Laws of Attraction

by Diana Duncan

  Chapter 12

  Hot and silky, Dallas’ tongue stroked into her mouth, challenging her to a sensual sparring match. Rational thought evaporated, replaced by pure sensation.

  This man wanted her. Needed her. And she needed him in return.

  She arched into him, urging him closer. Kissed him back, welcoming him into her mouth. He released her wrists and his fingers thrust into her hair, sliding beneath to raise her head, taking their connection deeper, faster.

  He kissed her forever … until she was dizzy from both oxygen deprivation and sensation overload.

  His lips left hers, nibbled a scorching path to her earlobe, where he bit gently, then suckled away the slight sting. His tongue teased inside her ear, retreated to trace the outer shell. When he switched his full attention to the other lobe, molten gold desire streamed through her veins, and she moaned.

  Dallas’ hot breath tingled over her skin, wracking her with shivers as his insatiable mouth thoroughly searched out every responsive spot on her neck, pausing to linger at the tender junction of her collarbone. One wide palm cupped first one breast through her blouse, then the other, kneading gently while his thumbs rubbed her nipples to aching hardness.

  “Dallas … please.” She didn’t really know what she was asking for, only that she wanted this amazing journey to continue.

  His throaty growl inspired a second cascade of shivers up her backbone. Starting at the top, he unbuttoned her blouse. The cool breeze caressed her in tandem with his warm fingers, and even warmer lips, roving over the upper slope of her breasts, down her sternum to her belly. Dallas’ tongue delved below her waistband into her navel, rippling heat strait to her core and making her writhe as he pushed up her skirt.

  Callused fingertips stroked the bare skin above her thigh-high stockings. “Open up for me, honey.” Sliding lower, he urged her legs up with her knees bent, his broad shoulders wedging her thighs wide apart. “Mmm.” He rained kisses on the tender flesh of her inner thighs, the graze of his beard an erotic contrast to his satin lips and silky tongue.

  Tremors rocked her. She and Dallas were set on an explosive collision course of passions and emotions she didn’t understand.

  “Know why I bought you lollipop panties?” Amused, possessive male arousal husked his thickened drawl. The tip of that clever tongue flicked over her panties, flirted with her sensitive cleft through the soft cotton. “I want to eat you up like candy. How many licks, I wonder, to my Mia’s hot, sweet center?”

  Mia jerked at the too-intimate touch, reflexively trying to close her legs. But his shoulders prevented it. “No!” she gasped. “I don’t think I want— I’ve never allowed—”

  He raised his head. “Okay.” He prowled back up her body until his level gaze held hers. “I’m not going to do anything you’re not ready for.”

  Cupping her face, he kissed her, slowly, deeply. When her fists finally unclenched and her breathing again grew rapid with desire, his lips cruised to the hollow of her throat. The front-hook of her bra snapped open. The breeze feathered over her exposed breasts, anticipation tightening her already pebbled nipples nearly to the point of pain.

  “All right?” Dallas murmured against her damp skin.

  “Ye— oh!”

  A hot satin tongue swirling over her nipple stole all reason. Taking his time, he playfully licked and caressed. From one breast to the other, his hands and mouth driving her wild with just-not-quite-enough to satisfy.

  “Dallas!” she demanded.

  His lips curved in a smile against the underside of her breast. Then his mouth closed over her nipple and he sucked.

  A groan escaped and she tangled her fingers in his hair, holding onto him as liquid pleasure seared sweetly through her center all the way down to her toes. Dallas’ hard thigh slid between her legs, applying delicious pressure to the most sensitive part of her, both easing and amplifying the ache.

  He alternately laved and sucked her nipples, heightening the incredible assault on her senses. Awakening her body—and her repressed emotions—to glittering life. Driving her to the edge of insanity. Until her limbs quivered and her breaths sobbed in a throat gone dry.

  His weight abruptly lifted and he pulled out of her embrace, leaving her empty and pulsing with need. Mia clenched her teeth on a sharp cry of protest.

