All a Man Can Ask

by Virginia Kantra

  He was supportive.

  He was practical.

  He was efficient.

  And he did everything with a tight-lipped temper that made her long to wring his neck. She hadn’t purposefully thrown herself in harm’s way to force him to take care of her.

  When he banged shut the lid of the washing machine, she hung up the phone.

  “Come talk to me,” she suggested.

  Tight with tension, he stood before her, his thumbs hooked in the belt loops of his jeans. He looked gorgeous. Dangerous. Hot.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  Like a match to paper, his heat licked along the edge of her nerves. “I don’t need anything. I wanted to apologize.”

  “What for?”

  “Well…” She waved her hands. Clumsily, because of her bandaged wrist. “You didn’t exactly move in expecting to be saddled with laundry and patient care.”

  “No. I moved in figuring I could stake out my suspect and maybe get laid at the same time. Tell me again what the hell you have to apologize for.”

  She frowned. This conversation wasn’t going the way she planned at all. She was supposed to be calming him. Instead he was…well, he was ticking her off.

  “Okay, maybe apologize was the wrong word. I should have said I wanted to thank you.”

  “What for?” he repeated.

  Was she supposed to present him with an itemized list?

  “Everything.”

  “Jarek is going after the guy who robbed you. DeLucca bandaged your wrist. What are you thanking me for, Faye?”

  She was genuinely baffled. And hurt. “Why are you being like this?”

  “Maybe I don’t like being useless.”

  Warmth bloomed in her chest. She should have guessed Aleksy would try to take responsibility for her—for her safety, for her comfort—on himself.

  “You’re not useless,” she said. As if that would convince him. She took a deep breath and continued painfully. “After I—after it, you know, happened, I was on the ground. And I was, well, so surprised, and my wrist hurt, and I wasn’t thinking very clearly.”

  Faye gave a little shiver. It wasn’t very pleasant, even now, to remember. “But I do remember thinking that it would be all right, that you would come. And then I looked up—” she did so now, smiling “—and there you were.”

  His gaze darkened. “You don’t expect enough from me,” he said roughly.

  She kept her voice light. She told herself she knew what he wanted. And what he didn’t want.

  “This has to be the first time you’ve said that to a woman,” she teased.

  He didn’t smile back. In his eyes, she read his frustration and an echo of her own confusion. And something else, something that quickened her heartbeat against her ribs.

  His fingertips skimmed her cheek. “I should take better care of you,” he muttered.

  She was touched more deeply than she wanted to admit. “Well,” she said slowly, “you could take care of my knees.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “My knees. When I fell this afternoon, I landed on my hands and knees.” She lifted her skirt to show him.

  He swore. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “I didn’t really notice at the time. They didn’t hurt. Not like my hands or my wrist.”

  He scowled. “They’re bleeding.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “They could still get infected.”

  His scolding made her smile. His concern fissured her heart. “That’s why I need you to take care of them. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s the least you can do. I took care of yours.”

  “Come on,” he said abruptly. “You need to clean these up.”

  But when she followed him into the bathroom, he wouldn’t let her do a thing. He made her sit on the toilet and knelt between her legs. Rinsing a washcloth in the sink, he gently sponged the dirt from her scrapes.

  The soap seeped in and stung. She must have made some sound, because he lifted the washcloth.

  “All right?”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him, loving the concern in his voice. “I’m tough.”

  “You’re a cream puff,” he said.

  But his fingers, as he smoothed the antibiotic ointment on her knees, trembled.

  He looked up and caught her watching him and flushed darkly. “I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

  He looked so sweet, angry and embarrassed. She could smell the scent of her shampoo on his hair and feel the heat of his body, close between her thighs. She wanted him to kiss her. Why didn’t he kiss her?

  “I’m fine,” she said again. “Anyway, we match now.”

  “How’s that?” he asked, but he sounded distracted.

  “Our knees,” she said, leaning forward so that her breasts approached his mouth. His breath was hot. Her nipples tightened. She wondered if he could tell. “We’ll have matching scars.”

  Aleksy swallowed hard. He could see everything—everything—through that damn T-shirt. Didn’t she know? Or didn’t she care?

  She didn’t need this.

  She didn’t want him.

  She wanted the man she’d made him out to be, the caring, sharing protector type. The kind of guy who would be there for her each morning and every night and for all of her tomorrows. Not some danger junkie on the four-to-midnight shift who was married to his job.

  “All done,” he said hoarsely, but he couldn’t seem to make his stupid body move away from her.

  “No, we’re not.”

  She pushed the bathroom door closed with her foot. The latch clicked. He made the mistake of looking into her eyes, and they were soft and glowing.

  “You promised to take care of me,” she whispered, and licked into his mouth.

  He couldn’t stand it. He kissed her back, using his teeth and his tongue, and instead of saying “ouch” or “stop it” or “I am not that kind of girl,” she clenched her hand in his hair and totally blew his control.

