by Lori Foster
Dane held up a hand. “We won’t let anything happen to her. I promise.”
And Josh assumed that meant one or both of them would be tailing her the rest of the night, even after she finished her hospital visit. Delilah wouldn’t like it if she knew. But then, Dane and Alec were damn good, so she wouldn’t find out unless they wanted her to know.
Alec looked thoughtful, and with his intense, dark features, the look was almost menacing. It had taken Josh some time to get used to him. “So you think the robbery was a sham? Just an excuse to shoot her?”
“They aimed for her head,” Mick rumbled in disgust, describing how he’d covered her, and the shooter’s angle. He gave details he hadn’t given when Delilah was in the room. “They didn’t threaten anyone else. Hell, they didn’t even look at anyone else.”
“But why her?” Dane asked.
“I haven’t got a clue. Far as I can figure, she was just a customer, like the other two in the shop.”
Though Mick said it, he didn’t look quite convinced. Josh didn’t like any of it, especially since his friend seemed determined to be in the middle of it all. “I’d better get out there or she’ll leave without me.”
“She doesn’t have a car here, does she?” Mick asked, concerned over the possibility.
“No, but believe me, that wouldn’t stop her. Prepare yourself, Mick, because she’s about the most obstinate, bullheaded woman I’ve ever run across.” He squeezed Mick’s left shoulder. “Take it easy while we’re gone.”
“You won’t let her out of your sight?”
“Just when she showers.” He grinned at Mick’s warning growl. It amused the hell out of him how possessive his friend had gotten, and how quickly. “Quit worrying. I’ll bring her back safe and sound.”
CHAPTER THREE
Mick watched Josh go, and though he trusted Josh implicitly, he cursed the injury that kept him confined to bed. “She could have been killed today.”
Angel sat beside him on the narrow mattress. “Is that why you agreed to go home with her? So you can protect her?”
He nodded, but he saw that both Alec and Dane knew his reasons were more varied than that. And more territorial, more sexual. Protecting wasn’t the only activity he had in mind. He’d never burned for a woman before, but now he felt like an inferno ready to combust.
Why the hell would someone want her dead?
Mick remembered the way she’d been looking the place over, the way she’d initially smiled at the men—a smile he’d considered merely polite, stranger to stranger.
Zack came back in, the nurse trailing him. She gave Mick a dose of morphine through his IV, and seconds later the discomfort receded and lethargy settled in.
Mick relished the relief from the searing pain, even while he fought to stay awake and sharp enough to think.
“Relax,” Dane ordered him.
“I have to figure out what’s going on.” A vague sense of impending doom, of limited time plagued him.
Dane shook his head. “No. You’re in no shape to start snooping around. Let it go for now. The bastard who shot you isn’t going anywhere, and he won’t stay out forever. When he comes to, you can question him. Or better yet, let someone else do it.”
“No.” Even with the morphine clouding his mind, Mick knew he wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to get some answers. “I need to call my sergeant, to tell him I want to stay advised. And I need to talk to the head nurse. I need to—”
Angel pressed her fingers over his mouth. “You need to sleep. I have a feeling when Delilah gets back, you’ll be determined to stay awake and alert.”
Alec cocked a brow while cuddling Celia to his side. “He wouldn’t want to miss a minute of that, as Josh said.”
Mick relaxed, thinking of Delilah’s emotional strength, her boldness, how she’d kissed him, her taste, her heat. They were right—he didn’t want to miss that. In the next instant, he fell asleep.
* * *
Mick woke to the sound of quiet tapping. The room was dim, with only one light glowing in the corner. The curtains were all closed, but he could tell it was night. He’d probably slept another four hours or so, and it enraged him. There was a lot to consider, a lot to do, not the least of which would be getting to know Delilah.
The tapping continued, light and quick. He bit back a groan as he turned his head on the soft pillow and zeroed in on the source. There, sprawled in the room’s only chair, a laptop resting across her thighs, was Delilah.
