Diana’s eyes rounded again. This time in awe. “Is your brother The Angel of the Opera?” she asked.
He snorted. “So they say. We call him The Warbler ourselves.”
“And your sisters are Frankie and Eleanor?”
“Yup. They’re twins. Frankie made captain this year, and I thought Eleanor was going to die of mingled pride and envy.” He chuckled recalling his sisters’ competitive friendship.
“Sounds like you come from a family of overachievers,” she said.
“Maybe,” he said. “It feels natural to us. What about your people?”
“Barsted is a fishing village. But the Lowerys gave up fishing for construction. My brother and my brother-in-law both work construction. But Andrew has his own business and Big Bobby works for someone else. My sister is a parttime bookkeeper. And my mom is the cashier at the hardware store.” She sounded defensive so he squeezed her hand.
“Hard working people are what made this country great,” he said flatly. “What about your dad?”
“He worked for the same company Big Bobby works for. We lost him two years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“He had a heart attack and fell off a roof.” Her lips quivered and she bit at them to keep them still.
“That must have been hard on your mom — and the rest of you.” He hugged her shoulders. The timer went off before he had even had a chance to change her mind about necking. He stood up and tugged her towards the kitchen. “Dinner smells good.”
And it was good. The chicken was delicious, the lumpy potatoes in milk were a treat, she cooked her beans just the way he liked them — tender but not mushy. They talked more about their families. She was going home for Christmas, but not for Thanksgiving. He had made plans to go to Grape Creek for the holidays. He left unsaid that he would no more abandon his mate mid-courtship than he would sell military secrets. Diana didn’t need to know he was obsessed.
They did the dishes together. Diana had a tune for that too. It had to be destiny. Fate had given him a mate as musical as he was. They might make fun of Grant for turning his voice into a career, but all the D’Angelos loved to sing. It was part and parcel of being a phoenix. When Harrison’s mate had turned, her former tone deafness had vanished and her melodious soprano had astounded her birth family. But Diana was already attuned to the melodies of life.
Her wariness was back when the kitchen was wiped down and the floor swept. “I’ve only got grapes for dessert,” she said sheepishly. “I forgot about it.”
He took the plastic bag out of her hand and reached for her mixing bowl. “Should I wash all of them or just some?”
“All of them, but we need to put most of the washed ones back so I have something for lunch on Monday.”
“Okay.” He grabbed the colander instead and hosed the grapes down. “Covered or uncovered?” he asked.
“Uncovered, please.” She sounded bemused. Probably douchebag hadn’t done his share around the house.
Pierce piled a big green bunch into a bowl and dried the bottom. He grabbed her hand as he went past and tugged her over to the couch. The lights were low and a rosy glow reflected off her terracotta wall. The tea lights flickered on the table and sideboard. It was a reasonably romantic setting. They needed music, but she didn’t seem to have a system.
“Do you mind if I grab my bag from the car?” he asked. “I should probably check my email. Command might want me.” As if. Not that their prior lack of interest would be an excuse if he missed an order.
“Not at all,” she said.
The corridor outside her apartment was empty. The staircase equally solitary. The parking lot however was mostly full. His intuition tingled and he turned in a complete circle seeking whatever it was that had caught his senses. The wind was blowing from the foothills. It brought the scent of sagebrush and dust. The weedy field bowed before the breeze. The vehicles in the lot were silent and unoccupied. And yet his hair was standing on end and his pulse was racing.
He grabbed the duffel, grimacing at the gym bag beside it, which was still full of sweaty, unwashed gear. Let it go for once, he told himself. Rules are to help stabilize things, not control your life.
The duffel was part of being prepared. One of the earliest lessons he could remember from his father was that while the D’Angelos were lucky, luck was not a lot of use unless you were ready for it. His kit contained a change of clothes. A warm sweater. A razor. His tablet. A pistol. And a box of condoms just like the one he had put in his bedside table. Because a fellow never knew when he might get lucky.