  He grabbed her hips and slid her forward across the cold, smooth top of the toilet to pull her against him, hard. Her encouraging moan was muffled by his mouth. They grappled and clutched, breathing wildly, kissing furiously. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he heard a thump. He went on kissing her, greedy for the taste of her, drowning in the scent of her, flowers and Faye, and it was only when he felt something soak the knees of his jeans that he realized she’d kicked the shampoo bottle off the edge of the tub.

  He swore.

  She giggled.

  “Hang on,” he said desperately. “Just let me—”

  He levered himself to his feet and lifted her. She clung to his shoulders, his neck. He reached under her skirt to get his hands on her tight little butt, and her heels bumped the wall. His fingers dug into her—she was smooth and hot, and he wanted her bad—as he fumbled with the knob and maneuvered them through the door.

  She nipped his chin, and he nearly stumbled.

  “Bed,” he said succinctly. “Room.”

  That was important, taking her to a bed, although for the life of him at this moment he couldn’t remember why.

  The door to her room was open. Another time, he’d like to explore the puzzle of her, get to know her through her possessions, her photographs, her hairbrush, the book beside her bed, but all he really cared about now was the bed itself. The bright print sheets beckoned him, inviting as an unlocked window to a burglar.

  Faye’s hands tightened convulsively on his shoulders. He kicked the door closed behind them, dropped her on the mattress and came down on top of her.

  After that, it was all speed and heat and delight as they wrestled and rolled. He got his shirt off, and hers. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her, pale and perfect, her pink-tipped breasts tight with desire. He feasted on them, making himself crazy, making her moan.

  He grappled with his belt buckle and she sat up, nearly clipping his jaw with the top of her head.

  “Wait
,” she gasped. “I bought condoms.”

  He could have kissed her for her foresight. Only if he kissed her right then, he wasn’t sure he would last long enough to take care of birth control.

  “Where?” he asked.

  “In the bag. From the drugstore. You have it, don’t you?”

  Sort of. He remembered dropping both bags by her worktable.

  “I’ll get it,” he promised.

  He left her warm and half-naked on her bed—hurry, his body urged—and charged toward the living room. The pearl gray twilight barely penetrated the long windows. He flicked on a lamp. Hurry.

  There. Two bags, white rectangles in the dark, balanced against the table leg.

  He snatched them up and turned off the light and tried to make it back to the bedroom and Faye without stumbling into something and waking—

  Jamal.

  Aleksy froze in the hallway.

  His heart pounded. There wasn’t a sound from the kid’s room.

  Relief loosened Aleksy’s shoulders. How did parents with children do it?

  He would have to ask Jarek, he decided, and didn’t pause to examine why he thought that would be necessary. Hurry, hurry.

  He opened the door to Faye’s bedroom. She was still there, waiting for him, her slim white shoulders rising above the purple-and-green sheets and her breasts and thighs making scenic detours in the landscape of the bed.

  There was a god, and he had just answered all of Aleksy’s prayers.

  He locked the door behind him.

  Faye switched on the bedside lamp. Her cap of gold hair gleamed in the yellow light. Her eyes were dark and welcoming.

  “Did you find them?” she asked.

  Momentarily deprived of speech, he held up the bags in answer.

  She smiled, and his heart stopped. “Hurry.”

  Oh, yeah. Need pumped through him.

  But something—the delay, maybe, or the reminder of the teenager sleeping across the hall or the delicacy of Faye’s features shining in the lamplight—had blunted the edge of his urgency.

  It wasn’t that he wanted her any less. No. He wanted more. More time to look, to touch, to linger. To trace her slight curves and smooth planes with his hands and lips. To savor the textures and the tastes of her.

  More time. More tenderness.

  For the first time, he wanted both. The realization fought its way to the surface of his mind like a drowning swimmer. He wanted—

  “Aleksy?” Faye shifted under the sheet, and his thoughts sank, swamped by desire. “Is anything wrong?”

  He shook his head. Found his voice. “Nope.”

  “Then what are you doing standing over there?”

  “I was just noticing how beautiful you are,” he told her honestly.

  She blushed, the color staining her baby fine skin. He really liked that he could make her blush with something as simple as a compliment. Maybe that was something else he could give her more of.

  “I like your eyes,” he said.

  “They’re brown.”

  He frowned. Okay. Either she was feeling insecure, or she thought he was insincere. Neither possibility sat well with him.

  The memory of her words challenged him. I thought you didn’t use my name because it saved you the trouble of remembering who was under you.

  “I know what color your eyes are,” he said, “And I remember your name. For the record, I know exactly who I’m about to make love to and there’s not another woman in the world I’d rather be with.”

  Her fingers tightened on the sheet. “In that case…”

  Hope pressed like a weight on his chest.

  “In that case, what?” he asked truculently.

  She lifted a corner of the covers. “Maybe you better come to bed.”

  Aleksy grinned. “You bet. Right away.”

  Chapter 14

  Faye arched against the sheets.

  No one died of pleasure. In her mind, she knew that.

  But her body, oh, her body quivered like a harp string, vibrating with the lovely music Aleksy’s mouth and hands created in her. He stroked her and made her hum, plucked at her and forced a gasp to the back of her throat.

