I was so panicked, I didn’t realize after the beeping stopped that I didn’t hear anything else except soft movement and Juno’s tags jangling on her collar.
In other words, my dog didn’t bark.
This should have told me something.
Instead, I was visualizing myself lying in bed, one of the Nightingale Men, maybe Mace, finding me there, looking like I was sleeping but instead the back of my head would be blown away.
On that thought, I heard rustling like someone was taking off their clothes. I knew this to be true when I heard the clank of a heavy belt buckle hit the floorboards.
Lordy be.
They were going to rape me before shooting me.
Okay, so I’d die. My luck was shitty enough that was a possibility.
But I was not going to be violated first.
Unh-unh.
No way.
Ef that.
I felt the presence approach the bed; I laid still, waiting for my moment. The covers moved, drifting slowly off my shoulder. I felt the bed depress as weight hit it and then I twisted and whirled.
I got to my back, perpendicular to the bed, lifted my knees and aimed at the huge shadow that looked like it had a knee to the bed. I kicked out with both legs, hitting him right in the gut.
I heard his pained grunt, his body went back and I rolled the other way, off the bed and started to run toward the alarm panel with its panic button.
“Help! Help! Somebody, help!” I screamed even though I knew no one would hear.
But maybe my luck would change.
Maybe an ex-Marine sergeant with super good hearing who had an extensive collection of medals was taking a middle of the night run to chase away the battle nightmares. He’d hear me, charge in and save the day.
On this thought, I leaped off the platform toward the door, my body in mid-air when an arm sliced around my middle. I emitted a loud, “Oof!” and I went flying the other way.
I landed on the bed with a bounce but before I could twist, a heavy body landed on me.
“Get off!” I screamed in the shadowed face of my attacker as I twisted, bucked and pushed.
“Jesus, Stella, cool it,” Mace growled back, his voice sounding weirdly guttural.
My body went still and I stared at his shadowy head.
“You cool?” Mace asked.
I didn’t answer. I was too surprised.
Instead, I nodded.
He must have seen it or heard it because he rolled off me and lifted his knees so the soles of his feet were on the bed.
“Fuck, but you’ve got lower body strength,” he grunted and I turned to my side, got up on an elbow, my eyes becoming accustomed to the dim light, I saw he had both hands to his belly.
“I thought you were going to rape me,” I told him.
His head twisted to the side and the air in the room went funny and not in a good way. I felt his eyes on me in the dark.
“Why the fuck would you think that?” he clipped, voice still low with residual pain.
“I thought you were a bad guy coming to kill me. Rape me then kill me.”
The air in the room went back to normal.
“The bad guys don’t have your alarm code, babe.”
Hmm. He was right about that (I hoped).
He continued, “You got cameras everywhere. We’d know he was here before he got the outside door open. You’d have had a call to warn you.”
Hmm again.
In my freak out, I forgot about the cameras.
“And he wouldn’t have a fuckin’ key,” Mace went on.
“You don’t have a key either,” I reminded him.
“Kitten,” his voice was back to normal, now soft and gentle, but normal, “you think I’d give you back your key?”
My breath went on a road trip down Route 66.
What was he saying?
“You handed them to me today in Fortnum’s,” I told him.
“I handed you a set. I had another set cut.”
My breath checked into a motel with a pool.
So when I asked, “Why’d you do that?” it came out all wispy.
“So I could get in when it was time to come home at the end of the day.”
I lay there on my elbow, on my side, looking down at his big shadow.
My mind was awhirl, multiple thoughts twirling through it all at once.
Then it settled on just one.
Mace was back.
That’s when I pounced.
At first, he wasn’t recovered or he was surprised that one second I was lying there, the next second I was all over him, so he didn’t move much.
This had the benefit of me getting my hands, lips and tongue on him. This had the added benefit that, when I discovered he was still wearing boxers, I could rip them off him.
Then he recovered and it got heated. It became the tangling of arms and legs, the sliding of lips, the tasting of tongues, the gliding of fingertips and the dragging of nails.
He tore my panties down my legs and whipped my tank over my head.
I got my mouth between his legs then he got his between mine.
Then I rolled him over, got on top, wrapped my fingers around him and guided him inside.
I was in control for three glorious strokes before he rolled me and pounded deep.
I wrapped my calves around his thighs and begged him to do it harder.
Mace complied.
He was kissing me when I came, moaning into his mouth.
It took him longer and my eyes were on the shadowy column of his throat when his head reared back, he drove into me one last time and let out a deep, long sigh.
His weight settled into me after he finished and I liked it, the heaviness of him, even though I couldn’t breathe.
I took it as long as possible. When I made an audible gulp for air, Mace heard it and immediately rolled to his back, taking me with him so I was on top.
We were both still breathing hard (me alternately purring). I tucked my face into the space between his shoulder and neck and cradled the back of his head in my hand.
As my breathing slowed, the purring breaths stopping, I realized something was happening to me. Something thrilling and frightening. Something like being on the front page of the paper and referred to as a “celebrity”.