God, she was lovely.
A nurse had evidently brought her a pillow and blanket in an effort to help make her comfortable. The padded lounge chair could have served as a bed in a pinch. Delilah had the back reclined, the pillow behind her shoulders, the blanket thrown over the arm of the chair.
Her rich dark hair, freshly washed, swung loose and silky around her shoulders. The light from the laptop cast a soft blue halo around her. Her eyes looked mysterious, purposeful, as she typed away. Mick watched her, aware of the acceleration in his pulse, the expanding sexual tension.
She’d changed into a pair of baggy jeans and a miniscule, snowy-white, cropped T-shirt. Her sandals were off, tucked beneath the chair, her bare feet propped on the edge of the counter in front of the window. Two flowering plants now sat there, no doubt from Angel and Celia.
Delilah’s slim legs seemed to go on forever, and Mick, still only half-awake, pictured them around his hips, hugging him tight while he rode her, long and slow and so damn deep. He visually followed the trail of those incredibly long legs, and when he came to her hips he imagined them lifted by his hands, her legs sprawled wide while he tasted her, licked her and made her scream out a climax.
A groan broke free from him and Delilah jumped, nearly dumping her laptop. “Mick!”
Heat throbbed just below his skin. He was so aroused he hurt, but he’d done nothing more than look at her and give his imagination free rein. What would it be like to actually have her?
He swallowed and said with a drawling, raw deliberation, “I don’t suppose you’d like to give me another kiss?”
Slowly, her gaze glued to his, she set the laptop on the floor and stood. “I didn’t mean to be so brazen earlier. I just...it amazed me that anyone would do what you did.”
“So you kissed me?”
Arching one dark brow, she half laughed. “I wanted to devour you, actually.”
The shadows in the room did interesting things to her body. “Do you always say exactly what you think?”
She shrugged. “I guess so. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m out of practice when it comes to this sort of thing.”
“You can say whatever you want to me, okay?”
She nodded. “You saved my life, and you got hurt in the bargain. I saw you and I just...wanted to kiss you.”
That didn’t sound right to Mick. “So it was about gratitude?”
“Yes...no. I’m not sure.” She made a helpless gesture, then shifted her feet and tucked her silky hair behind her ear. “The thing is, touching you seems...right.”
He understood that. Touching her seemed right, too. Hell, devouring her seemed right. He’d have gladly gotten started right that minute, but she stood there, waiting, uncertain, very different now that they were alone. She wasn’t as defensive, and there was no reason for her to be protective.
No woman had ever been protective of him. Except Angel, but that was back when he’d been a boy. With Delilah it felt different.
“Everyone else has left?”
“Yes. Angel and Celia gave me the number of the hotel where they’re staying so you could call if you needed them. The man, Alec, said you had his cell number if you wanted to make sure he was on duty. Whatever that means.”
Mick nodded, understanding perfectly. Alec would wait and watch for Delilah to leave. He’d protect her until Mick could take over. There wasn’t a more capable or harder man than Alec Sharpe. Knowing he’d keep his eye on Delilah gave Mick a new measure of relief.
; When he didn’t speak, she gestured at the flowers and said, “The women bought these in the gift shop.”
“That’s just like them.”
She fidgeted. “They’re...friends of yours?”
“More like family. As close as family can be without all the baggage.”
“Oh.” A mix of emotions crossed her features—confusion and relief. “Josh and Zack said they’d be in touch in the morning.”
“I figured as much.” She stood there before him, barefoot and fidgety, and Mick used the opportunity to look at her. The loose jeans hung low on her slim hips, showing a strip of pale belly between the waistband and the hem of her shirt. He saw the barest hint of her navel, enough to fire his blood, to make his mouth go dry.
He glanced at her breasts and found himself smiling. She was indeed small, but still so damn sexy he ached all the way down to his toes. As he stared, her nipples tightened, pushing him over the edge.
