by Faye Avalon
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2013 Faye Avalon
ISBN: 978-1-77130-269-2
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Melissa Hosack
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For AJ, as always.
UP ALL NIGHT
Brighton Heat, 2
Faye Avalon
Copyright © 2013
Chapter One
“You moron! Are you insane?”
For a few surreal seconds, Marco Zutini stared at the vision before him, wondering where in hell she’d come from and how he’d managed to splatter her quite so spectacularly. “Shit.”
“My sentiments exactly.” The woman stood frozen to the spot as if the paint plastered to her had transmuted into glue. “Look what you’ve done, you idiot.”
Marco narrowed his eyes, hoisted his paintball gun, and then strode to where she gawped down at her ruined clothes, all the while muttering curses that wouldn’t be out of place during a guys’ poker night.
As he neared, she glared up at him, fierce blue eyes staring out of a face smeared with bright red paint. There were also splashes on the black ball cap she adjusted as she continued to glower at him. Shit. He’d expected one of the guys to step out of the bushes, not some female who barely reached his shoulders.
Attack, he remembered, was the wisest form of defence. “What the hell do you think you’re doing wandering around here anyway?”
“It’s a public wood.” Paint trailed down her cheeks onto her upper lip. “I’ve got every right.”
“Actually, you haven’t.” When she swiped at her lip, Marco was momentarily distracted. Damn fine lips. “These woods are private. Didn’t you see the signs?”
“No. I didn’t see the damn signs.” She held out her arms like a scarecrow and looked down at herself again, before returning her gaze to his. “Well, don’t just stand there.”
Damn fine eyes too, Marco thought, planting his feet hip width apart. All that blue fire. “What do you expect me to do? You’re the one trespassing.”
“And you’re the one playing Cowboys and Indians.”
“Cowboys and Indians don’t use guns filled with paint,” Marco felt compelled to point out.
“Whatever.” She flicked her hand, sending tiny flecks of paint into the air. “Boys. Toys. Who cares?”
Okay. She was starting to piss him off. “The gate’s back that way.” He hefted the gun across his chest and started to turn away. “Have a nice day.”
“What?”
He ignored her frustrated screech as he continued to walk back toward headquarters. While he knew he should do something to help her, a part of him rebelled at her brusque, irritating manner. Life hadn’t been all plain sailing lately, and now even this male bonding thing he’d arranged for his friend Ethan’s stag party had backfired and shot him in the ass. He didn’t need some cranky female adding to the mix.
“Hey! Just wait a minute.”
Marco continued to walk but heard the rustle as her footsteps crunched through the wooded path. He shook his head. Bloody woman was following him. “Don’t have a minute to spare, bella. Too many Indians lurking in these here woods.”
“You can’t go off and leave me here after what you’ve done. The least you could do is help me.”
He came to an abrupt stop, but didn’t turn. “Only thing I’m guilty of is hearing a sound in the bushes. And since these woods are earmarked for paintball activities, I aimed and fired.” Truth was, he hadn’t aimed but had simply vented his frustration by shooting out at the rustle of foliage. “If you need help, I’d suggest you go find the nearest ranger.”
He thought he heard her mutter “bastard” but couldn’t be sure. He had to smile and was about to turn when a huge dog shot out of the woods and aimed straight for him. He had a moment to think mastiff before the dog lunged at him and knocked him back a clear two steps. “Fucking hell.”
“Roscoe, down!”
The gun fell from Marco’s grasp as he tried to defend himself. It soon became clear that the dog’s only intention was to play see-how-high-I-can-jump and possibly lick him to death. “Hey, down boy. Good dog.”
A hand shot out and a clip attached to the animal’s collar before he was tugged away. “Bad boy.” The paint-splattered beauty’s breathy tone echoed through the suddenly quiet woods. “First you run off and scare me half to death, then you want to make friends with possibly the most obnoxious man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”
Marco turned to face her and stared down into those fierce blue eyes. The dog, now suitably restrained at her side, panted like a train as he stared up at Marco. “Maybe he’s a better judge of character than you are.”
“No, he’s just more naïve. Dogs are like that.” She glared up at him as if all the bad stuff in the world was his fault. “It’s one of the reasons I prefer them to people.”
“Your prerogative. Now why don’t you run along and stop bothering me.”
He was about to turn away again, royally pissed with her now, when the dog shot off after something that rustled in the trees and she stumbled into the bushes, the leash escaping her grip. “Shit. Roscoe! Come back!”
But the dog was already charging joyously off toward the sound he’d heard, barking with the thrill of the chase and of being free to pursue whatever had taken his fancy.
“Hey.” Marco bent and wrapped his hand around her arm preparing to pull her up. “Are you okay?”
The ball cap had dislodged, sending a swathe of long brown hair onto her face where it promptly got caught in the paint. “Do I look okay?” She batted his hand away, stuffed her red-streaked hair back under the cap and pulled down her jacket. Marco had a moment to wonder how she managed to get all that hair under such a small cap, but then she planted her hands on her hips. “Damn. Where did he go?”
