by Lori Foster
His only realization in that turbulent moment of rioting sensation was that no other man would ever touch her; she was his, and he intended to keep her.
* * *
Mick didn’t sleep long this time, probably no more than an hour, but he awoke half-frozen. The air conditioner, on the highest setting, hummed loudly, and the ceiling fan whirled overhead. He felt his hair blowing, felt his skin prickle with goose bumps.
He’d passed out just as she’d left him, half propped against the headboard, his legs now limp, his shoulder cushioned by a soft pillow. At least she’d pulled the spread up to his waist, he thought, a bit disgruntled.
He felt like an idiot as he looked around and realized the room was empty. He cursed. Then cursed again when he pushed the spread away and became racked with chills. It was like sleeping on the wing of an airplane, for crying out loud!
He swung his legs to the floor, stood—and nearly fell. Weakness had invaded every muscle. The pain pills had no effect on his aches, not after that mind-grinding orgasm, where every muscle in his body, clear down to the soles of his feet, had knotted in pulsating pleasure. She’d wrung him out—no doubt that had been her intent.
He grunted, unable to believe what she’d done, and unwilling to accept that after she’d done it, he’d had the gall to fall asleep.
If the room hadn’t felt like a meat locker, he’d probably have been hot with embarrassment.
He glanced down at his boxers, still around his thighs, and shook his head. It was too much, far too much.
He straightened his underwear, whipped the spread off the bed and around his shoulders to ward off the cold, then went to the window to turn the unit down. The air conditioner sputtered and died with a sigh.
Forcing himself forward on shaky limbs, Mick left the bedroom. The apartment was quiet, other than the rattling of pans in the kitchen area. On his way down the hall, he decided to take the offense. Delilah knew he’d wanted to make love to her, but she’d taken the choice away from him. How she’d taken it away had been beyond incredible, but still, she needed to know that he wouldn’t be so easily manipulated. Not ever again.
He was appalled that he’d proved so easy this time. But then, maybe that’s why she’d given him the pills, to weaken his resolve. He’d be sure to ask her that.
When he reached the arched kitchen doorway, she had her back to him, stirring a pan of something on the stove. Whatever she was cooking smelled good, as did the coffee in the coffeemaker. She’d pulled her tank top back on, but not her jeans, and the sight of her bottom in the silky panties did a lot to obliterate his other concerns.
Before he got distracted, he asked, “Did you talk me into the pain pills so you could keep us from having sex?”
She yelped, dropped her stirring spoon and jerked around to face him. Their gazes locked.
The sight of her face made his mind go blank, his heart trip. She’d been crying.
“Delilah?” he asked around a sudden lump of emotion. Damn, that bothered him. He didn’t get lumps of emotion. In his job, he saw the worst life had to offer and he handled it dispassionately, with a distance that could be applauded. Always, from the time he’d been a young boy, he’d kept his emotions in check.
But God, she looked like hell with her eyes swollen and wet, her cheeks blotchy, her nose red. Seeing her made his heart thump.
She bit her bottom lip and turned to the stove again. He heard her sniff. “Yes.”
Mick shook his head. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her. Yet she’d turned her back on him. “Yes what?”
“Yes, I gave you the pills so you wouldn’t complain when I...eased you. It was the only thing I could think of. I didn’t want you to strain yourself, and the doctor said it was too soon for you to have sex.”
Talking with Delilah was like wading through syrup. He kept getting stuck, but damn, it was sweet. He cleared his throat, forcing the emotion away so he could think and react clearly. He slowly approached her and stood at her back, close enough to breathe in her sexy scent and see the enormous pot of spaghetti sauce she stirred. “You spoke with the doctor about us having sex?” Her initiative amazed him—and aroused him.
“Yes. Right after I bought the condoms.”
Mick paused. Bought the condoms? Before he could ask, she said, “I snuck them into the bedroom, in the nightstand drawer, just in case you didn’t go to sleep after you came.”
She spoke as bluntly as any man, but then, she’d done that from the first, speaking her mind with candor. Unlike other women he knew, she didn’t measure her words. She was so female she made him crazy, yet she didn’t always act female. Damn if that didn’t arouse him, too.
Hell, everything she did aroused him. Just moments before he’d thought himself fully satisfied, but now... “The hospital sells rubbers?”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, and he watched one fat tear track down her cheek. “Yeah, of course they do. It’s a hospital, and they understand about unnecessary risks.”
She’d managed to distract him, after all.
Mick shook his head and wrapped one arm around her waist. Resting his chin on top of her head, he asked, “Why are you crying, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”
“Of course not.” She leaned into him, then pushed back with a frown. “You’re shivering.” Twisting, she put her hand to his forehead in a maternal gesture of concern. “Are you sick?”
“Just cold.” He turned her back around and laced his hands over her middle. Her bottom pressed into his groin. “The room was like ice.”
She nodded. “I figured you’d like it cold. Most men get warmer than women, right?”
