by Nina Bangs
There on the night table beside his bed sat a plant that was almost identical to Sweetie Pie. Except this plant was healthy, happy, and, dare she say it, perky. "Where'd you get this plant? It looks really . . . green."
"Jessica? She belongs to the owner." He turned on the hair dryer.
Why did Jessica look so happy? Amanda got all slitty-eyed thinking about how he might've kept Jessica entertained. He turned off the dryer. "I can hear you thinking, Mandy.
No, I didn't have crazy sex every night this week to keep the plant happy."
She could hear him coming out of the bathroom. "Then why does Jessica look so great? Did you slip her some plant food? How many times did you water her?" She turned toward the bathroom door.
And watched Con walk out with only a towel wrapped around his waist. The room immediately overflowed with perkiness. "Whoa, unfair advantage. Jessica is a she, and you're renewing her root system with the sight of all that bare skin."
During her years in New York, she'd had brief romances with a few men. They'd all shared her vision and been cool, calculating, calm men. Insight—had she subconsciously chosen men who were the exact opposite of Con? But they all faded to the same shade of blue as this room in comparison to Conleth Maguire. He was deep pulsating red. Her mental images hadn't done him justice.
He shrugged. "Sorry. I'm not going to dress in the closet for a plant." Lifting his gaze to hers, he smiled. A slow slide of heat. "Or you."
Amanda could feel the artificial layers of her New York self peeling off to reveal the real woman beneath. Desperately, she tried to pull them back on, but they didn't quite fit anymore. The scary part? Underneath the layers was someone she recognized from a long time ago. And there was nothing neutral about her.
She was a woman who was heating up just fine at the sight of a beautifully sculpted male body. A woman who could get down and dirty with a lean mean loving machine. A woman who'd scream her joy as she climaxed, and trace a black rose tattoo with her tongue. Sheesh, she was seventeen again.
He must've seen something in her eyes, because his smile turned predatory. "Have a seat." He gestured toward a blue chair. "I'll sit on the bed, and you can tell me all about why you think the walls in the great hall should be cream."
Amanda perched on the edge of the chair while he settled himself on the bed. Settled? Ha. Displayed would be a better word. As he sat cross-legged, his towel rode up so high that only shadows kept both Jessica and her from bursting into bloom.
She needed to get to the point of their conversation before she forgot what it was. A calm discussion about cream walls first. Then lots of shouting and arm waving about blue butterflies.
"I assume you're going to use your extensive knowledge of interior design to explain why the walls should be bloody red instead of cream." Okay, sarcasm would only beget more sarcasm. "Cream is a quiet color that doesn't have the sterile feel of white. It lets the warmth of wood, and the colors of furniture, paintings, and accessories come forward. Cream is always quietly powerful without fighting for supremacy."
"Wow, I'm impressed." He studied her a little too long and made her a little too uneasy.
"Well, what do you think?"
"I think a rich red would express what this castle is all about. Think, Mandy. We associate red with some of our deepest emotions—anger, passion, hate, and love. The Castle of Dark Dreams should reflect those emotions."
He had a surprising grasp of color, but then he'd taken art classes in high school. It didn't matter what he thought, though, Con's red-wall idea was going down. This wasn't about the castle at all. It was a defining of who they were.
His sudden smile was impossibly sweet and incredibly insincere. "Haven't you figured out by now that I didn't ask you to my room to talk about walls?"
Yes! That truth was from the sluts who lived in her basement. "I think the walls should be our only topic." That was from her penthouse dwellers who had a close working relationship with her brain.
"Later." A lot later. He supported his argument for later by leaning back slightly so that his towel slid even higher.
Sure, using his body was cheap, but after a week of hard-ons thinking about Mandy in his bed or any other place he could get her naked, he didn't give a damn.
She stared at his towel with wide-eyed alarm, and something else. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he'd swear he saw hunger in her gaze. She'd better say something soon, because he was fast outgrowing his towel.
"Don't move. I'll be back in a few minutes." Mandy almost ran to the door and was gone. She'd been in such a hurry she didn't even close it behind her.
