by Robin Kaye
“And you’re a heater. How can you be so warm?”
With her lying against him, he was more than warm—he was downright hot, but he couldn’t tell her that. “I’m a guy. Guys are always hot.”
Rocki’s hand slid over his chest and he caught it in his and held on. He hoped it would look as if he was trying to warm her when in all actuality he was just trying to contain her movement. The last thing he needed was for Rocki to realize his predicament.
Cupping the back of her neck, he set her head to rest on his shoulder and slid his hand down her back so she straightened her body and leaned against his side, which was safe. All he wanted to do was warm her while he did his best to concentrate on everything but the press of her body or the way her breasts pillowed against his chest. Shit. He pulled the thick duvet over them, tucking it in behind her and settled in, hoping she’d fall asleep quickly.
“Slater?”
“Try to get some sleep, Rocki. We’ll talk in the morning.”
From the way her body stiffened, that was the wrong thing to say, but he was afraid she’d ask about what happened with him at the hospital. He couldn’t go there. Not again. Just the thought of it sent his heart racing and made him feel sick with dread. He wasn’t sure what it was about, and he had no great urge to explore the phenomenon—just the opposite. He’d do anything to avoid feeling like that ever again.
Instead of thinking about it, he massaged Rocki’s neck and moved down her back, chasing away the tension he felt coursing through her as he examined the room by the light of the almost-full moon.
The room was painted a soft antique blue and was filled with white Shabby Chic–like furniture Dominique had wanted him to buy—the kind that looked real—not the stuff you buy new that’s just made to look old and well loved. A bookshelf lined the wall beside the bathroom, containing what he figured a teenaged girl would save: books, pictures, trophies with ribbons dangling from them, and a stuffed animal or two tossed in for good measure. Framed photos he was unable to make out sat on a long bureau with a mirror hanging above it, reflecting the light coming in through white lacy curtains. The curtains matched the duvet cover, which was made of a bleached white fabric with intricate flowery cutouts. All told, the place had a real girly feel without being overly prissy.
This bedroom was so different from Rocki’s apartment—he couldn’t believe they belonged to the same person. It was a definite disconnect. This room had a history. It was clearly decorated by someone who had a deep love for its occupant. Maybe it wasn’t Rocki’s room. Maybe Grace and Teddy had given Rocki their daughter’s room to use. But when he thought of Rocki, the way she moved through the house as if she’d done it all her life, the way she walked into this room, took a deep breath, and looked as if she’d finally come home, it sure as hell seemed as if this was her childhood bedroom.
Home.
Grace had mentioned that it had been too long since Rocki had been home. Had she meant home to New Hampshire, or home to the mansion? And if Rocki had grown up in a mansion, what the hell was she doing living over a Chinese restaurant in a walk-up on Mott Street?
The more he got to know Rocki, the more questions he had, and the more intrigued he became. The woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and rolled in a paradox.
Tomorrow he’d figure her out, but right now, with her body curled against his side absorbing his heat, all he could do was concentrate on how holding Rocki O’Sullivan or Racquel Sullivan—whoever the hell she was—felt right in a way he’d never before experienced. Yeah, that was just one more thing he couldn’t dwell on, so he closed his eyes and did what he did best—he wrote code in his head, trying to come up with a fix for a problem he had with one of the new programs he was developing. He was in bed with a beautiful woman practically lying on top of him and he was writing code. What a geek.
He stayed still and listened to Rocki’s rhythmic breathing. He’d give it another ten minutes and he’d go to his own bed and try to sleep.
No matter how much code he wrote, he couldn’t let go of what had happened in the hospital, so he finally gave up and went there. Or tried to. He put himself back in that place—the ICU room—and tried his damnedest to remember. Every time he felt as if he was almost there, it disappeared. The sick feeling still sat cold and heavy in his stomach. The fear was alive and well, but he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember what caused it.
