He laughed. It was a laugh that in its brief, amused intelligence stirred Shana on a plane men didn't often touch. She blinked and did a mental stumble.
"You think I'm a mafioso, or some over-active member of the NRA," Dash guessed.
Recovering her equanimity, Shana lifted a shoulder. "Aren't you?"
Dash was still smiling. "Not exactly."
"Not exactly?"
He heaved a deep sigh. "I told you I worked for a software company, but I didn't tell you in what capacity. I do security for them. Physical security. I both supervise and — do it. I suppose in retrospect it was strange I didn't think to take off my gun before I came over for dinner at your house, but in the end that was a good thing." He cocked his head. "Don't you think?"
Shana was frowning. His explanation was...almost believable. It made a lot of sense, in fact. "So that's why the police and the animal control people didn't give you any trouble about the bullet in the dog's brain?" She remembered Olivia had noted that.
Dash nodded. "I have a license to carry concealed. I've gotten so used to it over the years I don't even think about the fact I'm carrying a weapon."
Could he be telling the truth? Shana regarded him narrow-eyed. Oddly, her grudging acceptance of his explanation for the gun wasn't making her feel one whit less nervous about him. There was still the issue of the flowers and the poems and the books. Just that morning she'd found a fruit basket on her front doorstep.
"Now." Dash straightened. "Now that you know I'm not a monster, will you go out with me?" His gaze was close and intense.
"I..." For the first time in her life Shana felt at a loss with a man — and she wasn't even sure why.
"We never got to finish our last date," Dash reminded her.
She shot him a sardonic look. If they had 'finished the date,' it would have ended in bed. Now bed was out of the question. This man gave Shana hives.
Apparently sensing her wariness, he smiled mischievously. "I'll leave my gun at home."
"Oh, I believe that."
Grinning, he lifted his right hand. "Scout's honor."
"Huh." Despite his levity, Shana had a feeling 'Scout's honor' actually had some weight with him. Processing that, she suddenly saw it, her way out, and an opportunity to get her front yard back.
She fingered one of her pearl drop earrings. "Tell you what. I'll go on a date with you — on one condition. All this has to stop, the gifts, the — the everything. And you can't ask me out any more."
Once again, he went very still. Once again, his eyes regarded her in a deep, thoughtful way. "If that's what you want," he spoke at last. His voice was soft, but somehow authoritative.
Shana let out a breath, but didn't relax. There was something too...controlled, too knowing about the way he was looking at her. Like he could see something she couldn't. She narrowed her eyes. "Scout's honor?"
A brief smile crossed his face. "Scout's honor."
Their eyes locked and Shana felt a strange stirring inside again, a sensation she didn't understand.
"Can you make it tonight?" Dash asked.
"No." Shana scrambled for an excuse. "I have a late meeting with a client. How about..." Not Saturday night, that would elevate the date to too high a status. "Sunday."
"Sunday?" Dash's tone said what he thought of that: not much. But when Shana lifted her eyebrows, he immediately capitulated. "Uh...great. Sunday it is. I'll pick you up at six-thirty."
Six-thirty? The man was clearly angling for more time with her than she wanted to give him, but...so be it. Shana nodded. "Six-thirty." Just as well to start the evening early, since she didn't plan to spend much of it with Dash.
Indeed, as she walked across the lawn to her front door, she wondered what a woman wore on a date with a man she did not intend to invite to her bed at the end of the evening.
It was a hell of a thing. She'd never in her life been on a date like that.
~~~
On Saturday morning, Brittany glanced out the front window for what had to be the hundredth time. The curb outside remained empty. No Peter.
She asked herself why she thought he'd come to work on her house today, anyway. It was Saturday. Just because he'd worked both Saturday and Sunday last weekend didn't mean the man worked every weekend. He had a life, didn't he?
The empty curb outside her house didn't mean Peter was avoiding her after their kiss the day before.