He needed her closer. Because she looked uncertain, he asked, “You didn’t like kissing me?”
“I did!” she blurted, then bit her bottom lip. She twined her fingers together and shifted her bare feet again. “I just didn’t want you to think that, you know, just because you were nice enough to save me that you had to...”
“Had to what?” Inside, he grinned, knowing what she thought, but in the mood to tease her.
“You know. Be sexual with me.” His gaze shot to her face and she rushed to add, “I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way I did. I mean, you’re incredible. Gorgeous and sexy and hard and...what woman wouldn’t want you? But I’m just me. I didn’t know if you wanted to—”
Just that quickly, his humor fled. “I want to.”
“You do?”
He was hard, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. “Come here, Delilah.”
As if reassured, she strode to the bed and sat beside him, this time to his left. “You want me to kiss you again?”
Unwilling to rush her or scare her off, he didn’t move. He wanted her to be as free as she’d first been, taking what she wanted from him, when she wanted it. Was there a better male fantasy than having a bold woman who knew her own mind and went after what she needed?
Holding himself still, Mick said softly, “I’d love for you to kiss me again.”
“You don’t need anything first?” She searched his face, looking him over, he assumed, for signs of discomfort. “A drink? More pain medicine?”
I need you. “No.”
Tentatively, she laid a hand on his chest. “You’re so warm,” she whispered, her fingers lightly caressing, edging under the loose neckline of the hospital gown. “I watched you sleep for a while and it made me nuts.” She glanced at him, meeting his gaze. “You even look good when you sleep. I had to get out my laptop to keep busy, just so I wouldn’t end up touching you. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Mick had no response to that, other than a rush of heat. The thought of her watching him and wanting him fed his awareness of her, making it more acute.
She touched his throat, then slid her slender fingers over his uninjured shoulder. “I think,” she whispered, watching the progress of her hand, “that you’re about the sexiest man I’ve ever seen.”
If they’d been anywhere other than a hospital room, he’d have pulled her under him. He shifted, felt the pain deep in his shoulder and cursed.
She quickly pulled away, then poured him a drink of water and lifted the straw to his mouth. “Shh. This will help.”
Getting her under him would help, but he didn’t say so. He drank deeply, hoping the icy water would cool his urgency, return a measure of his control. It was insane to want a woman this way.
After setting the paper cup aside, Delilah again rested her hand on his chest. Her gaze locked with his. “Your heart is racing.”
“I’m horny,” he explained, because anything more eloquent was beyond him while she continued to touch him.
Her light blue eyes twinkled and her lush lips curled into a satisfied feminine smile. “No sex for you, at least not until you’re healed.”
That “not until” stipulation—which pretty much guaranteed he’d eventually have her—about stopped his heart. Without another word she leaned down and touched her mouth to his. She was gone before Mick could respond.
Her blue eyes were warmer, softer, and he rumbled, “Again.”
She looked at his mouth, bent, stroked his bottom lip with her hot little tongue. “Do you like that?” she breathed.
He groaned.
Still so close he tasted her breath, she asked, “You’re not married or anything, are you?”
“No.”
“At first, I was afraid Angel or Celia—”
“No.” Using his left hand, he touched her hair. Warmth, softness. “I love your hair.” He tangled his fingers in the silky mass and brought her mouth back flush with his.
“Thank you,” she murmured, and obligingly gave him the longer kiss he wanted.
Dull pain pushed at Mick, but he blocked it from his mind. It was nothing compared to the feel of her. “Open your mouth.”
She did, then accepted the slow, deliberate thrust of his tongue. He stroked deep, taking her mouth, exploring all the textures and heat, and the taste that was uniquely Delilah.
They both groaned.
Delilah pulled back. She touched his jaw and asked, “Did I hurt you?”
He had to stop this or he’d lose it completely. “Of course not.”
“I’m not married or anything, either.”