It was in the wee hours of the morning when he finally gave up trying and moved to get out of bed but Rocki held on to him. Every time he moved, her grip tightened. She mumbled something in her sleep and didn’t settle until he wrapped his arms around her again. So much for going back to his own room—not that he was complaining. There were far worse things than spending the night holding Rocki . . . like trying to remember his past. He pulled her closer and settled in for a few hours of shut-eye. He was glad he was exhausted, because sleeping next to Rocki was dangerous.
• • •
Slater came awake and looked right into Rocki’s shock-widened blue eyes. She was all warm and rumpled and her leg was thrown over his hip. His hand was wrapped around her upper thigh, and her nightgown had either ridden up or he’d pushed it. He wasn’t sure if her shocked expression was from finding herself glued to him—trapped by her leg, or because she rode the erection straining the buttons of his 501s. From the red coloring her face he surmised she was either really embarrassed or completely turned on. Either way, he wasn’t about to let her go. “Morning.” He slid his hand farther up her thigh to her ass, shifted her beneath him, and kissed her.
• • •
It took a moment for Rocki to realize she hadn’t been dreaming. Of course, there wasn’t much to do about it now that Slater was lying on top of her with his tongue in her mouth. It was nice. She supposed nice wasn’t the best descriptor—hot, amazing, groan-worthy—any of those would have definitely fit the bill. She wasn’t sure if the groan she heard was his or hers, but by the way her back arched off the bed, she didn’t think it mattered.
Her hands tangled in his hair and her legs had somehow ended up wrapped around his waist.
Her brain screamed no, but her body screamed giddyup. Still she needed to put a stop to this—unfortunately.
By the time she wrapped her mind around the problem, Slater had dragged his lips down her throat and was unbuttoning her nightgown. The man had incredible manual dexterity and that wasn’t the only thing that was impressive about him. He kissed like a dream, which was exactly what she’d thought he was. She wasn’t supposed to be kissing the real Slater Shaw.
“Slater.” She dragged in a breath. “I need a do-over.”
“No problem,” he mumbled against her neck and slid his tongue over a sensitive spot she hadn’t known existed. “We can do this over and over and over again.”
He tugged the gown open over her breast and covered it with his mouth, sucking every thought of stopping this fiasco from her head. Every tug of his mouth on her breast was met with a thrust of his hips and she couldn’t think of anything except getting more, getting closer, and getting into his pants.
She clawed at the button fly and with just a yank, the rest of the buttons popped open. It was a good thing his jeans were well worn. Wasting no time, she dipped her hand into the waistband of his boxers and grabbed hold.
His erection sprang free as he reared up and dragged her nightgown over her head before tugging his own T-shirt off.
They stared at each other, neither of them saying a word, but then sometimes words were superfluous. He should have looked ridiculous with his jeans and boxers pushed down around his knees, but he looked anything but. Every muscle in his body seemed to ripple with barely controlled energy. He reached for her and brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek in a whisper of a touch.
A knock sounded on the door, “Raquel, are you awake, dear?”
Ice filled her veins in a hear
tbeat and she froze for a millisecond before her face and body seemed to incinerate. Oh God! “Grace,” Rocki called out, “yes, I’m up. Give me a minute and I’ll be down to help with breakfast.”
The door opened just a crack and Rocki shoved Slater off the bed and onto the floor. She yanked what she could of the covers over her, and motioned Slater to hide.
He groaned and kicked his pants off.
“Hide,” she whispered.
The man looked up at her from the floor as if he was holding back laughter. “You’re kidding, right?” he whispered back.
Rocki held her breath as the door yawned open a foot, but Grace didn’t come in. “Will you get Slater up, dear?”
“Yes, I’ll wake him.” She slapped at Slater, motioned him to hurry, wondering if a body that big could even fit under the bed. She dragged her nightgown over her head and tripped over the bedclothes on her way to the door. She couldn’t seem to get any of the buttons to cooperate so she grabbed both sides of the button band, held it closed, and slipped out, careful to close the door behind her.
