Devils Night

by Winston, Meg

  Devil's Night

  a Phaze Erotic Romance HeatSheet by

  Meg Winston

  Phaze 6470A Glenway Avenue, #109 Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-925-4

  Devil's Night © 2007 by Meg Winston

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2006 by Kathryn Lively

  Edited by Kent Miller

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  Chapter One

  "I love you," he said, and Cat Harrison fucking laughed. Because really, what else was she supposed to do? An exiled best friend making big, foolish, emotional declarations he couldn't possibly mean…No, laughter was the best of her choices. The worst involved thumping him hard and telling him what he could do with himself.

  Then, miraculously, there were handcuffs. A scowl that suited his gorgeous face but shouldn't have, a lunge that could have been for kissing or tickling or wrestling for the remote a year ago but, instead, turned out to be for pinning. Then her arms were behind her, wrists caught in his hand, and a pair of rather ominous clicks that didn't worry her until he'd pulled away.

  She tried to follow, to sit upright again and regain some poise in the face of Demon Drew Benedict and his big declaration, and found she couldn't. Because…handcuffs. He'd cuffed her to her coffee table. This was awkward. God, she should never have let him in.

  * * * * Plan A, just telling her and hoping she'd be reasonable, died a quick and painful death when she laughed, taking with it his ability to get through plans B and C without lashing out. Love fucking hurt no matter what he did, and Drew Benedict wasn't much for pain.

  Hence the cuffs. Captain Nasty's Fuzz Cuffs of Fury probably weren't ideal romantic props, but theirs wasn't an ideal romance. It had taken him too long to realize how he felt, and there was too much history of being scared shitless at giving up his overactive sex life, even if it was for her. Being with Cat the way she deserved meant responsibility. Commitment. Passing up hot blondes and adventurous redheads for the rest of his life in favor of the best friend who'd cut him out of hers. Better, he'd decided, to leave herbe and hope it went away. He'd been an idiot. God, she was gorgeous cuffed and furious. Must be some measure of his oft-cited depravity. Watching her fight with the fuzz cuffs was turning him on so much. Fire in her eyes, venom on her lips, curves dancing as she writhed.

  He shifted in his seat, already atrociously hard at the thought of what she'd hidden beneath those hideous sweats. At what he planned to do to her sweet, lush body.

  "Cat," he said. She tried to kill him with her glare. "Wild Cat, if you don't quit that, I'll have to strip you."

  She hissed at him, proof positive she'd more than earned her nickname despite her sweetness-and-light persona. Twenty years of friendship had given him the inside track. No, not just friendship. Best friendship. Forever.

  And in an hour or so—provided he could keep his pants on that long—lovers. He meant that forever, too. Given how long he'd wanted to get to this moment, Drew thought he

  could be patient. "Didn't I tell you never to darken my door again?" He shrugged like her pronouncement two months earlier hadn't

  fucked him up but good. "Knew you didn't mean that." He dismissed the death promised in

  her eyes. She snorted. Indelicate and, he imagined, indicative. No sweet little kitten as everyone assumed—she was nothing so domesticated. A right hellcat. "The hell I didn't." "Then why'd you let me in?" She twitched, so cool and calculated his heart flipped again. "Maybe I wanted to keep you here until Luke showed up for another swing at you." She trailed off, letting him imagine her standing by while that slick drip she'd dated broke his nose.

  Fair was fair, he supposed. Though it was hardly his fault the drip had been a bleeder. "And if I'm attached to my nose as is?" "Then you shouldn't have come." He raised one brow. Knew it was cocky and arrogant and simply

  didn't care. "It's Devil's Night, Wild Cat. Where else would I be?" * * * * God, he was killer gorgeous. That drop-to-your-knees-and-fuck-me face, those impossibly dark eyes. Twenty years and she'd never pinned the color precisely to her own satisfaction. Navy, maybe. Royal blue in some lights, endless night in others. Dark and depthless and dangerous.

