Conditional Offer: Stewart Realty, Book Five Page 5

  The Stewart Realty summer picnic was the catalyst he never expected. There were stupid games where Sara and Jack got mysteriously paired up and had to do crazy shit, like relays and an apple-eating contest. The horrific watermelon moment when she’d had the slice between her legs and Jack had to eat it faster than all the other contestants, the guy had been campy, pretty much his usual asshole self, considering he had brought a date to the damn event.

  Craig’s throat had closed up with fury watching the spectacle. Sara’s face had reddened, she’d bit her lip while Jack went to town and was nearly finished eating the melon slice. When she clapped her legs together, smacking Jack in the face and ruining their chance to win, Craig had watched the two of them staring at each other.

  She’d run off and, of course, Jack had followed her. The drama quotient between the two of them was mind-boggling and at that moment Craig knew he should avoid it. He’d stood at the bottom of the steps of the house later, and watched Gordon rushing down, leaving Sara at the top, her eyes full of furious tears.

  He sensed his moment then, followed her to her car, offered to drive her home. He had kept up his "hands-off, just friends" front, let her lean into him. He sensed her desire for him to make the next move. But he didn’t, and left her there at her condo alone, although it almost killed him.

  The morning he walked into her cubicle, right past that dickhead Gordon who kept hanging around the downtown office, invited her over for a swim and walked out was what he considered his Rubicon crossing moment. They’d had their official dinner date a few nights before, which had been weird beyond imagination since Jack had been at the restaurant, staring at them. Craig had managed to pull her out onto the sidewalk. They'd gotten ice cream, and he'd completed the long, long-term seduction by the end of the night by kissing her again, long and deep, then walking away.

  She was ready. So was he.

  The pool was his venue, and he'd set it up well. She was a vision in her bikini and they swam after he coaxed her in and gave her a quick lesson. The second he stopped in front of her up against the side and kissed her, really allowed himself a deep taste of her, he knew it was all over for him. Their connection was intensely erotic and he had been holding back for so long he had to concentrate hard on not blowing within seconds of stroking into her.

  Don’t say it. Don’t tell her. You don’t love her. You love how she makes you feel, and you love she’s here with you and not with him. Don’t. Say. It.

  He didn’t. After the nice pool-side fuck, he'd convinced her to stay the night. When she grabbed him and forced him against the wall of the elevator as it carried them down a few floors to his condo, he groaned, and whispered it, just once, before she released her exquisite suction on his cock and rose, licking her way up.

  “I love you,” he whispered. She just kissed him and kissed him. As he pounded into her in the corner of that damn elevator, he forgot everything except her body and the feel of her legs on either side of his hips.

  * * *

  By the time the entire Ann Arbor real estate community figured out he and Sara were a couple, they’d set their boundaries. Ones he whole-heartedly did not want but knew she had to have, somehow, to justify what she was doing with and to him on a regular basis.

  "Friends with benefits" sounded fine and hipster on the surface. By the time he figured out that she was with him physically, but in no other way, he was sick of hearing it. It sounded glib, flippant and a total dismissal of his purpose in her life.

  The night it more or less ended for him, she’d been over for dinner. They’d mutually masturbated before the entrée then fucked for dessert. He lay awake awhile, watching her sleep, trying to balance his need for her and his mounting disgust with himself for letting it slide into this bullshit corner—the place he’d vowed never to inhabit again but had managed to find once more. He slipped out of bed and fired up his computer, found Lillian online.

  Craig: You’re up late.

  Lil: Yeah, so are you.

  Craig: So, I fucked up. I think.

  Lil: The girl we discussed.

  Craig: Yeah.

  Lil: Sorry babe. Sometimes things just don’t work out I guess.

  Craig: But I love her. I think. And she’s here, asleep in my bed.

  Lil: Dear God, are you serious? And you are on the computer with me? Is that legal in Michigan?

  Craig: Shut up and listen to me. I wanted her, she broke her engagement, we went out, had a great time. And finally we…you know.

