She waited for him to tell her he was a natural. Instead, he asked, “What happened with you and Romeo?”
Harper shrugged. “You heard the story. He took off with a dancer. He’s probably passed out in a comped room at The Bellagio as we speak.”
His gaze was a little too direct for her liking. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
Oh, boy. She’d been afraid Riddick was going to ask this question since their dinner at Petrocelli's. He’d obviously picked up on her discomfort when her cousin had asked about Romeo.
Well, she supposed there was no point in lying about it. Especially since she was a terrible liar.
“About a year ago, Romeo and I had a client named Sara Knowles. Did you read about her in the paper?”
Riddick shook his head and she went on, “Sara had dated a vampire named Lucius Snow. She ended the relationship, but Lucius wouldn’t leave her alone. He called, he showed up at her job and her apartment all the time…you name the stalker stereotype and he did it. She hired us to help protect her and gather enough info to put him away, because restraining orders don’t mean much to vamps.”
Her stomach knotted at the memories of the worst night of her life. “We did everything we could to protect her. Hell, I even made sure Romeo stayed sober. But it wasn’t enough.”
Harper paused, and Riddick quietly asked, “Were you hurt when he came after her?”
She couldn’t bring herself to tell him what happened when Lucius had come for Sara. Only the police had the whole story about that night. But she could tell he wasn’t going to let it go, so she eased her jacket off and slide the wide strap of her tank top down past her left shoulder.
Her collarbone had been bitten in half and she had one hell of an ugly, jagged scar. But Riddick didn’t even flinch when he saw it.
He leaned toward her and gently traced the scar with his index finger, and her eyes fluttered shut. God, how sick was it that he could turn her on by touching her scar?
“She was killed?” he asked.
Harper nodded. “Romeo was beat to hell too. We’d just gotten out of the hospital when we…you know.” God help her, if she blushed any harder she’d have a stroke. “I guess we needed the comfort, and no one else could possibly understand what we’d gone through.”
She cleared her throat and felt compelled to add, “And we never…you know…again.”
Riddick continued to trail his fingertip over her scar, as if a gentle touch could wipe away every trace of Lucius’ brutality. To distract herself from the tingles of electricity his touch sent through her body, she asked, “What about you and Cecelia?”
He slowly pulled his hand away, and his eyes grew distant. She nearly groaned at the loss, and by what her gut was telling her.
He’d had sex with Cecelia. At least once.
Well, that made sense. Cecelia was the most physically perfect woman Harper had ever laid eyes on, and Riddick was the most physically perfect man, so it made sense that they’d hook up. They were like Paranormal Barbie and Ken, for Christ’s sake.
Still, the knowledge didn’t do much for her self-esteem. Or her heart.
“If you two were…” gulp “…involved…why did she set you up and let you walk into a trap?”
If he was surprised that she knew about what Cecelia had done to him, he didn't let on. “We weren’t involved," he said. "It was a one-time thing, just like with you and Romeo. And she didn’t set me up. Cecelia told me what they asked her to do.”
So he’d willingly walked into the trap. No way. Riddick was way too smart for that. “Why did you go along with it?”
“They said they’d kill her daughter if she couldn’t get me there.”
She remembered his reaction when she’d first asked him to help her rescue Dylan. “And you were willing to die for Cecelia’s kid?”
His gaze searched hers for a moment before he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a faded, dog-eared photo, and handed it to her.
From the depths of the photo, a little angel stared back at her, a little angel with long blonde ringlets like Cecelia’s, and big blue eyes.
Like Riddick’s.
“What’s her name?” she asked around a lump in her throat.
“Adrianne.”
“Pretty name. How old is she?”
“Just turned seven last week.”
Riddick had saved her life last week. Harper glanced at the photo, then back up at him, and two more pieces of the puzzle that was Noah Riddick clicked into place.
She handed him the picture and raised her gaze to his. “When they threatened Adrianne, did they know she was your daughter?”
He sighed. “No. You and Cecelia are the only ones who know about Adrianne being…my daughter.”
She’d be willing to bet from the reverence in his tone that he’d never before called Adrianne that.
Adrianne, the daughter who didn’t know he existed.
Half of her was humbled and honored by the fact that he’d trusted her with such precious information about himself. The other half of her was pissed off on behalf of the little girl who hadn’t been given the opportunity to know her daddy.
She chuckled without humor. “Did Cecelia make up a story about how you’d gone off to fight for our country, or something? My mother tried that line on me once. Not that it really helped me or anything. It didn’t change the fact that my father didn’t care enough about me to stick around.”
He cocked his head to one side. “Are you angry with me?”
He didn’t sound upset or mad, just curious, which pissed her off even more. “Speaking as a former little girl whose daddy bailed on her, it irritates the fuck out of me that you can calmly sit there and tell me about how—for whatever reason—your daughter doesn’t know you exist.”
She started to get up, fully intending to stalk away in a dramatic huff, but he snagged her by the wrist and tugged her back down.
“Look at me.”
Blowing out an exasperated breath, she did as he asked.
