsea clamped her jaw shut.

  “Why’d you think that?” he added.

  “The other night.” She snapped. She so didn’t want him thinking she’d been trying to dig info on him. Even if she’d wanted to she wouldn’t have known where to start. Brad ‘loose-lips’ Doorman wasn’t a viable option. The whole building would know she’d asked about him. “You helped that old lady.”

  “Because I’m a qualified lifeguard. They know I have more than the basic first aid skills.”

  Oh, right. Lifeguard huh? Somehow that didn’t that surprise her—he had the ‘rescue hero guy’ routine down pat. “So why did the building guy call you ‘Doc’?”

  “Because I have a PhD.”

  Chelsea’s jaw dropped.

  Hands still at his waist, he stepped closer. “What, you thought I was just a pretty face?”

  No, she’d thought he was a doctor and that it had been most unfair of him to be so hot and so smart. PhD was another level up—grossly unfair. “What’s your PhD in?” she asked. Fingers crossed it was some fluffy subject, though as a student she knew there really weren’t any.

  “Engineering. I own a security systems firm.”

  Oh, of course he did. Built and brainy and successful. No wonder the guy came across so confident. He really was superman.

  “But I can definitely help you swim,” he added.

  “I know how to swim.”

  “Really?” he murmured. “Swim a length for me then, butterfly.” He made ‘butterfly’ sound like an endearment.

  But her skin prickled. “I don’t need to prove it to you.”

  “No?” He shrugged. “Prove it to yourself.”

  Her blood ran colder. Did he know something? He couldn’t know. No one here did. That was the whole point.

  “I don’t like an audience,” she fudged.

  “I’m not watching.”

  “Yes you are.” She challenged him, deliberately changing the subject to something different—though just as dangerous. “You like to watch me.”

  He looked at her. Assessing for a moment—like he’d assessed that older woman the other day, as if checking to see if she was coping okay. “All right,” he said. “I do. I like to look at you. I especially like looking at you in your swimsuit.”

  She swallowed. She glanced down.

  When she looked back up she found he’d moved right beside her—two inches inside her personal space. But she couldn’t step backwards, that’d see her in the pool.

  “Before I kiss you again, I need to know your name. My name is Xander Lawson.”

  “You’re—” not kissing me again. But the words wouldn’t come. Up this close he was overwhelmingly handsome. That brilliant easy smile, his blue eyes sparkling, his strength and sensuality palpable.

  Irresistible.

  His smile deepened. “You’re shaking like a little kitty.” He ran his hands down her arms. “You’d better tell me your name.”

  “Why?” Oh it was such a croak of a question. Mortifying.

  “I can’t hold off kissing you much longer.”

  She bit her lip—to stop her smile.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to have to tease it out of you?”

  She said nothing. Couldn’t. Which was stupid, because it wasn’t that she was scared. In fact she wanted him to go ahead and try it. But she couldn’t manage to tell him that.

  “Okay.” His smile broadened. “I won’t kiss you until you tell me. No matter how much you beg.”

  That brought her voice back. “I won’t be begging.”

  “No?” He smiled. “You like to set a challenge.”

  “And you’re arrogant.”

  “Only because I’m sure I’m not the only one feeling this between us. Chemistry. Lust. Whatever. It’s there and it’s not lessening any.”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  He put a finger on her lips. “The question is, where do you want me to kiss you?”

  She stared at him, unable to move, speak or even breathe as heat exploded within her as his words played over and over in her head. And the idea of where? The guy was wicked—sheer sex on legs.

  He captured her waist, his big hands heavy and firm just above her hips. “Where? Where? Where?” he murmured. Total tease.

  She just kept staring—ridiculously mesmerized as he bent c
loser and closer. But he bypassed her face, leaning in close to her neck. She felt a hot, wet touch an inch below her ear. An all-out tremor shook her from tip to toe. Her fingers curled into fists at her side as she tried to contain her searing reaction.

  “You lose,” she breathed, unable to resist half leaning into his caress. She wanted another.

  “Uh, uh,” he denied. “That wasn’t a kiss. That was a lick.” He moved closer still and did it again.