Well, hell. What was that about? Before he had time to think about closing the door, Darth Destroyer padded into the room. Con had avoided the cat for most of the week, because he was still way into denial. But now that he was faced with Deimos, Con had to find out once and for all if he needed a shrink.
"How'd you get into the castle, pal? I locked all the doors." He wasn't big on praying, but Con was praying right now for a simple meow.
"Trade secret. How's the sex thing going? Are you two gonna hook up?" Deimos clawed his way up the bedspread and then sat facing Con. "Still can't jump. The four legs don't want to work together So let's talk sex. When 're you gonna do it? Where're you gonna do it? Why haven't you done it yet? I need details, man."
Sheer willpower kept Con on the bed. "Who are you? What are you?" He braced his hands on his knees to keep them from shaking.
Deimos cocked his head to study Con. "Sorry about scaring you, but Sparkle said the cat form was best for spying. That first time, when I ended up wearing the paint, I didn't mean to talk to you. It just happened. You must have some old magic in your past, or you wouldn't have heard me." He stretched out and made himself comfortable. "Maguire. Irish, right? Any Druids in your past?"
Con nodded. He gripped his knees so tightly his knuckles turned white. "Who are you?"
Deimos eyed Jessica with interest. "If Sparkle finds out I'm telling you this, she'll kick me off the job. But she's already pissed, so what the hell." He yawned. "We're both cosmic troublemakers, supernatural beings who get off on causing trouble. Sort of the badasses of the universe."
Con swallowed hard. This was not happening.
"It's happening. Believe it. My job is to make sure you copulate, fornicate, conjugate . . . all those `ate' words. So let's talk about what a woman wants." The expression on Deimos's furry face said he wasn't quite sure what a woman wanted, but he'd give it his best shot. "You should get naked first. Wait until I leave, though. I facilitate, but I don't rubberneck results."
"You can read my mind." He'd spent his childhood listening to Dad tell tales of magical happenings in Ireland. Con could almost accept paranormal events there. Ireland had a reputation for fairies, banshees, and haunted castles. But Galveston, Texas?
He had a choice. Either accept what was right in his face or run screaming from the room. Since he was pretty sure he wasn't crazy, Con had to believe Deimos was being straight with him. "I can take care of my own sex life. Why does Sparkle care about us anyway?"
"She specializes in creating sexual chaos by bringing together people who don't much like each other She gets off on emotional turmoil. I have special talents in this area, so Sparkle is mentoring me." Deimos stood and moved closer to Jessica.
Con had real doubts about Deimos's talent level. "I don't get it. I like Mandy." His body affirmed he did indeed like her.
Deimos glared at him before edging even nearer to Jessica. "My talent level's topnotch. But this isn't about me. It's about you hanging onto your mad because she went off and got a life of her own. Get over it, Maguire. Have sex with her You know that's what you want to do." He narrowed his eyes to sneaky slits. "Either the earth will move, or it won't. What's to lose?"
Anger pushed away Con's fear. Deimos must've been reading his mind since the first time they met. "Stay out of my mind."
"Or else you'll do what?" Deimos oozed obnoxious self-con
fidence.
Con thought about Sparkle. She'd deliver some serious butt kicking. "I'll tell Sparkle you can't even stay in the room to make sure the job's done right."
Deimos hissed at him. "Okay, okay, I'll stay out. But you might need me soon. " He was so close to Jessica now that his nose was almost touching a leaf.
"Don't hold your breath." Con wanted the cat gone so he could pull himself together before Mandy came back. If she came back.
"Hey, don't insult the cat with inside info. Remember, I'm the only one who can read your woman's mind for you." Deimos touched one of the plant's leaves with his tongue. "Turns me on like catnip. Jessica's one hot babe. Think I have a chance?"
"Get. Out. Of. Here." He wondered how ticked Sparkle would be if he laid some serious damage on her precious apprentice.
"Sure. Sure. Let me know what happens tonight so I can pass it on to Sparkle and make believe it was a live report." Scrambling from the bed, Deimos fled the room.
