It's in His Touch

by Shelly Alexander

  His eyes slid down her flour-caked body. A tingle started between her legs and quickly escalated to a slow burn when Blake’s gaze climbed back up her body inch by slow, sensual inch.

  Okay.

  She cleared her throat since her parents were in the room. Didn’t look like he was too mad at her. He looked . . . hot . . . and his smoky eyes said he wanted to be doing her instead of the vegetables. So why did it take him so long to show up after she’d given him the keys to his quaint little kingdom with that legal document?

  “All done baking for that nice German couple in town?” her mother asked.

  Angelique nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

  She turned her simmering voice and scalding stare on Blake. “So you just stopped by, Dr. Holloway?” She lifted a shoulder and waved a hand in the air rather dramatically. Or insanely, she wasn’t sure which. “Just stopped by and made yourself at home in my kitchen with my parents.” Her volume cranked up several notches. “I mean, you think you can pop over and what? Borrow a cup of sugar whenever you want?” She damn well wasn’t talking about sugar, and he knew it. “Because I gotta tell you, Doc, I’m getting a little tired of giving you things that you don’t appreciate.”

  Her mom’s whisking slowed, and both of her parents eyed her and Blake.

  Blake just kept chopping, as cool as one of the cucumbers he was hacking at. But when he stole glances at her in between whacks, his eyes blazed with heat. “Oh, I appreciate everything. Very much, in fact. I brought Sarge a thank-you gift.”

  Angelique folded her arms and cocked a hip. “I sent a message to you a few days ago.”

  “It just reached me late yesterday. I didn’t want to show up empty-handed, so I had to hunt down a box of treats. Your mom was kind enough to invite me to stay for Sunday brunch.”

  “We’re having omelets, so can you set the table, Angelique?” her mom asked.

  Hell’s bells, she couldn’t do this, couldn’t deal with Blake in front of her mother. She looked at the flour caked under her fingernails and drew in a breath. “Give me a minute to clean up.” She retreated to her room where she could regroup and think for a minute without Blake making her drool and heat in places that shouldn’t be heating this early in the morning. With her parents under the same roof. Over omelets.

  When she reappeared in the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in running clothes, Blake’s gaze took another inventory of her. The sweltering look in his eyes turned the heat between her legs into liquid fire.

  Her mom yammered, while issuing kitchen orders to her dad that went promptly ignored as he concentrated on the crossword puzzle. A polite nod and a blank look gave away Blake’s inability to keep up with her mother’s verbal gymnastics. If he didn’t already regret bringing Sarge the treats, he would as soon as Mom commanded him to—

  “Here, Blake.” Her mom retrieved an apron from the drawer and handed it to him. “Put this on.”

  Aaaand there it was. Frilly kitchen armor. Certain to strike fear into the heart of any man.

  Blake hesitated, his brow furrowed. Reaching for the apron, he looked at Angelique. She shrugged, because really, what else could she do? It was the price he’d have to pay for both ignoring her and for Mom’s home cooking. There were certain unwritten rules in the Barbetta family, and Mom calling the shots in any kitchen was one of them. Punishable by an empty stomach if broken.

  Served him right, because she still didn’t know why he’d shown so little interest in the sacrifice she’d made for him and Red River. Okay, she’d made it for herself, too, but that was beside the point at the moment.

  Angelique had to hand it to the guy. He tied the apron around his waist without so much as a flinch. Only the slight flush of his face showed his discomfort.

  Nona walked in still in her robe. She took her sweet time looking him up and down through thick lenses. “Finally a classy choice with the hired help. That Kimberly person was of questionable moral character if you ask me. When did we hire a cook?”

  Angelique nearly burst. “Oh, for the love of God.” She grabbed five placemats and turned on her grandmother. “You know exactly who Blake is. Stop pretending to be senile just so you can get away with being obnoxious.”

  Nona headed for the coffeepot with a harrumph. “It was worth a shot.” She turned back to Blake and stared at the frilly apron around his midsection. “Really, Dr. Holloway, if you’re going to be part of this family, you’ve got to know when to put your foot down.”

