by S. J. Drum
Lucy shook her head, a strange feeling of warmth coursing through her body all the way to her soul.
“Bet he would have been less help than your mama. People like that look out for themselves and no one else. You’ve just been stuck with the wrong kind of people in your life, Lucy. Time to put that aside and let the right kind of people in.” He tightened his arms around her in a soft hug.
“Are you the right kind of people, Dalton?” Her voice sounded small and muffled against his chest. She felt his sigh.
“I don’t know, babe. But I want to be.”
Lucy leaned into him, leaning on his strength and courage and selflessness. She finally realized she could push this man away all she wanted, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she didn’t let him into her heart, he’d stay in her life like a bodyguard if he had to, just to keep her safe. There wouldn’t be any convincing him to let her go, to keep himself out of a fight that wasn’t really his. Still…
“Dalton,” she pressed against him as close as she could get, “please. I don’t want you hurt. Ross is dangerous, more than you can imagine. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt because of me.”
His work-roughened hands slid from her back to rest on either side of her face. He pulled back enough to catch her gaze, his eyes steely with determination. “Trust me not to underestimate this man. I know he’s dangerous. The proof is written on your stomach and etched in your skin by scars. But baby? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he hurt you and I could have prevented it. I don’t want you hurt or killed and your chances of beating this asshole are a lot better with me than without me. Let me help you. Trust me, just a little, to start. Take my hand and walk out of here. We’ll come up with a plan at my house where he won’t think to look for you.”
Lucy’s gaze skirted to the duffel bag stuffed and sitting next to the door. She hadn’t noticed it before but she recognized it as her own. That’s how Dalton knew where her clothes were when he picked an outfit for her to wear. He’d already gone through her things when he’d packed her bag, the invasive, overbearing redneck.
His lips pressed against hers, drawing her attention back to him. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, seeking. She opened to him and he rewarded her with a teasing touch of his tongue before he withdrew and pinned her with those sexy blue eyes of his. She fought a smile and lost.
“All right. No need to bust out your hillbilly magic on me. I’ll go with you. For a few days, until I figure something else out.”
Dalton stepped back, one hand on her elbow keeping her steady while he tossed the duffel over his shoulder. “Hillbilly magic, huh? What’s that?”
He swept her into his arms. Apparently she wasn’t going to be allowed to walk anywhere today. Just as well, she didn’t think she could manage the flight of stairs down from her apartment. She murmured her response against his neck. “I don’t know, but you’ve got it. Oh boy, do you have it.”
Chapter Nine
After carrying a reluctant but grateful Lucy down the steep steps from her second-story apartment, Dalton sat her on the last step. He adjusted the stuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder and fished his truck keys from his front pocket.
“You don’t need to pull your truck over here. I can walk the extra ten feet, Dalton.”
He narrowed his eyes on the woman sitting at his feet, liking her in the position, but not under these circumstances.
“Well, I could walk with your help, at least,” she qualified with a grumpy little pout.
“It’s more like fifty feet, darlin’. Now, be a good girl and stay where I put you.” He winked at her as a spark of outrage flushed her otherwise pale cheeks and strode toward his truck.
As Dalton twisted the key in the ignition, he caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to make sure it didn’t mean danger for Lucy. Seeing the source of the movement, he scowled but shoved the truck into gear and pulled around the lot, driving as close to the staircase as possible so Lucy wouldn’t have far to travel.
“Brad.” Dalton knew his voice sounded harsh when he growled the man’s name. The asswipe gave Dalton a nod of greeting and went back to focusing on Lucy, as if he cared. Dalton had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from snatching the irritating turd away from his woman.
“I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head.” Lucy’s skittish gaze hit Dalton then went back to Brad, who was kneeling in front of her. “Dalton has offered to be my nurse.”
He watched her pouty lips twitch to a smile. What was this woman doing to him? He alternately wanted to spank her, hug her and fuck her brains out. Right now…he’d really like to do all three but could do nothing. Frustration, anticipation and worry swirled in his gut, creating a maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions.