Mick, still on the verge of a meltdown, managed to lift a brow at that candid disclosure, and she shrugged. “I just thought you should know,” she said, her words coming in soft, uneven pants, “being as we’re...well, doing this.”
“This?” She stayed close and the scent of her, lighter now and touched with lotion and powder, filled him. He wanted to wrap himself in it, wanted to hold her close to his body until their scents mingled.
“The whole sex thing.” She drew a breath, but kept her gaze steady, unwavering. “I assume that’s where we’re headed. I mean, I’ll have you all to myself in my apartment and I want you. I assume you want me, too.”
He could hardly believe what she’d just said. No woman had ever come right out and so boldly stated her intentions to have an affair with him. Women sometimes chased him, but they were subtle, never so up-front with their motives. They teased, flirted, advanced and retreated.
They didn’t advance and advance.
“What is it you do?” she asked, unconcerned with his bemused astonishment—maybe even unaware that she’d astonished him. “I’ve never known anyone who carried a gun and shot people.”
He should have been prepared for that, because he knew she’d ask. But he was still stuck on that affair statement, attempting to get his head back together—a near impossible feat because all he could think about now was starting that damn affair. The sooner the better.
“Mick?”
He wanted to tell her the truth, but he knew nothing about her except that she evidently had an enemy, someone who wanted her dead, someone who would have succeeded if that bullet hadn’t been sidetracked by his shoulder. He also knew she was eccentric, a woman heedless of her surroundings, honest to a fault, brazen and stubborn one minute, shy and uncertain the next. And he knew she wanted him, not as much as he wanted her, but enough.
His innate caution warned him against going too fast. Thinking of Dane and Alec, he lied. “I’m a private investigator.”
Her eyes widened with unrestrained excitement. “Seriously?”
She looked so comically surprised, he grinned. “Yeah.” Starting things off with a lie wasn’t the best course of action, but he had few choices until he found out what was going on. If all went as planned, he’d be able to tell her the truth soon enough. She’d understand his reasoning and forgive his deception. He’d see to it.
“Wow.” She settled on the side of his bed, her hip against his, her hand
still resting on his chest. “I could use you for research.”
Mick did a double take, momentarily getting his mind off the idea of pulling her down on the narrow bed beside him. “Research for what?”
She shrugged in the direction of the laptop. “I’m a writer. I’m always looking for easy ways to research. From the horse’s mouth is always the easiest.”
A writer? Now, somehow that fit. The creative types were always a bit different, as far as he knew. “What do you write?”
“Mysteries.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fun stuff. Whodunits with a few laughs and some racy romance thrown in.”
It was Mick’s turn to say, “Wow.” Then he added, “Have you ever been published?”
“Well, yeah.” She seemed to consider that a stupid question.
She’d said it so casually, as if it were nothing. He’d never met a novelist before, and now he planned to sleep with one. “How many books have you done?”
“I’ve had four published so far, with two more in the works.” She nodded toward her laptop. “I’m working under a deadline right now.”
“How old are you?” Mick didn’t think she looked old enough to have one book published, much less four. He’d always pictured writers as more seasoned, scholarly types.
His question made her grin. “Twenty-five, almost twenty-six. I sold my first book when I was twenty-three.”
Mick eyed her anew. A mystery writer. He had to shake his head at the novelty of it. And here he’d claimed to be a PI. A match made in heaven. “I’ll be damned,” he said, still dealing with his amazement. “Maybe I could read one sometime?”
“Sure. I’ll show them to you when we get to my apartment. By the way, I drove myself here so I could take us both home tomorrow. Your friend Josh was pretty ticked off about it. He was going to tattle, and you should have seen his face when we found you asleep. He looked so frustrated, I thought his head would explode. Of course, for that one, it might be an improvement.”
Mick closed his eyes. Some maniac had tried to kill her, and here she’d been on the road alone again, vulnerable. He could just imagine Josh’s frustration. “Delilah.”