Brittany found some distraction by helping Sean build a rocket out of Legos. Actually, her help consisted mostly in keeping Cam from destroying Sean's creation. Meanwhile she told herself Peter avoiding her would be a good thing. He ought to be avoiding her. She ought to be avoiding him. Neither one of them belonged in a relationship with the other. He was, by his own admission, no good at forming permanent attachments. She was, by her own admission, in a bad mood toward men. Plus she could hardly afford an emotional complication in her already emotionally overloaded life.
Yes. In fact, she was happy Peter hadn't come today and she wouldn't see him.
Around lunchtime one of the mommies from the kindergarten called to ask if Sean wanted to come over and play with her son. He did. Two o'clock rolled around and Cam went down for his nap. Brittany actually had some time to herself.
It was too bad she couldn't decide what to do with this boon of time. She was sitting at the kitchen table, vaguely pondering making tea, when she heard Peter's truck drive up. The distinctive throaty purr was followed by the motor shutting off. Next she heard the pounding of her own blood in her ears as a wholly inappropriate excitement seized her.
She set down the ceramic tea mug she'd been handling and then jumped as she heard a knock on her front door.
He was knocking? He hadn't bothered with such a nicety since the day he'd asked for the job. A sliver of dread sliced through Brittany as she walked to the door. Was he quitting? Was he going to make formal and concrete the separation they both knew was necessary?
She opened the door. If in that moment she could have thought, she would have thought that Peter quitting the job would be a very good thing. His mere presence made every cell in her body hum.
Meanwhile Peter looked off-balance, and not at all charming, or at least not on purpose. He couldn't possibly know how appealing he was, standing there as if for his own execution. His hands were clasped behind his back, his feet were spread, and a crease of what Brittany just knew was uncharacteristic anxiety valleyed between his brows.
"The boys around?" he asked.
Brittany merely shook her head. Was it because she'd enjoyed an immunity to the gender for so long that this one was hitting her so hard? She supposed it didn't matter. He did hit her hard.
Peter drew in a big breath. "Look. I don't know how you feel — All I know is that I — Aw, hell," he finished in a rough mutter. Unclasping his hands, he brought them to her face, drew her toward him, and pressed his mouth to hers in a deep and darkly hungry kiss.
Brittany closed her eyes. His mouth was strong and soft and oh, so male. When his lips slowly unclung from hers, she realized they were both panting.
"Oh, man, this is a problem," he whispered.
Brittany's voice was hoarse as she raised her eyes to his. "I agree."
He moved his hands to her shoulders and released a deep sigh. "Honey, my track record with women is atrocious. A few months are all I can handle before I go off and do all the things you would very much not like a man to do."
"I know," Brittany said.
That surprised a quirk out of his mouth, but his lips quickly settled back into a sober line. He released her completely and took a step back. "Yeah, I'm a complete cad but here's the deal. I can promise you three months. For three months I can be your ideal man. Considerate, reliable, faithful. Three whole months. That much I really and truly can promise you."
Saying which, he gave her one utterly intense, blazing look, then turned on his heel and strode back toward his truck. Apparently, he wanted her to think about it rather than tell him on
e way or the other, right then and there.
In a daze, Brittany closed the front door. Her mind was in a whirl, both from his kiss and from that off-the-wall proposition. She listened for his truck to start up again, but it didn't. Instead she heard the sound of things banging. He was taking equipment out of the bed of his truck. Brittany's eyes widened. After making that startling proposal, he was going to proceed with the painting!
A laugh popped out of her throat. She hastily stopped further hysteria with a hand slapped over her mouth. But she did note that his actions made her want to laugh, rather than throttle him. He was authentic, if un-romantic. And he didn't want to leave, he wanted an excuse to stick around.
If she was vulnerable, then so was he.
At least for three months.
Brittany lowered her hand from her mouth. She could hear him clumping down the side yard now, on his way toward the back where he'd left his ladder.
She started for the stairs, climbing them slowly. Three months he was offering her. This was not even close to forever, but did she even want forever? Did she want, ever again, to place her happiness in the belief that a man would be loyal and true?