“Adrianne has a father. Cecelia’s husband is a…he’s a good guy. He’s some kind of financial advisor, and he works from home so he can be with Adrianne during the day.” He smiled sadly and shook his head. “The guy’s a fucking saint.”
And Harper could see in Riddick’s eyes that it pained him terribly to admit that. Her anger cooled considerably.
“Don’t you think she deserves to know that she has a father—a biological father—who was willing to die for her? Did it ever occur to you that she would love you just as much if not more than she loves the saint?”
“Love isn’t really the problem.”
She leaned forward and rested her chin on her palm. “Love is all that matters to most little girls where their daddies are concerned.” Herself not included, of course.
“Yeah, until daddy starts missing school plays and talent shows because he’s hunting.” He reached out and wrapped one of her curls around his finger, then let it go and watched it bounce back into place. “Until the latest freak her daddy is hunting decides he can use her to get to me. Then love doesn’t mean much of anything.”
“Adrianne is why you’re here in Whispering Hope, isn’t it? So you can be close to her even if she doesn’t know who you are?”
He looked like he didn’t want to answer, but after a moment, he nodded.
And that’s when it hit her: he’d been drunk out of his mind the night they met not because it was his daughter’s birthday, but because he couldn’t be with her on her birthday.
It wasn’t a subtle message he was conveying. Anyone he cared about was in danger simply because of what he was. It was the reason his daughter didn’t know he existed, even though he wanted to be a part of her life so badly he had to get trashed on her birthday just to get through the day.
It was also the reason he didn’t want to get involved with Harper. He was attracted to her, but cared about her too much to put her in danger.
He intended to pus
h her away for her own good. It was kind of sweet, really…in a bad Regency romance novel kind of way.
Sentimentality swamped her. Unable to help herself, she slid closer, wrapped her arms around his waist, and laid her cheek against his chest.
His heart pounded beneath her ear and he pulled in a deep breath. “What’s this for?” he asked.
“I just felt like it,” she said, blinking back tears.
It took several moments, but eventually, his arms came around her. “If I’d known talking about prison and the kid I had with another woman would get this kind of reaction from you, I would’ve brought it up sooner.”
She laughed against his chest. “You do have a sense of humor. I was starting to wonder.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he grumbled. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
“Two funnies in a row. Don’t hurt yourself, now.”
He chuckled and the sound vibrated pleasantly through her. Her heart melted a little as he relaxed and rested his chin on the top of her head. Their bodies fit together perfectly.
And that’s when an image of the two of them naked—fitting together perfectly, of course—popped into her head.
Well, no use pretending she’d intended to thank him for everything he’d done for her or comfort him with this hug. This hug was all about her wanting to molest the man. She really should move away.
Harper snuggled closer and tightened her arms around his waist.
She’d never been any good at doing what she should.
God, he smelled good, she thought, breathing deep. Like soap and laundry detergent and hot male. Why was it that normal soap smelled so much better on male skin than it did on her own?
Riddick had to remind himself to breathe every so often as he held Harper. And while he struggled to even draw breath, he did his best to memorize the moment, the one perfect moment he’d had in…well, ever he supposed.
The soft, tousled curls beneath his chin, her warm breath fanning across his shirt, the gentle press of her breast against his side…the reality of her far surpassed his fantasies, which occurred with disturbing frequency of late.
What had his life been like before she was in it? He couldn’t even remember. It was almost as if he’d failed to truly exist until she found him. Now his world was only as big as the distance between them, which never seemed to be more than arms reach.
“Keep talking to me, Riddick.”
He breathed deep, drawing her scent—strawberries and peppermint candy and a citrusy perfume that had been haunting his dreams since he met her—into his lungs and enjoying it more than he had any right to.
“What do you want me to say?” he asked, his voice even rougher than usual.
She pulled back enough to rest her chin on his shoulder and look up into his face. “I don’t care. I like hearing your voice. It makes me forget that Phoenix is still out there.”
Looking into her upturned face, he saw something he’d never before seen in her eyes: fear for her own safety. He felt gut-punched. “I’m sorry, Harper.”
His guilt warred with lust as she let her hand slide up his chest and rest over his heart. “I can get into plenty of trouble without your help, you know. I would’ve gone after Dylan and Phoenix without you. None of this is your fault.”
He could remind her that he’d been the one to introduce her to Benny, who’d ultimately led them to Dylan and put them in this mess to begin with, but he didn’t. If he did that, she might stop touching him.
Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of brushing the smooth skin of her cheek with his fingertips. God, she was beautiful.
She turned into his touch just like she had earlier at The Lair. God help her. “When do you think he’ll come after me, Noah?”
Hearing his first name on her lips broke him. Unable to pretend to be noble a moment longer, he tugged her bodily into his lap. “Not tonight, Harper. No one’s going to get close enough to you tonight to touch you. Except me.”
Chapter Twenty-one
Riddick swallowed whatever reply Harper was going to make by crushing his mouth to hers.