  His tongue scorched her skin—circling, tormenting. She angled her head, giving him greater access. And he used it. Teasing down the curve of her neck, to her collarbones and towards her shoulder. Her eyelids lowered, shielding her retinas from the brilliance of the blue sky, forcing her focus to narrow in on that one sense—touch.

  She shivered as she felt the sharp nip of his teeth. He’d seemed to awaken some cord that ran from the nerves just below her skin right through to the tension coiling low in her belly. Spiking adrenalin higher. And desire.

  “For the record,” he muttered. “That was a nibble.”

  He licked the spot. Soothing it with a wicked swirling pattern that made her think way-too-rude things about the agility of his tongue.

  That’s when she realized one of his hands had left her waist and was firmly, easily sweeping south, tracing the leg-line of her swimsuit. Gorgeously close to her inner thigh—picking up from where he’d left the other night. Unable to resist, she slightly parted her legs, wanting more of the delicious sensations stealing through her body. He gently nipped along her shoulder while his fingers stroked too lightly, but ever closer to the place she wanted them most. He blew warm air over the skin he’d dampened and teased.

  Heat washed over her, obliterating all thoughts other than the one at the forefront of her mind—more. Uncaring of how fast this was, she simply needed the ache inside assuaged. She needed to feel him. She swayed, leaning into the strength of those large hands and heard his pleased murmur. Earned another delicious lick. Pleasure ran through her, making her sparkle. She rocked her hips, desperate for him to slide inside her.

  “Did you know lips are extremely sensitive?” he asked. “Thousands of nerve endings.” He let go of her waist to run a finger along her upper lip, then her lower. She fought not to touch his finger with her tongue. But her mouth parted as his other hand breached the line of her swimsuit. Stroking her other lips.

  Oh mercy.

  She closed her eyes as surprise—heat—coursed through her.

  “Soft, sensitive lips need special attention.”

  She shook, instinctively reaching out—her hands came into contact with his bare chest. She gasped. It was a wonder steam didn’t curl from her fingertips. He was sheer, solid strength. So tempting.

  His fingers worked, gentle but firm, rhythmic, swirling around her slick heat, teasing. But they didn’t rub right on her good spot, didn’t penetrate—she wanted them to. She squeezed all her muscles, gripping his shoulders as desire surged at full throttle, unable to restrain the urge to rock her hips closer. She wanted all of him to come closer. To kiss her. To do so much more than kiss her. And to get him to do that she had to—

  “Chelsea,” she broke.

  “Ah, pretty Chelsea.” His thumb swiped over her clit.

  She clutched his shoulders, moaning as she thrust her hips into his hand—wanting him to rub her there again. To keep rubbing until she came. It honestly wouldn’t take long.

  But the tease still didn’t kiss her, his thumb swiped again—too quickly. “Chelsea who?”

  “Chelsea… Greene.” She could barely remember.

  He slid one arm firmly round her back, supporting her. His other hand was still between her legs, toying in her slickness and heat. She opened her eyes—momentarily embarrassed—until she saw the fierce, pleased look on his face. It made her need multiply.

  But he dropped to his knees.

  “What are you doing?” she gasped, half stunned, mostly so damn excited.

  He gripped her hip with his hand to hold her still. The other pulled her swimsuit from her skin.

  “I’m going to kiss your lips,” he said, the smile audible in his voice. “I’m thinking French kiss.”

  Oh dear heaven. If he kissed her there now she’d come. This just didn’t happen to her. She’d never gotten turned on by a virtual stranger before. Never went this far this fast with anyone. She’d never let a guy go down on her unless she’d been dating him a while. She wasn’t dating this guy. And yet she wasn’t running—oh no. Not when he touched like this, smiled with those hot ice eyes.

  He bent his head, she felt his warm breath. She braced in anticipation, her burning blood racing in her veins. Only as his mouth got to within touch distance, a loud gurgling sound interrupted.

  OMG. Was that her stomach?

  He laughed and sat back to look up at her face. “Seems you’re starving.” He put both hands back on her waist and stood, leaving her feeling bereft.

  Because yes she was starving. Her libido had come out of hibernation and realized it hadn’t been fed in a long, long time.

  “You came home for lunch and a quick dip?” he asked.