CHAPTER TEN
The boyfriend was definitely military. He was quartering the parking lot like he was looking for enemy emplacements. Let him look. Arnold Hermann was well downwind and well concealed. Looked like the big goober was staying the night. Not that it mattered. Part of the fun was playing with the sluts first. Fatso had a lot of fear to experience before she got hers.
He memorized the motherfucker’s license plate number. He still had the access codes for the prison computer and Robinson’s password. Prison Officer Robinson was going to have some hard questions to answer one of these days, but that was his fucking lookout. He owed Arnold a lot more than he had ever put out. And probably Robinson would be able to prove that he hadn’t used the internet in a laundromat in Flagstaff on the evening of August 12. Probably. And if he couldn’t? That was no skin off Hermann’s nose.
He waited until Military Issue had pranced up the steps two at a time after one last glance around the perimeter. Not that he saw Arnold Hermann. He was as good as invisible behind the dumpster.
* * *
As soon as the door closed behind Pierce, her nerves started up again. The bowl of grapes mocked her from the coffee table. Men liked pie. Or cake. Or even ice cream. Pierce had been nice about it, but everyone knew the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach. How could she have forgotten dessert?
He wasn’t gone long. He scratched at the door he had made her lock behind him. “Better to be safe than sorry,” he had said. It was a command, no matter how much he smiled. But she would have anyway and there was no point in defying him just to prove a point. He tossed a black leather duffel on the floor and secured her door as if he expected an invasion. Then he turned back to her his eyes alight.
He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and scooped up his bag. He unzipped it slightly and removed his tablet. “You ever have any trouble in this building?” he asked.
“What sort of trouble?”
“Break-ins. Cars being joyridden. That kind of thing?”
“Nope. It’s a pretty nice community. I just like to keep my place locked up because a woman living alone can’t be too careful,” she explained.
“You got that right,” he said. He fiddled with his tablet, frowned at his email and set it down. Piano music played softly. “Do you like that?” he asked.
“I do. How do you get such great sound quality from a tablet?”
Red stripes lay across his cheekbones. “Money and a brother in the music biz,” he said gruffly.
She shut up. None of her business how he wasted his salary. He reached for her hand and led her back to the couch. He looked like a man on a mission.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m twitchy. I picked up something in the parking lot. It’s probably nothing. This sense of looming disaster is textbook PTSD.”
“Even paranoids have enemies,” she said lightly.
“Yeah.” He sat down and put his arm around her shoulders. But his mood had changed. He was jittery, just as he had said.
“You’re not crazy,” she assured him. “Probably something triggered a subliminal memory. Some smell or sound that your brain associates with whatever happened when you were injured.”
He sat with his knees apart, hunched forward. “It was dusty. Dry and dusty. Maybe that’s it. The wind was full of the smell of sagebrush and desert dust.” H
e shook his dark head. “Whatever it was it’s gone. I’m sorry.” He smiled. Or tried to. She had seen enough of his grins today that this grim imitation didn’t fool her.
“What do you feel?” she whispered.
“Like there’s danger. Like we’re under siege.”
“Let’s check the windows and doors,” she said. “That always helps when I’m nervous.”
“I am not nervous,” he said rising to his feet. “Majors don’t have nerves.”
“Of course not.”
The windows were all securely latched. The glass slider and screen were both locked and the broomstick wedged into the track. The front door was as locked down as two deadbolts, a night chain, and engaging the out-sized barrel bolts top and bottom could make it.
Making the rounds with her seemed to calm Pierce down. They returned to the living room. He put his hands on her shoulders and bent his head. His lips grazed hers. Everything slowed down inside her. He might be worried, but his presence made her feel safe.
“You’re quite a woman,” he said.
“Me?” She sat down on the couch and patted the cushion beside hers.
“You.” He slipped an arm around her waist and leaned forward to snag a grape. He put it between his lips and set it against hers.
