by Lori Foster
“Oh.”
“Second, these other guys sniffing around—you refused them?”
“After meeting you, why would I want anyone else?” The second she said it, her eyes widened and she fell back in her seat with a dramatic groan. Given her thin, raspy voice, that groan held a lot of effect. “I probably shouldn’t have said that to you, either.”
By the second his mood improved. “You can say whatever you want to me.”
Her disbelieving laugh turned to a cough.
Denver waited until she’d caught her breath again. “Merissa and Vanity are wrong, okay? Just be honest with me, always, and things will work out better.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she agreed with a nod anyway.
“So, what’d you tell Rissy about us?”
Her gaze skittered away and she cleared her throat.
“Come on, Cherry.” Despite himself, he felt his mouth quirking. “What details did you share?”
Lacing her fingers together and again looking at her feet, she muttered, “Only that you’re amazing.”
Nice. But not for a second did he think that covered it all. “And?”
She lifted her shoulders, looked out the window. “That you’re—” she toyed with her hair, took time for a big swig of cola, and finally muttered low “—even bigger than we’d imagined.”
“What’s that?” Pretending he hadn’t heard her, Denver hitched a brow.
Wincing, she faced him again and said in a rush, “You said I could brag to my girlfriends, and Rissy is my best friend. She knew I wanted you forever and that you’d been dodging me and—”
“Slow down before you get yourself coughing again.”
“—she’d heard the same things I’d heard.”
Unbelievable. “About the size of my cock?”
Again her eyes flared and she inhaled so sharply that she coughed, then had to swill more cola before she could answer. “We’re close, Denver,” she explained, still wheezing. “We talk all the time.”
More amused than bothered, he thought it would have been terrific to be a fly on the wall during those conversations.
“Being with you was so awesome—well, except for the part where I got sick—”
“Gossiping women.” Shaking his head, feeling indulgent, Denver said, “I guess you both heard it from Armie?”
“Welllll... After I heard it from Armie, I sort of told Harper and Rissy.”
Harper, too? Too funny. “You sort of told them?” Damn, he’d never really pictured a bunch of women—especially women he knew as friends—sitting around and discussing his package.
She carefully drank in a breath, then went on the offensive. “You can’t tell me men don’t gossip about women.”
Shrugging, he said, “Sometimes.”
She squared her shoulders, which made his attention drop to her impressive rack.
“Guys talk about boobs all the time,” she accused.
“Maybe not as often as you think.” But yeah, often enough to make her accusation accurate. Reaching out, he cupped her left breast. She was braless, her breast heavy and firm. By habit alone, he moved his thumb over her nipple. “As nice a set as you have, you can believe I won’t be sharing details with any of the guys at the rec center.”
She stared at him, guilty and flushed, and he felt bad for continually doing this to her, touching her in ways that excited her—and him—when he knew they couldn’t do anything about it.
He withdrew his hand even as his curiosity ramped up. “What else did you tell her?”
Struggling to compose herself, she braced one hand on the door, the other on the seat beside her hip. “You want to hear it all?”
“Hell yes.” Though God knew there were other far more important things they should be working out while she felt up to it. “You can summarize for me.”
Bracing herself, she stated, “I told her how incredible you are. You know. In bed.” And then, with feeling, “Because, Denver, you really, really are.”
Sensation washed over him as he recalled how it had felt to be inside her, feeling her squeeze him tight as she rocked out a hard release. The way she affected him, visually, emotionally, with her body and her words and those damn sweet smiles, was almost alarming. “I think maybe we were just incredible together.”
“And see, you’re humble, too.” She gave him another of those boner-inspiring sweet smiles. “I also told her how hot you look naked, how indescribable you smell—”
“Yeah?” Bragging was better than if she’d been disappointed and complaining to her friends.
“—and how badly I wanted to do it all again and again, and instead you’re stuck taking care of me.” She grabbed another pretzel. “Rissy was appropriately bummed for me that I’d get sick now.”
All in all, Denver figured he could take that type of gossip.
“I’m where I want to be, so don’t think I’m stuck, okay?”
Unconvinced, she hunched her shoulders. “You’re a trooper, I’ll give you that. But no way can you be enjoying this.”
Her being ill, no. But caring for her? He sure as hell didn’t want anyone else doing it.
“Granted, it’s not how I thought I’d be spending my time with you.” He made a point of looking at her body—specifically her lap. “I’d rather have you naked on your back again.”
She went wide-eyed, her gaze locked on his face, slowly eating a pretzel without blinking.
He thought about her breasts, her narrow waist, and that gorgeous ass; the sounds she made while coming; how physical exertion had intensified the scent of her heated skin.
Thinking it fired his blood, because damn, she had a gorgeous body.
Shifting, he murmured, “The things I want to do to you...”
She stopped chewing.
He had to get it together. She wasn’t up for sex, so there was no point in continually teasing them both. Plus, he had ground rules to set up. When she was well, that needed to be his priority—before he got involved any deeper.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he said, “But shit happens and we’ll both deal with it.”