But bigger.
And better.
Something that made me think, for the first time in my life, that my luck was about to change.
I didn’t want to test it but I had to.
“Mace?”
“Yeah?”
I didn’t know what to say.
Then I did. “You walked away.”
His arms had been loose around me but they got tighter.
“I was pissed, Kitten,” he said softly.
He was pissed. And Mace pissed was like a natural phenomenon, a tornado or a hurricane or a volcano exploding or something.
“I was a bitch,” I whispered.
One of his hands came up and tangled in my hair.
“You got reason. Lots of shit happening to you. You can’t keep it inside, it’ll fuck you up. So you gotta be able to take it out on someone. That someone is me.” He twisted his head and kissed my shoulder then finished quietly, “I gotta learn to handle you with more care.”
My throat made a noise I couldn’t control, soft and low, like a moan of pain but it wasn’t that I felt the pain, it was that I was letting it go.
His head settled back, his hand twisted softly in my hair and his other arm wrapped tighter around my waist.
“Why’d you give me back my keys?” I asked.
“You told me to.”
“Yeah, but –”
Then my body tensed when Mace interrupted me by saying, “For now, whatever my father told you to do, he’s gotta see you doin’ it.”
Oh my God.
How did he know?
“How did you know?” I breathed.
Mace didn’t answer me, instead he went on, “What we’r
e not gonna do is play by his rules. He won’t know I’m comin’ home to you.”
“Do you think he’s watching?”
“Yeah.”
Effing hell!
How creepy!
“Why?” I asked.
“Because he’s an asshole.”
It occurred to me that Mace was talking about his Dad but I didn’t go there mainly because I agreed with him. His Dad was The Supreme Asshole of All Time.
“If he’s watching, he’ll see you come in,” I pointed out.
“No he won’t.”
“Yeah he will. Swen and Ulrika have motion sensor lights outside and –”
“He won’t see me.”
“Mace –”
His arm gave me a squeeze. “Babe. Trust me. He won’t see me.”
The way he said it, I trusted him. I decided not to go there later. I didn’t want to know how Mace learned how to get into houses without being seen.
He moved us into the bed, flicking the covers over us. We settled in, he pulled me so our fronts were touching, my hands against his chest, his arm resting at my waist and his fingers started to move whisper-soft of my back. I decided this felt really nice when Juno joined us, the bed rocked with her movements before she collapsed at our feet.
“You know about your Mom bein’ sick and the mortgage, don’t you? That’s what he got you with, isn’t it?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t ask how he knew that. He was a private investigator, the question would be stupid and whatever Preston Mason thought of me and my grade point average, I wasn’t stupid.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“How much did he share? About your Mom?”
“Not much. Just that she had cancer and they were behind on their mortgage, which he owns, by the way.”
Mace sighed then he said, “They were. Today they became current.”
My body froze. I had a mind to protest, to scream and yell, not at him, but at the world and maybe his effing asshole father.
Instead, I burst into tears, loud and obnoxious.
But I had reason. The tears were triple-fold. I was sad about my Mom. I was grateful to Mace for taking care of yet another one of my problems. And I was pissed as hell at his father.
Mace gathered me in his arms and held me tight.
I cried for a long time and he held me the whole way through. When I started to recover, I lifted my head and yelled, “I’m sorry Mace, but your father is a dick!”
Then, for some stupid reason, I burst out crying again.
As my second crying jag commenced, Mace pulled away and knifed off the bed. I sat up and watched his shadow move, still gulping with tears. He jumped off the platform, went into the bathroom and came back, getting into bed again and stuffing Kleenex in my fist.
I took a few deep breaths to control my emotion, an effort that was luckily successful. When I was done wiping my face and blowing my nose, Mace took the Kleenex from me and tossed it on the nightstand.
Juno had come to her belly to watch all of this. After Mace tossed away my Kleenex, she made the doggie assessment that the most recent drama was over and settled on her side with a groan. Mace stretched out in the bed on his back, pulling me into his side. I rested my head on his chest and draped my arm across his abs.
“After that, I hate to tell you, but you gotta know,” Mace started and I sighed into his chest, heavy and huge and nodded so he went on. “It’s ovarian cancer, Kitten, it’s spread. We got info that it’s not lookin’ good.”
I bit my lip for a beat then whispered, “I’ll call her tomorrow.”
His arm, curled low around my back, gave me another squeeze.
“There’s more to talk about but we’ll do it in the morning. You’ve had enough for tonight. Yeah?”
I nodded again.
Then I instantly reneged and said in a voice, so low, you could barely hear it, “I know about your sister getting kidnapped and murdered.”
I felt his body go solid.
It was my turn to give Mace a squeeze.
“Please don’t go away, please.” I was still speaking super softly.
“I’m right here,” he replied.
“You were going to tell me.”
Hesitation then, “Yeah.”
“I’m such a bitch.” My voice was louder now and harsh even to my own ears.
