by Lori Foster
For five minutes they rode in silence. Using his coat like a blanket, Vanity tried to smooth her hair, lifted the skirt of her dress and grimaced, then turned down the visor mirror and blew out a breath at her reflection. “I’m wrecked.”
“And brave.”
“Mostly wrecked.” She flipped the visor back up. “What that nice officer said? It’s true. You literally ran right up to that fire. You didn’t know if the car would explode—”
“Cars don’t explode. Or at least, not very often. What you see in movies is just for drama.” She still looked shaken, so he tried to reassure her with bland facts. “The wreck probably sheared the fuel line. Totaled as that SUV was, I’m guessing some metal might’ve punctured the gas tank, too. Hard to know what happened, but once everything catches fire, yeah, it can look like an explosion.”
She leveled a look on him. “You’re debating semantics. It was dangerous. Very dangerous.”
“And you were right there.” He white-knuckled the steering wheel, still hating how close she’d gotten to that danger. “I thought you were going to stay in the car.”
“If you hadn’t needed my help, I would have.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not great in a crisis.”
“That’s a joke, right?” When she just stared at him, he added, “You were perfect. Steady, calm.” He thought of how she’d struggled to get the woman free, and added, “Strong.”
“So why are you frowning?”
“You could have been hurt.”
Her brows went up. “You were worried about me?”
Stack didn’t answer that. Did she really find that idea so surprising?
“Ahhh...” Vanity stroked his shoulder. “You were. That is so sweet.”
Annoying, but what he noticed most was the continued trembling of her hand. She put up a good front, but obviously she had been affected.
He chanced a glance at her, then at the time on the dash. One in the morning. It choked him, but he knew he had to make a noble offer. He had to be considerate.
He had to be fucking sweet.
His balls protested, but he made himself say, “Listen, it’s late, and things have gone sideways. If you need some time, we can put this off—”
“What?” Rearing back, for the first time looking truly upset, Vanity watched him. “You’re backing out on me?”
“No.” Hell, no. “We’re definitely getting together. I’m just saying, if you’re hurt or upset, it doesn’t have to be tonight.”
Her eyes flashed at him. Leaning toward him, her voice firm, she growled, “Yes, Stack Hannigan, it does!”
CHAPTER TWO
STACK FROWNED OVER her raised voice. “Calm down.” Her quick glare befuddled him. “Look, all I’m saying is that you’re shaking. And your arm is burnt and—”
“And you made promises.” While looking at her arm, she added, “Sexual promises, so don’t even think of dodging out on me.” She winced when she saw the burn. “Damn it. It wasn’t hurting, but now that you’ve pointed it out, it is.”
“I wasn’t...” All her attention remained on her arm, so he gave up trying to explain that he’d only made an attempt at nobility. No way was he “dodging out,” as she’d accused.
The burn on her arm didn’t look serious. Slightly bigger than a quarter, it was red, angry, but only slightly blistered. “I can take care of that for you once we get to your place.”
“What will you do?” She held her arm to her chest protectively.
Stack felt the crooked grin pulling at his mouth. The woman would brave a car fire, dismiss any danger, but at the thought of him patching her up, she grew wary. “I have a first-aid kit in the trunk,” he explained, hoping to soothe her. “We’ll put some ointment on it and wrap it, that’s all. You can take some ibuprofen for pain.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Oh, good. Nothing too awful.”
“Nothing awful at all,” he promised. But the way she continued to study him prompted him to add, “You know I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, right?”
“It’s not that, it’s just...” She looked at her arm again, then deliberately dismissed it. “Before we do that, I need to shower.” She licked her lips. “And so do you.”
A hint? “You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Positive.”
Thank God. “Then how about we shower together?”
As if she’d just been waiting for him to offer, she smiled. “That would be wonderful, thank you.”
Thanking him? This time Stack couldn’t choke back the laugh.
“What?”
He shook his head. Telling her she was the first woman to thank him for sex wouldn’t be a good idea.
She scowled and repeated with more insistence, “What?”
Again he took her hand, then lifted it to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Like your enthusiasm, that’s all.”
“I am enthusiastic.” She shifted her hand so her palm cupped his jaw. He’d shaved before the wedding, but now, as her thumb moved back and forth, he heard the rasp of new whiskers. “It seems like I’ve been waiting for this forever.”
Yeah, no kidding. “You’re the one who set the stipulations, darlin’.” Hell, the second she’d propositioned him, he’d been ready. But she’d spelled out the rules—most importantly that they had to wait until the night of Cannon’s wedding to seal the deal. Something about her not wanting to take the chance that they’d get together, hit a snag and she’d end up without a date to the wedding after all.
As if she expected him to annoy her right off. As if having him as an escort to the wedding was more appealing than having sex with him.
What had burned his ass the most was her assertion that in the meantime, they should both carry on as usual, dating others, sleeping around, as if they hadn’t made an intimate deal.
What woman did that?
“So,” she said, trying to be all businesslike despite her breathiness. “Quick shower first, you can take one minute to wrap my arm, and then, finally, sex. Yes?”