The kiss wasn’t gentle or shy. He kissed her with a desperation born of knowing he might never again get the opportunity.
The single-minded purpose and determination of Riddick’s kiss stole Harper’s breath and had everything inside her clenching with need. When she moaned into his mouth and threaded her fingers into his hair, he tilted his head to one side and deepened the kiss.
Harper slid her hands down over the corded muscles of his neck, over his sinewy shoulders, and up and down his arms as he wrapped his hands around her waist and shifted so that she was under him, pressing her into the couch cushions with his weight.
And then his hands seemed to be everywhere at once. His fingers slid through her hair, his thumbs brushed her jaw line, his wide palms cupped her breasts and smoothed across her belly…she lost track of all the places he touched her, but each point of contact made her lose just a little more self control. All the while, the kiss went on, deep, voracious, consuming.
Harper lifted her hips, pressing against the impressive length of his erection. His moan vibrated through her entire body. She wanted to make him moan like that for hours, days, years.
He murmured her name as he slid his lips to the underside of her jaw and down her neck. When his tongue dipped into the hollow at the base of her throat, she arched her entire body into his.
In the course of a few brief moments, she’d gone from merely wanting him to needing him. Needing not only his body, but needing him with an intensity that was frightening.
That need had her grabbing his t-shirt where it hit the base of his spine and yanking it up as high as she could. He pulled back just enough to let her tug it over his head and toss it across the room.
Harper’s hands moved over his bare chest and stomach with something akin to reverence and awe. God, how many hours a day did a man have to work out to get a body that hard?
Her gaze met his, and the heat, hunger, and intensity she read in his eyes made her shiver. In that moment, she knew he was as desperate for her as she was for him.
His eyes stayed locked on hers as he eased her tank top over her head. When his hot hands spread out across her bare abdomen, the tips of his fingers brushing the undersides of her breasts—thank the good Lord she abhorred bras and had given up wearing them years ago—what remained of her self-control vanished as if it had never been.
She opened her mouth to ask him if he wanted to move this to the bedroom, because if she didn’t feel his naked body pressed full against her soon she was going to scream, but words—not to mention her breath—left her as he dipped his head and sucked her rigid nipple into his mouth.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, arching her back so that her bare skin pressed against his. “I want you now.”
He sucked in a sharp breath and his hands tightened on her waist, but he hesitated, which probably meant he was thinking, and no possible good could come from that. So, before his better judgment could take over, she unbuttoned his jeans, slid her hand inside, and wrapped her fingers around his rigid length.
Wow. Just…wow.
She’d probably never be able to look at him again in those jeans without remembering that he went commando.
With a growl, he kissed her again, long and hard, while he undid her pants. She raised her hips up so he could take them off, which he did with ruthless efficiency.
Riddick pulled back slightly and his gaze locked with hers once more as he began to ease her panties from her hips, and she could see the unspoken question in his eyes.
“God yes,” she said, wrapping her palm around the back of his neck and dragging his mouth back down to hers.
But just as she was a scant heartbeat from having him exactly where she needed him the most, he stopped, frozen, the passion slowly draining from his eyes. She whimpered a little in frustration, then heard that someone was ringing her doorbell, holding it in so it was a steady, obn
oxious trill.
“Shit,” he said, sitting up, forcing her to let go of him.
Shit is right, she thought as she sat up and watched him button his pants and start looking around for his shirt. It had taken her forever to get him that naked, and God only knew when she’d have another opportunity.
Halfheartedly, Harper threw on her tank top and pants, irritated as hell and well beyond sexual frustration. “Calm the fuck down, I’m fucking coming,” she yelled at her door. Or at least, I would’ve been coming if you could have waited another ten fucking minutes before interrupting us.
When they were both decent—well, as decent as she cared to get, anyway—Harper jerked her front door open with way more enthusiasm than was necessary. She cringed as the doorknob banged into the wall, piercing the sheetrock.
“What?” she growled, not caring who she was greeting.
Lucas was standing in her doorway looking beat-down, tired and impatient as hell. “What the hell took you so long?” he barked.
“I was busy,” she barked right back.
His gaze shifted to Riddick. “I can see that.”
Harper turned and looked at him from Lucas’ perspective. The finger tousled hair, wrinkled t-shirt, undone top button—God, he looked good—made it obvious what she had been busy doing. Or who, to be more specific.
Lucas shifted his attention back to her, giving her a good once over. “Your top is inside out. And I think your panties are behind the coffee table.”
She’d probably be embarrassed about this tomorrow, she thought. But for right now, sexual frustration easily trumped embarrassment.
“What’s going on, Lucas? I’m not in the mood for games.” Except for naked Twister. She was definitely up for a good game of naked Twister with Riddick.
Harper could practically hear the snarky comments Lucas was dying to spew, but to his credit, he kept them to himself. Tired must trump snarky and jealous, she decided.
Lucas gently edged past her and she shut the door behind him with a sigh, silently saying goodbye to the multiple orgasms she surely would’ve had if she and Riddick had been left un-chaperoned.
Semi-Charmed Page 13