He had no idea, but he doubted any man would relish the igloo accommodations she’d provided him. She’d obviously had some sexual experience, and she was comfortable with her body, with her sexuality. But she was far from knowledgeable about the opposite sex. Mick shook his head at the added contradictions. “Why are you crying?”
She shrugged and leaned back against him. “I’m just a little sad. I’m sorry you have to see me like this. I’m a terrible crier. Very ugly. The news just took me by surprise.”
“What news?” He rubbed his chin against her hair, spread his hand over her belly. He loved the feel of her, her softness, her sleekness. She was so feminine, but not in a frail way.
“A guy I know died. I just read it in the paper.”
Mick stiffened, caught between conflicting reactions. He wanted to comfort her from any upset, and he wanted to jealously demand information about the guy who’d made her cry. He must have been important to her to bring on the tears.
It shouldn’t have mattered. They’d only just officially met, and hadn’t officially consummated their relationship yet. But it did matter. A lot.
“Who was he?” Mick asked, keeping her pressed into him by his hand on her belly.
After a long, shuddering sigh, she put the spoon down and turned into his arms. Her face nuzzled into his chest and she whispered, “Just a guy who helped me with research.” He felt her wet cheek on his pec muscle and groaned.
“I’m sorta known for my research methods, you know,” she continued. “They’ve become part of my publicity.” She leaned back to stare up at him earnestly, and in case he hadn’t understood, she clarified. “For my books, I mean.”
“How is research a publicity stunt?”
She lifted one shoulder. “People are amazed by the strangest things. But whenever I write about something in a book, I try to experience it first so that I get it right. When I can’t experience it, I try to talk to someone who has.”
“So what type of research did this guy help you with?” Mick hoped like hell it wasn’t a love scene. He could handle anything but that.
Turning away, she reached for a napkin and mopped her eyes. Mick heard another loud sniff. �
��He was a small-time criminal. I had a scene in my book where a guy stole a car. I couldn’t really steal a car—” she glanced at him and added “—not without getting arrested, I’m sure.”
“Better not to try it,” he agreed, smiling.
“That’s what I figured. So I hired this guy, and he took me through all the ins and outs of car theft. For a criminal he was a really nice guy.”
Mick glanced at the coffeepot. “Mind if I have a cup?”
“Oh, of course.” But she didn’t let him get it himself. “Sit down and I’ll pour it for you.”
Since his knees were still shaking, Mick sat. More than most things, he hated being weak, and for now there was nothing he could do about it. He pulled out a chair at the black, wrought-iron parlor table and gratefully dropped into it.
“Cream or sugar?”
“Black, please.”
She set the steaming mug in front of him. His first sip made his body hair stand on end, and he nearly spat it back out. His throat raw, he rasped, “Damn, that’s strong.”
Delilah didn’t take his comment as a complaint. She smiled, looking adorable in her skimpy top and panties, her nose bright red. “I figured you being a man and all, you’d want it strong.”
It was a wonder new hair hadn’t sprouted on his body. He coughed, and because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, he said, “I think I’ll take the cream and sugar, after all.”
She happily got them for him, then went back to the stove to check her sauce. To Mick, it looked like there was enough to feed an army. Hopefully, she didn’t expect him to eat it all—because he was a man.
Making sure she didn’t notice all the sugar he dumped into his coffee, he asked, “So where did a nice woman like you meet a car thief?”
“In prison.”
The mouthful of coffee—still too bitter to enjoy—got spewed across the table. He continued to choke as Delilah grabbed up a dish towel and patted his back.
“Mick! Are you all right?”
He wheezed, trying to regain his breath enough to speak. With his eyes squeezed shut, he finally demanded, “What the hell were you doing in prison?”
Tilting her head, she smiled. Given her swollen eyes and the tear tracks on her cheeks, it didn’t have the usual effect on his libido. “More research.” She chuckled. “You didn’t think I meant I’d been serving time, did you?”
Actually, he had, but he wasn’t dumb enough to say so. Relief warred with confusion. “Of course not. But can you explain all this research for me?”
She pulled out her own chair at the table. “Okay, but don’t let me forget the spaghetti sauce. Your friends are coming over for dinner and I want to impress them.”
“Josh and Zack?”
She snorted. “I meant your other friends, the ones you said were like family.”
“Dane and Angel are staying for dinner?” He didn’t like putting her out, especially since she was so upset.
“I invited them. Angel called and said she had your things, and wanted to know when it’d be a good time to drop them off. I know she’s still worried about you, and she doesn’t exactly trust me, so I thought this would be a way to make her feel better.”
Cautiously, Mick asked, “What makes you think Angel doesn’t trust you?”
Del made a face. “I’m not dumb.”
Mick let that go. He’d have to talk to Angel first to see what had been said. He knew Angel would never insult Delilah, but she was protective. “Why do you want to impress them?”
“They’re like your family. I like you, so of course I want them to like me.”