Out of sheer surprise, her lips parted. He bit down and half a grape spurted against her tongue. He licked grape juice off her lips and chewed. Her insides melted. That had to be the sexiest thing she had ever experienced. And he hadn’t even put his tongue in her mouth. Was this a game she could also play?
He put a grape to her lips with his fingers. She bit down on half and felt his smile against her teeth. She licked his lips, enjoying his taste, pulling it into her mouth. They took turns until the bowl was half-empty. She was breathless and giggling, yet having to press her thighs together she was so turned on. This method of sharing grapes was silly, chaste, and hot all at once. And intimate. Very intimate. She couldn’t imagine forgetting what he tasted like.
His laughter died and he pushed the bowl away. “I’m ready for dessert,” he growled.
Diana opened her mouth to tell him that the grapes was all there was, but all she got out was a squeak as his mouth claimed hers at last. He wasn’t rough. And he didn’t thrust his tongue down her throat. But he angled her head gently so he could taste the secret places between her teeth and lips. He sucked lightly on her lower lip. He tasted of grapes and essence of alpha male.
He paused to whisper a question. “What do you like?”
She didn’t know. She knew what she didn’t like. She didn’t like a hard tongue scouring her tonsils. She didn’t like having her hair pulled so hard her neck ached. But Pierce wasn’t doing any of those things. And he didn’t seem to want to.
He kissed his way along her jawline. “Do you like this?” She nodded like a bobblehead doll.
He suckled her earlobe and her pussy pulsed and clenched. “Do you like that?” She nodded like a spring-loaded toy. He made a noise of pure masculine satisfaction and delight.
His tongue traced the curve of her ear and blew softly on the skin he had wetted. She quivered. “How about that?” he asked.
“I like it.” Her voice was a breathy purr she didn’t recognize.
“Good.” He pulled her astride him. Her thighs spread to accommodate his hard hips. She could feel his cock against her mound, although he did not grind her against it. She squirmed a little and felt him buck inside his pants. His fingers played at her waist, stroking little circles through her silky top. His teeth grazed the front of her neck and his tongue swirled in the hollow of her throat.
Suddenly she wanted to touch as she was being touched. She stroked his nipples through his shirt and felt him stiffen. He moaned against her throat. “Do that again, babe.”
In her wildest imaginings, she had not thought she would enjoy a man calling her babe. But the guttural desperation in Pierce’s voice made it the sexiest compliment in the world. She traced the outer edge of the two flat discs and captured his moan with her mouth. Her tongue ran along the innermost edges of his mouth sampling his flavor. She suckled his lower lip as he had suckled hers. His rumbles of pleasure were deeply satisfying.
“Whoa, let’s slow down a moment,” he said. “Where are we going with this?”
Diana cringed. She had gotten it wrong. “I’m sorry.” She covered her face with her arm against his anger.
His big hands caressed her shoulder blades. “It’s okay,” he murmured against her temple. “It’s okay.”
Her moment of panic passed. She felt his hands cherishing her. “I thought,” she began.
“I know what you thought.” His voice was grim. “I will never ever hit you. Not ever. I only wanted to know how far we were going to carry this.” He let her move so they were eye to eye. “Your call, sweetheart. If you want me to go, just say so. I promise.”
“Stay,” she whispered.
* * *
How could he feel so happy and so angry? That son-of-a-jackhole had hit Diana. She was as tentative as a girl. Responsive. Sexy. But unsure. And expecting to be a second class citizen in bed. It was going to be his job to teach her that there was no superiority in bed. Above, below, behind, before, were all equal. So long as both parties were having a good time, there were no rules.
But thank god he had bought that box of condoms. Phoenixes couldn’t give or receive STDs. But he was certainly capable of knocking up a female who was ovulating for him. Because she was. Her whole body was humming a tune he recognized. He thought she might too. But it was too soon to get her pregnant. They needed time. Courtship was too important to rush.
He cupped her backside with his hands and kneaded. “This doesn’t have to end with me inside you — not tonight.”