“You sound...”
“Turned on? I’ll probably stay that way until I can have you again.”
She swallowed hard. “I was going to say annoyed.”
“No.” He cupped his hand around her nape. “It’s just now that I’ve seen you and tasted you, I know what I’m missing and it’s making me nuts.” True, she looked more with it, as if the nap and fresh air had done her good. But even though her skin wasn’t as hot as it had been only hours ago, she was still too warm.
Nowhere near ready for everything he wanted.
Trying to lighten the mood, he said, “If you want to make it up to me later, I won’t complain.”
Putting the pretzels aside, she whispered, “I do. So much.”
Even sick, she sounded almost as turned on as him. “Good.”
“I already feel a little better.” She laid one small hand on his chest, stroking him and inflaming him. “I think I’ll be okay pretty soon.”
“Hope so.” But he figured it’d be at least two more days. “We’ll both be patient and it’ll just add to the anticipation.”
Her fingers trailed up to his neck, then his jaw. “You’re being so nice about all this.”
Horny men tended to be real magnanimous. But with Cherry, it was more than that. A lot more.
He leaned across the seat to kiss her forehead, and decided he should get them back on the road before he forgot his better intentions. “Stay put. I’m going to change out of this shirt, find your sandals, and then we can get back on the road.”
Now that they had a few minutes, he dug out another of his shirts for her to use if she started shivering again, and made sure everything else she might need was in easy reach.
She twisted around to ogle him as he changed his shirt, then kept watching him as he got back behind the wheel and drove them out of the lot. He could almost read her tho
ughts and that kept him on the ragged edge.
Knowing he needed a distraction, he waited until she’d eaten half the pretzels and drank most of her cola before he got her talking again. “Tell me about your family.”
She froze up, purposely not looking at him. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“Mom, dad?” He glanced her way. “Siblings?”
“Mom and Dad are gone.” She curled up in the corner of her seat.
Away from him.
Seeing her stare out at the passing roadway at nothing in particular told him more than she probably realized.
“Brothers? Sisters?”
As she closed the pretzel bag, apparently done eating, she said, “You didn’t get anything to eat?”
He refused to take the hint. Gentling his tone, Denver hoped to coax her into sharing. “By gone, you mean your folks passed away?”
She nodded, and said nothing more.
Feeling his way, he asked, “Will you tell me how?” The silence grew, and so did her tension.
Denver reached for her hand. “If there’s a reason you don’t want to talk about it—”
“They were murdered.” As she blurted that, she squeezed his fingers—still averting her gaze.
“Murdered?” Never in a million years had he expected that. His thoughts scrambled and the protectiveness he already felt for her expanded. “How? When?”
In the barest of whispers, she said, “It’s not a good story, Denver.”
“I’d still like to know.” He needed to know.
Her eyes dark with shame, she hesitated. “I’ve never told anyone about it. Not even Rissy.”
That, too, made him want to shield her from the world. “I don’t want there to be secrets between us.” Yet he knew there were things he didn’t want to share, not with her, not with anyone. Knowing himself to be a hypocrite, he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. “You can trust me.”
“It’s just...it embarrasses me.”
“Why?”
“It says a lot about my childhood, and because it’s so awful.”
“Then I’m doubly impressed with how sweet and caring you are.” He continued to hold her hand, to rub his thumb over her knuckles, to wait.
Finally she said, “Dad dealt drugs and Mom helped him.”
Drug dealers? He thought of Carver, Mitty and Gene, and new possibilities made his heart pump harder—with suspicion, and with determination.
To shield her.
To insulate her.
Even when younger, he’d never used recreational drugs. He’d always been an athlete, a fitness buff. What he knew of drugs he’d learned from the news, never from firsthand experience or exposure. “A deal gone bad?”
“Something like that.” She finished off her cola, then rested back in the seat. “This sucks, but I’m ready for another nap.”
Despite how worn she looked, he needed to press her. When they got home, he’d have no excuse for moving in on her, yet until he understood everything, especially the level of threat, he didn’t want her alone.
“I’m sorry, honey. I know you’re tired.” She should be in bed right now, not going through the inquisition. But he pushed her anyway. “Tell me what happened with your folks, then you can nap more if you want.”
“I don’t know where to start.”
“When did they die?”
“When I was fourteen. A little over ten years ago.”
If she’d lost both her parents, where had she lived? Who’d raised her? “They were killed together?”
She breathed deeper, distressed at sharing. “Someone knew they were delivering drugs and they got sidelined on the way to the drop. No one knows for sure what happened, but there was a lot of speculation.”
So the murderers were never found? He supposed a lot of drug crimes went unsolved. “No arrests? No witnesses?”
She shook her head. “The theory is that Dad fought them and got hurt. Mom was driving the truck. He must have been in the truck bed, because there were bullet holes and his blood and...”
Denver waited as she composed herself.
“At some point, he fell out and they...” She looked at him, then away. “They ran over him.”
Jesus.