“Took off after something.”
She huffed. “I’d never have worked that out if you hadn’t been around.”
That pissed him off some more. All he was doing was trying to help and here she was acting like he was the cause of all her problems. Well, maybe he was the cause of the current one, or at least partly, but still. “Instead of standing there complaining, why don’t we just concentrate on getting your dog back?”
She glared at him some more, then let out a long sigh. “He doesn’t know these woods, this area even, he’ll probably get scared and be disorientated when he calms down.”
“He’s not from around here?”
As they started off toward the trees in the direction Roscoe had fled, she spared him a glance. “Came in a couple of weeks ago. He was found dumped on a roadside about thirty miles away, tied to a tree and suffering from exposure.”
“You rescued him?”
She made a sound that was probably in the affirmative, but her head was turned away from him now as she searched the woods. Since her hair was tucked into the cap, he got a fine view of her long, slender neck with all that milky white flesh. He held back a pace and let his gaze travel down to her ass. No problems there either. Round, firm cheeks encased in all that tight denim. His cock jerked beneath the old army fatigues he wore, but any further deliberations were halted as her shout pierced the wooded silence.
“Roscoe! H
ere boy. Roscoe.”
She picked up speed and since she didn’t seem to want to continue their chat any time soon, Marco cleared his throat as he strode alongside her again. “You live nearby?”
“Near the Center. God, I hope he’s okay. He’s hardly out of puppy-hood and doesn’t have any street smarts yet.”
“We’ll find him.” Shit. He didn’t usually have to work this hard to get information out of a woman. It was like pulling teeth. “What Center?”
She glanced up at him as she continued to stride out. “The RescueCenter. WestBeach. I work there.”
When he didn’t immediately respond, she rolled her eyes, as if the existence of Brighton’s biggest animal rescue center was beyond his idiot perception.
Okay. Now he was beyond pissed. Maybe he wasn’t the world’s most sensitive mortal, but he was damn well not the jerk she was making him out to be. Forget that tight ass. The woman was fast becoming a royal pain in his.
“Roscoe!” His shouted command came out louder and more forceful than he’d anticipated and he was hardly surprised when she came to a stop and looked at him. “What?”
“You don’t have to bellow like that. He’s not deaf.”
“You want your damn dog back, don’t you?”
She folded her arms across her chest. Marco wanted to tell her that the action spread paint onto the sleeves of her jacket, but he thought to hell with it.
“What I want is for you to go away. Won’t your playmates be missing you?”
Because she said it with a sneer, Marco felt the final snap of his temper. He stepped forward two paces and came right up against her, pleased when she stepped back. “That smart mouth of yours might get you into trouble, bella mia.”
This close he couldn’t help but notice she had long black eyelashes curling over those icy blue eyes. He lowered his gaze to her smart mouth. It was full, ripe, and dotted with red paint. Shit. Pissed had just morphed into a full blown hard on.
“Get away from me.”
Since her eyes fired with challenge, not fear, he moved closer. She wasn’t afraid of him. She’d give as good as she got. The thought shot fire through his veins and he moved closer until he backed her to the edge of some bushes. He smiled, knowing if she continued to move away from him, she’d end up flat on her back. She knew it too, glancing behind her before she came to an abrupt halt. He almost slammed into her.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
She narrowed her eyes and moved an inch closer so that her breasts brushed his ribcage. Damn. If she moved another smidgen, she’d get to feel how fucking turned on he was.
She moved. And grinned.
Shit.
“Cat hasn’t got anything. But perhaps you’d like to step back, that is if you’d rather not feel my knee in the region of your current predicament.”
Marco stood his ground. Even faced with the threat of injury to his manhood, the damn woman turned him on. Before he could question what he was doing, he dropped the paint gun to the ground, reached out, and drew her hips up hard against him, enjoying the gasp that escaped her and the way her eyes went wide. “Now, do you really want to do that much damage? Think of the injustice you’ll be doing the sisterhood.”
As he continued to hold her still, her hands shot out to his arms so she could steady herself. Her fingers were small, slender, but her grip was firm.
“You’ve got a solid hold there. A man likes to know a woman can grip hold of him when the occasion calls for it.”
Her eyes widened a little indicating she’d taken his innuendo, but then they narrowed as her chin shot up. “When the occasion calls for it I can grip as well, better, than the next woman.”
As if to demonstrate, her fingers dug into his arms. At the same time she brought her knee up to his groin, freezing mere centimeters away from where she could make his eyes water.
He dug his fingers into her hips, put as much menace into his tone. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“You’re not me. But believe it when I say that nothing would give me greater pleasure right now than inflicting permanent damage.”