  “Don’t fret, darlin’.” Dallas’ voice was rough, but his hands gentle as he tugged her panties down and off. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  He knelt upright between her legs, again raising her knees and opening her to him. She closed her eyes, beyond caring. Craving only his touch.

  “Beautiful,” he rasped. “So perfect.”

  Though she yearned for it, the first brush of his fingers over her mound startled her, and she tensed.

  “Easy, now.” His deep voice was as slow and sure as his light strokes through her downy curls. “Trust me, Mia.”

  “I … I do,” she gasped. She did trust Dallas—as much as she’d ever trusted anyone. The realization left her disoriented and slightly queasy. This was new territory for her.

  Callused fingertips traced a tantalizing line along her moist cleft. “And you want this?”

  “Y-yes.”

  His languid strokes deepened just enough to graze her slick, sensitized inner lips. When Mia’s hips lifted, seeking more, his touch lightened so it was still not quite enough. “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  His thumb skated over her clit—a brilliant spark of pleasure. Then stopped. She rotated her hips, but his hand moved in sync to deny her what she so badly needed.

  “Damn you, Dallas! Stop teasing me!”

  His husky laugh intensified the throbbing need. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Finally, his thumb pressed inward and rubbed her clit, inciting a fiery rush to every nerve ending.

  Her eyelids squeezed more tightly shut and her spine arched. Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!

  Dallas’ thumb circled in an exquisite dance as his fingers teased the ready entrance to her body. Then one long finger slid slowly inside her, filling, stretching. He withdrew it nearly all the way, then pushed back in, repeatedly gliding over an electric bundle of nerves deep inside that flooded her core with liquid flame. His thumb rubbed faster, in a shattering rhythm with his thrusting finger.

  Burning pressure built. Spiraling. Coiling. Mia caught her bottom lip between her teeth, biting down against the cry that wanted to escape. Every muscle strained tight and shaking.

  Begging for release, yet fighting the ultimate, final surrender.

  “Mia, look at me.” Dallas’ dark demand forced her eyes open. His pupils were dilated, his irises midnight fire, passion staining his cheekbones. “Let it out. Let go.”

  She wanted to, more than anything. Dallas McQuade made her feel exhilaratingly, wholly uninhibited. In his arms, she forgot everything she’d thought so important. Being with him made her question everything she thought she’d wanted.

  She wanted to give him everything.

  Smothering fear crashed over Mia, chilling her to the bone.

  Everything? All she was, all she had?

  God, she was laying there in front of him in bright daylight with her blouse and bra open, her skirt pushed up, arms and legs splayed wide. Every intimate part of her bared to his gaze, his fingers inside her. Physically and emotionally exposed. His to command.

  Completely vulnerable.

  She froze, unable to move, lungs refusing to expand.

  “Breathe, Mia.” One of Dallas’ warm hands rested on her rigid belly, his palm pressing lightly to intensify the other hand’s internal stroking. Fierce blue eyes compelled her to give in. “Relax and let me take you there.”

  Chest heaving, trembling violently, she shook her head. “I— I c-can’t.”

  “Sure you can, honey,” he coaxed. “You’re so close.” His finger inside her went still, his thumb slowing to brush her clit in an enticingly sweet seduction. “You’re trying too hard. Overthinking it. Ju
st feel.”

  “Stop. Dallas, stop.”

  “Okay. It’s your call.” His fingers gently withdrew. He pulled down her skirt and then moved to lay beside her. She didn’t resist when he gathered her into his arms, because it was easier to roll on her side and hide her face in his shirt than face the shame of looking him in the eye.

  His palm rubbed her stiff, trembling back. “Mia, it’s all right.”

  “No it’s not,” she muttered. The fact that he was still brutally aroused against her made this feel like even more of a disaster. She’d left both of them hanging.

  She slid her hand down between them. “But I can give you—”

  He caught her wrist. “Nope.”

