by Lori Foster
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
HAVE MERCY
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
DEAL OR NO DEAL
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TOTAL CONTROL
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
EPILOGUE
UNDEAD MAN’S HAND
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
Praise for the authors of OUT OF THE LIGHT, INTO THE SHADOWS
New York Times Bestselling Author
LORI FOSTER
“Foster writes smart, sexy, engaging characters.”
—Christine Feehan
“Foster writes about real people you’ll fall in love with.”
—Stella Cameron
“Known for her funny, sexy writing, Foster doesn’t hesitate to turn up the heat.”—Booklist
National Bestselling Author
L. L. FOSTER
“Unique and fascinating.”
—Elizabeth Lowell, New York Times bestselling author
“Entertaining paranormal romantic suspense that grips readers.”—Midwest Book Review
National Bestselling Author
ERIN MCCARTHY
“Intriguing, entrancing, and enrapturing!”
—The Romance Readers Connection
“The writing is seamless, the story a page-turner, and the romance is one to defy all odds.”—Romance Reviews Today
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OUT OF THE LIGHT, INTO THE SHADOWS
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Berkley edition / August 2009
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HAVE MERCY
LORI FOSTER
ONE
THEY’D been together six months now. Not super long, but for Mercedes Jardine, it was long enough for her to irrevocably lose her heart to Wyatt Reyes. Since their first date she’d loved him, and every day since then the feeling had grown more powerful. When she was with him, she felt complete, fuller and happier, and more like a woman.
Only with Wyatt did she move out of the shadow of her impressive big brother.
Only with Wyatt did her insecurities melt away.
What she felt for him was forever.
Now she had to know how he felt.
The thought of declaring herself, of laying her heart on the line, gave her twinges of anxiety. But if she left it to Wyatt, she figured they’d be together for years before he took their romance to the next level.
Marriage.
It was what she wanted now. What she needed.
A lifetime with Wyatt would be so wonderful. He was the most amazing man, solid like her brother, responsible and caring. He worked hard, respected others. And for Mercedes, he was the sexiest man alive. Six feet, two inches of hard, labor-inspired muscle enhanced with dark blond hair and clear green eyes—he epitomized the rugged man’s man, but he had the confidence and charisma to be a ladies’ man, too.
The concrete construction company he owned had grown even in the months she’d known him. He put all his revenue into building it bigger and better, and he had a sound reputation for quality work. The last thing she’d ever wanted to do was interrupt his five-year plan. But if he’d let her, she could help him with that.
Today, she’d start the conversation with that proposal—and then move on to another.
Taking a deep breath, Mercy got out of the fancy sports car her brother had bought for her birthday, and headed for the front door of Wyatt’s modest rented home. Though she had her own key, his truck was in the driveway, assuring he was home. She opened the unlocked door and stepped into warm air circulated by a fan.
Even though spring in Ohio was especially warm this year, Wyatt rarely used his air-conditioning. Like her, he enjoyed the fresh air more, but unlike her, he was also conserving money wherever he could.
Sometimes the differences in their financial standings made her feel guilty. After all, he worked hard for his pay, but thanks to her brother, Mercy hardly worked at all. Most wouldn’t label her artistic jewelry more than a hobby. She was good, and her custom pieces brought high-ticket sales. But she only worked when she felt like it, or when something inspired her.
As soon as she closed the door, she heard the shower running. Her confrontational plans faltered; knowing Wyatt was naked had the effect of obliterating her best intentions.
Biting her lip, Mercy considered things for only a moment before deciding first things first. Even though she’d carefully dressed for her objective today, she hurriedly stepped out of her strappy sandals and stripped away her ultrasoft camisole tank as she went down the hallway to the bathroom. By the time she reached him, Mercy wore only her summer gauze skirt, panties, a
nd jewelry.
She stepped out of the skirt before opening the bathroom door.
“Wyatt?”
“Hey, babe.” He pushed aside the shower curtain, saw her standing there, and his gaze did a slow, nearly tactile scrutiny of her body.
Without a word, he held the curtain wide for her to get in.