  Lil: Yes, please spare me details of you having sex with anyone. Ick. I still remember you as a gawky ten-year-old kid.

  Craig: Yeah, so…

  Lil: Sorry. Go on.

  Craig: She keeps calling me her fuck buddy, and we are all friendly and pals and in each other pants. And I want more.

  Lil: but she’s still in love with him.

  Craig: Most likely

  Lil: Oh honey.

  Craig: Exactly

  Lil: Listen, you should get out of that. You’re just going to get hurt.

  Craig: Too late. Thanks.

  Lil: Ok. So time to disentangle. Let her go.

  Craig: Easier said than done. I love her.

  Lil: You don’t

  Craig: I think I do.

  Lil: Craig, my adorable one, you love every woman you’re with.

  Craig: I do not.

  Lil: Well then, let her go anyway. Suck it up.

  Craig: Ok. That’s why I found you. So you could smack some sense into me. I’m thinking about going back to school, btw.

  Lil: Good for you.

  Craig: So—Go. Why the hell are you on Skype at 1 a.m. anyway?

  Lil: None of your biz.

  Craig: Oh yes it is. Is Rick being a jerk? It’s within his skill set if I remember right.

  Lil: None of your biz. Go, boot her out and go to school.

  Craig: Yes ma’am, but I hear from one of the others that he is being a dick…

  Lil: Yeah, yeah, whatever. Bye. I love you.

  Craig signed out and stretched, then padded back to the bedroom and jumped into the warm nest of sheets and Sara, holding her close and sticking his nose in her neck. Within an hour they were both awake, arguing. After she left, he fell back onto the bed cursing his own weakness and willing himself to let her go.

  Her words rolled through him. “You don’t deserve all my bullshit. It’s why I’m leaving.” He wanted to lunge at her, pull her back and beg her not to leave. He groaned and realized they were due to go out the next night too, dinner with Blake and Rob, then a concert at the Ark.

  He wanted to cancel, protect his heart, make it a clean break, but he wouldn’t and he knew it. Once again, he’d done it. He'd connected physically with an amazing woman, but missed her emotionally. It had to be some kind of a record, the number of times he’d managed that.

  Chapter Ten

  The dinner date had been planned. He couldn’t get out of it. The whole damn thing felt so wrong to him now, he nearly backed out. But, the sister-in-law voices wouldn’t let him do that—he didn’t stand up a date for no good reason. The last argument with Sara passed in and out of his brain—her gorgeous, amazing face, contorted with frustration. His ugly words, all of it made his chest ache.

  The first part of the evening was fine. He kept it cool, and she went along with it making small talk with her brother and Rob. The concert was great, but Blake and Rob seemed tense afterwards and when he suggested they get a beer at the other Ann Arbor brewery, the tension ramped up by a thousand. Sara had put her arm around his waist and assured him it was okay but the two men parted company with them on the sidewalk, leaving in an icy silence in their wake.

  So here he was, at the Big House Brewery, watching while Sara chatted with other beer drinkers, trying not to blurt out that he thought she should go back to Jack. The memory of her lips, her responsive body under his and the hard reality that they had little more than a sexual relationship between them made his face burn with frustration.


  He stared down in the depths of the dark beer in his glass and counted to ten to calm himself. He’d come so far, had gotten Sara where he wanted her—in his bed, but that was essentially it.

  And it was bullshit. He was caught, yet again, in a web of his own neediness and obsession. He looked over at her, studied her amazing green eyes and gorgeous profile for the millionth time. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she turned to smile at him.

  Bestie Craig had swooped in to pick up the pieces after the disaster of her broken engagement. But the real truth was that those pieces still had the mark of another man on them. A mark that was undeniably strong.

  He sighed again, sipped and turned to face the bar, trying to figure out how he would deal once she finally went back to Jack. Sara touched his arm and spoke. “Hey Suzanne, let me introduce you to my friend, Craig Robinson. He’s an agent in my office.”