  Be part of their family? “Nona!” Angelique hissed. Heat, and not the sexy kind that inspired fantasies of Blake wearing nothing but a stethoscope, crept up Angelique’s neck. She was going to threaten to have Nona banned from bingo night at the senior center. Nona was already on the center’s watch list. After the incident with the fire extinguisher and the male strippers who showed up during a square dancing class in full firefighter’s gear, a single anonymous phone call would totally work.

  “For God’s sake, Nona,” Angelique warned. “Blake just stopped in to leave some dog treats and have breakfast.”

  Nona stirred cream and sugar into her cup. “Dear, if a man will wear a lavender apron for your mother, then he wants to be a permanent fixture in your life.” Angelique and her parents all hissed at Nona simultaneously.

  Blake’s Ginsu chopping slowed.

  Oh God in heaven, please make her stop.

  “What?” Nona asked. Lifting up one slightly cupped hand, she gave it a sharp twist through the air. The old Italian neighborhood way of saying WTF.

  “Um, standing right here,” Blake said.

  Angelique wasn’t sure if the look of sheer terror that spread across his face and made his eyes bulge out was because of the apron comment or the permanent fixture comment or the fact that her family was scarier than the Munsters.

  Her dad looked up from his puzzle and stared at Blake over the reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. “Welcome to my world, Dr. Holloway.”

  “That’s it!” Angelique had obviously reached her breaking point, because she tossed the placemats down, grabbed Blake’s arm, and hauled him outside, slamming the door behind them. She was even hotter when she was angry.

  She towed him down the porch stairs and around the side of the cabin where inquiring minds couldn’t see them through the windows, and spun on him.

  She just stared at him, her breaths uneven and urgent. “How could you hire scum like Fred Tipton?”

  “That was the first time I’d met him in person, and Tipton was the only attorney we could afford. You’ve known our financial situation from the beginning.” Shifting his weight, Blake closed the space between them so that his inner thigh brushed the outside of hers.

  “He offered to pay me for sex.” She hugged herself.

  “What?”

  “When Kimberly and I went to the casino a few weeks ago. He’s the guy who thought I was a prostitute.”

  Blake’s fists clenched. “That’s what he was talking about?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “When he said you were a bribe?” His voice grew strained as his teeth ground together. “So that’s why you turned so vicious on a dime? It wasn’t just to win, it was because of Tipton.”

  She twisted a handful of his gray thermal shirt into her fist and nodded. At least she was touching him. He liked that. Had been afraid he’d never feel it again.

  “I should’ve done more than fire the bastard.”

  Her gaze locked with his, the anger draining away. “You fired him?” Big black eyes rounded, and her expression turned soft. Vulnerable.

  And that’s all it took to finish wrapping him completely around one of her long, slender fingers. He loved those fingers. Especially when they slid through his hair, flexed against his chest, and wrapped around his . . .

  He cleared his throat. He brushed her creamy cheek with the pad of his thumb, the softness of her skin a sharp contrast to his calloused fingers. He nodded. “Yep. And just in time, too, because the small business proprietors of Red Ri
ver have retained legal representation from a Ms. Kimberly Rasnick of Taos, New Mexico. I called her cell a few minutes ago. She’s a kick-ass lawyer because she’s found a way to save us.”

  Angelique twisted his shirt tighter and tugged gently, looking down. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. You know, at the meeting when I turned into a shark with razor-sharp teeth. It was humiliating after how . . . intimate we’ve been. You’re the only person I’ve ever cared about not seeing how brutal I can be when I’m working. When I’m with you, I don’t want to be . . . as strong as I usually am. I’ve never even let myself cry in front of any man except you.”

  The softness of her hair tickled his lips, and he pressed them against her temple. “There’s nothing wrong with letting someone else be strong for you once in a while.”

  “It’s weak. Like wearing a pink ribbon.”

  He let out an easy laugh. “Nothing about you is weak, Angelique.”

