Just One Night

This book was given to JOANNA RĄCZKOWSKA on Instafreebie. www.instafreebie.com

JUST ONE NIGHT An Exile Ink Short Story

SKYLAR HILL

Copyright © 2017 by Skylar Hill All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Cover Design by Charlee Hoffman Edited by Laurel Hardy

Contents

One Year Ago Also by Skylar Hill About the Author

One Year Ago

T

he last thing in the world Lydia Munroe wanted to be doing that particular December evening was driving her Jeep through the snow, up a steep mountain road that had seen better days. The things I do for Jay, she thought ruefully as flakes began to fall even more rapidly. She loved her best friend, but being sent on a mission to check on his older —and way more difficult—brother was not her idea of a good time. She normally would’ve refused, but the last few weeks had been hell on James and his entire family, plus he’d needed to catch his flight back to Italy. He’d already missed a month of tattoo conventions because of the funeral and staying around to make sure his mother would be okay. Lydia’s heart squeezed, just thinking about the last few weeks. She couldn’t compare her grief to James or Aiden’s, but she’d loved Mr. McGowan, their father, dearly. He’d been the one solid male figure in her life as a little girl, and she was forever grateful for all the help he’d given her when she’d started her business. Her first few years in the event planning world would’ve been very

different if he hadn’t introduced her to the people who ended up becoming some of her most important clients. But beyond any personal gain, losing him was devastating to everyone who knew him—because he was one of those good, kind men who changed people’s lives. She and James McGowan had been best friends since grade school, and their friendship had endured well into adulthood. She considered him the brother she never had. But James’s actual brother, Aiden McGowan, was another story. Aiden McGowan was brilliant. Both the McGowan boys were unbelievably talented, just in very different ways. James was no dummy, but Aiden was go-to-MIT-atsixteen smart. By the time he joined his father at Green Valley Industries, the renewable energy company that was the family business, he’d grown used to being the smartest person in rooms full of the best of the best. He out-thought, out-innovated, and out-built every competitor —and Green Valley rose to the top of the market. He was a workaholic and a control freak and pretty much the embodiment of the phrase “cool and collected”… Except when it came to her. She wasn’t sure when it started, but sometime in high school, they reached a point where despite their mutual love for James, they had to face the fact that the two of them had a hard time getting along. She was big enough to admit it wasn’t entirely his fault… even though in her meaner moments, after a few of their flat-out arguments, she might’ve put the blame a little more on him. Aiden frustrated her. And she knew she frustrated him. Just not for the same reasons. Aiden McGowan was a puzzle she most certainly was not meant to solve. Yet here she was, venturing out into the middle of the forest to find him.

Her headlights cut through the darkness, the white flurry of snow making it hard to see much ahead of her. She could feel her tires skidding on the road, which was covered in powder. “Damn you, Aiden,” she muttered, her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. “You just had to disappear and worry everyone. God forbid you leave a note or something.” It took another good thirty minutes of white-knuckling it up the mountain pass to get to the blink-and-you-missit dirt road that led to the McGowan cabin. Lydia turned, gunning it down the road, worried that her Jeep would get stuck at any moment. The drive was long, lined with redwoods and pines, white-tipped and towering. The final curve brought her to the top of a hill, where a sprawling log cabin built the old-fashioned way stood. There was smoke curling out of the chimney and firewood stacked in the rack on the porch. Lydia pressed her lips together and cut the engine, pulled the emergency brake and got out of her Jeep. The snow was falling thick and fast, flakes catching in her chestnut hair and landing on her cheeks. She took a deep breath, hugging her arms to her chest. She knew he must’ve heard her drive up—it was too quiet to miss the sound. The cabin sat on over two hundred acres pristinely preserved forest, and his nearest neighbor was miles away. Okay, remember not to snap, she told herself as she marched through the ankle-deep snow toward the cabin. Grief makes a person do thoughtless things. She knocked on the door, waiting a good fifteen seconds, then knocking again. When her third attempt at knocking went unanswered, the irritation inside her flared. She grabbed

the doorknob, and, finding it was unlocked, walked right in. “Aiden?” she called, pulling off her coat and hanging it in the hallway closet before heading toward the living room. The cabin was rustic and cozy, with hand-crafted redwood furniture and antique quilts tossed over rocking chairs. Lydia had spent almost every July here as a kid, so she didn’t even need a light to navigate her way through the hallway. The only light in the living room was from the giant river-rock fireplace that took up half of the wall. Set in front of the fireplace was a couch, and sitting on it, with a bottle in one hand, was Aiden. Lydia sighed, all the irritation and misplaced anger fading from her in a second when she saw the look on his face. She’d known Aiden most of her life. Their pasts were entwined because of James, the common denominator that drew them both into each other’s orbit. Even when they were young, it always seemed to her that Aiden was the calm to James’s storm. Where Aiden was logical, James was impulsive. Where James was artistic, Aiden was scientific. Aiden was cool and maybe a little too removed on the surface, while her best friend was the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. The brothers were even opposites in looks; Aiden was all golden and cleanshaven, with icy blue eyes, and James was dark haired, bearded, and almost always smiling. But Lydia had glimpsed Aiden’s softer side. Sometimes it was hard to remember that, because the man was more than a little infuriating at times, but right now, it was anything but difficult. He looked lost. Like the mask he’d been wearing for