God help him. “Sure.” He’d do his best to behave until then. And maybe after the shower she’d stop shaking and settle down. Because even now he could see the slight quivering of her shoulders. He didn’t bring it up again, though. Why bother? She’d deny being affected by the wreck and fire and the injuries she’d witnessed, and for him it didn’t matter anyway.
Nothing mattered except finally having her.
“Turn right here.”
Stack slowed the car. “Where are we going?” He knew her apartment was straight ahead.
“My house.”
“Your...house?”
“Yes.” Clearly pleased, she told him, “I moved in last week.”
Impossible. She’d only recently relocated to Ohio and settled into an apartment. But a house? He hadn’t heard anything about her moving, and no way could she have moved on her own. Women had a lot of stuff. Clothes, makeup, toiletries, not to mention furniture and drapes and everything else she’d have needed.
“Who helped you move?” If she’d asked others, but not him, he’d—
“I hired a company.” She shrugged. “All I did was pack up my most personal belongings, and they took care of everything else, including the setup in my new place.”
New tension invaded his muscles. “You could have asked me.”
“I didn’t need to.”
No, in so many ways she was the most independent woman he’d ever met.
“Stack.” Indulgent, her smile small and knowing, she stroked his shoulder. “I appreciate your willingness, but you’re always so busy, I didn’t want to infringe on your free time. I told you, I can afford to hire the help I need.”
Yeah, that bugged him, too. “You said you’re well-to-do.” She’d mentioned it only once, sort of matter-of-factly when explaining why she wanted him to be her date to the wedding. According to her, guys hit on her because of her wealth.
Stack knew it had a hell of a lot more to do with her looks, as well as her sw
eet personality, than anything as mercenary as supposed wealth. Besides, the fact that she neither acted nor lived like the pampered rich made him doubt her claims. Wealth could mean many different things to different people, depending on what they were used to.
She turned her head, studying him. “You sound disgruntled, but I don’t know why. We don’t have the type of relationship where I’d impose on you. We’re...”
“Friends with benefits?”
Lifting her shoulders, she said, “We will be—as long as you don’t change your mind.”
“Not a chance.”
“You look awfully grim for someone about to have sex.”
He flashed a glance her way, saw the teasing glint in her eyes and smiled at her.
“Better.” They were only halfway down the street when she pointed. “There. That’s my driveway. The little yellow house is mine.”
Disbelieving, Stack pulled into the driveway. Electric lanterns at either side of the double front doors lit the area, showing some fall decorations, a cozy wicker chair, and pots of still-thriving, colorful mums. With the headlights of his car, he could make out much of the house. Small, but very tidy. Yellow with white trim, a curving walkway, large entry, and one-car garage. “Nice.” In fact, it looked like something out of a storybook.
“Thank you. I saw it and knew I had to have it.” She reached for the door handle, but he touched her shoulder, staying her.
Getting out and walking around the hood, he opened the door for her—and with each step, he wondered why a woman of means would buy such a small, cozy house instead of something more extravagant.
“Such a gentleman,” she teased, as she went on tiptoe to kiss him.
And just that, such a simple touch, her lips barely brushing his, almost set him off. When she started to retreat, he drew her back, kissing her more firmly, a little longer, a lot deeper. The crisp, cold air swirled around them.
Snuggling closer, she clenched her hands on his shirt.
They were too close to a bed for him to start this in the yard. Shower, treat her burn, then he could and would keep her in bed until neither of them could think straight.
Cupping her face, Stack eased up on the kiss, retreating by small degrees.
Overhead, the moon ducked behind clouds, and the wind kicked up, toying with her hair and making her shiver. Vanity had a lot more skin exposed than he did. Catching the lapels of his jacket that she’d wrapped around herself, he pulled it closed, kissed her soft mouth one more time and stepped away.
“Sorry. I should save that until we’re inside.”
The clouds parted, allowing moonlight to stroke over her face, showing off the slight tilt of her smile and the curiosity in her eyes. “I like kissing you, Stack. I like it a lot.”
“I promise a lot more kissing—all over—but not just yet.”
She sucked in a breath and nodded.
Stack started for the trunk of his car.
“I have a first-aid kit in my house.”
“I know mine has what I need.” He opened the trunk, and saw all the wedding gifts they’d collected for Cannon and Yvette.
Vanity put a hand on his arm. “We could unload later.”
“We could.” Did that mean she wouldn’t be tossing him out the second the sex stopped? Because she’d pretty much hinted at exactly that.
The conversation had replayed in his mind many times in the weeks since it had happened. They’d been together at Rowdy’s bar, sitting close, her tone, her look, her body language all suggestive enough to get his libido racing.
After some teasing banter, she’d hit him up to be her date for the wedding. He’d waffled, until she added a guaranteed follow-up of the carnal variety.
I’m open to using my place—bed and light provided. That way you won’t have to worry about getting rid of me afterward. I promise to toss you out before you can even get nervous about it.
If she still thought to follow through on that promise, she’d be in for a surprise. It was late enough now that even if they stayed at it until dawn, he knew he wouldn’t get his fill.
