License to Thrill

by Tori Carrington

  Melanie dropped the cleanser in the sink, then scrambled to pick it up. Why did she have the feeling answering David’s question wasn’t going to be as easy as she thought?

  11

  MARC TURNED OVER yet again, tempted to punch the floor to make it softer. If only it had a chance in hell of working, he would have. He threw his head against the pillow and winced, knowing being away from Melanie was as much to blame for his agitated state as his sleeping arrangements on the floor of Mitch’s bedroom.

  “Can I ask you a question, Mitch?”

  The bedsprings squeaked. Marc looked at his brother, as comfortable as you please in the double bed. “Hmm?”

  “Why are you such an awful host?”

  Mitch’s chuckle grated on his nerves. “You were the one who went and made an ass of yourself by tossing and turning and got kicked out of the bed, not me.”

  Marc sighed and draped his arm across his head. “Good thing that’s not my question, then, isn’t it?”

  The springs squeaked again, and Mitch squinted at him through the darkness. “Will you just ask your question already so I can get some sleep?”

  Marc grimaced. “Yeah, life must be pretty tough as a clientless PI.”

  “I have clients. I’m just taking a bit of a leave, that’s all,” Mitch corrected. “Anyway, I meant we both need our sleep if we’re to keep up with this rigid schedule we came up with to keep a constant watch on the house.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Marc lay back, reviewing what he, his father and brothers had worked out earlier in the evening.

  First had come the objectives. Keeping Mel safe was definitely at the top of the list. He really didn’t want to think about how they knew she was pregnant, but they all did. The best he could figure, Mel must have told his old man a lot more in that hospital than Pops had let on.

  Second was to catch Hooker so he could never prove a threat to her again. In conjunction with the first objective, all five brothers had agreed to take two-hour watches until Hooker was caught, with Pops staying in the house as the final barrier between Hooker and Mel.

  To see through the second objective, Marc had put the word out on his and Mel’s whereabouts. If Hooker wanted her, Hooker would have to go through the McCoys to get her.

  He frowned. His only concern now was his inability to get through to his partner, Roger Westfield. He wasn’t on the schedule for post duty and he hadn’t answered his phone, leaving Marc to believe he was out with one of his many dates.

  The only obvious drawback to the plan was that it would soon eliminate the reason Mel was with him. As much as he’d like to believe in his ability to convince her to marry him, he knew it was far from a done deal. And if she went back to Bedford and started working at her new, cushy position, his job would be very tough, if not downright impossible.

  Marc stretched his neck and swallowed hard. He’d never really talked about relationship stuff with any of his brothers. Well, not anything that went beyond comparing been-there, done-that lists, anyway. And just because he needed some information didn’t necessarily mean he’d find anything out. Especially since given the subject of his question, Mitch was more liable to slug him than answer him.

  He cleared his throat. “Mitch, do you remember, oh, I don’t know.” He hedged, thinking about chucking the whole question. “Seven years ago.”

  Mitch was unusually quiet. There was no squeak of the bedsprings, no noticeable sign of his breathing.

  Marc pressed on. “What I want to know is, do you, you know, ever regret not going after her?”

  When the silence dragged on, Marc lifted himself on one elbow, wondering if he should have said her name. He lay down. No. Out of all of them, Mitch had been the only one tempted to try the marriage route. He’d gotten as far as the altar before Liz Braden stood him up. There was no way a guy forgot something like that.

  “Yes.”

  The word filled the room but sounded oddly far away. Marc rubbed the back of his neck, wondering where his brother was right now. Here? Or somewhere out there with Liz?

  “No.”

  Marc frowned and sat up, staring over the side of the mattress at the empty bed. Where did he go? Then he realized Mitch must have climbed out the window and onto the roof over the front porch. He’d done it often when they were younger, earning him his share of ribbing for being what they all saw as a dreamer.

  Marc sat on the bed and looked out the window. He wasn’t about to go out there after him. He’d done it once as a teen and nearly got tossed over the side for his efforts. “That roof is going to collapse on you one of these days, you know.”

