by Karen Kelley
“Don’t frown,” she scolded. “You know you enjoyed yourself.” She leaned down and ran her tongue across his bottom lip, nipples scraping his chest. “In the bedroom, I never lose.” She climbed out of bed and walked out the door.
Had he really thought she was fragile?
He leaned on one elbow and stretched until he could see her cute little bottom as she sauntered down the hall. Nice. Very
nice. He leaned a little farther, lost his balance, and landed on the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. She laughed as she closed the door to the bathroom.
He sat up, rubbing his hip. She beat him at his own game. He shook his head, marveling that a little slip of a woman had won. He frowned. No, that wasn’t an accurate description of Raine. She was curvy in all the right places. The loose clothes she wore hid a lot.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chance asked.
“Son of a …” Dillon jumped to his feet. “Popping in unannounced like that could give a guy a heart attack!” His friend had really bad timing.
“Yeah, well, better me than your father,” Chance said. His gaze swept over Dillon. “Put some clothes on.”
“You’re the one who showed up uninvited, and my clothes happen to be downstairs.”
Chance snapped his fingers, and Dillon’s clothes were suddenly in a pile on the bed. Dillon grabbed his briefs and pulled them on. “What does Tobiah have to do with any of this?”
Chance quirked an eyebrow. “You have to ask?”
“I’m only doing what he wanted.”
“The damn door is stuck!” Raine’s voice echoed down the hall, doorknob rattling as she tried to open the door.
Dillon looked at Chance. “You?”
“Of course.”
“So unstick it.”
“I will, but first we need to talk.”
“What else is there to talk about? I’m cleaning up the mess,” Dillon grated.
“No, you’re not. You’re fucking her.”
“It’s no one’s business, but if you need to know why, Raine was too tense. I gave her release.”
One eyebrow shot upward. “That’s your story?”
Dillon frowned. Yeah, he wouldn’t buy that either.
“Tobiah isn’t happy,” Chance continued.
Dillon snorted. “We never even met our fathers until recently and they’re not happy?”
“Tobiah has his orders.”
Dillon hesitated, unable to ignore the cold chill sweeping over him. Why would the Powers get involved with the nephilim after all this time? And who was giving them orders?
“I said I would fix everything and I will.”
“By going to bed with her?”
“It’s complicated.” He jerked his jeans on, then fastened them, refusing to meet Chance’s gaze. The guy could practically read minds. Dillon grabbed his shirt and tugged it over his head.
Hell, maybe he couldn’t explain what he was thinking when he made love to Raine because he wasn’t quite sure. He’d known he wanted her from the moment she pulled her gun on him. Leaving had been pure torture. It was almost a relief when Tobiah ordered him to fix her life.
“And you’ve complicated the situation even more,” Chance said. “You were supposed to repair the damage, not add to her problems.”
Was that what he was doing? Making her life worse? He glanced down the hall as the pounding on the door grew louder.
“Dillon! Open the damn door!”
“No, you’re wrong. She was nearing the meltdown stage.”
Chance looked undecided, so Dillon located his socks and boots. “How could I fix anything when she was wired tighter than a newly strung bow? If one more person looked at her cross-eyed she might have shot them. Then where would she be?”
Chance started to sit on the bed, frowned, then pulled out the chair in front of the mirrored dresser. He straddled the seat and rested his arms on the back. “Now that you’ve kept her from shooting half the population of Randolph, what are your plans?”
How the hell should he know? He was winging his way through his fabricated story— no pun intended. The truth was that he’d wanted to hold Raine, to pull her against him. He didn’t really have any plan beyond that.
“She’ll catch the bank robbers,” he blurted. That was even more lame than the reason he’d made love with her. How the hell was she going to catch the culprits when she hadn’t seen their faces? They were probably long gone.
Chance was thoughtful, then nodded. “Good plan. That should satisfy Tobiah.” He came to his feet.
He bought that? Dillon relaxed.
“I didn’t think you had it in you to think up a lie that quickly,” Chance said.
He should’ve known better. Chance could always see through him. There was something unnatural about him. He never backed down. Chance had taken on one of the most powerful demons,
knowing he would probably die, but he faced him anyway. The guy always won, be it a horse race or killing demons.
A competitive streak that Dillon buried long ago rose inside him. Maybe he wanted to win this time. “Are you so sure I’m lying?”
Chance opened his mouth, then snapped it closed, frowning.
“Are you?”
“Why, don’t you think I have what it takes to fix Raine’s life?”
Chance studied him. “A long time ago I would never have hesitated to say you could do anything you set your mind to do.
Now, not so much.”
He couldn’t meet Chance’s gaze. Dillon knew he was right.
He didn’t want a repeat performance of what happened with Lily. Even now, his gut clenched at the thought of what she went through when she fell victim to a demon’s promises. When she emerged, the Lily he’d known ceased to exist.
“You have to let her go,” Chance said. They both knew he wasn’t talking about Raine.
Dillon raised his eyes and saw the sympathy in Chance’s.