  She blinked. Could the disappointment be any greater? “I’m working from home today.” She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her control as easily as he had. But it wasn’t anywhere near easy. She wanted that kiss. She wanted to lose herself in that heat.

  “Here are your options,” he said, looking down at her with that devilish blue gaze. “Lunch at one of the restaurants down the street. Or in my apartment. You’ve got one second to choose.”

  “Or?” She eyed him.

  “I choose for you.”

  “You can’t make me go to lunch with you.”

  He went very still. “You ready to find out what I can and can’t make you do?”

  She held his gaze but felt the flush beating its way up her neck and face.

  His smile broadened. “Look at you,” he murmured. “What pictures have you got going in your head?” He nodded, looking as if his thoughts were as wild as hers.

  “Restaurant down the street.” She ignored his whispered wickedness and answered the original question. “But I’m not wearing this.”

  “We’ll stop by your apartment so you can change.”

  “Fine.”

  She grabbed her towel, glad to turn away and hide her breathlessness. Was she ready? She counted to ten to recapture some calm and think. This was just lunch. Going to lunch was okay. It was part of her progress—her return to some kind of social life. She wasn’t going to go without sex the rest of her life. A mild flirtation with a playboy like this was probably the best thing for her. He’d teach her the rules she needed to master. Because she was never risking her heart in a real relationship again. She didn’t deserve another real relationship.

  “You’re wearing that tee-shirt again.” She glanced as he pulled the tee back on while keeping pace with her dawdle down the stairs.

  “It’s always been a favorite. That’s why it’s the one I grabbed when the alarm went off.”

  “Why such a favorite?”

  “Happy memories.” He smiled. “And now it has even more associated with it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’re the only woman to have worn it.”

  “I’m so honored,” she said mock seriously.

  “I know you are.” Mock serious right back at her.

  She chuckled even as she shook her head. He was arrogance incarnated.

  There was no chance he’d wait in the corridor. He walked in as soon as she opened up. She half wondered if he was going to pounce the second her door closed. More than half of her wanted him to.

  But he didn’t. He strolled into the center of her small lounge and stared. She glanced around—imagined seeing it for the first time with no clue of the reason. Yeah, it probably did look weird. She glanced at his expression, and her laughter bubbled out.

  Xander looked slowly round the room. Had he misread her personality completely? She
really was a total rule breaker? She’d set up some weed growing operation in her apartment in the middle of the city? He stared at the trays and trays of seedlings and the lamps on to promote their growth.

  “You think I’m crazy, right?” She rested against the arm of her sofa and laughed some more—pretty much bent double at his expression.

  His mood soared at hearing her laugh like that and frankly, he’d been surfing a happy wave as it was. Damn it felt good. He’d have to make her laugh more. But he couldn’t look away from her walls for long. “What are you growing?”

  There were hundreds—if not thousands—of small plants lining the shelves.

  “Basil. Oregano. Stuff like that.”

  “In bulk?” She was turning her Manhattan shoebox into a market garden? “Most people put books on their bookcases.”

  “I know, I’ve had to put them in boxes.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I need the herbs.”

  “For what?”

  She turned to him, her eyes alight with amusement and what—excitement? “You really want to know?”

  “Absolutely.” How could anyone not want to know? And he definitely wanted to know what it was that had her so enthused.

  “I’m an intern at an urban art institute—a non-profit organization that tries to raise art and design awareness in the city.”

  He didn’t get what the plants had to do with art. “I’m guessing you’re an unpaid intern.”

  “Aren’t we all?” She smiled, another small chuckle escaping.

  He smiled right back at her. “And isn’t New York already full of incredible art and design?”

  “Sure, but sometimes we need reminding. Challenging. We need to shake things up a bit.”

  “With herbs?” How was that going to work?

  “Legal ones.” She laughed. “Sure, why not?”

  He still didn’t get it. He walked over to her, unable to resist crouching so he could see into her face better. “What is it you’re planning?”

  Her smile as she looked down at him was the cutest thing. “I’m working on a series of pop-ups. Temporary shops, eateries, gourmet soup places, coffee carts. Ultimately I’d love to do a whole precinct.”