Brad’s beady dark eyes snaked over Dalton. “How very gallant of him.” He palmed Lucy’s knee in a gesture of false comfort. She jumped at the contact but he left his offending appendage where it lay. “There’s no need for you to leave your apartment, Lucy. I’ll be happy to help you until you’re feeling better. It’d make more sense for me to watch over you than Dalton, I live right below you.”
Dalton tensed, formulating arguments against Brad’s offer. He knew Lucy wanted him out of the picture, if only to keep him safe. She didn’t know Brad like Dalton did, didn’t understand Brad lied as easily as someone else might ask for a piece of pie with dinner. The man couldn’t be trusted, but she wouldn’t know that sorry fact.
“I don’t know…” Her gray eyes shone from under long lashes, the pleading in them apparent. What was not apparent, however, was if she pleaded for him to take control and remove Brad from her personal space, or if she wanted Dalton to back away gracefully and scuttle home without a fight. And without her.
“It’ll be fun. I’ll order pizza and we can watch movies.” Brad chuckled. “You don’t want to hang around with him and my sister anyway, believe me.”
Lucy’s lips thinned and she looked as though she were waging a war with herself. Dalton crossed his arms, content to wait a bit longer and see what she decided before he tossed her in his truck and took her home.
She laid a hand over the fresh tattoo on her thigh, exposed by the jogging shorts, and stroked the abused skin with her fingertips. As if finding strength in the tattoo, or the pain it caused, her spine straightened and her expression turned from wary to determined. When she pushed Brad’s hand off of her knee, Dalton wanted to throw a fist in the air and give a shout of victory.
“Why do you make it sound like your sister is something more to Dalton than she actually is? I don’t want to be rude, but I’m aware of their arrangement and it’s nothing like the relationship you’re suggesting.”
Avoiding conflict was ingrained in Lucy’s character, that she’d speak up, challenge someone, spoke volumes about the changes taking place inside of her.
Dalton almost laughed at the comical look on Brad’s face. The man choked over his next words. “I, I don’t know what you mean.”
Lucy tilted her head to the side and studied Brad. “I think you know exactly what I mean, but maybe you should ask your sister for clarification. You seem to be confused.”
She reached a hand out toward Dalton and a warm rush of emotion swept over his heart. This little survivor never failed to amaze him. And she trusted him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Her actions proved it true over and over.
He stepped forward, tempted to hip-check the still kneeling Brad and send him onto his ass. Somehow, he refrained, only invading Brad’s space until he stood and backed away, allowing Dalton to wrap his hand around Lucy’s. Dalton didn’t care for the calculating gleam in Brad’s eyes, but dismissed it in favor of pulling a soft, willing Lucy into his arms. Catching her by surprise, he tugged her outstretched hand to his shoulder and slid his free hand under her knees, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest.
With only a small squeak of surprise, she settled in his arms. He indulged
temptation and nuzzled her soft hair, inhaling her unique citrus scent. He was rewarded with a contented sigh against his chest. Without another thought to Rachel’s brother and his intrusive meddling, Dalton settled Lucy inside his truck and drove toward his house feeling more hope and happiness than he had felt in years.
* * * * *
By the time they pulled into Dalton’s narrow concrete drive, Lucy was battling the nausea swirling through her stomach and couldn’t wait to lie down. She’d never had a bout of carsickness in her life but apparently a concussion mixed with worry and exhaustion overruled her body’s longstanding order of not vomiting all over the inside of a seriously handsome man’s truck.
At this point, she wasn’t even nervous about entering Dalton’s house for the first time after the first time she’d been there. At least this time Dalton would be fully clothed and Lucy would be the only woman there with him. The sound of the truck being placed in park and the ignition shutting off had Lucy sighing a slow breath of relief through her nose. Finally.