  Eyes to make a woman beg. An ass to match. A wet dream of a body, carved by gritty hours on the rugby pitch, grimy days on the soccer field, and sweaty years on the hockey rink, all broad shoulders and long muscles and sketches of dark fur over sun-kissed skin. Bloody crime he was clothed. Men that hot should have to live naked.

  In retrospect, he'd been sexy as fuck at five years old, sitting across from her in the coat room, both of them trapped on milk crates for their crimes against the kindergarten class rules. Though clearly, at five and counting, she hadn't recognized it as "sexy". That clobbered her at fifteen when the hormones kicked in. She'd fallen for him then, hard, conveniently just in time for his transformation to Demon Drew, king of the first date fucks.

  As far as she knew, she was the only girl at Central High he hadn't seen fit to date. Instead, he'd considered her a friend, probably one of his best. Every detention she'd ever had, every punishment she'd ever served, had been directly related to Drew Benedict.

  They'd survived twenty years on a pair of simple rules: she'd ignore his blatant sex appeal and he'd ignore her size. She knew the state of her own BMI just fine, thanks, and she had her mother around to remind her should she forget. The last thing she needed was one more person pointing it out. For his part, he'd had girls hanging off him since elementary school and she figured it did his ego a world of good to have one female in his life who didn't drool at the sight of him. She'd held up her end of the bargain, but two months earlier he'd broken his. Rearranged the face of her current boyfriend, the only guy willing to date someone euphemistically considered Rubenesque. Right after he'd used the dreaded F word. So goodbye friendship, hello bitter life without Drew. Yet there he was. On her couch, watching her fight with her damned handcuffs and her damned coffee table. At the rattle of cuffs against wrought iron coffee table, Cat cursed her sentimentality. She should never have let him in. Then he quoted their tradition at her and she saw red. "Don't start. I know what day it is." Like she could possibly forget. Devil's Night meant Drew and Cat running loose in the streets, soaping windows in the business district or throwing toilet paper over the neighbor's trees. Blowing a week's allowance on eggs and pelting every car on her block. She couldn't pitch worth a damn, but thanks to Demon Drew she could lob a jack-o-lantern half a block.

  Now, apparently, it meant cuffing her to a table and smirking from just out of kicking range. Impossibly sexy fucker.

  "Surprised to see me, Catharine?" His voice, smooth and thick, rolled over her like fog. She felt the vibration of it inside, a tickle through her innards like a caress of her uterus.

  Fuck. Shouldn't be feeling him there. Not when he couldn't care less about her girly bits.

  "Not really. You're like a bad penny, Andrew. Can't shake you for trying."

  He looked her over long and slow, like her sweats weren't there and he was merely fine-tuning his attack. If he thought he could eye her like that, picture her Buddha belly and waistless frame naked for his own amusement, he could
fuck himself. "You're not really trying, though, are you, Catharine?" She tried to kick him. Failed, and wondered how she'd blown that. He chuckled. "See, babe, if you'd honestly meant that, you wouldn't

  have missed." Impossible to sit properly, given the cuffs. No give to them at all, little more than an inch of chain at best. She pulled, testing the boundaries. Tried again in a snap as though she could spring herself if only she pulled hard enough. Such a pain in the ass.

  "Come a little closer," she said, and shock of shocks, he did. Never would have expected him gullible, but maybe he'd forgotten why he called her Wild Cat.

  Before she could aim another kick, he leaned in and touched her hair. Rubbed it between his fingers like he hadn't seen the dark curls a million times before, which made her snort again.

  Irrelevant that it made her nipples hard, made her cream her sexless sweats. Chalk that up to things he didn't need to know. Irresponsibly sexy fucker. She tried to pull away but really, where the hell was she going? She rattled the chain on her cuffs again in protest.

  Given her precarious position, he'd trapped her there under him and every estrogen-fueled cell in her screamed that he'd settled into a sex position of sorts.

  Not that there'd actually be sex. She was in sweats, for Christ's sake, and he was Demon Drew, king of the first date fucks. Undoubtedly not there to date her. So she tried to wiggle out from under him.