Con drew in a deep calming breath. He had to push what had just happened to the back of his mind until he could deal with it. But Deimos had a point. Con had never expected Mandy to come back to Galveston, and when she did, his first impulse was anger. Why the anger? Who knew? But when had anger kept him from wanting Amanda Harcourt? Never.
Con stopped thinking as Mandy returned to the room. She had Sweetie Pie in her hand. Walking around his bed, she set Sweetie Pie next to Jessica. "I figure a few days with you will give new meaning to her life."
"We could give new meaning to her life a lot faster than that." Con was through being subtle. He wanted to lay her down on his bed, slide his fingers though her hair, and cover her mouth with his while her body came alive beneath him. He'd touch every warm secret spot on her body with his mouth, and then bury himself in her, creating a new memory to take the place of the one from ten years ago.
She saw the intent in his eyes, and the part of her that had worked damn hard for ten years to earn her BA in mature decisions demanded she leave. Now.
He unwound from his cross-legged position and then swung his feet to the floor. His towel slipped a little lower on his hips.
Her mature self pointed out that taking pleasure with Conleth Maguire would be a really poor business decision. If he thought he could override her color choices now, what would happen once they made love? She'd end up with purple walls with neon orange smiley faces on them.
Con stood and walked toward her, each stride focusing her attention on the towel's precarious position. Each stride showcasing the beauty of powerful muscles beneath smooth, supple skin.
Her mature self, still calm and firmly in control, assured her she'd walked away from men with beautiful bodies before. Beautiful bodies didn't mean a thing if there was a troll inside.
He stopped in front of her. Six feet plus of power, muscle, and the mysterious ability to roll back time. She expected to be Zit Central at any moment.
They should talk. Ten years ago they'd made spectacular love on that beach. But when it was over, it was over. That was at the root of her anxiety now. If it was all about sex, she didn't want any part of it. Been there, done that ten years ago. Fine, so she wanted something deeper, more meaningful, right? Well, no. Deeper and more meaningful might tempt her to stay in Galveston. What did she want? That depended on which body system was answering. Right now there was a catfight heating up between her brain and the sluts in her basement. "We should talk." Her mature self applauded.
Leaning down, he touched her throat with his mouth. Her heart beat hard and fast beneath his lips. He smelled like Irish Spring and toothpaste. Her list was growing. Paint, Irish Spring, and toothpaste smelled sexy.
"No." The warmth of the one word against her skin brought a shuddering response that surprised her.
"Why not?" She knew why not, but the question gave her a moment to search for guidance from her know-it-all mature self. Instant gratification or deep and meaningful? What to do? Okay, soul searching done. Call her shallow, but his totally delicious body was as deep and meaningful as she wanted to get right now.
"Because I've had a hard-on all week imagining you naked in this bed. A man can't paint in high places with a hard-on. I think there's some kind of local ordinance against it." He moved his mouth to the sensitive skin below her ear and traced lazy circles with his tongue.
Mistake, mistake, mistake! Amanda sighed. Her mature self may as well shut up. It was a big fat loser. She was going to ignore her common sense and ten years of accumulated lessons learned. She'd go with what she wanted just because she wanted it. Her desire for Con went beyond the hurt feelings of a seventeen-year-old, beyond her fear of any complication that would interfere with her New York career. If New York couldn't stand up to one night with Con, then she needed to find out now.
"We can't have you turning into an outlaw." Leaning forward, she slid her tongue across one of his nipples. He sucked in his breath. "Of course, there's something really sexy about an outlaw with a hard-on."
His soft laughter spurred her on.
"Just call me the Lone Arranger. I can arrange your furniture or a hot night of sex." She laid both palms flat against his chest. "Kinky or otherwise." His skin was still damp from his shower, and his nipples pressed into her palms. The pressure registered as an anticipatory clenching low in her belly. "I'm here to save you from a life of crime, restore Sweetie Pie to perkiness, and find out if you're still as spectacular as I remember." She reached between them with one hand and yanked his towel from his hips. As she let the towel drop to the floor, she glanced down. "Everything does grow bigger in Texas."
