Alpha Me Not

by Jianne Carlo

  Too choked up to force a word from her scratchy throat, she nodded.

  “One more thing. No matter how much he insists, we are not taking the bunch of bananas Azzo’s certain to offer us.”

  Susie grinned at his pinched brows and the over-the-shoulder glare he shot at Mama Maria’s open doorway.

  Macho men. Cute in an overbearing-protective kind of way. Joe anyway.

  Azzo hadn’t earned that growly, boyish sexiness. Too young and way too pretty.

  Unable to resist, she stroked his arm. “Thanks, Joe.”

  Azzo greeted them when they reached the restaurant’s hostess station. “I heard. I’m so sorry, Susie.” He captured both her hands and kissed her fingertips. “You are most welcome to stay with me until—”

  Joe snaked an arm around her waist and hauled her close to his side. “Not necessary right now, pup. Susie and I have some planning to do, and from the looks of it, you’re going to be drowning in customers within the next ten minutes. The cops told me they’re going to be evacuating everyone within a two-mile perimeter.”

  Azzo’s bronzed complexion reddened, he spit a slew of Italian Susie couldn’t decipher, his beautiful molasses eyes narrowed, and before he whirled around, he muttered, “’Scusi.”

  She stared at Azzo’s retreating form and sighed when his tight butt, narrow waist, and broad shoulders disappeared between the swing doors leading to the restaurant’s bowels.

  “Stop drooling.” Joe pulled out a chair and nudged her into sitting.

  “I wasn’t drooling.” She dug in her purse, found a scrunchie, and then set her purse on the far side of the table. “What was that all about?”

  “His two cousins who are supposed to be on tonight called in sick. Azzo believes they’re faking it, and he isn’t a happy camper. Want me to hang up your coat?”

  “When did you find out about that?” She worked her hair into a ponytail, the smoky scent of her loose locks too intense to bear.

  “That’s what Azzo just said in Italian. The coat?”

  “Thanks.”

  She squirmed out of the short denim jacket and followed Joe’s rear end as he walked to the coat stand by the door. Tiny flutters low in her belly flickered to life.

  Azzo had the classical handsomeness and sexy form of Enrique Iglesias, pure Latin hunk and oozing sensual appeal. Yet he did nothing for her, while Joe…Joe had her forgetting the fire, the loss of everything she owned, and the dire doom hanging over her head for the few entrancing moments those taut ass cheeks bunched and flexed as he stalked away from her.

  What an idiot!

  To be distracted by lust when she had just lost the roof over her head.

  “What’s got you riled?” Joe slumped into the adjacent seat.

  Warmth threaded up her throat and face. “Nothing. I’m more worried than pissed, although I am pissed too. Opie sure as hell thinks I’m to blame for the fire.”

  He frowned. “Opie?”

  “The red-haired cop.” She automatically picked up her knife and checked the gleaming blade’s cleanliness. Not a single water spot.

  “Ah, Detective Sands. Very astute of you. Who’s Detective Johnson? Mathew McConaughey?” Joe shot her that devil-boy, dimpled grin, and her toes curled.

  For a second his question didn’t register, so distracted was she by his transformation from bad-ass mercenary to an alpha male emitting the kind of mischievous charm known to fell grandmothers, tots, and every grumpy female on the planet. “Surfer Dude. Didn’t get far filling the role, but McConaughey’s a good choice. Why’d he look at you as if you were some sort of superhero?”

  “I helped his sister out of a bad situation a while back. Now, what time did you say your test was?”

  Suppressing a grin at his obvious, clumsy change of topic, she replied, “Like I told you not five minutes ago, at nine.”

  The next few hours both whizzed by at a speed faster and more blinding than that of light and dragged on at an inexorable snail’s pace. Joe railroaded her into spending the night at his house, which had not only survived intact but suffered only the merest hint of smoke damage.

  He took her to the nearest Walmart Supercenter, bullied her into buying more than the basic necessities, and then paid the bill over her adamant protests. They entered his three-bedroom home well after midnight.