Showing ridiculous haste, Mercy pushed down her panties, removed her watch and earrings, and stepped into the narrow bath. As quick to urgency as her, Wyatt pulled her into a long, tongue-twining kiss that curled her toes and had her locking her fingers in his wet hair.
“Until I saw you,” he whispered against her throat, “I was so exhausted, I just wanted to eat and sleep.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m fully alert, believe me.” He leaned back to see her face, and a roguish smile curled his sexy mouth. “A nap holds no interest, but eating …” He covered a breast with one hand, and with the other, he explored between her thighs. “I like that idea a lot.”
Her eyes closed, her head fell back, and her heart nearly punched out of her chest. With Wyatt, she stayed so sexually attuned that a mere look had her primed and ready. When he said things like that, when he implied what he’d do, it drove her wild.
Carefully, he pried her hands from his hair and folded them behind her. “Leave them, sweetheart.”
Oh God, she loved it when he took control like this. He’d torment her, make her crazy, but in the end, he always made it worthwhile. This time, however, she didn’t know if she could take it.
“Wyatt—”
“Shh. No talking. But feel free to moan.”
Shaking all over, she put her hands to his shoulders to stall him. “Wait.”
“No.” With a chastising look, he caught her wrists and held her hands behind her with one loose fist. “You’re only making it harder on yourself, Mercy. You came in here naked, full of invitation.” He treated her to a deep kiss to emphasize his control. “Now be still, and let me do what we both want.”
The long, shuddering moan escaped without her permission.
As he turned her with her back against the tile wall, he bent to her left breast. He licked, held her nipple captive between his teeth and tongued her roughly before sucking hard.
Mercy arched her body, and he accepted the temptation, pushing his free hand between her thighs. But he only cupped her, giving her the heat of his palm, a slight pressure, without any real stimulation.
“Wyatt …”
His teeth nipped, making her jump and sending a jolt of pleasure curling in her womb. She bit her lip to remain quiet.
He licked his way to the other nipple, circled with his tongue, and then sucked lightly, a direct contrast to what she’d expected. She couldn’t predict what he’d do next, or how he’d do it, and the unknown kept her on a razor’s edge of need. She tried grinding her mound against his palm, but he laughed and eased the pressure.
In no way did he seem exhausted to her.
She opened her legs more, a silent request for him to explore, to touch her, to penetrate.
“You want my fingers in you?”
Because he’d told her not to speak, she nodded.
He came up to kiss her ear, her throat. She felt his erection against her, long and solid, and she felt his smile against her throat. “Soon.”
He enjoyed this game even more than she did. If she could ever keep her head about her, she’d one day pay him back in kind.
And thinking that nearly pushed her into a climax.
“Now, Mercy?” As if he sensed her readiness, he stroked between her legs, parted her lips, and began pushing two fingers into her. It was a tight fit, and she squirmed in mixed pleasure and urgency as he worked them deep—and then again, stopped moving.
She felt herself contracting around him, needing him, and she saw him smile. He was such a dominant personality—but he only applied that dominance to her in bed. Outside the bedroom, he was so courteous and deferential that she felt like a princess.
He went back to her breasts, alternately licking and sucking her nipples, sometimes tugging with his teeth until she cried out, then lapping gently. She couldn’t take much more, and he seemed to know that, too.
“You are so damned hot, Mercy. I love playing with you.”
Love. God, how she hoped that word had real meaning to him.
Those thoughts were obliterated when he brought his thumb up to her clitoris and lightly stroked.
She gasped, stiffened.
“You’re all swollen and ripe,” he said against her temple, nuzzling her ear, her throat. He teased her clit more, and her legs started to tremble. “So close already. But Mercy …” He stilled the movements and leaned back to look at her.
Noooo. She needed release so badly, she was ready to plead with him, but he touched her lips with his fingertips, quieting her.
And he explained, “I want you in my mouth when you come.”
Oh God.
He released her hands, sank to his knees, and cupped her derriere in both big palms. “I love how you taste, Mercy.”