the past few weeks, the strong facade he’d put up for his mother, for James, even maybe a little for Lydia, was finally slipping. Without a word, she walked over to the couch and sat next to him, situating herself so she was facing him, her legs folded underneath her. She would never ever admit this to anyone, but Aiden McGowan was pretty much her ideal man when it came to looks. He kept his hair long, the one nod to his raisedby-hippies origins, and it was always dipping into his eyes. Which made her itch to push it away. And run her fingers through it to see if it was as soft as it looked. It also didn’t help that he was about six and a half feet of pure, broad, perfect muscle… and watching him chop wood—which she’d had the pleasure of doing a few times through the years—was something akin to a religious experience. He took a swig straight out of the bottle, still not saying anything, and Lydia steeled herself internally. This was going to be harder than she thought. He wasn’t a drinker. Not that she could really blame him. But Aiden was definitely a control freak. That’s why he was so good at running a company. But his lone-wolf tendencies also resulted in things like this, where he disappeared the day his brother was supposed to leave and worried everyone in his family. “No one knew where you went,” she said, finally. He raised the bottle to his lips again, taking another drink. She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying something. “Clearly you did,” he said. She rolled her eyes. “It was the logical choice. Why did you leave? Jay wanted to say good-bye.” “I don’t like good-byes.” There was a tragic note to his

voice that made her heart twist. “Well, you got your wish. Jay’s in the air by now, and your mom was so worried she was going to come out here in the middle of a snowstorm.” She winced as soon as the words were out of her mouth. “Damn,” she said. “I’m sorry.” He looked at her for the first time, frowning. “Why?” he asked. “It’s the truth.” He chuckled, a hard sound that had no mirth to it, and took another drink. “You always tell the truth.” “That’s a very nice way of saying I’m blunt,” she said, reaching over and taking the scotch bottle from him. He let her, with no protest. She glanced at it for a second—it was a forty-year-old single-malt from a small Scottish distillery—then she looked at the snow falling outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that took up the north wall of the living room. There was no way she was getting out of here tonight without chains, and she hadn’t packed any. She’d intended this to be a quick trip, just to make sure the McGowans were holding strong, then back to the city. Yet here was Aiden, possibly unraveling before her eyes. She tilted the bottle to her mouth. The scotch was smooth perfection, just a hint of burn down the back of her throat. He rarely imbibed, but when he did, he did it in style. That really described him to a T, she thought as she took another sip, hyper aware that his gaze was on her now, and he wasn’t looking away. “So you came to check on me?” he asked. She nodded, settling the bottle between her legs. It was half empty already, and she wasn’t sure how full it was when he started. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine,” he said, his words remarkably clear for a man who may or may not have

drunk half a bottle of five-thousand-dollar scotch. “You can go.” “I don’t think so,” Lydia said. “I don’t need a babysitter, Lydia,” he snapped. “Look outside, idiot,” she shot back. “It’s been snowing for hours. I barely got up the dirt road. There’s no way they’ll let me back on the highway without chains, and I didn’t pack any.” He looked over her shoulder, out the window, like this was the first time he’d noticed the weather. Had he just been sitting here in the dark this whole time? He’d been gone for hours. She hated how much the idea affected her. How it made her want to fix it somehow. Fix him. But she knew better than that. She learned the hard way you couldn’t fix a person. They had to be willing to fix themselves. “Why don’t you have chains?” he demanded. Lydia pursed her lips, trying to ignore the flare of irritation in her stomach. “I came into town to see Jay off and check on your mom. I wasn’t planning on driving out here to the boonies during a snowstorm.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his chin. She couldn’t stop her eyes from lingering on the rugged curve of his jaw. How someone could be so irritating and so attractive at the same time was truly baffling. She really needed to get over this… pull she felt toward him. She’d been trying to ignore it for years. Their paths didn’t cross as often as they did when they were younger. After the reality show about tattoo artists that had put James’s name on everyone’s lips, he’d been traveling nonstop for years. When he came back to Portland to visit, he rarely brought Aiden out with him. Occasionally, they’d meet at whatever black-tie charity affair her company had planned, but she was always working and rarely had time