  “Seems like the least I can do after throwing cold water in your face.”

  “Hey, an unrequited boner’s not the end of the world,” he said evenly.

  “I should’ve known better.”

  “It happens on occasion, okay? Sometimes the body just loses the mood.”

  If he’d gotten mad, she’d have known how to respond. But his understanding bewildered her. How tolerant could one man be? How long before the dam finally broke?

  He wouldn’t hurt her, but he could—and should—get royally pissed-off at her continually putting him in untenable situations. “Dallas, I’m—”

  “Mia Elaine Linden …” His lips brushed the top of her head. “If you apologize to me right now, I swear, I will shoot you.”

  For reasons she couldn’t fathom, his good-humored acceptance of her flaws brought stinging dampness to her eyes.

  Oh no. What was wrong with her lately? Until she’d met Dallas, she hadn’t cried since first grade. She’d been taught, and taught well, that crying was a weakness.

  Bursting into tears now would complete her humiliation.

  She forced down the lump in her throat. “Listen, you should know, what happened … or rather, what didn’t happen … isn’t about you. You were … it was … um … extremely pleasurable. More than ever before.” She barreled through the confession before she lost her nerve. She owed him at least this much. “But I don’t— I’ve never … um … really had an— At least I don’t think I have—”

  He’d gone very still. “Mia? Are you trying to tell me you’ve never come?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I … haven’t.”

  “Never?”

  “Not ever.”

  “Not even by yourself?”

  A flush scalded her to the roots of her hair. “What kind of question is that?”

  “Everybody flies solo, whether they’ll admit it or not.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yep.”

  His matter-of-fact candor astonished and disarmed her. And the mental picture threatened to render her speechless. Maybe her libido wasn’t totally on ice after all. “Oh. Wow. Um … no. I mean, I have tried … but I don’t. Ah … crap. Come.”

  “You have a tough time even talking about it. Why do you think that is?”

  “Well …” His serious question startled her. She’d never stopped to analyze, had merely accepted her inability to orgasm as part of her repressed nature. “I went to an all-girls parochial school, and sex wasn’t something we were even supposed to think about, much less discuss. Strictly off-limits. And …” She bit her lip. “You know about the other thing.”

  His body tensed. “Mia, did the man who beat you sexually abuse you?”

  “No. No, nothing like that. I just have difficulty with trust in every area. Especially intimacy.”

  “Understandable.” He stroked her hair. “Was it Paul Grayson who hit you?”

  She jerked. “I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t want to talk about any of it.”

  Dallas sighed heavily. “And there’s your problem.”

  She wrenched out of his arms, scrambled to her feet without looking at him. “I’m going to take a shower. See you back at the house.” Despising her cowardice, she fled. Leaving her panties—and her dignity—laying in the crumpled flowers.

  * * *

  In the kitchen, Dallas snatched cans of tomatoes and black beans out of the cupboard and slammed them onto the island in preparation to make the infamous McQuade family five-alarm chili. One of the few things he could cook. He’d rather have stayed at the firing range, blasting through the rest of his ammo—blasting away his blood-boiling, body-shaking rage. But he didn’t want to leave Mia alone.

  She was safer in his house than anywhere else, but after this latest debacle, he didn’t fully trust her not to bolt.

  And why wouldn’t she? He’d pushed her way too far, way too fast. The cutting-board clattered onto the countertop. Where the fuck was his brain … besides the tiny one in his pecker that seemed to be doing all the thinking?

  He had no business taking Mia to bed. She was just part of this job.

  He grabbed a chopping knife and started butchering jalapenos and onions. Only. Another. Con.

  And when this was done … so was he. Over and out. Like always.

  Not to mention that some other bastard had already done a helluva number on her, and she didn’t deserve another.

  She was so beautifully responsive to his every look, every touch, he’d been horrified when she’d frozen on him. He cleaved an onion with enough force to stick the blade into the wooden board. What sonofabitch had battered her and left her so wary of trusting anyone that she couldn’t even allow herself sexual release?