  “And I’ve never willingly let anyone win until I met you.” She tapped her fisted hands against his chest. “Damn you. I used to see my courtroom demeanor and competitiveness as my biggest strengths.”

  He pulled her into his arms and planted a kiss on her forehead, breathing in the soft scent of the soap she’d just showered with. “You were like a really well-dressed Rottweiler.”

  She blew out a choked breath and buried her face in his chest. Nice. Right where he wanted her. Next to his heart.

  “You were pretty hot, by the way. Except for the part where you said you would destroy me in the most painful and humiliating way.”

  “I was talking to your slimy lawyer.”

  “Tipton was creepy. Even creepier than your puppet slippers.”

  She jabbed Blake in the side.

  “Ouch,” he said with a laugh. “You can kiss that and make it better if you want.”

  She jabbed him again.

  They swayed to the breeze for a moment, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “Thank you,” Blake finally said, caressing the silky hair at the back of her head. “I know how much giving me that document must’ve cost you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Angelique whispered.

  He tightened his arms around her. “How did your firm handle the news?”

  “They don’t know yet. I’ll have to tell them first thing in the morning. Kimberly is filing the papers tomorrow as soon as the county clerk’s office opens.”

  “I’d drive to Taos and bring her Tipton’s case file tonight, but I’m not sure it would help,” Blake said. “It was almost empty.”

  Angelique shook her head. “Already taken care of. I gave Kimberly everything she needs.” Something akin to fear threaded through her words, something he’d never heard from her except when it came to her health. “If the firm ever finds out, nine kinds of hell will break loose.”

  “The firm doesn’t need to know, and neither do any of Red River’s business owners.” Blake stroked her hair. “Everyone still thinks you’re here on vacation, and that’s the way it can stay.” He pressed a loving kiss to her cheek. “What will happen when you tell your bosses tomorrow?” he asked, but he could guess without her having to explain.

  “Well, my partnership is gone for one, and I’m not sure I’ll have a job there anymore.”

  Blake sighed against her temple. “Stay here. With me.” That would make him happy, he just wasn’t sure if she could be happy here in a tiny little town. But he really wished she would at least give it a try.

  “It may not end with me losing my job and partnership.” Her grip tightened around him. “Gabriel’s accusing me of some pretty bad stuff. If the partners take his side—”

  “Which they likely will, I assume?”

  She shook her head. “I just don’t know. I can’t imagine how they’d pin it on me, but I seem to be the easiest target. It could go either way.”

  “So we’ll deal with it together. And I wouldn’t mind being a part of your family, even if Nona is a little frightening.”

  Angelique pushed back to look at him. Her forehead creased, and new tears filled her eyes. “You don’t want to be with me, Blake. I know you want a family, so don’t deny it. I don’t want to have kids. I’m scared I’ll pass my toxic genetics down to them, and I couldn’t live with that.”

  With a finger under her chin, he tipped her head up and angled it just right. Brushing a kiss across her plump lips, he tasted her sweetness, a sweetness she didn’t even know she possessed, and then he deepened the kiss. Slow and sensual, he drank in her heat until a small sound of her pleasure escaped and he absorbed it, letting it reverberate through him. He smiled against her lips when she moaned, and pulled her trembling body flush against the firmness of his.

  The contrast of her curves molding against his hardness drove him crazy with want. Her kiss became a little more aggressive. Raw need singed him everywhere she touched, as her hands did a dance all over him. Exploring. Touching. Massaging. She grabbed for the hem of his shirt and found his bare flesh. His muscles bunched when her cold fingers flexed against him, heat coursing through his chest and gathering below his belt. This time he moaned. He broke the kiss.

  “Come on,” he whispered urgently against her lips. “Let’s go to my place.”

  She started to protest, but he cut her off with another demanding kiss. Because really it seemed the only way to win with her. Either kissing her senseless or blackmailing her with her own panties.

  Speaking of . . .

  His hand sank way south of the border, then eased around to stroke the soft stretchy material between her legs. She shimmied against him with a groan. Perfect.