to do more than nod in acknowledgment to him… though she did always have the time to observe just how well that man filled out a tux. It was truly an unfair advantage. She also almost always overheard snatches of conversation about his… prowess from the women who attended those sorts of soirées. Aiden was discreet about his sex life, but apparently he was good enough to cause quite a stir. She tried very diligently not to think about that. But it was difficult when he was right in front of her. “It’s not like you don’t have room for me,” she pointed out, propping her elbow on the back of the couch and leaning her head against her hand. Her hair swung over her shoulder, and his eyes tracked the movement, darkening in a way that made her shiver despite the fire. He reached forward, and for a thrilling second she thought he was going to touch her, run his hand up the inner length of her thigh and make her shiver even more. But instead, he plucked the bottle of scotch from its place between her thighs. Heat crawled along her cheeks, and she shifted in her seat, uncomfortably aware of the heat pooling between her legs. She cleared her throat, looking quickly at the fire, resolutely ignoring the fact that he was smiling. Instead of taking another swig of scotch, he set it down on the end table next to the couch. He leaned back against the arm of the couch, stretching his arms up over his head. He was wearing his normal button-down, but it was untucked. As he stretched, the shirt hiked up, exposing the ridges of his abs and a flash of ink curving along his hipbone, disappearing under his jeans. She bit the inside of her lip, trying hard not to stare. She knew he had tattoos, of course. James had talked about the pieces

he’d done for his brother. But she’d never seen them. Whenever she was around Aiden, he was almost always in a suit, his shirt buttoned up all the way, his tie knot perfect and tight. It made the way he was lying, that glimpse of inked skin, practically obscene. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She thought about reaching for the scotch, but she knew that was a bad idea. “Just how drunk are you?” she asked. “I’ve had those two shots you just saw me took. I’m not drunk. I’m fucking exhausted.” She could hear the truth of his words in his voice, see it in his face. There were circles under his eyes, and he was typically one of those people who thrived on six hours of sleep a night and got up at the crack of dawn to run ten miles every day. Her hand was on his thigh before she could even think it through; it was pure instinct, a comforting gesture. Or at least, she intended it to be. But the second her skin made contact with his jeans, it became something more. Her skin and his were just a piece of well-worn denim apart… and suddenly that was the only thing she could think about. “It’s been a horrible month,” she said. “But it’s going to get better,” she heard herself promising, even though she wasn’t sure. Even though she had no right. But something eased in his face when she said it, like it’d been the right thing to say. “Everything’s on me now,” he said, almost to himself as he stared up at the exposed beams of the cabin ceiling. Lydia knew the burden was great—Green Valley Industries was a large company, and Mr. McGowan had

been deeply involved with the day-to-day. But it was Aiden’s innovations—and inventions—that had skyrocketed the company to the top of the renewable energy market in the past ten years. He was the only one qualified to run it. Thank God for him, James had said when the fate of the company had been murmured about in hushed voices. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to take any of it over. “No one’s better suited for running the company than you,” Lydia said. He sat up on his elbows, looking at her like she’d said something curious and strange. She was acutely aware of the fact that she still hadn’t taken her hand from his thigh and his movement slid her hand an inch or two up his leg. She had the resist the urge to squeeze, or to push her palm up further, towards his waist, under his shirt, to feel the warm, smooth skin. “It’s what you want, isn’t it?” she asked, suddenly unsure because he was still staring at her like that. “Not like this,” he said softly, and the weight of his grief hit her all at once. Of course he wasn’t looking forward to his ascension to CEO. While it had always been inevitable, they’d all expected it to happen after Mr. McGowan retired. And now… Now Aiden was in charge because his father was dead and there was nothing good in that, even though he’d make the business thrive even more. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” he said. “I know,” she said. She bit her lip, wondering if she should suggest it. “Do you want to go outside and scream?” she asked, deciding to take the plunge. His eyebrows—golden against his skin—snapped together. “Scream?”

“Sometimes I like to go out in the woods where no one can hear me and scream,” Lydia explained. “I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. It’s therapeutic.” “Is that why I kept catching you wandering around the north end of the property all those times when you and James were little?” he asked incredulously. “Maybe,” she hedged. He let out a laugh, and this time it wasn’t a bitter sound. He seemed genuinely amused, and it surprised her. Their shared history was long, but it was like a board game that was missing the rules and half the pieces. He had always been there, on the edges of her childhood and her teenage years. He and James were in many ways a package deal. But so often, she and Aiden were merely at each other’s peripheries. They’d spent years drifting in and out of the line of each other’s sight, and sometimes she deliberately tried to keep it that way because when they actually paid attention to each other, they tended to clash. “You know, back then, I thought you were just a weird kid,” he said. “Stuck like glue to James. Always underfoot. Running around the woods like a wild thing. But then I grew up and realized your mom…” His mouth clicked shut. “Shit,” he said. “Maybe I am drunk.” Lydia’s hand drew away from him, her stomach twisting. “It’s okay,” she said. “No, no it’s not.” He sat straight up, his blue eyes earnest in the firelight. “I shouldn’t have gone there.” “You didn’t go anywhere,” Lydia said, trying to keep her voice as casual as possible. “She was an alcoholic then and she is still. It’s just a fact of life.” Before she could even process what was happening, she found that her hands were in his. His skin was unbelievably warm, and she couldn’t stop herself from