  He looked up and met the eyes of the redhead from Blake's party where he’d rescued Sara. He leaned on his elbow, watching her. She smiled at him and his heart sped up alarmingly.

  She was petite, her facial features distinct and lovely, even with the slight, silvery, ghost of a scar that marred her upper lip. He let his eyes flicker down her simple black blouse, getting a little breathless at the sharp contrast of her porcelain skin against the ebony silk.

  He clutched his beer and ignored the semi-conversation the women held—Suzanne trying to get Sara to talk about Jack and Sara refusing steadfastly to participate. He flinched when her hand touched his arm. He took a breath, and sucked in an intoxicating combination of malt and hops with an odd undercurrent of…something he struggled to identify. He leaned into her, and had to suppress a shudder when she met him halfway. “That’s me,” he said, realizing a response was required and going with what he assumed was still the topic. “Caught in the middle.”

  The women talked, or better yet Suzanne tried to talk, and Sara deflected. As he observed their tense interchange, he found himself unable to stop staring at Suzanne. Her eyes snapped, and she talked with her hands as she tried to convince Sara—his date—to reconsider her rejection of some other guy.

  Jesus.

  It was surreal, but he found himself wanting to reach out and touch Suzanne’s cheek, run his finger down her soft-looking skin. He blinked fast and refocused on Sara. His family’s advice flashed across his eyes.

  “Let her go. Suck it up.”

  Lillian had been adamant, and she was right.

  He looked at the compelling woman who owned the brewery, all five-foot-nothing of her but with a personality that took over the entire room. He had to force himself to close his mouth. “Uh, yeah,” he said when he realized they were looking at him as if a verbal response was required. “So, what’s your advice?” He dragged his eyes from Suzanne’s wry grin.

  “Don’t know if that’s a safe place between those two, dear.” She gave his arm a squeeze and walked away. He watched her make her way through the crowd, then turned, embarrassed to see that Sara hadn’t even noticed.

  That night he lay awake, alone, and pondered the possibility of her—Suzanne, not Sara for a change.

  * * *

  He sought Suzanne out after that, showing up at her brewery’s Tap Room more than once and engaging her in random chatter about her business. He was content to sit and listen to her for hours, he’d admit, and she got him talking, too. About his brothers, and the loser-ish feeling he was starting to shake now that he’d made some money selling houses.

  One night after a long, comfortable discussion and more than a few beers, he noticed it was midnight. They’d been talking, drinking and watching a Tigers baseball game on the west coast for nearly three hours. He should go. But it was the last thing he wanted to do, period.

  She leaned into his shoulder, startling him a little. “You’d better head home Craig.” But she didn’t move. He put a tentative arm around her. “Aren’t you and Sara….”

  “I don’t know anything about her anymore, really.” The chaos that was his relationship with Sara had not let up. They screwed and argued fairly regularly, but he was getting a sick feeling from the whole thing. He wanted that supreme asshole Gordon to see him with her. To watch him kissing Sara while she got pleasure from his lips, tongue and fingers.

  And that was wrong on so many levels, he was hard pressed to name only one. He Once again, he was trapped in an unhealthy relationship and didn’t know how to disentangle. He suspected she was talking to Jack again, but knew they’d had no real physical contact. His inner competitor kept forcing him forward, making him draw her even deeper into his life.

  By now, he could touch her in three places and make her shudder from a quick orgasm. And God help him, he loved kissing her. Loved the little noise she made down in her throat when she molded herself into him.

  But with Suzanne he felt … better somehow, relaxed and natural, not inclined to prove anything. While he was turned on, as any man would be by the close proximity of an attractive female, he didn’t feel at all compelled to push things. He simply enjoyed her company. He loved having nearby as they leaned on the bar, beers in front of them, talking about nothing in particular. With her scent in his nose, a simple, comfortable feeling between them.

  Suddenly nervous, he dropped his arm off her shoulders. She looked up at him, the dark pools of her eyes intense. “I should go.” He looked down. ”I don’t like being alone,” he blurted out. “Sorry, I’m hanging around too late. Don’t mean to be a stalker.” He drained his glass.