  She expected heat. She was ready for sex. She thought she knew him and the fierce satisfaction of his possession.

  But nothing had prepared her for the devastating force of Aleksy’s slow seduction.

  He suckled her breasts to aching peaks, soothed and aroused them with his tongue. His hands skimmed her, lightly, gently, as he brought his mouth back to hers, as he stole her breath and emptied her mind with more slow, drugging kisses.

  She stretched to evade him, struggled to survive him. “What happened to ‘right away’?” she asked.

  “Later,” he said.

  And his busy mouth moved down again, sliding over her breasts, gliding along her shivering torso. His hair brushed her belly. His head was dark between her thighs.

  Restless, embarrassed, she tried to bring her knees together, but he held her open with his hands, held her captive with his hot gaze.

  How could what he did to her in the privacy of her room feel more daring, more dangerous, than sex under the stars?

  But her heart trembled.

  She licked her lips. “You don’t need to—”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said softly, still holding her gaze. “I do.”

  He lowered his head. He nipped and licked, laved and sucked, drenched her with sensation and destroyed her with sweetness.

  She would shatter if he didn’t stop.

  She would die if he did.

  Self-preservation demanded she keep her mind above the dark tide surging through her body.

  But when he rose above her, sweat gleaming on his face and damp on the back of his neck, she strained off the mattress to meet him. His dark gaze fixed on hers, too beautiful to bear. Linked with her, hand to hand and heat to heat, he plunged into her, joined with her and moved. His body pounded hers, came into hers, again and again, and she was swept away.

  Like a suicide going into the surf, she gave up the struggle, yielded her body and surrendered her heart.

  They curled, spoon fashion, in Faye’s bed. Aleksy was warm and heavy behind her. As she stirred, his arms tightened around her waist and he pressed a kiss to her eyebrow.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked huskily.

  Terrified, she thought.

  “Fine,” she said.

  She turned cautiously against his body, searching his face for clues. How was she supposed to feel, think, behave, now that she’d realized she was fathoms deep in love with him?

  “And you?”

  His grin flashed. “Never better.”

  Oh. Well, that was good. Wasn’t it? Her total capitulation made him happy.

  No, that was unfair, she chided herself. She wasn’t being fair. Aleksy hadn’t asked for her heart. And she would not ask for his love.

  She knew the reasons he was here. He was paying a debt to a former girlfriend and satisfying his own exacting sense of responsibility. Faye didn’t even enter into the equation.

  No, that wasn’t entirely accurate. I moved in figuring I could stake out my suspect and maybe get laid at the same time.

  Somewhere along the line, she thought—she hoped— Aleksy had come to want something more. But she wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking his basic character had changed.

  What had he said about his murdered partner? She wanted more than I could give. To her or any woman.

  Faye was pretty sure that included twenty-five-year-old art teachers with conveniently located cottages.

  So if all he could give her was his wicked sense of humor and practical support, his stubborn protection and bone-melting sex, well, that would have to be enough.

  She would make it be enough.

  Aleksy rolled away from her, depriving her of his warmth, and sat on the edge of the mattress. “You want anything?”

  Yes.

  Love.

  Promises.


  A future.

  The fierceness of her response tore through her pretense of acceptance like a palette knife through wet paper. “What did you have in mind?” she asked carefully.

  “Something to eat?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You want me to cook for you?”

  “No. Well, unless you want to. Especially if you don’t put any clothes on first.” He leered. “The idea of you naked in the kitchen definitely appeals to me. But given that we have a teenager in the house, that little scenario may have to wait. How about I fix us both a sandwich?”

  She was caught considering the implications of sharing a house and a kitchen at some future date. Was he serious? And how could she possibly think about food?

  “I’m not really hungry,” she said.

  “I am. Starved. Mind if I…?”

  She propped her back against the headboard, anchoring the sheet across her breasts with her upper arms. “Be my guest,” she invited wryly.

  Aleksy reached for his pants. He intended to be a hell of a lot more to her than that.

  Maybe she didn’t get that yet—her loser parents had obviously done a real number on her when it came to understanding what she deserved and had a right to—but he was willing to work on it.

  She was in his head. Under his skin. Part of him. His.

  And as soon as he refueled, he would show her all over again.

  Anticipation buzzed pleasantly through his veins. Zipping his jeans, he bent to kiss her briefly on her soft, warm mouth.

  “Be right back,” he promised.

  She regarded him quizzically, her hair bright against the dark wood of the bed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  They would have to talk about that, too, Aleksy thought as he strode barefoot down the hall. Women always needed to talk, and Faye, while extraordinary, was probably no exception.

  Sometime—later, after he made love to her again—they would have a nice long talk about why she couldn’t stay in Eden.

  He rummaged in the refrigerator for cold cuts and mustard. Faye would understand he couldn’t afford a distraction right now. He couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.

  He snagged a plastic sleeve of bread from the pantry. She and Jamal would go back to Chicago, and after he wrapped up the investigation here, he would join them.