  * * * * God, she'd almost kneed him. The only bony part of her and she'd tried to jab it into the hardest part of him. He wasn't much for pain in the bedroom, but somehow Wild Cat's efforts to unman him only strengthened his resolve. Proof positive she was his girl. When he got her naked, he'd make damned sure she understood the importance of playing nice with the sexy bits. He imagined pinching her nipples, nipping at her clit, and figured he could impart that lesson, no problem.

  "That wasn't very nice," he said, moving in closer. If he moved a fraction of an inch, their noses would touch. If he breathed right, those ripe tits would rub his chest. He sucked in deep and found half the thrill gone because she'd worn sweats thicker than they looked. "Let me up, you fucker." The lack of heat amused him. He caught her expression and revised the thought. There was heat there, all right, just not the sort she'd been trying to project. No anger, just passion.

  God, he could fuck her raw right there. Just peel down those terrible sweatpants and ram her hard, until she shook and shuddered and screamed for intervention from a deity or two because the pleasure was so intense.

  Her lips parted. Silently screamed, "Do me with your mouth." He seriously considered taking her up on her offer.

  "You want up, Wild Cat?" She nodded. A twitch of a motion, but a nod all the same. "Really?" Another nod, just as faint. "It's not that simple." He traced a finger down her face solely to feel the warm silk of her skin. Found his finger tracing the curve of her mouth as a smile curved his. "You want up, Wild Cat, it'll cost you.' "What?" God, even if he couldn't see the interest in her eyes, he'd have heard it in her voice. "Way I see it, Wild Cat, you're kind of stuck here, aren't you? Tied up pretty, just waiting to play. You want to play, don't you?" She shuddered once. He wondered if she'd look as wide-eyed and lost when she came. "Because I want to play. With you." He couldn't stop himself from looking down at the horrid gray cotton covering her fantastic breasts any more than he could stop the wicked fantasies those tits created. It took real effort to look back at her face so he didn't, just stared at her chest and touched her mouth and spoke. "I think you want to play, too, don't you, Wild Cat? Get nice and sweaty with me, huh? Spread for me nice and wide, let me taste every inch of you. Your ass, baby. Your tits. God, I have these dreams about your tits. Love those dreams, babe. So fucking hot. I can hardly wait to show you all the dirty, nasty things I want to do to your body, Wild Cat. Would you like me to?"

  She didn't say a thing but he heard her breath clear as hell and it picked up, grew heavier and faster with each image he sketched. He got harder. She got hotter. He thought maybe they'd just attack each other. Then she rattled her wrists again. "Andrew." "Tell me you love me," he said, low and quiet and solemn as hell.

  "Tell me you want this. Or…" "Or?" His eyes lifted. Locked on hers and held, steady, strong and so

  damned hungry for her, he couldn't think. "Or make me believe you don't."

  Chapter Two

  "Hit on someone your own size." His gaze raked over her body, hit every luscious curve along the way. Harder now that she wasn't stretching out anymore, but not impossible. Not with the right motivation. Fuck, wasn't he motivated in spades? "Make me." She rattled her wrists and glared black, vicious death in his

  direction."Let me go and I will." "Ah ah ah, Wild Cat. What did I just finish telling you?" He twitched his forefinger like a metronome just to see that delicious souring of her face. She had the greatest lips ever. Soft and full, curved all to hell and wide enough to spread nicely. Some mouths were just made for oral. "You're a dickhead and I'm fully entitled to kick your ass when I get up?" She asked it sweetly, capped it with a quick bat of her eyelashes that nearly floored him.

  God, how the hell had he gotten so lucky? Curves like that, cleavage to her fucking collarbone, legs nearly as high, and what his grandpa would have called serious pushin' cushion. If he could have assembled his fantasy girl from scratch, he'd have come up with Cat Harrison. That she had a saucy mouth, a dirty mind, and a talent for trouble was icing on the hormonal cake.

  She was all sugar when her eyes dipped, all spice when she looked up at him again.