All the nephilim knew what it was like to lose a soul. Not one of them had been left unscarred by the cruelties of fate. Chance was right, though.
“Yeah, I know.” As soon as Dillon spoke the words, it felt as though a heavy weight lifted from his shoulders.
A dull thudding noise came from the end of the hall, as though Raine had found something other than her fist to pound on the door.
Chance laughed. “You tangled with a wild mustang this time. You think you can tame her?”
“Nope,” Dillon said.
Chance’s expression was puzzled.
“I don’t want to break her spirit. I only want to gentle her.”
“I don’t know. She seems pretty determined. You might be the one who gets broken.”
“Not going to happen,” Dillon said, shaking his head. “I’ve been coming in second for a long time now. I let it happen. It’s time I started fighting for what I want.”
“Took you long enough to figure that out. It’s good to have the old Dillon back.”
“Are you sure? I won’t let you win again.”
Chance’s grin was cocky. “You never let me win in the past. I beat you fair and square.”
“I’ll take that as a challenge to race again.”
“You’re on.”
“As soon as I fix Raine’s life.”
“You know you can’t stay long,” Chance reminded him.
“Will you have time to put everything right?”
Dillon wasn’t sure. The nephilim’s powers only extended so far, and Chance was right. The longer mortals were around nephilim, the more they picked up on the otherworld. If he stayed too long, he could do more harm than good. A mortal’s intuitiveness would grow stronger. Some could speak with the dead or foretell the future after an angel’s lengthy visit.
Nostradamus was one. He was almost burned at the stake because people thought he was a witch when he spoke of things that would come to pass. Today, people called them psychics and fortune tellers. People thought they wanted to be like them, to know their destiny, b
ut they never saw the other side, the dark one. These people also saw the shadowy figures of demons. Their dreams would be haunted with things they couldn’t explain.
Sometimes it drove them crazy.
“Dillon?”
Chance was still in the room, still waiting for an answer.
Dillon cleared his mind. He didn’t want to dwell on what might happen. “Yes, I’ll have time,” he said with more confidence than he felt.
Chance expelled a long breath. “Good. I’ll pass that along to Tobiah.”
A sour taste formed in Dillon’s mouth.
“He’s still your father,” Chance said.
“So he tells me.”
“Dillonnnnn!” Raine’s voice echoed down the hall.
“So, she doesn’t like giving up control.” Chance looked as though he was trying not to grin but couldn’t quite manage.
“I’ll teach her.” There wasn’t a damn thing funny about the situation as far as he could see.
“You might have a battle on your hands.”
Dillon suddenly relaxed and returned his friend’s smile. “I hope so.”
“I almost pity her.”
“You should. Raine can’t win against me.”
“I don’t know, I have a feeling she won the first round.”
Again he wondered if Chance could read minds. “Maybe I let her,” he said defensively.
Chance shook his head. “Not buying it.”
Why fight the truth? “You’re right. But winning the war is what counts, not the skirmishes.”
Chance was still grinning when he closed his eyes and disappeared.
The pounding on the bathroom door increased. Dillon strolled down the hall, stopping in front of the closed door. He could hear the very colorful words Raine mumbled on the other side. He liked when she talked dirty. He touched the doorknob and the lock clicked. He casually leaned his shoulder against the frame and pushed on the wood. He crossed his arms as the door swung open.
She was stunning. Raine reminded him of a tiny Amazon warrior with her eyes closed, her hands squeezed around the wooden handle of the plunger she held above her head. She was still as naked as when she’d sauntered down the hall.
His eyes swept over her, from her high, pointed breasts to her small waist, and over her hips. His gaze came to a screeching halt on the thatch of dark curls covering her femininity. He wanted to caress her, to watch her come alive with desire. He wanted her to beg for more…
The plunger came down hard and fast, banging against his forehead. Pain exploded inside his head. The last thing he remembered thinking before he toppled over like a giant oak was that he should’ve seen it coming.
Chapter 11
Raine stood in stunned silence as a strange look crossed
Dillon’s face right before his eyes rolled and he stumbled back against the wall with a loud groan. Oh God, she killed an angel.
She’d fry for all eternity. No, wait. He was immortal. Hitting him with a plunger probably didn’t kill him, but he did say he could feel pain.
She threw the plunger away from her. It landed with a dull thud against the claw-footed bathtub and bounced across the floor a couple of times before coming to a rolling stop. Yeah right, as if that was going to get rid of the evidence. She quickly knelt beside him, pulling his head onto her lap. “Dillon, I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Please talk to me.”
Was that laughter? She frowned as she looked up and around.
They were the only ones in the house, though. Maybe all her yelling for Dillon to help her get out of the bathroom affected her ears.
“Dillon, talk to me.” She ran her hands through his hair. No bleeding, no bumps. His hair felt like silk, it was so soft. Her body began to tingle. She realized that checking his head for an injury had taken on a whole new meaning. Good Lord, the guy was unconscious and all she could think about was having her way with his body. She was immediately filled with guilt.