  “This way.” He tugged her through a small kitchen equipped with the kind of commercial, high-end appliances she’d only seen in magazines, down a dark hallway, and halted at a small window. An open doorway led to a shadowed room. He flicked a wall switch, and she couldn’t help but smile at the incongruous view.

  A whole hue of pinks ambushed her senses.

  Pastel pink on the walls, cotton-candy pink for the ruffled bedspread and throw pillows, a cozy armchair upholstered in a striped peppermint pink and ivory fabric, even the area rugs on the floor sported a paisley pink, rose, and cream pattern. She snort-chuckled, shook her head, and glanced up at him.

  “You decorated this room?”

  She would’ve given megamillion lottery odds that Joe Huroq had never blushed in his life.

  “I bought the place fully furnished. A widow had lived here, and after she died, her children, who were based in New York, didn’t want the hassle of having to empty the house. I went through most of the other rooms and cleared out the widow’s personal stuff. Never got around to doing anything with this room, though I did have all the linens cleaned.”

  “I didn’t know pink came in so many shades.” She ventured inside. “Where are the dolls? This room shouts dolls.”

  He made a choking sound. “How did you know? There were a ton of them. Wania, she’s the Hassanis youngest daughter, fell in love with them, and I was only too happy to give them to her.”

  “Hassani?”

  “Laila and Omar Hassani live opposite the Arnolds. Three daughters. Shower’s to the right. I’ll get you soap and all that other stuff.” He dumped the packages on the bed. “Make yourself at home. I never use this room, so feel free to change anything you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  After Joe left, Susie dragged the scrunchie from her hair and lifted the aching roots with both hands. Loosening the ponytail freed the smoke trapped in the locks, and she grimaced. A shower and bed. She couldn’t remember ever being so tired, both physically and mentally. That morning she’d gone for a five-mile run, rearranged the furniture, cleaned the cottage top to bottom, and unpacked every box. Labor done, labor lost.

  “You okay?” Joe stood in the doorway, those black eyes trained on her, a full shower caddy dangling from one hand.

  “As okay as the circumstances allow.” She managed a limp baring of her teeth and accepted the steel container. “Thanks. Any news about the rest of the neighborhood?”

  “They saved Mr. Arnold’s house. His detached garage is gone, and they need to do an inspection, but he and his daughter and grandson will probably be able to move back in soon.”

  “I’m glad. Thanks for everything, Joe.” She grazed the back of his hand with a finger. The yearning to throw her arms around him made her giddy. She stepped back. “Night.”

  “I’ll check on you before I hunker down. Holler if you need anything.”

  “I will.” She shut the door, unable to bear the concern in his intent stare for a second longer.

  The shower revived her flagging spirits somewhat. She sat on the edge of the bed, towel-drying her damp hair, and attempted to prioritize what needed to be done the following day, but flashing images of the fire, the sirens, and Joe’s strong arms holding her tight proved the ultimate distraction.

  A hard barrage on the door had her bounding off the bed.

  “Susie?” Joe poked his head through the now-open doorway. “Thought you might like a shot of brandy.”

  “Tea?” she asked hopefully.

  “Tea?” He wrinkled his nose, and the white creases bracketing his eyes became more prominent. “Doubt it, but I’ll check the pantry.”

 
“Don’t go to the trouble, Joe. I’m dead on my feet anyway.”

  “’Kay. Good night then. If you think of anything or need anything just yell. I’m a light sleeper.”

  “I’m fine. But thanks for the offer.”

  The old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table registered one thirty when she slid under the covers and turned off the lamp. Pulling the blanket up to her chin, Susie stared at the ceiling, and the faucet she’d clamped shut since the fire blew open.

  She had nowhere to live. A savings account of less than fifteen hundred dollars. The first and last month’s rent she’d paid were a total write-off. Everything she owned was gone.

  Poof!

  Vanished!

  All the silly memories that marked a life. The diamond earrings her brother-in-law, Mike, had surprised her with last birthday. The cashmere sweater Mama’d given her for Christmas. The tall boat her brother, Gray, had carved for her thirteenth birthday. The silver locket Papa’d given her for first communion.