"Well, hell." His voice was husky with need and more than a little surprise. "Kinky or otherwise? I like it. I knew my wicked woman was hiding in there somewhere. Looks like Ms. Neutral has shifted into first gear."
She leaned into him, feeling the length of his bare body pressed against her. It had been so long, and she was so eager. "Wrong, oh great and magical painter of snakes. It's been a lot of years since I've traveled the open road"—she slid her hands over his arms, his torso, and his thighs to indicate the road she had in mind—"and I'm shifting right through to fifth gear."
His answer was to put his hands on her shoulders and lower his head to cover her mouth with his. She kept her lips closed so he'd understand the walls might be breached, but she wasn't flinging the gate open for him. Not right away, anyway.
Walls. Uh-uh, didn't want to think of walls, or her job, or the snakes now. She wanted to immerse herself in Conleth Maguire and maybe recapture a little of what she'd left behind ten years ago.
He traced her lower lip with his tongue and then gently nipped it. Okay, fifteen seconds was long enough to make her point. Time to fling the gates open. She parted her lips and met his tongue with an eagerness that told her she'd wanted this for longer than she realized.
With a low moan of joy, she savored the taste of toothpaste and the essence of what had always made him an irresistible temptation to her. The pressure of his lips increased, signaling his escalating excitement.
He dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped away, his breathing ragged in the quiet room. "We need to take our time, sweet-heat. Ten years ago, we ripped each other's clothes off, fell on the sand, and went crazy. This time we should savor it."
"Right. We're adults now. We'll walk to the bed, I'll calmly undress—"
"No way. I'll calmly undress you."
From the length, breadth, and stiffness of his erection, Amanda doubted his ability to do anything calmly. She, on the other hand, had spent ten years training in the "calm" arena.
She reached for a button on her blouse with shaking fingers. Calm. She took a step toward the bed. Calm. She slid her gaze up Con's beautiful male body and thought about raking her fingers through his dark hair. Calm. She met his gaze.
He was heat, flame, and she was a damned moth. If she singed her wings, so be it. "What the hell, I can't wait." She pulled her blouse from her skirt and fumbled with the buttons.
Con joined her in a tangle of fingers and muffled curses.
She was never quite sure who was responsible, but her blouse fell to the rug in a flurry of flying buttons. She kicked off her sandals, shimmied out of her skirt, and wrestled with Con for the privilege of ripping off her bra and panties.
As soon as he retrieved his foil package from the night table, she pulled him down with her onto the bed chanting her mantra of the moment, "Quickquickquick."
He eased her onto her back. She spread her legs so he could kneel between them. Since they were doing the mature love scene, she'd allow for about, say, three minutes of foreplay. Hey, she didn't want to rush things.
She pulled his head down to her breasts. It'd been a lot of years. Maybe he'd forgotten where they were. But when he slid his tongue across one nipple and then nipped it, she immediately forgot where she was. He closed his lips around her nipple, and the triple assault of heat, tongue, and pressure narrowed her world to only one sense: touch.
Burying her fingers in his hair, she let the silky strands slide through them. Her nipples were sensitive points of pleasure-pain, and she arched her back just in case he was thinking of abandoning them.
He did. The rat. With complete unconcern for her three-minute foreplay time limit, he kissed a searing path over her stomach and then her inner thighs. She knew where he was headed, and she'd explode if he touched her there with his mouth.
Grasping his shoulders, she rolled, and he rolled with her .. . over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. They almost took Sweetie Pie and Jessica with them. When she finally managed to disentangle herself from the bedspread, wonder of wonders, she was straddling him. The view was to die for. A smooth, unbroken expanse of fine Texas male. All of his muscles were clearly delineated as he tightened them in an effort to last through those endless three minutes. Poor baby. He wouldn't have to suffer much longer.
"Geez, Maguire. I'd forgotten all of this." She illustrated all of this by splaying her fingers across his incredible abs. She hadn't really forgotten, but she sure didn't want him to think she'd obsessed over his body.
