by Nancy Warren
Once again there was a pause. He wondered if she’d open the door at all and figured she was pondering the same thing.
At last he heard the deadbolt slide, and then she opened the door a measly six inches.
She’d had a bath or a shower. That was the first thing he noticed. Her hair was wet, hanging in damp tendrils down the front of a white terrycloth robe, like the ones in hotels. He wondered if she’d swiped it.
He saw a tantalizing six-inch strip of soft, damp skin at the vee of her robe. Her calves, ankles, and feet were bare. She had cinnamon-colored nail polish on her toes and a funky silver toe ring.
She didn’t say anything, simply regarded him with those eyes that drew him in with their hints of warmth and cold at war. He understood exactly how she felt, for he was at once thrumming with heat simply from being in her presence and filled with an icy anger that such a great woman was messing up her life.
“Are you alone?” he finally asked.
She moved her head to glance behind him. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
Their gazes met and held. Wordlessly, she opened the door and he walked in, still wondering what the fuck he was doing.
The door shut slowly behind him and they stood there in a small hallway with beige carpeting and beige walls and he thought how wrong the setting was for such a vibrant woman.
She turned, pulling the lapels of her robe tighter, and stalked into the small living area. She picked up her remote and flipped off the TV.
Silence surrounded them. He felt the heat in his blood that she stirred every time she was near. It was crazy. She was needy, wounded in some way he didn’t yet understand, and a ring sparkled on her engagement finger.
Then she turned and he realized he was wrong. Her hands were ringless.
“Where’s your engagement ring?”
“I took it off.”
He moved closer. He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to smell the female scents of shampoo and flowery soaps and lotions. He wanted to be close enough to touch her. He saw the wariness in her eyes, but she didn’t back away.
“Why? Why did you take off your ring?”
Her eyes heated and he could see her about to tell him to go to hell, when something shifted in her expression. He picked up sadness, confusion, saw the distress flares flash and felt again that pull toward her that came from somewhere outside the physical realm. “We broke up.”
“I’m glad,” he said, because it was the simple truth.
“You don’t even know him.” She whispered the words, her lips barely moving. She had a beautiful mouth. Bare of any makeup, she looked young, fresh, voluptuous.
“I’m glad for me.”
“What do you want?” Her voice was unsteady and he fought to remind himself he wasn’t here to sample the nakedness under her robe.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.
She laughed, a jerky sound, and turned her head away. “You came to the bank and practically threatened me. Every time I turn around, there you are, watching me. Why would that scare me?”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
Her head swung back, wet hair slapping her neck. “Protect me?” she shouted. “You’ve been stalking me, intimidating me, making me feel…”
“Feel what?” His voice came out husky.
“Guilty.”
“I had to stop you.”
She sat down suddenly on the couch, more as though her legs wouldn’t hold her up than because she wanted to be seated, he thought. Her color was up. From embarrassment? Anger? Guilt?
“What were you thinking?” he asked, sitting beside her on the couch, but not too close. Realizing he was still holding his bike helmet, he reached to place it on the floor, then straightened and turned to face her. “Why would you steal cheap shit that could get you in trouble?”
“I used to have a problem,” she said, “but I haven’t for a long time. I don’t even know what’s the matter with me. I get this crazy urge and I can’t stop myself.”
“What if you’d been caught? You could have lost everything. Your job, this apartment, everything.”
She returned his gaze. “Exactly.” She slumped back and blew out a breath. Her robe parted and she didn’t seem to notice. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t noticed either.
“I’ve been going to therapy for years. It was part of my probation agreement when I got caught.”
“You have a record?” How had she landed a job in a bank with a shoplifting conviction? And how come it hadn’t come up when he’d run his search on her?
She shook her head. “I was a juvie. Sixteen. No permanent record, but I had to go for therapy. My lawyer made an argument that I was under a lot of stress at the time. My parents were splitting up and I’d started hanging out with the wrong crowd.” She shrugged, obviously uncomfortable. “You know how it is.”
He nodded. “How come you haven’t been caught again? Do you think your luck’s going to last forever?” He was getting angry. She was so young, so bright. Why would she throw her life away for a bunch of crap stolen from a mall?
Her eyes were so big and so troubled when she turned to him. “You don’t get it. I haven’t. I call my therapist every time I get the urge. And she gets me in. It’s always saved me.”
“Not always,” he reminded her.
“No. If you hadn’t followed me around that store, I would have taken that watch.” She rubbed her temples as though she had a headache brewing. “I snapped.”
“What made you snap?”
Her smile was a little twisted. “Getting engaged.”
A pulse beat in the hollow of her throat. He watched it, unable to look away. If he put his lips there, he’d feel that pulse throbbing against his mouth. He wondered how her skin would taste. Ached to find out. “Must be the wrong man.”
“No,” she said sadly. “He was the right man. That’s my problem—I’m always attracted to the wrong men.”
“Always?”