  "The only way I'm letting you up is if you convince me you don't love me, too." He reached down to run his fingers over the curve of her cheek, enjoying the way her mouth snarked but her eyes clouded with confusion. "That you don't want me. Tell me you don't want me and I'll let you up." Her mouth tensed as though she planned to speak, so he cut her off. "You have to mean it, though. I'll know if you lie." She fixed her lips tight. "You're not irresistible, you know." "Prove it." He pushed his finger against the crease of her mouth until she gave enough to let him in. Wasn't really surprised when she latched on with a cautionary clampof teeth. A biter. He shuddered.

  Then she sucked him. Swirled her tongue over the pad of his fingertip, pursed her lips around him and drew him in to the second joint.

  Oh, God. She was fellating his finger. He suspected it as she started but by the time she bobbed her head ever-so-slightly to run the smooth, slick inside of her mouth over the rough skin on his finger, he was sure.

  It hit like a shot of testosterone and, despite his carefully laid plans for them both, he struggled to keep from yanking off his pants and hers. He could fuck her right then, easy. Just pound into her until the worst of the uncomfortable erection disappeared and he'd busted a nut buried deep in her sweet, tight kitty.

  If the daze in her eyes was any indication, she'd bust a nut, too. He sniffed. Tried to make it look cool and calculated so she wouldn't know he was searching for the unmistakable scent of willing woman.

  Mother of God, what had he been thinking? Wild Cat, handcuffed to the coffee table at the end of her couch, nothing but her hanging-aroundthe-house sweats and his wear-em-everywhere jeans between him and the best piece he'd had, ever. No way she wouldn't be the best. Not when they'd both waited so long for it. Not when they'd clearly stumbled into love somehow.

  "God, Wild Cat." He groaned it. Curled the hand she wasn't mock blowing around the back of her head so he could fist her hair and regain some sort of control.

  Pulling that luscious mouth off his hand was the single hardest thing he'd ever done. The only thing that even came close had been the night of the Luke Incident, and two months later, Drew still wasn't quite over that yet.

  He'd been six months into a hardcore, unshakable crush by then, well and truly smitten, and he'd spent that whole night watching her slime of a boyfriend eye every skirt in the bar but her. Nearly swallowed his tongue when she'd walked in that night, criminal cleavage and a skirt just begging to be hiked high
and out of the way. That bright smile, eyes heavy-lidded as the alcohol got to her. She'd laughed at everything, just about mauled him in hello, then introduced him to the jackass on her arm.

  He honestly could have taken out Luke's teeth before he'd ordered his first drink. The depth of his own jealousy unsettled him, but he'd watched them both all night anyway. Totally ignored the rest of the bar, despite Cat's efforts to point out potential playmates for him.

  Would that Luke had done the same. But no. So while Drew'd done his best to drown his temper, tune out the world, and keep his hands to himself, Luke had done precisely the opposite.

  He'd thought nothing could be worse than that, knowing the guy who had the only woman worth having wasn't fucking bright enough to deserve her.

  Then she'd gone to the bathroom, he'd gone outside for some air, and Luke had trailed him. Opened his big, stupid mouth and pushed every button Drew had. Stopping at one punch, that had been fucking heroic.

  Having Cat catch him, having her ban him from her life, had been fucking brutal.

  Walking away then had nearly killed him but he'd done it for her, so she wouldn't get hurt worse. He'd stayed away for two months, given her time to sort herself out. Fuck this. Time's up. So he kissed her.

  * * * * He assaulted her mouth. It started as a kiss, just the regular, ordinary first-base kiss, and for a heartbeat or two she settled back to let him do it. His mouth was criminal. Hard and determined. No light coaxing, no halfhearted effort at a little tongue, just straight-for-the-good stuff.

  Pre-sex, that kiss. No mistaking it. She spread her legs, let him in as close as he wanted to get and for a few glorious minutes, hours, moments, however long they were kissing, she had his hard body right against hers. Just exactly where she wanted it. If he could break her only rule, damn it, she could break his. His erection pushed into her stomach, a reminder that there was more than just this ass-kicker kiss in their future. She shifted again, wanting him there between her thighs, pushing deep and rocking.