  Mitch stretched his jeans-clad legs in front of him, his back against the house. “Let it.”

  Marc grimaced and looked out at stars. There were so many of them. “So you didn’t tell me which was your answer, yes or no.”

  Mitch crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Both, I guess.” The night was dark, the only sound the crickets. “I would have liked an explanation why, I guess.” His deep swallow was audible. “But at the same time, my damn pride wouldn’t let me go after it, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Anyway, that’s muddy water under a bridge that washed out a long time ago.” Mitch shifted to look at him. “Why do you ask?”

  Marc shrugged. “I don’t know. Just curious, I guess.”

  “Curious, my ass. What’s going on in that head of yours, Marc?”

  Marc moved to his makeshift bed on the floor, pondering what Mitch had said and ignoring his question.

  “You know,” Mitch said, his voice muffled, “I’m surprised you haven’t tried to sneak into the room down the hall yet.”

  Marc grew agitated and punched his pillow. “The old man hasn’t started snoring yet.”

  Mitch’s laugh threatened to wake the whole household. Marc picked up his pillow and tossed it out the window.

  MELANIE HAD BEEN afraid they’d never leave her alone. Jake had brought her a thicker blanket—though the room was so hot she could barely stand the sheet. David had brought her a nubby blue terry robe. Mitch had asked if she wanted to talk about anything, to which she had smiled and said no. Sean had brought her some milk and cookies, then knocked on the door every five minutes until a half hour ago, asking her if she was okay.

  Finally, blessedly alone, Melanie snuggled into the single bed and filled her nose with the smell of Marc all around her. Marc’s bed. Marc’s pillow. Marc’s sports trophies reflecting the moonlight from a shelf on the wall. She smiled and rolled over, more content than she suspected was safe. But since no one was looking, there was no harm in indulging in the connection to the father of her child.

  She’d enjoyed it when Sean had made it clear she and Marc were not to share a room. Marc had argued, but to no avail. Especially when his four brothers had joined in and agreed that there should be no sinful shenanigans under the McCoy roof. Even though her pregnancy was proof that they’d indulged in plenty outside the McCoy house.

  Sinful shenanigans.

  She gave a little shiver of anticipation, for the first time really seeing what life was going to be like with a baby in it.

  She glanced at the clock, knowing there was no way Marc wasn’t going to violate his father’s dictate. In fact, she’d expected him to sneak into the room long before now. Where was he? She rolled over and sighed, wondering if maybe he’d fallen to sleep in Mitch’s room.

  The way she understood it, the only McCoys who still lived in the house were Sean and now Mitch. He’d moved back shortly before David had moved out. Marc, Connor, Jake and David all lived in D.C. or the suburbs, for convenience. But all of them called this old house home, and returned as often as they could, usually Wednesday nights and weekends, sharing meals, probably shooting the breeze and likely holding on to all that bonded them together.

  Melanie sobered. Given what Marc had grudgingly shared with her while they were alone in the living room, what David had haltingly told her in the kitc
hen and what she had learned from Sean, she knew the glue that bonded them together was of the super adhesive type.

  She didn’t know all the details, but from what she understood, Marc’s mother had died during childbirth some twenty-eight years earlier, when David was two. She worried her bottom lip, calculating that Marc would have been five. David said he couldn’t remember anything about her but her scent. The rest of the brothers recalled bits and pieces, and Connor was good about sharing memories with them all since he was the oldest.

  Connor had taken on the role of father when Sean had been helpless to stop himself from sinking into a depression so black he’d sometimes disappear for days, leaving the five young boys to fend for themselves.

  She stilled her hand where it lay flat against her belly, swearing she felt movement just beneath the surface. Her doctor had told her she should start becoming aware of the baby’s movements some time during her fourth month. After long, quiet moments with no further sensation, she thought she must have imagined it.