She looked at him, and he felt the heat coming off her, coming off him. “Yeah,” she said, and leaned over, putting her lips on his. And just like that, lust sucker-punched him.
He had his arms around her before he could even think about stopping himself, about restraint, brains, consequences, going down this fucking path again. Another wounded bird.
But with her curled against him, smelling of all those girl scents and the underlying woman scent of her, how could he think?
Why would he want to?
Their mouths were greedy for each other, crazy. They kissed the way starving people might eat. His hands were in her hair, fisting in the still-damp strands.
She had her hands under the leather jacket he hadn’t yet taken off, pushing it off his shoulders. He stopped to shrug the thing off, to help her yank his shirt over his head. It caught on the gold icon his grandmother had given him and he almost strangled as they dragged the shirt off in spite of the restriction.
She touched his naked chest, dipping her head to lick at him. He plunged under that robe, feeling for her, for her breasts that were round and plump and perfect. She moaned when he cupped her, nipped at him, and kept going south.
His blood was pounding, need driving him to take, to give.
Her hands were working at his belt, but his raging erection and the way he was sitting made everything too tight.
He pushed her hands away, not wanting to waste the time, and half rising off the couch, dealt with the thing himself.
He kicked off his boots, dragged off his socks, and, while she watched him with those amazing big brown eyes of hers, yanked his jeans and shorts off in one less than smooth move.
Her gaze traveled up and down, drinking him in, and he felt a tiny sizzle of embarrassment along with a need stronger than any he’d ever known.
Chapter 12
Stephanie had never seen a guy she wanted more. She loved the darkness of his skin, the tight, hard abs, and the glorious cock arrowing her way.
&nbs
p; Rafe was the latest in a string of disastrous decisions. She understood that. Deborah had explained her self-destructive tendencies—her addiction to bad boys who would hurt her was like being hooked on crack or booze. She wanted to be stronger than this need. She’d tried to be, but she was going down.
His eyes were dark, liquid, heavy with wanting that matched her own. His breathing was ragged. He reached for her and she loved the play of muscles in his arms. He had a snake tattooed around his right bicep.
He reached for the belt of her robe, holding her gaze with his, and when he unwrapped her, she felt like a gift.
His gaze traveled down her naked body and he made a sound that could only be satisfaction. She felt beautiful, irresistible, and so hot she was about to explode.
He kissed her again, kissed his way to her breasts, where he spent a good amount of time, and she was hot and restless by the time he moved down her belly—not as athletic as his, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Before she quite realized his intention, he was pushing apart her thighs with his tough cop’s hands and burying his face in her heat.
Surprise, shock, and intense pleasure hit her in a big, swamping wave as he proceeded to use his tongue and lips to savor and torment her.
Her head dropped back against the arm of the couch and she gave herself over to the sensations rioting through her body. Shivering heat, little electric thrills. When he pushed a finger inside her and rubbed unerringly at her G spot, she couldn’t hold back the cry that shook her, as her body thrust and rocked against him, spilling over.
“I want you inside me,” she said, desperate to be filled.
“Condoms,” he gasped.
It took her a minute to take in his meaning. “Bathroom. Cabinet. Hurry.”
He sprinted to the bathroom, giving her the opportunity to enjoy the muscular round butt and the thighs of an athlete.
She heard the cabinet open. Something crashed to the counter. He cursed in Spanish, she noted, smiling to herself as, in his haste, he knocked something else over.
She’d deal with the mess later. All of the mess. For now, she was willing to accept that she’d gone crazy. But at least this kind of craziness wouldn’t get her arrested.
He brought the entire box with him, spilling them out on the table beside the couch. She could help him, but she didn’t feel like it. With the edge taken off and the certainty that while this guy might be terrible for her in every way, at least he’d be a great lover, she gave herself over to the moment.
Tomorrow she’d curse herself for her stupidity, not tonight.
He fumbled the condom on and there was something endearing about his clumsiness since he was so obviously one of those athletic, coordinated types who were rarely clumsy.
Once more he parted her thighs. Once more she opened for him. This time he looked into her eyes. The intimacy was so shocking that she wanted to look away, but she didn’t. Couldn’t.
He entered her and she felt the slow slide of pleasure as her body took him in. Little pulses from her first orgasm sent tiny shocks through her. Wanting to be closer, wanting more, she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him inside her even as he thrust deeper.
She came in a glorious rush and felt his body climax in tune with hers.
He rolled them so that she was snuggled against him on the couch. She could hear the bang of his heart begin to slow, his harsh breathing even, and the heat of his skin fade to warm.
She traced the snake that encircled his bicep. “Why a snake?”
“Trying to look tough. To fit in with some guys.”
She nodded. She’d been pretty far off base. Even his bad stuff was a front for a good guy.
Mostly because she wanted excuses to touch him, she slipped her index finger under the gold chain so she could see his medallion. It was warm against her fingers, warm from his body. “And this?”