“Kitten.”
I got up on an elbow and looked at his face. “Did I miss my chance? I don’t want to miss my chance. You said you’re supposed to be there for me but I also have to be there for you,” I explained before whispering, “Please, Mace, give me another chance.”
His hand came to my neck, his thumb sliding along my jaw then up to follow the bottom edge of my lower lip.
“Tomorrow.”
“Mace –”
“Tomorrow.”
“I want to –”
What he said next, or more importantly, admitted, rocked my world.
“I can’t talk about it in the dark, Kitten. It’ll fuck with my head all night. It’s gotta be talked about in the light.”
I understood that.
Effing hell but I understood that.
I would have never guessed Mace had a weakness but there it was.
And, without hesitation, he gave it to me, a piece of him.
And that piece was the fact that he lived in black too.
And it was right then, I knew I loved him.
And that my luck had finally changed.
And that, come hell or high water, I was going to pull him out of black.
This made me happy but I kept my smile to myself. My head went back to his chest and my body relaxed into his. I felt his relax under mine and listened to his breathing go even.
When I thought he was asleep, that’s when I allowed myself to smile.
Therefore, my body gave a start when he asked, his voice husky. “We finally good?”
I pressed my body further into him and whispered, “We’re good.”
Then I noticed his chest moving, shaking in a strange way. It took a few moments to realize he was silently laughing.
I came up to an elbow and looked down at him again.
“Are you laughing?” I asked, thinking maybe he’d gone temporarily insane with lack of sleep or something.
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Why?”
He did a mini-ab-crunch and twisted so he was on his elbow too, his face in my face, so close, it was the only thing I could see.
“I win,” he murmured and his words were full of triumph and arrogance.
For a millisecond, I considered giving his shin a good kick.
Instead, I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Whatever.”
At that, his arms shot around me, he dropped to his back, taking me with him, me mostly on top and he burst out laughing.
* * * * *
It was a long time later when I knew definitely without a doubt that Mace was asleep that I thought he was wrong.
It was me who won.
* * * **
It was after ungodly hour in the morning sex. After Mace took Juno out. After a slightly later but still ungodly hour in the morning couple’s shower that I was making eggs benedict from scratch.
Mace was hindering these efforts because he was in the tiny kitchen with me, sipping a mug of coffee, his big body leaning against the counter and getting in my way.
He was wearing faded jeans, no belt, no shoes, hair still slightly damp. He was also wearing a bit greener than olive green short-sleeved henley. It was a sweet henley mainly because it had been made for a normal man, a man without large, defined, muscular biceps. Therefore, the sleeves fit tight, drawing your attention to Mace’s large, defined, muscular biceps.
My attention on Mace’s biceps was also hindering my cooking efforts. Hollandaise sauce required concentration or it would split and when it split you had to throw it out and start all over which sucked (I knew this because it happened to me a lot).
I was we
aring a pair of cutoff jeans shorts and a black, racer back tank with a skull entwined with vines emblazoned on the back in charcoal gray. Like Mace, my hair was wet and my feet were bare.
“The boys’ll know I’m comin’ to you at night,” Mace told me.
“How?”
“Babe, the cameras,” he reminded me.
Effing hell. How was I always forgetting about the cameras?
Mace went on, “The Rock Chicks need to be kept in the dark.”
I was whisking the sauce like my life depended on it (which was the way with hollandaise sauce) and I looked over my shoulder at Mace in confusion.
“Why?” I asked.
“They got big mouths, that’s why.”
He was not wrong about that. The Rock Chicks definitely had big mouths.
“Okay,” I repeated. Then something about the cameras hit me, I saw the sauce had thickened and I pulled it from the burner, trying to keep my cool as I began to feel uncomfortable. “Mace, those cameras –”
“Yeah?”
I set the sauce aside and fished the poached eggs out of the water and put them on the waiting toasted English muffins and grilled Canadian bacon while I said, “They don’t watch when we, um… you know. Like this morning?”
“Internal cameras are shut down when the men are home.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
Thank God for that.
I poured the sauce over the eggs and set the pan aside. I handed Mace a plate (three eggs, three thick pieces of bacon, three muffins, it was a lot of food but he was a big guy) with a fork and knife and turned my attention to my own plate (one egg, I wasn’t a big breakfast type of person).
We stood in the kitchen, plates on the counter, bodies sideways, eating standing up (I really needed to consider investing in a dining room table, how I was going to do that and send money home, I had no idea but I figured it was time to start pushing the guitar lessons gig).
I was busy eating and my mind was busy thinking. Instead of feeling relaxed and happy that Mace was there and we were “good”, not to mention we’d had great sex (twice), I was tense and slightly freaked out. I couldn’t shift from what had gone down the last week, my despair of the last year, straight into back together with Mace all is hunky dory.
First, I was worried about our conversation this morning, not only the “more” Mace told me we had to talk about but also I was worried for him and whatever he was going to tell me about his sister.
Rock Chick Reckoning Page 29
