Page 76 of The Boys Next Door

Hazel eyes widened. Ian turned to face her, water dripping off his cheeks and clinging to his eyelashes and broad shoulders. She’d never seen him quiet like this before. “Really glad to see you” was not the dominant expression on his face. It was more like, “What the hell are you doing here?”

Dammit, she’d misjudged everything. She should get out of the pool right now and go home — except that Ian’s hands gripped her waist, burning her skin underwater.

“You wanted to talk?” she whispered. God, her voice was giving out. Hoarse.

He was just staring at her. Finally, he spoke.

“Not here. In my room.”

Now her throat really was dry. Her hands squeezed Ian’s shoulders. Cool water lapped their skin. She nodded quickly. Pulling her with him, Ian swam to the side, grabbed the ledge, and heaved his dripping body out of the pool. He bent to give Diana a hand up.

Neither of them let go. Ian’s fingers felt too good laced through hers as they crossed the lawn, pretending they weren’t still holding hands. Past the warm pressure of his palm and the hot sun on her wet body, Diana barely noticed the clack of the ping pong ball, paddles flashing, bottles clinking. Some of the twins’ friends watched her and Ian curiously as he held the back door open for her.

The O’Brians’ long kitchen, the fancy dining room, the living room with the giant recliner that she and twins had rolled around on when they were kids, all looked so familiar, the way she’d always remembered them. But the house had changed, too: a new landscape painting over the dining table, a different couch in front of the TV.

She was aware of Ian’s eyes on her creamy skin as they climbed the stairs and walked through the hallway, past a twenty-year photo gallery of the smiling twins. Water dripped from her swimsuit and hair, leaving a trail on the polished wood floor. Ian’s wet swim trunks clung to his legs. His arousal was very obvious through the soaked fabric. When he caught her looking, she flushed and felt her nipples harden. Their linked fingers sent flashes of heat up her arm.

As they passed a closet, he opened the door, took out two thick towels, and wrapped one around her shoulders. Her skin tingled at the brush of soft cotton.

“Uh…” She cleared her throat. “Do you and Brendan still share a room?” Last she remembered, the twins were thirteen and insisting on their bunk beds.

A pause. “Nuh-uh,” Ian said finally. “But Brendan still sleeps with a nightlight.”

Diana couldn’t keep back a spurt of laughter. “Be nice.”

“Eh, he can take it.” His fingers tightened on hers. She was grateful for the support, because her legs were trembling. She squeezed Ian’s hand in response, trying to breathe.“More than anyone. Believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

Pulling her into a room on the left, he closed the door.

Posters plastered the walls and ceiling. The bunk beds were long gone. Diana eyed the low full-size bed, which to her shock was actually made. Ian’s decorating style had been wall-to-wall posters when they were kids, too. There were all the sports posters she expected, and the music posters, but instead of the generous serving of girlie pictures she’d figured was a given, there was only one — small and close to his bed.

A pinup girl, frolicking cheerfully in a swimsuit while salt spray licked her legs. A girl with black bangs and shoulder-length hair, with pale voluptuous curves and a slim waist. A girl who looked…a lot like she did.

Neither of them had broken the silence. Diana pointed at the picture with her free hand. Her other hand, laced through Ian’s, was starting to sweat, but no way was she letting go.

“I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

Ian shrugged. “I like brunettes with big tits. Surprise.” He flashed her the mocking grin that had driven her crazy when they were kids, but Diana noticed his leg jiggling, close to hers, and his hand was burning up in her grasp. “Did I ruin your date?”

“Pretty much.”

“Good.”

Diana sniffed, turning quickly to examine the basketball trophies that lined the dresser. Ian’s eyes, following her exposed body as she picked up each trophy and studied it, sent a hot flush over her skin. She might as well be naked in his room.

“You’ve won a lot,” she managed to say.

“At some things.” Ian was very close to her. “You’ve won more.”

“Me?” She stared down at the trophies. Laughter from the backyard filtered through the window, along with summer sounds from the neighborhood: a lawn mower whirring outside, leaves rustling, cars rolling by. Ian stood inches away from her, water dripping down his chest.

“Ian,” she said softly. When she turned to face him, their fingers unlocked. Warm skin met her hands as she pressed them against his chest. “You deserve it,” she whispered. “You deserve to win. You deserve everything.”

God, she didn’t even know what she was saying, but his eyes widened. Hot lips closed over hers. Ian grunted, pushing her against the dresser.

Oh Jesus, his hands were all over her, and his mouth was devouring her soft flesh, and she didn’t care how many marks he left on her. No, she did care. She wanted as many as possible.

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