“Our Lady of Guadalupe. She’s the patron saint of Mexico.” His voice rumbled, low and intimate. “My birthday is December twelfth, the saint’s day. I always thought the big celebration and the feast every year was for me.” He grinned. “My grandmother told me I’d always be blessed, like the saint. She’s the one who gave me this.”
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I wish I had a saint watching over me.”
He kissed her shoulder. “We can share.”
She drifted, feeling loose and warm and sleepy, thinking that Rafe’s looking out for her was more satisfying than a gold coin around her neck.
“Babe.” The low male voice brought her out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Her eyes were heavy when she opened them and for a moment she couldn’t figure out where she was. Then she realized she was on her own couch in her own living room.
“Mmmm?” She pushed a hand up to get the tangle of hair out of her eyes.
Her housecoat lay over her like a blanket and Rafe was bending over her, fully dressed. Like a stranger again.
“I’m heading out,” he said. “Make sure to lock up behind me.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She stumbled to her feet, holding the housecoat in front of her. He turned to head for her door and she scrambled her arms into the sleeves and rapidly belted the robe around her. She felt physically replete, heavily satisfied, and so emotionally screwed up that she wanted to cry.
At the door he turned to her and gave her a quick kiss. “See you,” he said.
“Yeah. See you.”
And then he walked out of her life, like so many had before him. And once more she felt her heart break a little bit.
As she slid the deadbolt home, she wondered if she was ever going to get her life to work. She flipped off the lights, walked to her bedroom, and crawled into bed. Her sheets felt cold and she shivered.
See you. He hadn’t even asked for her phone number.
See you. As if.
Chloe was beginning to think she might actually have a career that she wasn’t going to get bored with and chuck. Of course, it was early days yet, and her income wasn’t quite keeping up with her expenses, but she was getting busier. More hits on the website, more email, more phone calls of inquiry.
Some of the people who contacted her were a bit on the odd side. And she’d instinctively turned down a few people who seemed more interested in humiliating their partners or exacting some sort of revenge than in a clean breakup.
That wasn’t her purpose and she quickly rejected anyone who wanted to use her service for unsavory purposes. Honestly, some people had no standards. Most, however, understood that a breakup was difficult enough and could be handled much more easily by an efficient third party.
Twice, she’d actually organized a meeting with the lovers and herself. One had ended in a reconciliation when it was clear that the woman who had hired Chloe to help her break up her romance was in fact mistaken in thinking her guy was having an affair.
He was playing tennis four nights a week, which Chloe thought was enough to have her dumping him for pure abandonment, but when he offered to take his girlfriend to his tennis club every night so she could see him play, and even suggested that he buy her tennis lessons for her upcoming birthday, all problems were magically resolved.
Whatever, as the Americans loved to say. Chloe had pocketed her fee and even got a referral.
The second time she’d met two sparring partners for dinner, it wasn’t so pleasant. In fact, she decided then and there she wasn’t doing a dinner again. Still, by dint of making each of the parties stay silent for one full minute while letting the other speak, she was able to get them to agree that their relationship simply wasn’t working. By the end of the meal, they’d been able to laugh at a shared memory and she thought that at least this couple might be able to move on with fond memories.
She was heading out to the bank, rather pleased to have another check to deposit, when Matthew came out of his house right after she had emerged from her own. “Good morning,” she said, sounding as cheerful as she felt.
Matthew’s answer was
a single-note grunt.
“I thought the dinner went very well, didn’t you?”
If it were possible, the scowl on his face grew heavier. “You seemed to be having a good time.”
She looked at him, puzzled. “I thought we all had a good time.”
“Some more than others,” he mumbled.
She’d never been what one would call a patient woman. “My, you did get out on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she said, doing her best to sound like Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins. “Perhaps you need your happy pill.”
“Looks like you got your happy pill last night.”
“Is this pointless rudeness leading somewhere?”
“Not a damn place I can think of. I don’t like you seducing my friends, is all.”
“Seducing—” She was about to tell him exactly why she’d asked Rafe to stay behind last night when she realized she couldn’t without giving away the nature of her business, and that she was determined not to do until she was good and ready. She bent her head to shift her bag and then looked up provocatively at Matthew from under her lashes. “I can assure you that no seducing was necessary,” she said, then just to annoy him, tossed out that most American of expressions. “Have a nice day.”
When she got back from her errands, Matthew was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen. Instead, she found Brittany getting out of her car, loaded down with sample books of some sort. As she struggled to close the car door, one toppled to the sidewalk.
Chloe, as drawn by curiosity as good Samaritanism, called out, “Let me help you with that,” and walked up to scoop the dropped book from the pavement.
“Oh, thanks,” said Brittany, holding her chin against the pile of books she still held. “I should have taken them in two trips, but I’m too impatient.”
“I’m exactly the same,” Chloe agreed, helping herself to two more off the top of Brittany’s load and walking behind her up the path to Matthew’s house. “Redecorating?”