Mick almost told her it didn’t matter what anyone else thought, that he intended to make her a part of his life. But he’d never gotten so deeply involved with a woman, and to do so now, at Mach speed, was just plain foolish. He liked her, all her quirks and unique qualities. He liked her different way of viewing things and her outspokenness mixed with occasional glimpses of uncertainty. And God knew, the sexual chemistry between them was explosive.
But most of her background was still a mystery to him. So he forced himself to be cautious, to go slow. He tucked a tendril of her silky hair behind her ear and asked, “Are you sure you’re up to a dinner party?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? You’re the one who got shot.”
“You were the target. And you’ve been crying.”
She waved that away, ignoring his first comment and only responding to his second. “I’m overly emotional about the people I care for. There aren’t that many. Being a writer keeps me isolated, so I don’t get into the social swing of things often. Neddie became a friend as well as a teacher. We had a lot of fun hot-wiring my car.”
This time Mick just stared. She gave an impatient sigh and went on. “It’s true. We were alike in a lot of ways, reacting to our place in society. Neddie became a misguided criminal, just trying to fit in. I became a writer.”
“It’s hardly the same thing.”
“Of course not. I just meant that we understood each other. Neddie was wrong, and he knew that. But he always said he never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve to be hurt. Anything he did, he did among other criminals, including stealing cars. And from what he told me, I believe him.”
“Criminals always have excuses, Delilah.”
“Well, he was a nice criminal, okay? And very patient. We took my car to a deserted lot and practiced on it for hours. Once I got the hang of it, Neddie timed me.”
Mick’s left hand, resting on the tabletop, curled into a fist. “You went to a deserted lot with a convict?”
“Can you imagine how the cops might have reacted if they’d seen me hot-wiring a car around here?”
She needed a keeper. She needed him. He drew a calming breath, something he found himself doing often around her. “Back up and tell me what you were doing in prison.”
“I had a character in a book who had spent a good portion of his life in prison. I couldn’t very well write that without knowing what the inside of a prison was really like.”
“Ever heard of research books?” he asked dryly.
She laughed. Though he knew her humor was aimed at him, he was glad to see her mood lightening. “I use research books when I have to. But I think it’s always better to get firsthand, in-person information whenever I can.”
“You said that’s part of your promotion?”
“Yep. It didn’t start out that way. But then this one reporter got wind of it when my last book hit the New York Times bestseller list. She interviewed me and asked me all kinds of questions about my research, and since then the media is real accommodating. They always make a fuss about my way of researching.”
His head throbbed. “Media?”
“Yeah. Silly, huh?”
His tongue felt on fire as he sputtered, “You’re a celebrity.”
Delilah wrinkled her nose and with a note of dismissal said, “To some people, I guess.”
“You do this often?”
She shrugged. “Often enough. I was on a talk show once, and not too long ago I got featured on the news.”
“The news?”
“About my newest book, and my research for it. It was fun.”
In that moment, a thousand questions went through his mind. What the hell was a celebrity doing living in this neighborhood? How much money could she possibly make and what other types of research had she done?
Could any of that have to do with the incident at the jewelry store?
Before he could start on his interrogation, and that’s what it would have been because he fully intended to get a lot of answers, she said, “We better get a move on. Everyone will be showing up in about half an hour. I still need to shower and change and make the bed and boil the spaghetti and fix a salad—”
Mick ca
ught her hand as she rose. He tugged her between his legs. “I can help.”
This time her laughter had the desired effect. He got hard as a stone. “Mick,” she said playfully, and cupped his neck in both hands. “I think I can handle a shower on my own.”
Damn, that brought an irresistible image to his mind. Delilah naked and wet, water streaming down her body, over her belly and between her thighs....
He released her hand and curled his arm around her waist, keeping her close when she tried to impatiently edge away. “I meant,” he said, his voice now hoarse, “that I can handle spaghetti or a salad.”
“No,” she said in that unrelenting tone he already recognized. Delilah was used to making all the decisions, and used to holding her ground.
He’d have to work on that flaw.
She leaned down and quickly kissed him. “Not one-armed, you can’t, and the doc specifically said you shouldn’t use your right arm.”
Mick was ready to explain a few things to her, but she added, her voice sweet and cajoling, “Please, Mick. Just let me take care of you, okay?”
He opened his hand on the small of her back, then slipped it down her spine to her bottom. He filled his palm with one firm cheek. “All right,” he agreed. “But on one condition.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Tonight, after everyone is gone...” He let his fingers drift lower, pressing in to touch the heat of her, pleased with her gasp and small moan. “Tonight you’ll let me show you exactly what I can do with one good arm.”
Breathless, she said, “Sex is—”
“I know, not on the agenda.” His fingers caressed her. “But I can return your favor of today.”
Her lips parted, her eyes glittered and her cheeks looked warm. Several heartbeats went by, then she whispered, “Yes, okay.”