Brittany slid her hand along the polished wood of the banister as she walked up the stairs. So they weren't talking about forever, just three months. For three months she could have an ideal man, not only an exciting lover, but one who was considerate, reliable, and faithful. For three months there'd be no well-meaning friends letting her know he'd been seen at a bar down the highway with a half-dressed redhead in his lap. For three months there'd be no wondering where he was in the middle of the night. For three months there'd be no constant readiness to parry the next personal insult.
And who knew? He might even take out the trash.
Brittany didn't know whether to chuckle or to grind her teeth as she reached the second floor. Here she was pondering the matter oh so seriously, and getting wet between her legs in the process, while she could hear Peter setting the ladder against the house, getting ready to start painting.
Oh, how had the human race ever managed to survive?
CHAPTER TEN
Clumsy. Could he possibly have been any clumsier? Peter's mouth set in a grim line as he leaned his ladder against the back of the house. He grabbed a can of the San Antonio Gray and a three-inch brush and started up. The woman had been emotionally brutalized by a clod of a husband and here he came, charging in like a bull in a china shop. Hell, just because he was willing to declare his shortcomings didn't make them any more excusable.
He stomped up the ladder, stopping at the built-in shelf in order to set down the paint can and brush.
"Three months," said a voice to his left.
Peter nearly fell off the ladder. He turned to see Brittany at the second story bedroom window to the left of his position. She set her hands on the windowsill and looked straight at him. "I'll take it."
"Excuse me?" Peter couldn't believe his ears. Or his eyes. Brittany was looking positively predatory.
"I said I'll take you up on your offer of three months as my ideal man." She reached out of the window, took a fistful of the bib of his white overalls, and pulled him toward her. With him hanging onto the ladder for dear life and her half out the window, she pressed her mouth to his for one bruiser of a kiss. His Padres baseball cap fell to the ground two stories below.
"Are you nuts?" Peter asked, when she finally released him. He wasn't sure if he was referring to the peculiarly neck-risking style of the kiss or to her agreement to his cockamamie proposition.
"I'm not nuts," Brittany assured him, in a voice that set his blood spinning. "I'm starving." Then she used the hold she had on his overalls and pulled.
"What are you — ? Hey!" Peter found himself clutching the windowsill for dear life as his feet lost their purchase on the ladder. Fortunately, Brittany stepped out of the way so he could scramble onto the windowsill and then drop into the room. It was a damn good thing rock-climbing had been included in Gideon's training for agents. "For the love of — "
He didn't get to finish his epithet. She was on him. Like a she-cat she was on him, and Peter's healthy male libido leapt forward to gratify her. While she wrapped herself around him, vine-like, he explored her various female curves. Their mouths fused hotly together. Heat and a drumbeat of need hammered through him.
With a groan he lifted his lips from hers to slide his tongue around the salty skin behind her ear. That's when he felt the straps of his overalls get shoved off his shoulders.
"Uh — " said Peter, startled. Her salty skin left his mouth's reach as she pulled back. She pulled back to drag his overalls all the way down to the rug. He took a moment to thank God he'd left his gun in the glove compartment of the pick-up. Though leaving it there was breaking all kinds of rules, he'd be damned if he repeated Dash's mistake.
"Whoa," he told Brittany, whose busy hands were on the hem of his T-shirt. "I — Uh, I can get that, honey." He dragged the shirt over his head by himself. But Brittany's hands wouldn't stay put. While he was temporarily vulnerable, those hands of hers slipped into his briefs. They were quickly sent the way of his overalls.
"Holy cow," Peter hissed. "You weren't kidding about — "
She shut him up by locking her mouth around his erection. Peter's eyes crossed and he nearly howled.
"Shh," she paused long enough to murmur. "You'll wake Cam."
Oh, wonderful, Peter thought, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. He had to suffer a full frontal assault in chaste silence.