“I just woke up, Grace. I’m sorry if I overslept.”
Grace’s eyes went wide and then she looked away before she backed toward the stairs. “It’s fine, Racquel, you and Slater take your time. Come on down whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay . . .” Rocki’s voice trailed off as Grace scurried away like a woman who’d just remembered she’d left something on the stove. Rocki took a sniff and didn’t smell anything burning other than her temper—she wanted to kill Slater.
When Grace turned the corner to go down the steps, Rocki pushed the door open and found Slater lying naked in her bed with a huge grin on his face right before he laughed.
She couldn’t believe he was laughing. She dragged her eyes from his body—she figured it would be impossible to stay mad at him if she was drooling. “I can’t believe you think almost getting caught in the act is funny.”
Slater cleared his throat and looked as if he were doing his darnedest to stifle the laughter but failing. “I don’t think almost getting caught making love is funny. What’s funny is the sight of you going out there to talk to Grace with your nightgown on inside out.”
She looked down at herself and cringed. “Oh God. She knows.”
“Yeah, and she’s smart enough to know we’re going to be a while.” Slater got out of bed and pulled her into his arms. He stood there butt naked and fully engaged, or should she say engorged—how was a mystery. He acted as if the last five minutes hadn’t happened. As if Grace hadn’t hit them full force with the equivalent of an ice-cold fire hose. As if he’d had the slightest chance of getting her back in the mood for what they were just doing. He was delusional. He kissed her neck.
It was so not working. She refused to let it. She ignored the way her heartbeat drummed against her breastbone like the machine gun double bass in a Metallica song. “I can’t believe this.”
“What?” He slid her nightgown back up while he nuzzled her ear, sending sparks into places that should still be iced over. The man was a living, breathing blowtorch or blowhard—she wasn’t sure which.
“Cut it out.” She tried to step away but he had her right where he apparently wanted her—up against him, and any move she made only made things worse—worse for her and her plan to somehow get out of this catastrophe. Slater just seemed to enjoy it. “Slater, we can’t do this.”
“I have to disagree with you there, sweetheart.” He slid his hand from her ass to her thigh and tugged it over his hip—earning a groan from her. “I think the last few minutes just proved the opposite. I’ll bet my next year’s salary that when we do, it’s going to be amazing. Since we’ve already been essentially caught and we’re going to suffer the consequences regardless, we might as well enjoy ourselves before the morning-after tap dance around the breakfast table and the man-to-man talk with Teddy. He’s going to want to know my intentions. It won’t help your cause any if I had to say that I intend to get you horizontal as soon as humanly possible.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“No, but that’s what I’ll be thinking.”
Rocki wasn’t sure how he did it; he slid his lips over hers and kissed her into submission. Within a minute he had her hotter than ever, breathless, and, well, needy. That was a new one on her—she’d never needed anyone—at least not that way, but damn, Slater was a whole different animal.
He pulled away but still held her tight against him, which was a good thing because if he hadn’t, she might have oozed onto the floor after that last kiss. “I just want to make sure you know I don’t plan to suffer alone. Misery loves company. I’m giving you fair warning. I’m not going to be the only one hot, hard, and wanting. I’m not going to be the only one looking for the nearest broom closet or empty bed. And I’m not going to be the only one imagining us ripping off each other’s clothes. This, I guaran-ass-tee.”
“What?” She wasn’t able to take her eyes off his lips, and she wasn’t able to think about words when his body was sending secret messages to hers, causing reactions she had no hope of controlling. “What are you saying?”
“Think about it. It’ll come to you eventually.” He gave her a perfunctory smack on the lips right before he dropped her leg and gave her a matching smack on the ass. “I’ll just be on my way now.” He stepped back, grabbed his jeans, and tugged them on, watching her while he tucked and buttoned. “I need to mess up my bed unless you want to join in the fun.”
That damn smile of his broke through her good sense and a little bit of her wanted to sigh. He was a sight, wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare 501s only partly buttoned. She wanted to step forward and spend the next hour just exploring his body.
