by Lori Foster
Having sex with him, right now, would go a long way toward making everything else disappear.
Had someone tried to run her over? Maybe.
But she had been daydreaming—about Armie, of course—and not paying attention, and what Armie said made sense; it could have just been a drunken prank.
Although, Rowdy’s was the closest bar and there weren’t many who’d be able to leave his establishment that drunk, not if they intended to drive. Somehow Rowdy always seemed to know and he’d insist people call a cab.
Plus, crazy as it seemed, she thought she might have heard someone laugh as the car zipped past her.
When she shuddered, Armie pulled the blanket from the end of the bed. “You’re chilled? Would you like a warm bath? You could prop your ankle on the tub ledge and ice it—”
“I want a shower, not a bath. And I want something to eat.”
“Okay—”
“And I want an answer.”
He freed her fist from his shirt and sat back, then rubbed both hands over his face. “If I start telling women I’m off-limits, that’s going to give rise to questions. We’re trying to keep this quiet, remember?”
“Ohmigod.” Her aches and pains forgotten, she jerked upright. “You’re keeping all your options open.”
“Damn it, don’t put words in my mouth.” He put a hand around the back of her neck. “You’re the only option I want and I’m trying to protect you.”
Her heart expanded. “Then tell the women you’re off-limits for your fight.”
“That’s a myth, Stretch, and they’ll only feel challenged.”
“Do something, damn it!” She shoved him aside and went to stand. “How would you feel if I was constantly being contacted by—”
As if she’d willed it, her phone began ringing.
Armie narrowed his eyes at her.
“It’s probably Cannon.” Grabbing for her purse at the side of the bed, she dug out the phone, read the screen, and— Oh damn.
“Who is it?” Armie asked silkily, already looking over her shoulder.
“You know it’s Steve.”
“Want me to answer for you?”
“No.” She brushed her thumb over the screen, then said, “Hello?”
“Merissa. How are you?”
Ignoring the heat of Armie’s stare beside her, she cleared her throat. “I’m fine. What do you want?”
“You,” he said immediately. “A second chance.”
“We already covered this.” It didn’t make sense. Steve was not the persistent sort—unless his ego demanded he get her back, since she was the one to walk away from him. “I’ve moved on, and I’m sure you have, too. Please don’t call again.”
“Wait—”
Disconnecting without hearing what he had to say, she tucked the phone back in her purse, then faced Armie. “And that,” she told him, being snippy, “is how it’s done. Maybe you should have taken notes.”
Armie grinned at her. “You’re hot when you’re pissed.” He stood, took her hands and gingerly pulled her to her feet. “If I promise to deter any interested ladies, will you stop giving me the stink eye?”
She blinked. “I’m not.” That sounded so awful. And appropriate.
“So is it a deal?”
She sighed. “You’ll let them know, for whatever reason, that they don’t need to keep checking in?”
He crossed his heart. “Now, why don’t you get your shower while I pull together dinner?”
“I could cook.”
“Let me, okay?” One hand to the back of her head, the other on her waist, he took her mouth in a sweet kiss that lingered, went deeper, turned scorching. His tongue leisurely explored her mouth, and his breathing deepened.
When he slid his hand from her waist, under her shirt and then up, she made a small sound of compliance.
Until he got to her ribs.
Inadvertently flinching away from pain, she said, “Ouch.”
Concerned, Armie said softly, “Let me see.” He peeled up her stretchy top, then muttered, “Ah, hell.”
Rissy peered down at the expanding bruise. “I think that’s where I hit the curb.” Now that she saw it, it hurt even worse, as did her hip. She lifted the waistband of her panties and found another, smaller bruise that had been hidden. “Looks like I landed on a rock, too, maybe.”
“Why didn’t you say something, Stretch?” Showing incredible gentleness, he took her shirt off over her head, unhooked her bra and stripped off her panties.
“Armie…”
“Let me look, okay?” Far too intently, he examined every inch of her, lifting each arm, brushing her hair forward as he trailed his rough fingertips over her shoulders and down her spine, then lifting her hair back again as he gently cuddled each breast and circled both nipples, before going to his knees.
Finding a few smaller bruises and another scrape, he kissed each and every one, fanning her desire and making the insubstantial injuries forgettable.
“You have the cutest ass,” he teased, nibbling on one of her cheeks.
Merissa held her breath.
His hand reached around in front of her first, touching between her legs and surely finding her ready. He growled, then shifted around so he knelt before her.
She tunneled her fingers into his cool hair. “Armie?”
His damp lips lingered over her hip. “Mmm?”
“I need my shower now—and then I need you.”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes full of heat. “I need to feed you.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
His smile was one of the sexiest things she’d ever seen. He kissed his way up her body, making her gasp a few times before he finally stood before her again. He lightly kissed her lips, then lifted her again.
“I can walk, you know.”
“Yeah, I do know.” He carried her into the bathroom and slowly lowered her back to her feet. After he started the shower and set out a few towels for her, he said, “Do whatever you need to do while I fix us some food. You can ice your ankle while we eat.”
“What about sex?”
He bunched his hands in her hair, kissed her again and whispered, “As long as we’re together, I promise you won’t ever go to bed wanting.”
Merissa was swaying on her feet when he walked out. Getting enough air into her lungs wasn’t easy. The thought of dinner didn’t appeal.