wondering if he was that warm everywhere. “She’s still here,” he said. “There’s time.” It was uncharacteristically sweet and optimistic of him. She didn’t know if it was the scotch or the grief or the odd tension in the room that was making him so open, but she wasn’t sure if she should trust it. Pulling her hands away from his was hard and getting up off the couch was even harder, but she put the space between them. “Why don’t I make us something to eat?” she asked, not even waiting for his answer before turning and heading toward the kitchen. She prayed he wouldn’t follow her, so she’d at least have a few minutes to gather herself. But of course just as she was opening the fridge she heard his footsteps against the ceramic tile. The fridge was fully stocked, because he was the type of man who prepared for all things. She pulled out butter and eggs, turning around to find him setting a cast iron skillet on the stove. She grabbed the mixing bowl out of the cupboard and by the time she’d placed it on the marble counter, he had a whisk out of the drawer for her. She cracked the eggs into the bowl, the sound loud in the quiet kitchen. As she whisked the eggs, he pulled out a loaf of bread and began slicing it, sliding the pieces into the toaster. For some reason, this, the quiet, the way he anticipated everything without asking, how he moved around her in the kitchen, never touching, but so, so close, made her skin heat and a dull ache fill every inch of her body. She closed her eyes as she melted a pat of butter in the skillet, trying to clear her head. She had barely had anything to drink. This wasn’t the expensive scotch talking. Oh no, this was the horny devil on her shoulder whispering that the kitchen counter was the perfect

height to be bent over. She could almost feel it, the weight of him against her. How he’d surround her, the heat of his skin on hers, the hard line of his cock against her. You need to chill, she told herself sternly, pouring the egg mixture into the heated skillet. “I need a—“ she started, turning toward Aiden, to find him holding out a spatula. “Thanks,” she said, taking it and turning back to the skillet. Her cheeks burned. This was ridiculous. The man handed her a spatula. It was nothing to get worked up over. She began to gently scramble the eggs, folding them on top of each other. The toaster beeped, and behind her, Aiden pulled the toast out as she finished cooking the eggs. She plated the eggs and he added the toast, going to dig in the fridge for a jar of peach preserves before grabbing both plates. She walked with him back into the living room, following suit when he sat down on the rug in front of the fire instead of on the couch. The toast was sourdough, and the tang of the bread combined with the sweetness of the peach preserves was like a long hug after a horrible day. Lydia’s eyes fluttered shut as the flavors took over, relishing the taste. She hadn’t realized how hungry she had been. When their plates were clear, Aiden took them into the kitchen, coming back with two bottles of water. He stoked the fire, adding another log to the pile of burning embers, and she tried very hard not to stare at his ass too much. But a woman only could take so much. He sat back down on the rug next to the fire, much closer to her this time. It was late. She should make an excuse, get up and find a bedroom to sleep in. And

probably take a cold shower. And definitely not lie back in her bed and touch herself, thinking about Aiden’s cool blue eyes or the tantalizing glimpses of ink she’d seen on his skin. That would be bad. Very bad. If she let herself think about it, think about him, while doing that, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to stop. “Thank you for this,” he said. “Of course,” she said automatically. Another long silence, the kind that was just filled with tension filled the air. Sometimes it felt like all her moments alone with Aiden were like this. Where both of them were waiting for something. It was like a silent game of truth or dare, and both of them were afraid to pick either, because each path was going to end the same way. “Why did you come here?” he asked. Her stomach clenched, a special kind of anticipation filling her. “I told you, everyone was worried. Jay asked me to check on you.” “You could’ve called,” he pointed out. She frowned. “I…” She didn’t know what to say. He was right. But it hadn’t even occurred to her. Every time she’d seen him since the funeral, he’d had a caged, guarded look in his eyes that made her want to put her arms around him. When he’d disappeared the morning James was supposed to leave, she knew exactly what he was doing. She’d needed to make sure he was okay. She’d needed to see it. “You drove through a snowstorm to get to me,” he said. There was something in his face that she couldn’t quite place. A look she’d never seen before. It was hard to concentrate; he was suddenly even closer. She could smell his skin and something spicy, his aftershave