  She smiled, hopped down off her barstool and took their dishes around to the sink. He followed her, compelled and terrified all at once. Her small frame seemed so fragile all of a sudden. For all her bluster and big words about making her way in a man’s world of beer, he was starting to sense an inner core of vulnerability, and it brought out something in him he didn’t really recognize at first. A protectiveness that he’d felt somewhat with Sara, before the whole thing started to feel like a contest, washed through him making him shiver.

  He walked to Suzanne, put his hands on her shoulders. She sighed and leaned back into him. He turned her around, kissed her lightly and stepped back. Everything in him said “go forth and seduce” but for a change he listened to his bigger brain—the one that said,

  “Wait. Take it easy. You’ll scare her away and you don’t want that.”

  “You’re alone a lot Craig, but you just don’t see it that way. All that swimming—hours a day, you say. You don’t get much more alone than that.” She was quiet a second. “I like having you here. You’re a good friend.”

  He ran a hand across his stubbly jaw. Exhaustion crept up on him. She went up on her tiptoes and kissed him again, let him feel the tip of her tongue, just parting his lips before she ended it, rubbing her arms and looking nervous. “You should go.” She turned away and he hesitated, but after a few minutes he slipped out into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Tailgate Party - Michigan vs. Michigan State

  Craig parked his bike a few blocks away in someone’s yard and made the trek past the tailgating revelers over to the Ann Arbor Golf and Outing Course to a huge party hosted by Arbor Title. He was tired, would gladly skip the whole damn thing, but he’d told Sara he’d be there, and he needed to make the effort, he supposed.

  If they—he and Sara—were to be together, he had to attend. He’d put in the hours and he truly did feel something for her, but what it was he couldn’t name anymore. He stood at the red light at the corner of Main and Stadium with the giant group of eager football fans waiting to cross and shivered with a quick memory, or rather the moment, shared with Suzanne just the night before. How he had managed to be here, in this situation, he had no idea. But last night had been amazing and not for the usual reasons.

  “Hey,” Suzanne said, looking up from her laptop. “What’s up?”

  He gulped, stuck his hands in his suit trouser pockets. His voice seized up, his throat felt as dry as a bone. He too
k a look at her, her small frame encased in jeans and a brewery tee shirt, tendrils of dark red hair curled around her neck. He ran his hand through his hair, more consumed with nervousness than he could ever remember being. She waited him out, her gaze neutral and expectant, polite.

  “I, uh, thought I’d take you up on the brewery tour offer. You know, if you’re not busy.” He suppressed an inward groan at how incredibly lame that sounded. “Never mind.” He sank into a bar stool across from where she stood behind the bar.

  She shut the computer, leaned on her elbows and smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat. Typically, a hot woman would intrigue him, make him want to flirt, impress and ultimately seduce. Suzanne brought out a completely new feeling in him—one he didn’t understand and that scared him.

  “Here.” She handed him a beer and walked away. He was mesmerized by the sway of her hips but kept trying to force his usual A-game down under a layer of chivalry. One thing he’d never been around women was tongue-tied. Yet, there he was, smiling, and slamming down half the beer she slid across the bar at him while she talked with the bar manager and put all her stuff away.

  She glanced at him once, a puzzled look in her eyes. He shrugged, smiled and forced his eyes up to the television and away from her.

  After about fifteen minutes of messing around behind the bar, chatting with customers and other diversions, she was back in front of him, leaning in, way too close for his comfort. He sat back, sipped more and tried to ignore her.

  “And so,” she said, sipping her own beer. “A tour, huh?”

  “Yeah, well, you mentioned it last time and I thought….” He heard his voice trail off, and started to stand and leave to escape the horror of his lame-ass behavior. But he couldn’t. Not when she leveled that intense brown-eyed gaze at him. He had to clench his fists to stop himself from touching her hair, from pressing his lips to that sweet spot just near her ear. He blinked. “Um sorry? What did you say?”