One way or another, he’d have to talk her into a full day.
Maybe a full week. Or...longer.
“So just leave it all in there for now. If you keep your car locked, it’ll all be safe, right?”
“Right.” He stared down at her, sexual chemistry arcing between them. “You don’t plan to kick me out at sunrise? Because seriously—” he looked up at the sky “—it’s going to be happening soon.”
Time ticked by in silence. Watching him, Vanity licked her lips, then shook her head. Eyes big and soft, she whispered, “I’m going to need more than just a few hours.”
That promise had his heartbeat thundering again. Moving things aside, he located the first-aid kit tucked into the corner of the trunk. He pulled it free, closed and locked the trunk, then put a hand to the small of her back. “C’mon.”
With both of them walking quickly, she opened her small purse, dug out her house key and handed it to him.
He opened the door and stepped into her living room.
After slipping off her sandals, Vanity closed the door and flipped a few locks. Following her cue, Stack, too, removed his shoes. Usually, unless jogging, he wore boots. But the damn tux had come with glaringly shiny shoes. Luckily, unlike his boots, he could toe them off easily enough.
Until Vanity had removed her sandals, he hadn’t realized that they’d each collected grass and mud while freeing the woman from the fire.
Taking his hand, Vanity got him walking. “Living room,” she said, waving a hand toward a midsize couch and two stuffed rocking chairs. An enormous television hung on the wall above a shelf of books, and what looked like real paintings hung on the remaining walls.
“Nice.” The decor and the artwork, which he tried to see better, but Vanity hadn’t slowed to give him time.
“Thanks.” By the kitchen she finally paused. “That door over there opens to the garage.” Indicating the opposite wall, she said, “And that one goes to the unfinished basement with the washer, dryer and...stuff.”
The kitchen looked newly remodeled, but he barely had time to see it before she got him walking again, this time down the hall. “Bedroom one, bedroom two.”
She was in such a rush that Stack smiled. It was a nice thing to be wanted by Vanity.
“Hall bath,” she told him, and then she tugged him into an open room. Dropping his hand and tossing his tux jacket to a chair, she said, “And this is my bedroom. The connected bath is over there.”
“Pretty,” was all he managed to say before she took the first-aid kit from him, set it on the floor, then plastered herself against him.
Arms around his neck, her gaze on his mouth, she whispered, “Stack?”
He held her waist as she slowly stretched up to reach him. “Yeah?”
“Kiss me, please.”
“Hell of an idea.” And given that she wanted him, maybe he could work on wresting the control back from her in the process.
* * *
A HUNDRED TIMES Vanity had thought about this moment, about playing it cool, taking her time.
Being in charge.
Not likely, not now that she finally had Stack in her house, ready, willing, even anxious. He smelled so good, a little like smoke mixed with the chilly night and his own, delicious scent of macho man. She tunneled her fingers into his cool hair. In warmer weather the sun bleached his light brown hair into a dark blond. Now, though, after a recent trim for the wedding, most of the blond was gone. The wind and the fire had left the wavy strands mussed. She loved it.
She loved his incredible body even more.
While he kissed her, she drowned under the feel of him, so tall and strong with fluid muscles that shifted against her. She trailed her hands down to his hard shoulders, then over his strong chest.
Stack freed his mouth and drew her close, her head to his shoulder. One of his hands knotted in her hair, and she felt his heartbeat kn
ocking hard against his ribs.
“Stack?”
“Give me a second.”
But...why? Levering back enough to see him, she started on the buttons to his dress shirt. When she had four of them free, she slipped her hand inside. Crisp body hair teased her palm; his skin was so hot, his chest solid.
“Hold up.” He caught her wrist and kept her still while he sucked in air. “Shower,” he said. “And your arm.”
“Take your clothes off.” She didn’t mind that idea at all. “Then we can shower.”
His rough, strained laugh made her smile.
“I like that.” He touched her mouth. “I like how your smile always twitches into place. One side kicks up first, then the other, almost like you’re trying not to smile but you can’t help yourself.”
An apt description, at least whenever she was around him. He made her happy. She loved talking with him, laughing with him, looking at him.
Loved getting closer to him.
Would love loving him if he’d give her half a chance.
All the fighters were focused on their careers, but Stack, more than the others, had always seemed disinterested in the possibility of a relationship.
And so she’d used underhanded tactics to get him on board.
“Right here,” she told him, “right now, you could notice things other than my smile.”
Hands on her shoulders, he stepped her back. “Yeah, and I do, believe me.” With some space now between them, he trailed one fingertip over the neckline of her dress, dipping low between her breasts before dropping his hand. “Turn around.”
That husky command curled her toes. “What will you do?”
“Get you out of this dress.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, then slowly turned her back to him and tipped her head forward.
He lifted her hair over her left shoulder so that it trailed down over her breasts. She waited for him to open the zipper, but instead, after a few silent seconds, his lips brushed the back of her neck.
Sweet sensation caught her breath.
Stepping up against her, Stack opened his mouth on her skin, lightly sucking, every so often letting her feel his teeth, then tasting with his tongue.