  All gone.

  Susie didn’t even realize she was crying until a hot tear plopped onto her chest. Gritting her teeth, she willed the weak tears back. Crying wouldn’t help a whit.

  Better to count her blessings.

  She was alive.

  If Joe hadn’t knocked on her door and bugged her into going out for dinner, she would’ve been in the cottage when it exploded.

  She jerked to a sitting position. She could’ve died tonight. Kicked the bucket at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

  Gone to her maker a freaking virgin. What the heck was she waiting for? What had she saved it for anyway? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had the opportunity to make love.

  But like the rest of her dumb-ass virgin friends, she’d wanted it to be with someone special. Wanted it to mean something.

  But that was before. Before she’d heard good ole Ken Laroque boasting to the entire community college football team that he’d nail her on graduation night. They’d been dating for two months, and she had been hopelessly enthralled with Kenny, fancied herself in love, and believed he felt the same way about her.

  She snorted.

  Pipe dreams.

  Living in the small town of Chabegawn meant if you farted, everyone knew about the stinky air and discussed the intensity at length. So she’d bided her time, bearing the burden of her unwanted virginity until the day she’d left Chabegawn for good two weeks ago.

  Susie tossed the covers and jumped off the bed. She paced a tight circle in front of the dresser.

  No way would she die a virgin.

  And it wasn’t as if she and Joe were going to be neighbors anymore. She glanced at the door. The dorm she’d stayed in was virtually empty, and the dorm master had told her that it would likely remain that way for the coming summer semester.

  Joe had certainly indicated his interest in her.

  And from the minute she’d set eyes on him—well, okay, from the second time she’d set eyes on him, he’d had her juices flowing.

  One night.

  She’d move out tomorrow, and they’d never have to see each other again.

  Glancing down at the wifebeater she’d bought earlier, she debated changing. The skimpy tank showed enough skin to warrant a sexy label.

  No.

  No way was she going to overanalyze the situation. Lifting her chin, she marched to the door, yanked it open, and glided down the hallway.

  His bedroom was on the other side of the kitchen; he’d gestured to it earlier. Her throat went dry when she passed the gas range. Her stomach did this clench-and-jerk spasm a few feet before the dark recesses of a door.

  She stumbled and jammed a hand to the wall. Was she really going to do it?

  Damn right, she was. No way was she dying a virgin.

  The door wasn’t shut all the way. Holding her breath, she teased it open and waited for a death-defying squeak or a click or some other deafening noise in the dead silence. Not a spark of light lessened the ominous blackness of the room.

  Gawd, she smelled him. Musk, spice, and sex.

  On tiptoe she made her way to the bed.

  “Want that brandy after all?” He switched on a lamp.

  Refusing to look anywhere but straight into his eyes, she leaned forward and set her palm to his bunched forearm. “No lights.”

  Chapter Three

  Joe turned off the lamp.

  The sight of Susie in the stark moonlight sucker punched every last molecule of oxygen from his lungs.

  Moonbeams streamed through the open windows to the right of the bed, bathing Susie in an incandescent glow. The gleaming ebony curtain of her hair twirled around her hip bones. The wifebeater skimmed her slim waist and molded her uptilted breasts. And the fuck-me pink lacy thong had his mouth watering.

  “You were expecting me?”

  Expecting? More like fervently praying she’d come to him before he lost the battle to go to her. No way in the universe could he sleep thirty yards away from Susie and under the same roof without holding her, kissing her, making love to her, imprinting his scent over every inch of her flesh.

  “Making deals with various deities. Bargaining away several choice pounds of flesh.”

  He reached for her hand, brought her wrist to his nose, and sniffed, inhaling the unique aroma of one of his favorite pulse points. A trace of lemon from the scented soap he’d given her remained, but he could make out a hint of her female spiciness. “I figured I might’ve been able to hold out till two thirty, but one second after that I’d have been in your bed.”

  “Good to know. I…I almost didn’t have the courage.”

  “At the risk of being a complete masochist—are you sure you want to do this?” Joe pulled back the sheets and edged over a little. He held his breath when she glanced first at the bed and then to him.