  She shifted restlessly, hurting for Sean but most of all hurting for Marc because he remembered his mother and more than likely had memories of her being pregnant. In her mind’s eye, she saw this precocious five-year-old touching his mother’s belly, excited and challenged by the life growing inside her. A life extinguished along with his mother’s.

  Melanie swallowed tears, her hands touching her belly, remembering how protective Marc was of her. She guessed a lot of his behavior stemmed from his childlike pride and his admitted fear of never seeing her again. But she now understood a hefty measure came from losing not only his mother, but also his baby sister, when he was so young.

  The floorboards outside her door squeaked. She sat instantly upright, her heart thundering in her chest as she reached for the revolver on the nightstand. Cocking it, she pointed it at the wooden barrier.

  Slowly, the doorknob turned. She waited, holding her breath, her finger surprisingly calm where it rested against the trigger.

  Marc.

  Exhaling, she dropped the .22 to her lap and rolled her eyes heavenward. “You scared the daylights out of me,” she said.

  “Shh.” Marc peered down the hall, then quietly closed the door. “I thought the old man would never go to sleep.”

  The fear that Hooker had somehow gained access to the house diminishing, Melanie put her gun, which Marc had given back to her, on the nightstand. She remembered Sean’s stern warning before they’d retired to their rooms—all except Jake, who’d stayed on in the kitchen—and fought a smile. She felt as if she was in high school and her boyfriend had just thrown a stone at the window. Only Marc probably would have broken the window, she thought, smiling.

  “Move over,” he said, lifting the sheet.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Scooting over as far as she could on the single bed, Melanie sighed contentedly when he climbed in behind her, spooning her against his warm length. “Nice,” she murmured.

  How long had it been since Marc had held her? Just held her? Never, she realized. There was really never a time when they had snuggled for the pure pleasure of snuggling.

  And you shouldn’t get used to it now, either, a voice inside her warned.

  Pushing aside all the questions that demanded answers she wasn’t yet prepared to give, she reached behind her.

  “Mm, even nicer.”

  Marc trapped her hand in his, his voice low. “Stop it, you tease.”

  She raised her eyebrows in the dark. “Stop it?” That’s the second time Marc had put off her seduction attempts. She must be losing her touch.

  She shifted, causing the bedsprings to squeak.

  “Quiet, or you’ll wake the ogre who lives down the hall.”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t call him an ogre.”

  She made out his grimace in the moonlight that drifted in from the window above the headboard.

  “You didn’t have to grow up with him.”

  She ran her fingers along his smooth jaw, remembering it had once been broken. “I’d trade you my mother for your father any day.”

  His chuckle shook the mattress. “No, thanks.”

  She listlessly moved her hand to his chest. She was used to him wearing nothing to bed, but out of consideration for their surroundings, he wore a pair of boxer shorts. She let her fingers dip lower across the velvety skin of his stomach, reveling in his low hiss.

  He caught her hand in his again. “I said stop it, Mel.”

  She leaned over and kissed him, slowly, thoroughly, loving the taste of toothpaste on his tongue. She closed her eyes and pressed her nose against his. “Your reluctance wouldn’t have anything to do with my…condition, would it?”

  She felt rather than saw his grin. “Condition?”

  She took his hand. “Ever since finding out I’m pregnant, you’ve been treating me with kid gloves.” She kissed him again, a moan building in her throat as he willingly let his fingers be led to her wetness. “There isn’t any need to. I’m perfectly capable of having a normal sex life until I’m well into the third trimester.”

  This time he kissed her, and she could sense the urgency lurking behind a thin barrier of caution. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded.

  No longer in need of her talents as a guide, he flicked the tip of his finger over her pressure point, causing her to shudder in pleasure. She tightly grasped his biceps and laughed. “Hmm, I’d say you adjust quickly.”

  She moved to push him on the mattress and nearly succeeded in toppling him from the bed. She laughed, and he pressed a finger against her lips as he righted himself beneath her.

  “Keep up the chatter, Mel, and you’ll end up spending the rest of the night alone.”