She looked bewildered. And hurt. “What?”
She honestly thought he didn’t want her.
“There’s tons of stuff we can do with our clothes on, if it’s too soon for you. I don’t want you feeling regret in the morning.”
“Don’t you mind?” Her voice was bewildered.
“My strength is as the strength of ten,” he assured her and was rewarded with a soft giggle. “This is not about me having a good time. It’s about the two of us enjoying each other. If you’re not on board, then I stop. Anytime you’ve had enough. Understand? It’s your body and sharing it is a privilege.”
“But,” she began. She waved a hand at his crotch.
“I’m so stiff, I hurt. You still get to say ‘no’. It’s not your responsibility to cure my hard-on. Although I sure hope you will. Shall we start with curing yours?”
“Women don’t have hard-ons.” She chuckled.
“I’ll bet your clit is stiff and the hood is curled back, and deep inside you are throbbing like a drum.” He kissed her.
“That’s not a hard-on,” she protested.
“Sure it is. Shall we go play doctor?” He stood up with her in his arms.
“Yes.” Her head rested on his shoulder.
He felt like a conquering hero carrying her off to her bedroom which was just as cozy and neat as the rest of the apartment. He set her on the floor by the bed. “I have condoms in my bag.”
“Good. Get them.”
He felt encouraged by her giving orders. Her husband must have been a tool of the worst type. On his way back, Pierce put his toothbrush on the rack next to hers. She was standing in the middle of the bedroom fiddling with the snap of her jeans. “Hey, that’s my job,” he said.
Doubt was back on her face. “Lights on or off?” he asked.
“Off — if you don’t mind.”
“I can see in the dark like a cat,” he told her. She giggled. Not his fault she didn’t believe him. But there was no way he was telling her he was a phoenix until she was firmly in love with him. He flicked the switch and the room was illuminated only by the light from the hallway.
He took his time unwrapping her, stroking her satiny skin, dabbling in her navel, exploring ever
y soft fold and crease. Her enthusiasm returned. He was feeling desperate himself, but rushing her would be just wrong. There was a time and place for a hot and furious quickie. But this wasn’t it. He had the feeling that Diana had never enjoyed sex with her husband, and that she had never been with anyone else. But how the hell could he ask her?
When he had her writhing in just her blouse and panties, he reached up to touch those lovely breasts of hers. The tips were stiff and hard, and the globes soft and pendulous. “Perfect,” he whispered.
“They’re too big,” she blurted out.
“Nah.” He plumped them in his palms. “Just a bitty little handful,” he teased. Of course they overflowed even his broad hands. But they were perfect.
He squeezed gently and let his thumbs trace the erect nipples. She flinched. “Too hard?” he asked.
“A little,” she whispered.
“I’ll be careful.” He drew her blouse over her head and drank in the sight of her flesh. She was everything he had envisioned and more. Opulent, round and curvaceous. Her hands went to her breasts and then her belly. He kissed her softly. “Perfect,” he said. “You are absolutely the most perfect woman on the planet.”
She gasped and laughed. And laughed harder.
“I’m not joking. You’re beautiful. Strong. Womanly. Soft. Abundant. A walking, talking wet dream. All my fantasies come to life.”
“I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat. You carry too much muscle to be called fat. Soft, supple, strong muscle. There isn’t an ounce of flab on you.” He squeezed her bottom. “Here.” He cupped the backs of her thighs. “Here.” He ran his hands up her lats. “Here. Don’t call yourself fat,” he pleaded. “You’re a big woman, generously built. Be proud of your body.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Diana knew she was not beautiful. And she jiggled. Her breasts were huge, soft pillows that flattened when she lay down. Her belly bulged, no matter how many sit-ups she did. But, oh, it felt so good to hear Pierce’s praise. He sounded so lustful, so sincere, that she was hard pressed not to believe him.
Phoenix Ablaze (BBW / Phoenix Shifter Romance) (Alpha Phoenix Book 1) Page 7