  Dallas yanked open the fridge, jerked out a package of ground sirloin. He’d already blown his only serious relationship. The one woman who’d convinced him to try living together had been a quietly earnest nurse with a mile-wide compassionate streak. But eventually his all-consuming devotion to his mission, his worries about her safety because of it—and his web of endless lies—had driven her away.

  No other woman had interested him enough to even consider taking another shot at commitment. Until the intriguing Miss Linden.

  And wasn’t he a fine one to be poking around in her psyche and giving her advice—when he was packing more baggage than Dallas/Ft. Worth International? Who the hell did he think he was, Doctor-Fucking-Phil?

  The meat sizzled as it hit the hot cast-iron skillet on the stove. Whether Mia Linden wanted it or not, he would protect her.

  She had to be safe with him.

  Safe from him.

  Dallas finished slapping together the chili. Then leaving the covered pot simmering, he stalked downstairs to beat the shit out of his punching bag.

  He’d damned well better get his act together. Before his negligence was responsible for killing another woman he cared about.

  Chapter 13

  Two and a half hours later, Dallas stepped out of the guest shower. He’d restocked toiletries at the store, so thankfully there’d been no need to disturb Mia, who was still holed-up in his bedroom. He dried himself with a towel he’d found in the laundry room, then yanked on clean clothes. He’d managed to pound off most of his fury during the workout. But a low flame still burned deep in his gut.

  Two more weeks, max. That’s all the time he figured it’d take for the mistrust and animosity between Esteban and Grayson to explode. Especially after he lit the fuse. He only had to hold out that long.

  After a decade of relentless focus on his singular goal, two weeks should be a cakewalk.

  But in order to start the clock ticking toward the final countdown, he needed Mia.

  For only fourteen more days.

  Ignoring the wrench of pain in his chest, he left the bathroom and strode down the hallway.

  * * *

  Inside Dallas’ bedroom, Mia sat cross-legged on the floor, showered and changed into new black skinny jeans and a T-shirt the color of pistachio ice cream—courtesy of her husband.

  She’d called Val to give her the new cell number and check on Jared’s dad, who was recovering well. Of course Val had known by the shaky sound of her voice something was up, but Mia had claimed a migraine.

  After the call, Mia
had executed an hour-long concentrated kata before her almost equally long shower, in an attempt to diffuse her roiling confusion.

  Now she inhaled, exhaled, in a slow, even rhythm, striving for centered meditation.

  Which she might achieve in maybe … a week.

  The terrifyingly soft, needy emotions and yearning physical awareness that Dallas had aroused refused to retreat quietly back into submission. Whenever he touched her, she turned into a quivering, begging weakling. She gritted her teeth. Dammit, she commanded her emotions and her body—not him.

  A brisk knock on her door made her jump. “Mia,” Dallas called.

  “Go away,” she ordered, as much to her own traitorous feelings as to him. Facing him was still way too nerve-wracking. “I’m busy.”

  “Supper’s almost ready.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Dear Lord. I’ll call 9-1-1. Hang on, honey, help is on the way.”

  She choked on a laugh in spite of herself. How did he do that? “Seriously, McQuade, just go away, okay?”

  From the other side of the oak panel, he bawked like a chicken. The bastard.

  Mia got up and stomped to the door. She flung it open to see Dallas lounging against the frame in a white T-shirt that sculpted his wide shoulders and powerful torso to male perfection, his long, hard-muscled legs molded by snug Levi’s, and his feet bare. Temptation a la mode.

  Her mouth watered, and she flushed hot.

  One devilish brow arched. “Hungry after all?”

  She smothered her desire. “Depends on what’s on the menu.”

  “Five-alarm chili.” He grinned fiercely. “And during supper, a strategy to finally hammer Grayson and Montoya to the wall.”

  The breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding escaped in a rush. “Oh, I am so in.”

  She followed him to the kitchen, where he put her to work chopping veggies for a salad.