Love again. The dual assault of what he said and what he did proved too much. The second his mouth closed over her, her tremors started. She covered her own aching breasts and closed her eyes against the pleasure of his tongue languidly moving over, in and out of her most sensitive flesh. He licked once, twice, then closed his lips around her and sucked.
Just that easily, she exploded.
Holding her upright with his grip on her bottom, he kept her pressed tight to his mouth, relentless in his assault, dragging out her climax until she did beg, until she was totally spent. “Stop, please.”
In a heartbeat he was before her again, one arm around her waist, the other shutting off the water.
“Hold on to the towel bar.”
She managed to do that, just barely. He watched her with burning green eyes while he dried himself, and then quickly dried her, too. When the soft terrycloth towel touched between her legs, she gasped, still too sensitive to bear it—and that seemed to turn him on, too.
Now he was the urgent one, and they were both still damp when he lifted her in his arms and strode out of the bathroom to his bedroom.
At five feet, nine inches, she wasn’t a dainty woman, but Wyatt carried her as if she weighed nothing. Along the way, he kissed her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the corner of her mouth. Her back had barely settled on the unmade bed when he pushed her legs wide, settled over her, and entered her with one powerful thrust.
They groaned together.
At the feel of him inside her, Mercy’s body reignited and she was ready for round two. After all, with Wyatt, there was always a round two, and sometimes a round three or four. He was such an amazing lover, ensuring her pleasure before ever taking his own.
Eyes closed, head back, Wyatt stilled for several heartbeats. After two deep breaths that seemed to compose him, he looked down at her. High on his cheekbones, dark color showed the level of his arousal. The green of his eyes darkened, grew more intense. His jaw clenched tight.
Slowly, his gaze locked with hers; he pulled out, and sank back in again. He took interested note of her sharp inhalation, studied the signs of pleasure on her face. “Damn, Mercy, it feels incredible being inside you.”
To her, too. She loved feeling him, and only him. After they’d been together three months, they’d given up condoms. She’d been on the pill awhile, and they knew each other well enough to trust on all health issues.
Little had she known how easy it was to render the pill ineffective.
A little dazed by the overwhelming chemistry between them, she rested her hands on his chest, pleased to feel his galloping heartbeat against her palm.
His chest hair was darker than the sun-streaked hair on his head, and it drew her fingers. Following his body hair as it angled down to his crotch, Mercy coasted her fingertips over his flat brown nipples, his muscled abdomen, then over the lighter skin of his narrow hips.
&nbs
p; Emotion filled her, making her almost weepy. She met his gaze, saying softly, “I love the way you love me, Wyatt.”
He froze, searched her face, and then the words seemed to ignite him beyond some invisible restraint. Growling, he hooked his arms through her legs, drawing them high and wide, holding her in a way that left her completely exposed and vulnerable to anything he wanted to do.
That suited her fine, because everything he did was for her pleasure.
Giving her his weight, he pressed her legs wider still and sank in so deep that she caught her breath. He opened his mouth on her throat. She felt his teeth just before he began a frantic rhythm that pushed her quickly toward another orgasm. As she started to come, he rose up to his elbows to watch, and without deliberate decision, Mercy said, “I love you, Wyatt.”
His eyes flared, but he didn’t stop thrusting into her. If anything, he drove harder, deeper, and she said again, “I love you.”
He took her mouth, smothering the words and kissing her deeply as he, too, gained his release.
Mercy clutched at his back, loving him so much that it hurt, so immersed in mind-numbing pleasure that she couldn’t even imagine the repercussions of her declaration.
Not yet.
WYATT slowly came back to reality—and knew the lingering euphoria burning through his blood had more to do with what Mercy had said during her orgasm than the incredible carnality that sizzled between them.
Did she mean it?
Women often said things during sex that they didn’t mean. But he didn’t think Mercy was like that. She wasn’t careless that way. She was never indiscriminate, in speech or action.
He’d never known a woman like her. Quietly independent, sweetly vulnerable, so sexual and hot that she burned him up whenever they made love.
Did she love him?
For six months, he’d felt himself sinking further under her spell—and he didn’t care.