probably. He didn’t bother with cologne. “Well, you know, I am an excellent driver.” She was babbling. Talking nonsense. Her mind was spiraling in a dozen different directions all at once. He was just. Too. Damn. Close. Through the years, she had unconsciously memorized him, she realized as she tried to look anywhere but at his face. The width of his hands, the scars on his knuckles, the light smattering of golden hair up his arms. Broad shoulders, bright eyes, that hard-won smile. There were hundreds of tiny details filed in the back of her brain that were just firing at random right now. He drank his coffee black and he preferred red ballpoint pens over blue ones and he had glasses he wore when he thought no one was around. They made him look like a blonde Clark Kent. She knew his body. She understood his mind. Or she thought she did, but then that glimpse of ink on his hip sent her down the rabbit hole. She was sure she did, but then he reached out, deliberate and slow, giving her all the time in the world to pull away. She didn’t pull away. His eyes, burning with a fire that made her burn with him, were the last things she saw before her own fluttered shut. He kissed like she feared he would: with the same devastating, consuming focus that he applied to all the things that mattered in his life. She gasped into the feeling, his tongue stroking hers. Her fingers wound in his hair, and his hands cupped either side of her face, holding her like something precious. She never wanted this to stop, she thought as his hands moved to her hips, pulling her into him with an

urgent tug that had her gasping against his mouth. “God, Lydia,” he muttered against the sensitive skin of her neck. “You just drive me so fucking…” he trailed off, his fingers stroking down the skin exposed by the deep V of her sweater. It was like he couldn’t even find the words to describe her, and she squirmed in his arms at the thought, wanting to lock her legs around his waist and grind down against him. His hand rested against the space between her breasts, his fingers moving in restless little sweeps against her skin. She could feel her nipples harden against the loose weave of her sweater, and his gaze dropped down, eyes darkening at the sight. “Look at you,” he said, and the approval in his voice did things to her. She flushed all over, her pussy almost unbearably slick. She could feel dampness on the inside of her thighs, something that hardly ever happened. She never got this wet. Especially considering he’d just kissed her. She licked her lips, and his eyes followed the movement, like he couldn’t bear to even blink and miss anything. It was incredibly sexy. It made her feel sexy. Powerful. Like any move she made would be met with an intense kind of appreciation that he’d make sure she felt…. over and over and over again. His fingers dipped under her sweater, tracing up her rib cage, his hand cupping her breast. The aching peak of her nipple brushed against the rough cup of his palm, and she arched into him, unable to stop herself, wanting more friction. Wanting his mouth where his hand was. Wanting him inside her, hot and thick and hard. “This is such a bad idea,” he murmured against her lips, the words brushing against her skin like a warning. Yet he didn’t pull back. “This is a terrible idea,” she agreed, her teeth grazing his lower lip, a satisfied smile curling across her face at

his sharp breath. Her tongue darted out to soothe the spot, and he groaned, his free hand splaying out across her lower back, gripping her ass and hauling her up to straddle him. Her stomach jolted at how easily he handled her, like he already knew all the right places to touch so she’d melt into him. His fingers stroked the side of her breast gently, teasing the sensitive skin. Sensation shivered through her, twisting down into her stomach as he grabbed the hem of her sweater and pulled it over her head. An unusual sort of self-consciousness rose inside her, and before she could stop herself and remind herself she was strong and sexy and confident, her arm came up, covering her chest. She’d never liked her breasts—she had been top heavy in her ballerina days, something the more domineering of her choreographers had shamed her for. The firelight flickered across her skin, lighting it in dancing shadows as her cheeks burned. This was such a stupid thing to be hung up on after all these years, especially now, with him. Because Aiden wasn’t looking at her with judgment. Quite the contrary. He was looking at her like she was some rare sight to behold. A Venus statue made flesh and blood. His hand was still on her ass, holding her right up against the bulge of his erection. It made her flush. She wanted to grind down with her hips and confirm her suspicions he was big everywhere. He reached out with his free hand, and instead of trying to pull her arm away, he brushed his fingers feather-light across the top of her cleavage. She let out a shaky breath, a prickly sort of pleasure shooting down her breasts. A smile curved his mouth as her arm dropped away.

“So beautiful,” he said, and then his mouth was on her, his tongue flicking over the aching point of her nipple in a maddening tease. She moaned, her hips grinding down helplessly. Oh. She’d been right about the “big everywhere” thing. So right. “Fuck,” he said, breathing like it’d been punched out of him. His head rose, his lips capturing hers. She followed him as he lay back on the rug, her bare breasts pressed against his shirt. For long moments, they just kissed, their hands exploring each other. Her fingers made quick work of his button-up, pushing the shirt off his shoulders, revealing all that muscle. His chest hair was darker gold than the rest of him, a light smattering across his chest, narrowing into a trail that disappeared into his jeans. But what pulled her attention were the tattoos on his arms, ones that were easily covered by a suit. He sat up, getting rid of the shirt and leaning back on his palms to look at her. She was still straddling him, their faces inches away from each other. His eyes darkened to deep, hazy blue as she reached out to trace the intricate line work on his right bicep. Most people would think the jagged, crackling lines spreading up his arm were some kind of lightning. But she knew better. She remembered the homemade Tesla coil he and James had constructed under Mr. McGowan’s careful instruction when they were kids. On his left bicep was a crow, done in a rough, sweeping style that reminded her of a charcoal sketch. She traced over the edges of the design, drawn to it, and his hand came up to cover hers, pulling it to his chest instead. He kissed her, slow and deep, drawing her so close there was nothing between them. His chest hair tickled