Fortunately, the assault didn't last that long. She rose to her feet abruptly, in the process knocking his already dizzy self off balance. He fell backwards. By some miracle he found the bed on his way down.
Stunned, he could only lie there watching as Brittany squirmed out of her jeans. She was built slim, but with a fine feminine padding that his fingers itched to dig themselves into.
He got his chance to do just that as Brittany threw herself on top of him. Luckily, the bed held. So did Peter's arousal. In fact, he was harder than ever. With her shirt still on, Brittany kissed all over his face; his eyes, brows, jaw and neck. As for the neck, he was certainly going to have a mark there. Meanwhile he squeezed the utterly delectable flesh of her buttocks. He wanted to taste —
"Let go," ordered Brittany.
"What?"
She pulled out of his embrace and he was terrified he'd somehow ruined everything. But quite the contrary was the case. With a fierce look she asked, "Where are your condoms?"
Peter blinked at her.
"Come on, come on." She snapped her fingers. "I know you have some, and I don't. So where are they?"
Peter blinked some more and struggled to make his brain work. "Back pocket," he croaked. "Wallet — "
"Got it," Brittany said, and was already scrambling off him and crouching on the floor over his discarded overalls. She jerked his wallet out of the back pocket and efficiently seized the three connected packets inside. She was so fast he didn't have time to help her as she ripped one of them open, slid out the goods and climbed onto the bed again.
He tried to rise and take the thing, but she pushed him back and then slid the condom onto his rigid shaft with astonishing proficiency. Peter managed to get his hand around the back of her head. He pulled her toward him for a very hot, extremely grateful, open-mouthed kiss. He would have been happy to continue in that vein but she withdrew, once again.
"Honey," Peter muttered, in agony.
"Don't move," Brittany ordered. Suddenly she was straddling his body and with utter determination sinking herself onto his ready erection.
"Dear Lord," Peter breathed. He would have protested she couldn't be ready for such an exercise, but the ease with which it was accomplished said otherwise. Brittany's lashes drifted low. Then she began to move.
The purely physical sensation of her body rhythmically gloving his combined powerfully with the look on her face. It was a look of intense concentration that quickly transforme
d to dazedness. The whole thing sent Peter right over the edge, jerking and crying out like an unpracticed kid. She moved once, twice more, then stopped abruptly. Her face became a picture of stunned pleasure followed by utter satisfaction. Very slowly, she relaxed.
With a contented smile, and still wearing a fully buttoned shirt, she lowered to lie on top of him.
Peter threw an arm around her, dazed and oddly disquieted. It had been a wild session, the stuff of fantasies, and yet — and yet — something was off.
In less than a minute, Brittany was done with his loose embrace. She slipped out of his arms and rolled to the side. With a deep, happy sigh, she gazed up at the bed's canopy. "Shana was right," she murmured. "She was right all along. I really did need that."
Peter turned his head to look at her and frowned. Now he knew what was wrong. He'd been used. Oh, yeah, he'd gotten a great deal of pleasure out of it, but that didn't change the fact. He'd been certainly and completely used.
The fact he'd done as much to countless women didn't change the taste that put in his mouth.
Eyes narrowed, he pulled off the used condom and tossed it in the wastebasket by the side of the bed. Then he turned to rise up on one elbow and glare down at her.
She looked back up at him, a sloppy smile on her face and...something else. Something that stopped Peter's heart right in his chest.
A single tear was rolling from the corner of Brittany's eye toward her ear.
That tear calmed all of Peter's irritation. A warmth that was deeper and darker than anything he'd ever felt before flooded him. She hadn't merely used him, though she might want to believe that. She'd felt something, felt a lot.
His stopped heart started to beat again, heavily and with purpose. What Peter wanted to do, urgently, was wipe away her fear. He wanted to extinguish it. He looked down at her, straight into her brown and green swirled eyes. There was a moment of doubt, an instant of uncertainty. Could he wipe it away?
Indiscreet Ladies of Green Ivy Way Page 12