“We’ll have as good a time messing up my bed as we did yours. I promise.” His gaze zeroed in on the bed. “From the looks of it, it’s a miracle the mattress didn’t slide off the box spring.” He stepped beside it and gave it a hearty nudge with his thigh. “That must have happened when you tossed me over the side. Thanks for that, by the way.”
Oh God, she’d thrown him off the bed. She wanted to hide her face, but she knew he’d just enjoy her discomfort. Instead she did her best to meet his eyes and smile. “My pleasure. If you had moved, I wouldn’t have had to resort to that.”
Slater picked up his boxers, tossed his Henley over his shoulder, and grabbed his boots. “I guess we’re both in for cold showers this morning. Enjoy yours, sweetheart. I’ll see you downstairs.”
Rocki watched Slater strut out of her room as if he hadn’t a care in the world. And she supposed he didn’t. What did it matter to him that Grace had almost walked in on them? And what the hell had happened? One minute he was warm and comforting, saying he’d only stay until she fell asleep, and the next thing she knew she was waking up wrapped around him like the sleeve on an ice-cream cone.
She’d love to blame Slater for the entire thing, but she couldn’t. She’d dreamed of exploring his body with her hands and her mouth. She’d done things to him in her dreams that she’d only heard about. Things she’d never once considered doing to another man, but with Slater, they felt as natural as breathing—until she’d woken up anyway.
Okay, her internal lie detector was calling bullshit. She wished she could say that it had changed when she’d woken up but it hadn’t. If Grace hadn’t shown up when she did, there was no telling how far she’d have let things progress. She shook her head and tried to get the very clear image of Slater kneeling over her out of her mind. Oh yeah, she knew exactly how far she’d have let it go—they’d have gone all the way and she imagined it would have been just as amazing as he’d said.
Rocki’s phone rang and her heart stopped, stuttered, and then pounded like a battering ram against her breastbone as if it were trying to break out of her chest. She jumped on the bed and reached for the phone as pictures of Jackson flew through her mind at warp spee
d, each more macabre than the one before. God, she’d been making out with Slater while her brother had been fighting for his life. “Hello?”
“Rocki, it’s Bree. Are you okay?”
“Bree?” Relief flooded through her. “Thank God. I thought it was the hospital.”
“Oh, Rocki. I’m so sorry. How is your brother?”
No words of censure, no why-didn’t-you-tell-me-you-had-a-brother? questions. “As far as I know there’s been no change. The hospital said they’d call if anything happened. He’s in a coma. They did a ventriculostomy to relieve the pressure—his head is all wrapped up like a mummy. He was so still—if not for the respirator making his chest move, I’d swear he was dead.” She wiped the tears off her face and wrapped her arm around herself, wishing Slater was there with her. “I’m just getting ready to head over to the hospital—visiting hours start at nine.”
“Okay, I’ll wait to hear from you. We’re all praying and sending good thoughts your way.”
“Thanks, Bree. And thank Pete for me. Slater drove me up here—he’s been so . . . I’m glad he’s here. I don’t think I could have gotten up here without him.”
“Slater has a definite way about him—that’s for sure. He’s got this quiet strength that’s pretty amazing. Give him our love. We’ll talk to you soon. We love you, Rocki.”
“I love you guys too.” Rocki ended the call and realized she hadn’t even asked Bree about her honeymoon. What kind of friend did that? The kind who only doles out need-to-know information. Suddenly all the reasons she had for keeping a huge part of her life a secret didn’t seem nearly as important as she once believed. But then maybe that was because with Slater here putting two and two together, any choice of keeping her past and present separate might be out of her hands.
Rocki dug through her bag and tossed a change of clothes on her unmade bed—the bed she and Slater had been rolling around in less than fifteen minutes ago. It was amazing how much could change in a quarter of an hour. She just hoped that from now on, the only changes in her life would be for the better.