the tips of her nipples, making her wiggle in his lap. Her legs tightened around his waist and his fingers flexed into her hips at the pressure. His mouth traveled along the edge of her jaw, his teeth scraping just light enough to make her whimper. Then he kissed his way up to her ear, his tongue tracing the delicate shell. She moaned, rocking against him, helpless to do anything but chase the delicious friction. “You want this so bad, don’t you?” he murmured against her ear. Instead of being teasing or mocking, there was a genuine note of awe in his voice. Like he couldn’t quite believe she’d chosen him. Like she was the hottest thing he could ever imagine and now he had her. God, she needed him to fuck her. “Oh yeah?” he chuckled against her ear. Her eyes snapped open, realizing she’d just said that out loud. “I mean—” she started. But he cut her off, his lips on hers, his hands on the button of her jeans, then on the zipper. His fingers delving into her panties and just sliding against her, so easy because she was so slick, because he’d made her so wet; it was too much. All embarrassment fled her as he rubbed his thumb against her clit in slow circles. He’d drawn back so he could watch her, his eyes never leaving her as waves of heat built inside her. Her hands scrambled for purchase against him. “What do you want, sweet girl?” he asked, the endearment should be strange on his lips, but it made her flush, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. His hand slid deeper into her panties, the heel of his palm resting against her clit. He waited until her eyes opened, until her gaze was locked on his, and then he rocked his palm against her, the steady hard pressure exactly what

she needed. His lips brushed against her cheek, then her ear. “Do you want to come like this?” he asked. The tips of his fingers settled against her opening. She could feel herself clench down, desperate, wanting. “I could stroke that sweet little G-spot until you’re screaming. Bend you over the couch and suck on your clit until you can’t remember your own name. Or…” Oh god. She twisted her hips against his palm, against his entire hand, nearly sobbing with the restless, building heat inside her. “Or?” she asked, trembling. “Or I could fuck you,” he said. “So deep the only thing you’ll want to say is more.” The promise in his voice that made her entire body throb in anticipation. Yes. She leaned forward, her lips grazing his. Her hands came down to unbutton his jeans and he pulled away, just for a moment, to get rid of his jeans and grab a condom out of his wallet. She rubbed at her arms, quivering from the loss of his body against hers. But then he was back—suddenly, gloriously, wonderfully naked. She barely even had time to register the tattoo on his hip—a DNA strand done in stark black ink—before her mind, her body, her very being was consumed by the press of his cock against the core of her. He thrust into her, the stretch making her gasp. He came to a halt, his breathing harsh in her ear, his body tense, like it was taking every ounce of focus he had to not move. She tilted her hips, taking him even deeper, and he groaned, his hands sweeping up and down her bare back like he couldn’t stop touching her even for a second. A slow smile spread across her lips, and this time she

was the one brushing her lips against his ear. “More,” she whispered against his ear. He growled her name, drawing nearly all the way out, the flared head of his cock dragging against her G-spot in a way that made her eyes roll back. “Oh, you like that, do you?” he murmured, thrusting back inside her, so deep her fingers dug into his shoulders and her eyelids fluttered. She nodded her head as he grabbed her ass for leverage. His fingers sunk into the soft flesh there, five points of heat, made her writhe against him, pressing close. Her mouth open and panting against the skin of his shoulder as his hips worked relentlessly against hers, drawing out pulse after pulse of pleasure until she didn’t know where one ended and the next one started. She felt like she was caught on the edge of a spinning top, circling and circling, ready to fall and just needing something to push her over. “I want to feel you,” he moaned against her skin, finally pulling back enough to meet her eyes. God, he looked absolutely wrecked in the best way, like being inside her was so perfect it broke a piece of him open. His cock moved inside her, the thick length stretching her in the most delicious way as his forehead dropped to her collarbone. “You’re going to feel so perfect, coming on my cock. You want that, don’t you, sweet girl?” Without waiting for an answer, his hand dipped down between them, the pads of his fingers pressing hard against her clit just the way she liked it. “Aiden.” Her entire body tensed; it felt like she was suspended in the moment. Like her entire world narrowed down to him, her, and where their bodies were joined. Her pussy pulsed around the thick jut of his cock, every part of her tensing, then relaxing as one of the strongest orgasms of