  “Positive.” A flash of white teeth, a sultry shoulder shrug, and then she slid onto the mattress, engulfing him in a cloud of intoxicating, quintessential woman musk. He’d been inhaling her emotions for twelve hours and twenty-three minutes. Her essence had seeped into his pores, her fear, her confusion, her dread and worry, her gritty determination, and, throughout the dinner, the fire, and the aftermath, her arousal.

  He cupped her neck and nuzzled her hair. “You smell incredible.”

  She chuckled. “That’s exactly what I thought when I opened the door. That the room smelled of you. Musk and spice.”

  “Amazing. You’re damned amazing, Susie White.” He hauled her close and turned so that they lay on their sides, heads aligned, noses almost touching. Tracing the strong, square line of her jaw, he marveled at the suppleness of her silky skin. “Still able to laugh. Not too many women I know could’ve done what you did tonight. You held yourself together. While there’s nothing in the world I want more than to make love to you right this very moment, I can’t in all good conscience without telling you that what you’re feeling is the adrenaline—”

  “Shut up, Joe Huroq. Make love to me. Make me feel alive.” She pressed her palms to his bare chest.

  “You’re not only alive, Susie, you’re the epitome of pulsing vitality.” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It was damned difficult to play the gentleman and leave it all up to you.”

  “I don’t want the gentleman. I want the big, bad mercenary.” She kissed the hollow in the center of his throat, licked his Adam’s apple, and his stones engorged so tautly the pubic hairs prickled. Fire on a dick—he wanted her, needed her.

  Slow, slow.

  He had a blazing desire to cherish this woman, give her his all. Tipping her chin back, he tasted her, sipped her satin softness, lingered on the curve of her full lower lip, and drew her tight against him.

  She linked her hands behind his neck and touched her tongue to his.

  The slight contact seared him to the core. His groin pulled. His erection throbbed.

  They kissed.

  Her mouth was a smoldering haven, moist, so exquisitely delicious he lost the borde
rs of where she began and he ended, fusing their lips together.

  He cradled her ass cheeks, brought her mound to his cock, lifted one leg to straddle his hip, and palmed her pussy. The slip of cloth covering her labia was soaked, and the delectable muskiness of her juices flooded his nostrils when he shifted the fabric to one side.

  Warm breath skipped over his cheek. She tangled her fingers in his hair and nibbled his ear. He shuddered. His dick jerked against her belly. Fingers shaking, he eased the wifebeater up her smooth stomach, slipped his hands over her ribs, and tugged the fabric above her twin beauties.

  “I love your nipples.” He licked a peaked point. “You have incredible breasts. Perfect.”

  Joe nibbled a tip lightly.

  She moaned and pressed him closer. He sucked the whole areola, and she ground her hips into his. Avarice laced through his very soul, and he ate at her tits, moving from one to the other, laving the fat buds, nipping the undersides, tonguing and wetting both mounds.

  He growled when she squirmed and wriggled and wrapped both her legs around his waist. He slid his cock along her slick folds, seeking purchase, entry, heaven, hell. Her heat drew him like a molten magnet. He set the crown of his cock to her center and teased at the rim, circled and probed, letting her get used to his size. She was tall but delicately boned, and he didn’t want to cause her any discomfort or pain.

  “Now. Gawd, now.” She opened her mouth over his and thrust her tongue, plunging in and out, mimicking the motion he craved with her rocking hips.

  He drew back, putting space between their bodies, and tugged the tank top over her head. He shoved the thong down and slid the lace over her hips. She lifted for him. Unusual clumsiness claimed his movements as he worked her panties free and flung them wide.

  “Got to taste you,” he muttered, slipped down her body, and breathed in the potent perfume of her arousal.

  He closed his eyes, let his nose lead him to paradise on earth, and nuzzled her sex while settling between her sleek legs. His tongue coarsened. The rough nubs prickled with his need. Inhaling, drawing her zesty fragrance deep into his lungs, he held the scent, savoring her nectar, absorbing the heady aroma into his soul.