  “What color are they?” he murmured against her throat, rubbing between her legs. Her fevered desire heated his fingers. That should keep her mind occupied with something other than disagreeing with him.

  “Wh . . .” She swallowed hard, her breath hitching. “What?”

  “Your panties?” He increased the pressure of his strokes until she went a little weak in the knees, and he snaked an arm around her waist for support. “Tell me.”

  “I don’t remember,” she whispered, her head falling back, giving him more access to her creamy neck. Her hands clutched at his arms and shoulders.

  “Liar,” he said against her ear, sending another wave of shivers through her. He released her waist, inched his fingers under the soft fabric of her sweatshirt, and found the sensitive spot over her ribcage that turned her on so much. Her skin pebbled, but heated at the same time. As he caressed with just enough friction, a moan slipped from between her pliant lips.

  “My . . .” she gasped. “My parents are inside.”

  He stroked the delicate skin down to her waist then up over her slender ribcage again, her body warming to his touch more with each pass. “Precisely why we’re going to my cabin. Otherwise, I’d undress you right here and make love to you on the grass.” His thumb moved in a circular motion between her legs, and her breaths turned ragged. Urgent. Evidence of her growing need moistened his fingertips. “What color?”

  She swallowed again, falling against him. “I’m not wearing any.”

  Fuck’s sake. He was already aroused, but that caused a surge of lust to bowl him over like a wave hitting a sandcastle on the beach. He gritted his teeth, and without a word—because he couldn’t speak without losing it right there—he pulled her across the bridge and into his cabin.

  Angelique grabbed for the bottom of Blake’s shirt as they stumbled through Blake’s back door, him kicking it shut with a thud. Biting threads of pleasure coiled inside of her, begging for release. She lifted the hem of his thermal pullover, and he peeled it off so fast it was like ripping the wrapper off a piece of yummy candy. Candy she’d like to taste with slow, savoring licks and bites.

  He let her go long enough to lock the door. When he turned back to her, her eyes took a nice vacation down the hard planes of his chest and ripped abs. The dark line of hair that disappeared under faded Levi’s that hung so low on his hips th
e V at his groin made her mouth water.

  She ate him up with her stare.

  He advanced on her with the stealth of a lion and a stare so hungry it made her coil even tighter, like a spring at its breaking point. Her breath caught as he came to a stop so close to her, his breath warmed her cheeks. He didn’t touch her, didn’t reach out for her. He just stood there looking down at her with a sultry look that communicated his desire to have her, each of his ragged, hot breaths washing over her prickling skin.

  “Your room’s over there?” She nodded toward a door to the left of the fireplace.

  “Uh-huh,” he said, as she backed toward it, him following her step for step.

  She backed through the door and turned to look at the room. Not much there besides a bed with a handmade quilt over it in deep red and brown hues and an old dresser. Not surprising for a single guy, but now the place was his to keep for as long as he wanted to live here. He could transform his rustic bachelor pad into a real home, and that thought caused an incredible warmth to sweep through her.

  She never imaged losing would feel so good. “The bed looks comfortable,” she said, as he came up behind her and put his hands on her waist and his mouth on her neck.

  “It is. Brand new.” His wet kiss, coupled with a nip of his teeth, sent a tremble through her. “Now you,” he said, his voice gone all husky with lust as he pulled at her sweatshirt.

  Not a good idea. This wasn’t a good idea. Okay, so it felt good. Really, really good at the moment, and it would probably feel much better in another minute or two. But still not smart.

  She told herself to bolt. To walk away while she could still salvage some remnant of her heart. A few minutes ago when she’d told him she didn’t want kids, he didn’t respond. And if he couldn’t face that now, then he certainly wouldn’t be able to deal with it in the future. But her hands didn’t obey, and she turned, splaying her fingers against his chest. Her palms slid over the hard muscles that were encased with smooth, masculine skin. When they brushed over his nipples, the skin tightened and his pecs flexed.