Dalton hopped down from the cab and she watched his long legs as he strode around the front of the truck and over to the passenger door. She didn’t bother opening the door herself and attempting to climb down, knowing she’d probably fall on her face. Also, Lucy knew arguing with Dalton while she was not in top form would be futile.
The door swung open and she realized, being distracted by watching Dalton and his damned long-legged stride, she hadn’t unclasped her seatbelt. His arm reached over her lap and clicked the belt free, then he was lifting her, holding her snug against his hard chest.
“My bag,” she reminded him as he climbed the steps to his front porch.
“We’ll get you settled, then I’ll grab your bag.”
When they drew close to the front door, for reasons unknown but Lucy would blame on her head injury, she blurted, “You’re not carrying me across the threshold.”
Dalton’s steps stuttered, then stopped. His head tilted down and those dark, dark blue eyes settled on Lucy’s. His lips twitched and she felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck.
“No, darlin’, I’m not.” His eyes danced with mirth. “Though that’s a fine idea for another time. Right now, I need to dig my house keys out of my front pocket. I don’t know if you noticed,” another twitch of his lips, “but these jeans are kinda tight so I can’t hold you and dig into my pocket and fish out the keys at the same time.”
“Um…” Well, of course she’d noticed his freakin’ jeans were tight. She’d noticed because they were tight in all the places they were supposed to be tight and not in all the places they weren’t.
Dalton bent and placed Lucy on her feet in one smooth movement, holding onto her elbows until she steadied herself. She stared as he dug into a front pocket and retrieved his keys. A low, husky chuckle had her gaze snapping up to his face. Shit. She’d been staring at the man’s crotch. And he’d caught her.
She opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it.
Turned toward the door, pressing the key into the lock, he looked over his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I think I will carry you after all. Through the door and right on up to my bed where you can relax.” He winked, pushed the door open as he swung around to Lucy and scooped her into his arms.
Relax? The man wanted her to relax in his bed? Lucy would probably feel all sorts of unwelcome emotions while in his bed—which she would not be in because she was about to demand to be deposited on the couch instead—but she would definitely not feel relaxed.
Lucy was prepared to explain this to Dalton and, if he didn’t then deposit her onto the couch, she was prepared to throw herself out of his arms and dive for the damned thing. Her nausea had subsided enough to let reality creep back in and she did not want to curl up in Dalton’s bed and give herself the idea that she might like to stay there.
“What. The. Fuck.”
Dalton’s angry words and his suddenly stone-hard limbs wrapped around her brought Lucy’s thoughts back into focus. She tilted her head back to scan his face before following his line of sight to whatever had made him go all growly and clench his jaw until the muscle jumped.
Lucy’s breath caught and the nausea she’d ditched on the porch made a swift comeback.
“I’m at your service, Sir. Here to tend any of your needs that have been neglected since our last session was cut short.”
The nude woman kneeling inside the entryway kept her head bowed, her gaze lowered, but the satisfaction and conniving in her voice, though she attempted to sound simpering, made Lucy think the woman had a smirk on her lips. Rachel.
Dalton’s chest vibrated against Lucy’s shoulder and he made that scary-ass rumbling growl again like he had at the hospital. Only this time he wasn’t furious with an insensitive, nosy cop. He directed the intense fury at the woman sitting back on her heels, knees spread apart so all of her bits were on display, hands palms up on her knees.
Lucy didn’t think Dalton would hurt the woman, they’d been lovers, even though they’d apparently been rough ones. Anyway, he still held Lucy in his arms and there wasn’t much he could do without setting her down.
Unlike Submissive Barbie, Lucy had curves and padding which required the dedication of two arms, even on a man built like Dalton. Her throat got tight the longer her eyes refused the order to move away from Rachel. Rachel had small, pert, perfect breasts with tiny apricot-colored nipples the likes of which someone above a size 2 would never have. Lucy’s breasts were large and she wasn’t nineteen anymore so they weren’t nearly as perky as Submissive Barbie’s either.