her life rippled through her. Her thighs trembled at the force of it, her fingers knotting in his long hair as she kissed him, greedily grinding down on him, wanting to feel every. Last. Bit. “You are the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” The words were pressed against her hair like a benediction, like they had to be whispered to be meant. She collapsed against him, every bit of energy slowly draining out of her as her entire body began to relax in post-orgasmic delight. She groaned, a sound full of sensation, more pleasure, just a touch of overstimulation, as he began to move inside her again. She was so sensitive, every thrust felt magnified, like she’d feel him for days. For weeks. Forever. He spoke in stuttered bursts as his hips thrust erratically, his own orgasm building. “Lydia… god, you’re so… you feel so… fuck….” She could feel him jerk inside her as he came, and she clenched down on his pulsing cock, unable to stop herself, wanting to feel every second of this. She felt depraved, wanton, but she didn’t care. Who knew if she’d ever have this again? Who knew if she’d ever have him again? She wrapped her arms and legs tight around him, every miniscule movement making him breathe harder. Finally, he pulled out, leaning away to get rid of the condom as she lay there on her back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of what they’d just done immediately looming over her. She needed to banish the thought, and in the afterglow of both of their orgasms it almost seemed possible. A light kiss was pressed along the appendectomy scar on her stomach, his fingers rubbing over the spot his

lips had just been before he moved up her body, dropping kisses under her right breast, along the wing of her collarbone, at the pulse point on her neck. He pulled back before he reached her lips, his eyes growing serious as he smoothed back the worried wrinkle in her brow. “Don’t worry tonight,” he said. She shot him a look. “Worry tomorrow,” he said. “Tonight…” He kissed her, and everything else just faded as her arms wound around his neck. He picked her up in a lightning-fast movement, his lips still on hers as he began to carry her through the cabin toward the master bedroom. The bedroom was dark when he laid her on the bed, the pillows plush beneath her head. He didn’t bother to turn on a light, but instead, she felt the bed dip as he knelt next to her on the mattress. His lips skimmed across her stomach, his tongue tracing the sweep of her hipbone. She arched into the touch, groping for some sort of purchase as his featherlight touch drove all other thoughts from her head. He stroked down the inside of her thighs, gently pulling her legs over his shoulders, fitting himself between the V in her legs. His eyes gleamed in the barely-there light. Her fists clenched in the sheets, her stomach tight with a lustful kind of anticipation that left her desperate to be fulfilled. “Tonight you’re mine,” he said. She closed her eyes, her body bending like a bow when he put his mouth on her. Yes. She was all his. For tonight.

ydia slowly stirred awake. Se shifted toward the edge of the bed where her phone was beeping, the warm arm wrapped around her falling away. She tried to ignore the pang of loss she felt as she squinted at her phone. It was nearly ten in the morning and she had four texts from James. A RRIVED SAFELY IN M ILAN . T HANK YOU FOR TRACKING A IDEN DOW N . Then a few hours later: Y OU TW O DIDN ’T SNIPE EACH OTHER TO DEATH , RIGHT ? And twenty minutes after that: A LL KIDDING ASIDE , TEXT ME TO LET ME KNOW YOU ’ RE OKAY . And then there was a final, longer text: I W AS THINKING ON THE PLANE ABOUT MAYBE COMING HOME AFTER I FINISH THESE LAST FEW COMMITMENTS . I DON ’ T KNOW IF I W ANT TO KEEP DOING THIS — TRAVELING ALL THE TIME . I MISSED ALL THOSE YEARS W ITH D AD , AND NOW … I THINK IT’S TIME FOR A CHANGE . A BIG ONE . CALL ME W HEN YOU GET THIS . DOESN ’T MATTER W HAT TIME IT IS . Lydia stared at the phone, and then over to Aiden, who was half-reaching for her in his sleep, his hand curled in the blankets. Well, shit, she thought. It wasn’t like Aiden was offlimits or anything. James would probably be wryly amused if he knew what situation she’d gotten herself into. But this—her eyes closed, the memories from last night briefly flooding her senses. Damn, the man had moves—was a terrible idea. She knew it. He knew it. She was someone who tried to avoid messiness in her life—especially her romantic life. And fucking your best friend’s brother was about as messy as a girl could get. She couldn’t let this get messy, she decided firmly.