She cleared her mind and tried not to think about what touching him was making her feel. He was injured and that should be the only thing on her mind. She cleared her throat and rested her hand against his chest. It was a shame he was dressed. She liked him better naked.
Sex had been fantastic. The best she’d ever had and she’d still ended up with complete control. It was the perfect solution to making love without the responsibility of maintaining a relationship.
His chest rose and fell evenly beneath her palm. She slipped her hand beneath his shirt so she could make absolutely sure his breathing was okay. His chest was smooth with only a slight sprinkling of hair. Dillon said he healed fast. She ran her fingers over his upper body. Amazing. She didn’t even feel a scar from when he was shot. She pushed his shirt up and examined his chest a little closer. Nope, not one scar.
But she’d seen blood pouring from the wound. She frowned.
If he healed that fast from a gunshot wound, then a plunger would be like a mosquito bite. Her gaze returned to his face. Did his eyes flutter? He was lying way too still. Her gaze drifted down. He sported a major hard-on. Really? She shoved with all her strength at the same time she jumped to her feet. Dillon’s head hit the hardwood floor with a loud crack.
“Ow, what the hell did you do that for?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head.
“You let me think I’d hurt you,” she said as she stepped across him.
He groaned again but she had a feeling it was for an entirely different reason since she was giving him a freebie look. Good.
She wanted him hurting in more than one area. It served him right for taking advantage of her.
“You’re the one who clobbered me,” he yelled at her retreating back.
She turned at the door. “Don’t worry. You heal fast, and I still have chores to do!” She slammed the door hard enough the wood rattled. He might be an angel, but he was still part man and that was coming through loud and clear! That was the reason she used sex purely for release. Emotional entanglements caused more problems than she wanted.
Even short-term, this affair might be more trouble than it was worth. She grabbed a pair of panties out of the dresser drawer and tugged them on. Now that she could think a little straighter, she probably shouldn’t even be having a fake relationship. Not until after hers and Grandpa’s names were cleared. Jeans followed, then a faded green shirt. She didn’t bother with a bra.
She paused while buttoning her shirt. Darn, he was sort of starting to grow on her. He’d answered Grandpa’s prayer. That made him a nice guy in her book, and they weren’t easy to come by. He took a bullet meant for her, too. He saved her life. Maybe the bullet didn’t kill him, but must have hurt a hell of a lot. His pain was clear that night. How many people would go through that for her?
She sighed. Not that it mattered. There were still chores to be done. She didn’t have time to play sex games with an angel. His naked body filled her mind, and she pictured him below her as she moved to the sweet song of passion. She sighed, then quickly shook her head to clear her fantasy.
Later.
It was time to return to the land of the living. She flung the door open, half expecting Dillon to be standing in the doorway.
She should’ve grabbed something sturdier than a plunger! A niggle of guilt twisted through her. She didn’t normally wish pain on anyone and only used violence if she had to. Why the hell had he locked the bathroom door anyway?
The hall was empty. She hated the disappointment that filled her and told herself she was glad he wasn’t on the other side of the door. There was too much work to do and it would take her a good two or three hours to get all the chores on the ranch finished. She stomped down the stairs. Having an orgasm used to make her feel relaxed, but she was more tense now than she was before the sex.
She grabbed the flashlight out of the hall closet, hating that it was already dark. She would have to juggle the light and do the chores at the same time. The blasted chickens were probably already down for the night, too. She cringed at the tho
ught of sticking her hand under them to gather the eggs. They always pecked her. Grandpa said she didn’t do it right. They sensed her fear, or some such bullshit. If she wasn’t afraid to walk the streets of Fort Worth at night, then a hen wasn’t going to scare her.
Of course, she also carried a loaded gun when she was on patrol. That was an idea. If a chicken pecked her, she’d have chicken and dumplings for supper.
She came to a sudden stop and sniffed as a delectable scent tickled her nose and started her stomach growling. She realized how many hours had passed since she last ate.
Had Grandpa returned after she specifically told him Sheriff Barnes wanted them to keep their distance? Didn’t he know how much trouble that would cause? Her shoulders slumped as she walked toward the dining room. She really appreciated the effort, but what was she going to do with him?
“I thought you might be hungry.” Dillon stood near the dining room table, a cart next to him as he lit the last of three candles. A warm glow spread across the table. Her grandmother’s best china was laid out. The delicate blue rose pattern was her favorite of all her grandmother’s pieces. She used to take it out of the china cabinet when she was having a particularly bad day and wash each piece, then carefully dry them one by one.
She looked up and met his gaze. “I don’t use my grandmother’s dishes.”
“Why not?” he asked as he took the platter off the cart and placed it on the table. A perfectly roasted hen was surrounded by quartered red potatoes sitting on a bed of greens.
Had he been pecked recently?
Her stomach rumbled.
“I don’t use them because they mean something to me. I don’t want to break anything.”
“They’re sturdier than you realize.” He added a bowl of corn and one of brown rice, then a basket covered by a crisp white dish towel. He moved the towel back halfway and revealed golden rolls.
“Yeast rolls?” she asked before she could stop herself.
“Of course.”