“The truck was found half a mile away so Mom had probably kept going until they ran her off the road. Her body was several yards from it. No one knows if she was dragged out or tried to run.” Cherry freed her hand to close her arms around herself, retreating both physically and emotionally. “She’d been shot three times. Once in each knee, and then in the head.”
Emotions bombarded Denver, anger and sympathy the most prevalent. Thinking of what she’d gone through nearly broke his heart. “You’re right. That does sound pretty awful.”
She curled tighter into the corner, her eyes getting heavy.
And so damned sad.
She let out a slow breath. “Mostly, it just sounds like my life.” She turned her face away. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m fading out again.”
Denver cupped a hand over her knee. “Go ahead, baby. I’ll wake you when we get home.”
In a mere whisper of sound, she sighed, “Thanks.” Using the extra shirt he’d given her, she cushioned her cheek against the door and within minutes dozed fitfully.
He had a million questions, most of all how a girl with such a terrible background could always be the life of the party.
But he’d literally felt her discomfort, her sorrow over the past, and it devastated him. He appreciated the reprieve, because he needed to regroup as much as she probably did.
Who knew that a woman being sick and vulnerable, sharing a tragic past, would grab his heart quicker than amazing sex?
CHAPTER SEVEN
STILL BLEARY-EYED, Cherry stood beside the car in the driveway of the house she shared with Merissa Colter. The midday sun baked down on her head, sending waves of heat up from the pavement, adding to the discomfort of her fever. Lethargy pulled at her, but she resolutely stayed on her feet.
In the home’s open doorway, Merissa, known as Rissy to her friends and family, waited for them.
As Denver gathered up all their bags, she wanted to help, but of course he’d already refused her. The man was too damn macho for his own good. Then again, she knew just getting herself inside would tax her enough.
Best to get things going. As she stepped away, Denver followed.
Before they’d gotten even halfway up the walkway, both Cannon and Armie came to the door, too.
Stalling, Cherry mumbled, “Oh great.”
Denver glanced down at her. “Problem?”
“Why do they have to be here?” She tried to step behind Denver, but he turned with her, keeping her in his sights.
“Cannon and Armie? What does it matter?”
“I look like death on a bad hair day.”
Smiling, he bent and kissed the bridge of her nose. “I think you look cute.”
Right. “No makeup, hair destroyed, clothes frumpy—”
All too seriously, he said, “Eyes big and dark, cheeks all pink.” His gaze dropped to her chest and he frowned. “But I probably should have found your bra for you to put on.”
“Denver.” Given the gravelly roughness of her voice, her censure sounded like a growl. She crossed her arms around herself and glared at him. “Now I’m going to feel self-conscious about that, too!”
He searched her face. “Other than that, how do you feel?”
His continued concern and understanding humbled her. “Tired, even though I’ve slept endlessly.”
“Come on.” He stepped behind her and nudged her forward. She felt both Armie and Cannon looking her over as she went up the walkway. Or more like she dragged herself. She would have loved to pick up the pace, put some spring in her step.
Instead, it seemed putting one foot in front of the other took all her concentration.
Everyone stepped back to let them enter.
“Damn, Cherry,” Armie said with
sympathy. He put the back of his hand to her forehead. “Feeling worse?”
“Better, actually.”
Cannon’s hand went to her forehead next. “Sorry, but no one’s going to believe that with your red eyes and nose.”
Freaking great. She stepped out of reach and clutched the railing of the stairs leading down to her part of the house.
Cannon asked Denver, “She has that bug that’s been going around?”
“I think so.”
Was Cherry the only one to notice how Rissy stared at Denver’s lap? Giving her friend a pointed look, she cleared her throat—loudly.
Which drew Armie’s notice to Rissy, and then his scowl.
Grinning, Denver said, “Hey, Merissa. What’s up?”
Her face went so hot, she looked more feverish than Cherry. “Want me to put on some tea or soup?”
Denver deferred to Cherry.
She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine.” Going down one step, then another, she said, “I’m...just going to go...” Hide. “Yeah.” Giving up on lame explanations, she held on to the railing and fled.
If you could call creeping at a snail’s pace fleeing.
Behind her, Denver said, “Hang around a minute, okay? I wanted to talk to you.”
Cannon said, “No problem.”
And then Denver was right beside her, holding her elbow on the other side, patiently helping her down the stairs and into her bedroom. She’d always considered her living space on the lower level of the house to be generous. She had her own bathroom, small kitchenette that included a stacked washer/dryer unit, a small sitting area and a large bedroom. But now, with Denver’s presence, the walls closed in until it felt like they’d crowded into a closet.
Denver, being six-two, muscled head to toe, honed by confidence, took up a lot more space—physically and mentally—than most would. But truthfully, she’d never had a man in this bedroom.
Heck, she’d no sooner met Rissy and moved in than she’d met Denver and quickly fallen for him. After that, no other guy had appealed to her.
“This feels weird.”
He’d left his own bag up by the front door, but carried hers in and set it by the closet. “How so?”