L

Her mind made up, she got quietly out of bed, grabbing her clothes where they were tossed in a pile on the rocking chair. She dressed with the speed and practice of an ex-ballerina who knew the power of a quick-change on stage and in life. In just minutes, she was sneaking out the front door, trying hard not to feel guilty. Luck seemed to be on her side—or rather in favor of her escape—because it took only a few minutes to warm up the Jeep and dig it out. Miraculously, the noise didn’t wake Aiden. You probably wore him out, said that naughty, horny devil on her shoulder. She gritted her teeth as she came to a stop at the end of the dirt road that led to the cabin. The main road down the mountain had already been plowed, but there was an awful pit in her stomach as she stared down the street. She glanced down at her phone, James’s texts still on the screen. She pressed his name, raising the phone to her ear. It rang for a long time, and then: “Hello?” “Oh, crap, did I wake you up?” “Lydia! No, I mean. Yes. But it’s fine. What happened? You never called me to let me know you got to the cabin.” “Sorry,” Lydia said. “Aiden is fine. It was snowing pretty badly, so I stayed the night.” James let out a low whistle. “And you two didn’t kill each other?” “It was hard without you as a buffer, but we managed,” Lydia said dryly. “Anyway, I just wanted to call you back and let you know everything was fine. I need to get—” “Wait a second,” James interrupted. “What?” Lydia asked suspiciously. Had he somehow heard it in her voice? Did she have “I slept with your

brother” voice? Was that even a thing? God, she needed to stop freaking out. She was a grown-ass woman. She’d had one-night stands before. Not with Aiden McGowan… that annoying voice singsonged inside her. “I’ve got something to tell you,” James said. “Well, I guess, ask you.” Please let it be anything but “Did you sleep with my brother?” Lydia prayed. “I think I’m ready to do it. Open my own tattoo studio.” “Oh, my God!” It was early and she hadn’t had the three cups of espresso required to get her truly started in the morning, so it didn’t come out as enthusiastic as she’d like. “How? I mean, where? Here?” “Yeah,” James said. “Back in Portland. I’m coming home, Lydz. For good.” “That’s fantastic!” she said, fully aware she sounded like a demented chipmunk even to her own ears. “What did you need to ask me?” “Well, if I’m home for good, that means you and Aiden are gonna get thrown together a lot more,” James said. “I’m going to need both of your help with the studio.” “Oh, well, I don’t know,” Lydia said, feeling like she was in some sort of waking nightmare. Was she still actually asleep in Aiden’s bed? That had happened, right? She wasn’t experiencing some sort of fever dream? “Oh come on,” James coaxed. “You two both love being right. The only reason you two don’t get along is because you’re so alike.” Actually, I think the main reason we didn’t (still don’t?) get along is because of the raging sexual tension neither of us wanted to acknowledge, but guess what, last night we did. Several times. In several different ways. Lydia swallowed, feeling a little hysterical. “I promise

I’ll play nice with Aiden if he does the same,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. “Listen, Jay, I’ve got to get on the road. Go back to sleep. Email me when you can.” “Okay,” he said. “And Lydz?” “Yeah?” “Thank you for going to check on Aiden. I know he drives you crazy, but you’re a good friend to him and me.” “Go back to sleep,” she said. “You’re sappy when you just wake up.” “Night.” “Bye, Jay.” She tossed her phone on the passenger seat, putting her hands back on the steering wheel. She didn’t turn back in her seat and look behind her at the road that led back to him. She wasn’t that far gone. But she looked in the rear view mirror and, just for a moment, she let herself entertain the idea: of driving back there, bursting through the cabin door, to find him waiting for her. It was a beautiful idea. And Aiden McGowan was a man of beautiful ideas. An inventor, a scientist, someone who wanted to make a better world. But when it came to matters of the heart, she was the logical one. Once you get burned, fanning a flame is all that harder. Lydia took a deep breath. She turned onto the main road and drove away, trying hard not to feel like she was leaving everything behind.

The End… for now.

A IDEN AND LYDIA ’S LOVE STORY W ILL CONTINUE IN THE E XILE INK SERIES . For a sneak peek from JUST ONE WORD, the first book in Aiden and Lydia’s trio, join Skylar’s newsletter here. To get the first Exile Ink trio about James, Aiden’s brother and Cam, the sweet and sexy watercolor tattoo artist he falls for, click here.

Also by Skylar Hill

S TE A MY S TA NDA LONE S For Keeps

T HE P URE LY P LE A S URE S E RIE S All Worked Up Coming Soon: All Loved Up All Fired Up

T HE E X ILE I NK S E RIE S James & Cam: Something New (Book 1) Something Right (Book 2) Something Real (Book 3) Exile Ink: James & Cam (The Complete Trio) Aiden & Lydia: Just One Night (A Prequel Short) Coming Soon: Just One Word (Book 4) Just One Touch (Book 5) Just One Kiss (Book 6)

About the Author

Skylar Hill writes steamy romance about once-in-a-lifetime love. She lives in the Pacific Northwest with her very own lumberjack/soulmate. When she’s not writing, she’s hiking one of the trails around her beautiful city, or in a cafe, drinking chai lattes and eating way too many cinnamon rolls. She has several tattoos, but in places only her husband gets to see! She is currently hard at work on her next steamy story. For sneak peeks, bonus scenes, updates, giveaways and truly decadent hot cocoa recipes, sign up for Skylar’s Newsletter here. To connect with Skylar www.skylar-hill.com