This was a mistake. Lucy had no business being with Dalton. In his arms. In his truck. In his house. Definitely not in his bed. Men like Dalton deserved to be with women who looked like Rachel, though her attitude was too bitchy and she could use a dose of good, old-fashioned modesty. Still, if judges were scoring the two women and announcing a winner, it was brutally clear who it would be.
“Why the fuck are you inside my house?”
Rachel peeked up at him from under heavily mascaraed lashes. “To please you, of course, like always.”
Lucy wondered if she concentrated hard enough on it, if she could make herself implode in the next two seconds like a collapsing star.
“Like always?” Dalton ground out. “You’ve never been inside my house when I’m not here. How did you… Never mind, I don’t have time for this. Get up, get out of my way, put on some damned clothes, then we’ll talk.”
He took a step toward the stairs and Lucy was ready, again, to object, but Rachel beat her to it.
“Perhaps you should put her on the sofa instead of carrying her upstairs. I don’t want you to hurt your back. We can talk in your bedroom.”
How could some women say such hateful, manipulative things while maintaining a tone of voice which suggested they were coaxing a timid kitten with a bowl of milk? Not having wonderful control over her body and emotions at the present, Lucy started to shake, though she wasn’t cold. “Please put me down.” Her voice cracked on the last word.
Dalton stopped glaring at the beautiful, thin, naked woman waiting to “please” him, and started moving up the stairs.
In a strong voice, Lucy demanded, “Put me down.”
His booted feet kept hitting the steps as he continued climbing. “No. End of discussion.”
Well… What the hell could she say to that? At the first doorway they came to at the top of the steps, Dalton used his foot to nudge open the door. Lucy took in the sight of a huge unmade bed, deep-brown comforter and tan sheets all twisted up in a knot at the foot like they’d been in a fight the previous night and lost. Multiple pillows were piled at the head.
Dalton settled her with her back against a mound of pillows and straightened, looking down at her from his considerable height. Lucy stared at the twisted mess on the foot of the bed.
He grabbed the comforter and pulled the twisted heap off the bed before attempting to straighten it out. “I’m a dude an
d single so I don’t worry about making my bed. This ain’t the Ritz so there’s no maid around to do it, either.”
The sheet settled over Lucy’s lap and Dalton’s clean male, sawdust-and-leather scent surrounded her. “If this were the Ritz, I think I’d ask for a refund. My experience here so far has totally sucked.”
The comforter joined the sheet and Dalton tucked them both around her legs before he swiped a gentle hand across her cheek and over her jaw. “Don’t worry about her. She’s history. She was history before today, now she’s the kind of history people burn books about just to make sure no one remembers it existed.”
He leaned in, placed a gentle kiss on Lucy’s forehead and walked out of the room, leaving the door open before descending the steps.
Tucked into the middle of the huge bed, Lucy sighed. Dalton was downstairs kicking Submissive Barbie the hell out of his house, out of his life, while Lucy lay tucked into his bed. And, she had to admit, if only to herself, she liked being there. Damn.
Chapter Ten
Dalton fumed. What the hell had been going through Rachel’s head? She’d never done something like this before and now was a piss poor time to start. He should have cut ties with her, made it clear their arrangement was over. They didn’t date, they didn’t meet in public and go to movies. They fucked. Period. Always at his house and always at a prearranged time which they both agreed upon. His plan had been to not call Rachel and, if she contacted him, then explain he was no longer available.
Now that he thought about it, it’d been a total asshole move. It still didn’t explain what went on inside her mind to make the woman think breaking into his house and waiting on her knees naked for him was a good idea.
He stopped on the landing at the bottom of the stairs, hand clenched on the rail. On her knees, waiting for him to come home… Sounded like a good idea if it was Lucy doing the waiting. Soft, red curly hair tickling her shoulders, sitting on her heels with knees apart so he had a perfect view of the tattoo on her thigh…and everything else.