Their gazes locked, and as Marco looked deep into her eyes, he glimpsed beyond the threat. Sadness burned there, an emotion he imagined she’d be determined to hide from those not fascinated enough to really look. It intrigued him, but more it made him want to take away the misery that shone in those sapphire depths. The unprecedented feeling hit him dead center and he released her with such rapid movement he had to throw out his hand to stop her tumbling back into the bushes.
Roscoe chose that moment to tear out of the woods, barking madly as he took a flying leap at them. The action sent them toppling back into the shrubs and Marco just managed to flip their positions mid fall so that when they landed she was on top of him. Her breath came out in a loud whoosh at about the same time he felt his head connect with something hard and solid.
He winced as the world went momentarily black.
“Oh, my God.” Her hands flew over his face, his head. “Are you okay?”
Since he was currently seeing stars, it was hard to say.
“Don’t move,” she instructed in the same tone she’d used to summon the wayward Roscoe. “Let me see.”
He couldn’t have described her as gentle as she poked and prodded him, and maybe there was something sick about him that he enjoyed her rough handling. Maybe it was those expressive eyes again and the concern that shadowed their depths. When she sat back on her heels and let out a long breath, he hoisted himself onto his elbows and felt his head swim a little. “Will I live?”
“Looks like. But it might be a good idea to let a doctor take a look at you. Have them examine your head.”
She leaned forward, her breasts on a direct course to his mouth, and ran her fingers over the back of his head. He winced a little, afraid to admit that he did it more for effect, seeing as he wanted her to keep touching him, to stay this close so he could imagine what tempting flesh lay beneath her jacket. From the bulk of her clothes he couldn’t get a clear outline of her breasts, but if her ass was anything to go by, he’d be in for a treat. Shit. What the hell was he thinking? The woman had been nothing but trouble. Maybe he really did need his head examined.
“You’re going to have a nice bump there, I’m afraid. Do you want me to help you up?”
Hell, no. He didn’t care if he was dying, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. “I’m okay.”
He started to rise, but had to blink a few times as he gained his balance, aware that her hand lay almost imperceptibly against his elbow. The dog edged in front of him and plonked himself down on his butt.
“Bad dog,” she scolded as she grabbed his lead. “Look what you did.”
Since the dog went down on his belly and stared doe-eyed up at her as if he knew he was in deep shit, Marco felt a certain male bonding with the animal. He’d been on the receiving end of her pussy-whipping, too. “Didn’t know your own strength, did you boy? Only wanted to play.”
“He’s had enough play for one afternoon. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” Marco resisted the urge rub his hand over the bump on his head as it started to throb. “I’ve had worse.”
Her lips twitched as, with the hand that wasn’t holding tight to the dog’s lead, she picked up his paint gun. “Macho man. I suppose that comes from handling such a big gun.”
She held the gun out so he could take it. He held her gaze, pleased that her eyes no longer held sadness or concern. He grinned back at her. “I handle my gun pretty well.”
“I’m sure you do.” She flashed pretty white teeth. “Except when you’re aiming at unsuspecting women who happen to be in your path.”
Damn, she was beautiful when she smiled. Even with all that paint on her face. “Most of the women I aim for are happy to be in my path.”
She gave a sound low in her throat which went straight to his still rigid cock. “Macho and modest. That’s some combinat
ion.”
Since they weren’t growling at each other and she was still smiling at him, he stepped closer and held out his hand. “Marco Zutini. Macho and modest are my middle names.”
She dropped her chin a little, looking up at him from beneath those long, dark lashes. It was a surprisingly coy expression that was in direct opposition to her tough exterior. She glanced down at the hand he still offered, before looking back at him. “Beth Devlin. I don’t have any middle names.”
He smiled, keeping hold of the hand she slipped into his. “Sure you do. Beautiful and bold.”
She tried to tug her hand away, but because she looked flustered he tightened his grip. “Since neither of us came out of this encounter well, how about you let me buy you a drink to make up for spraying you with paint from my big gun.”
“I have to get back to the Center.” Her chin came up and her cheeks flushed a little. “It’ll be feeding time soon and they’ll need me.”
Yeah, Marco thought as his lips twitched. Definitely flustered. “How about tonight?”
Her gaze dropped to Roscoe who was currently giving his impression of butter-wouldn’t-melt while he looked from one to the other as they spoke. “I’m on late shift.”
Okay. It hurt his ego, but he could take a hint. “Then let me at least pay for your clothes to be dry cleaned or something.”
She laughed. “These old things? They’re going straight in the bin. Don’t worry, I have plenty more.” She gave Roscoe a tug and the dog jumped to attention beside her. “Bye, then. Make sure to get that bump looked at.”
He watched as she walked away, talking to the dog as she went. When she got to the path that would take her back to where he’d first seen her, she turned the corner without even a backward glance.
Marco stood there smiling to himself as he hoisted the paint gun back across his chest. Did she really think it was that simple? That after feeling her soft warmth pressed against him, looking into those blue eyes and having her hands run over him, he was finished with her?