  She tugged her T-shirt off and let it drop to the floor, pleased when he cupped her breasts. “Now that would be a real shame, wouldn’t it?”

  She arched into his touch, loving the feel of his palms against her breasts and the way he feathered his thumbs over her nipples, causing them to ache.

  There was something decidedly sinful about making love to Marc in his family’s house, with his brothers and father just down the hall. She cradled Marc’s erection between her thighs, causing him to groan. She quickly covered his mouth with her hand. He nipped at her skin with his teeth, and she pulled back, laughing quietly.

  She’d long accused Marc of being a breast man, and he obviously intended to prove her point now. She shivered, not about to stop the thorough attention, reveling in the texture of his tongue, the flick of his thumb, the squeeze of his fingers, knowing that the complete passion behind his actions was more responsible for the flames licking inside her than his touch.

  His movements slowed, and he lay back. She could feel him watching her. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “David told me that you and he had a long talk earlier.”

  Melanie stilled the rocking of her hips. She tried to make out his features and covered his hands where he was still touching her. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

  “He said you weren’t going to marry me.”

  She touched his cheek, running her fingers along the fine line of his jaw.

  There was so much Melanie wanted to explain to him, so much she wanted to say, but now wasn’t the time. She couldn’t help fearing that there wouldn’t be a time, that the opportunity for them to discuss such intimate matters had already passed. And that scared her even more than the man hunting her.

  “Let’s not talk about that now, okay?”

  Slowly, she bent toward him, pressing her mouth against his, communicating her feelings and urging him to share his. When he buried his fingers in her hair and languidly returned her kiss, she knew this time she wouldn’t be denied.

  MELANIE SLOWLY AWOKE to a cardinal calling outside the window. She stretched, aware of the thoroughly sated condition of her body. She reached out, only to realize she was the only one in the small bed.

  Propping herself up, she pushed back one of the curtains to peer outside. The purple smear
s across the eastern sky told her it was very near dawn. Somewhere around five, Marc had left her, murmuring something about his turn at taking watch. She scanned the grounds but saw no sign of him.

  She eased down on the bed, her contentment slowly seeping away no matter how hard she tried to hold on to it.

  Over the past three days it had been all too easy to let her plans for the future fade to the background. When faced with the urgency of her present situation, it was no wonder. Out there somewhere, Hooker was waiting in the shadows.

  But if everything Marc said was true, and if the trap he was setting for Hooker panned out, then the urgency would end and she would be smack-dab in the middle of the mess she’d made out of things.

  She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. Well, she hadn’t exactly created a mess. Despite all that had happened, her blazing attraction for Marc and their very sinful shenanigans, not much had changed. She was still pregnant. And even though she knew she could never marry Craig, as far as everyone else was concerned, judging from her conversation with her mother the night before, she was still set to marry him in… She glanced at the clock. Six hours.

  That sent her into a coughing fit.

  Six hours?

  She stared at the window. Marc had closed it—for safety reasons, he’d said. She knelt on the bed and pushed it open, needing some fresh air.

  As she lay down, she mechanically counted off all the reasons she had once thought Craig would make a better husband and father than Marc. He was dependable. Stable. She knew him and he knew her better than anyone else. Outside work, they held much in common. He was thoughtful and loving and completely unselfish.

  But all those were reasons he made a great friend.

  His job doesn’t require he put his life on the line.

  She kicked off the covers. That point wasn’t entirely fair. She had put her own life on the line, and was still doing it, if present circumstances counted. But that was before she found out she was pregnant.

  That had changed everything. The moment the doctor had come into her hospital room, beaming with the news, her entire life had crowded around her as if a plastic snow dome had been clamped around it. And she hadn’t particularly liked what she saw. Through the eyes of an expectant mother, she viewed herself as a girl, tugging off her hair bow and all the ruffles on her dress and tossing them into the trash the first day of school. As a teenager, making every school team—including football—just to get a rise out of her mother. As an adult, seeking every thrill and adventure she could.