But being pampered by Armie—now that was an experience she didn’t want to miss.
*
WITH HIS CELL PHONE held between his shoulder and ear, Armie turned the chicken in the cast-iron skillet. “No, it’s not like that. No, not personal at all. I’m just out of commission for the foreseeable future. Yeah, at least that long. Sure, when things work out I’ll give you a call. But until then…right. Glad you understand. Thanks.”
“When things work out?”
Armie set aside the phone and turned to see Rissy in the doorway. She had her hair tied up and wound around in a sloppy bun or something, but plenty of long pieces had come loose, clinging to her damp shoulders and upper chest. She looked great barefoot, wearing only one of his shirts that said: I am the man from Nantucket.
“That was my way of saying, ‘Don’t call me, I’ll call you.’” His gaze repeatedly went over her body. “You know, since the texts offend you.”
“Uh-huh.” She ran a hand over the shirt, from upper chest to waist. “You don’t mind that I borrowed it, do you?”
“No.” He glazed over there a little, seeing her hand coast over her breast. The shirt looked better on her than it ever had on him. After tamping down the surge of lust, he turned off the chicken and pulled out a chair for her. “C’mon. Take a seat.”
No way could he miss her careful gait as she tried not to limp. Folding his arms, he said, “You’re not a fighter, you know.”
“Is that supposed to mean something?” As she sat, she held the shirt down.
“It means you don’t have to man up.” He pulle
d another chair out for her to prop up her foot, then was startled when he lifted her leg and realized the shirt was literally all she wore. Standing there, her foot held aloft, he froze as his eyes glued to her body.
“I don’t have any panties here,” she murmured, her tone low and husky, her gaze expectant.
So this was her idea of teasing? A come-on?
He liked it.
After pulling himself together, Armie nodded. “I was thinking about that.” It seemed easier to cover this while busy, so he placed the folded towel under her foot, then carefully placed the ice pack on her ankle.
She hissed in a breath, as much from the cold, he knew, as from any pain.
“It’ll help, I promise.” He also handed her two tablets. “Just OTC pain meds.”
She swallowed them down with the tea he’d poured for her. “What were you thinking about? My panties?”
“Well, that, too.” Mainly about how much he liked her without them. “But I meant clothes for when you’re over. And maybe…” He served her food and avoided her gaze. “A key. To my place, I mean.”
No reply. No anything.
The silence became deafening. He’d never given a woman a key. Never worried about her having a change of clothes. Hell, he’d never wanted a woman to stay over.
Feeling like an insecure juvenile, he returned the skillet to the stove and took his own seat and then, bracing himself, he glanced at her.
Her eyes were huge, her mouth trembling with a smile. Ah, hell. “Rissy?”
She nodded fast, blinked faster and failed miserably at sounding casual when she croaked, “Sure. That’d work.”
“Rissy,” he said again, this time with affection. He took her hand; she squeezed his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. I just…” She blew out a breath, laughed a little. “You surprised me, that’s all.” More blinking, and a big sigh. “But yes, I’d love a key. For convenience. For when…when we’ve made plans to get together and things like tonight happen.”
He didn’t understand her. She sounded both thrilled and devastated. “That’s what I was thinking.” Brushing her knuckles with his thumb, he explained. “I wanted to see you tonight, but I didn’t want you sitting in my parking lot alone, waiting for me.”
“Right. Perfect example.”
Never had he meant to make her ill at ease or so jittery. “Maybe,” he teased, “on the nights when we’re getting together, you could wait for me in bed naked?”
“Maybe. Sure.”
Her immediate agreement surprised him—and yeah, turned him on. Of course, everything she did pushed his buttons. From the time she was an awkward teen and full of curiosity, Rissy had done it for him. But as she’d matured, as he’d witnessed her generous nature and experienced her sweet outlook on life, her stiff independence and unbending pride, he’d fallen hard.
And every time he saw her, it got worse.
Quickly she snatched back her hand and forked up a bite of chicken. “Mmm. Good.”
Damn, he’d muddled this, but he didn’t know how to fix it without possibly making her more uncomfortable. So instead he changed the subject. “You think you’re up for sex tonight?”
She choked, nodded hard again, swallowed, grabbed a drink and nodded some more. “Yes. Definitely.”
He had to laugh. “We’ll see how it goes.” No way in hell would he hurt her. He wanted her, but with those bruises—
“No.” She pointed her fork at him. “There’s no seeing. We’re having sex. Period.”
From flirting to demanding? Rolling with it, he sat back and said, “You’re hurt.”
She huffed rudely. “Bruised is not hurt.”
He started to debate that with her, but she cut him off.
“If you were bruised, would it keep you from having sex? No, of course it wouldn’t. Heck, half the time you have bruises and sometimes worse than that. You still have a lingering bruise on your back from the bank robbery and your head is only just now healing up. But it didn’t slow you down, did it?”
“No.”
“See? That’s my point. And before you say it, yes, I know I’m not a big old macho fighter. But I’m not a wuss, either.”
It felt like his heart smiled. “No.” Not a wuss at all.
“And I want you.”
He’d never tire of hearing that. “It’s getting late. Why don’t you finish up, then do whatever else you have to do before bed, and we can turn in?”
Her lungs expanded. “For sex, right?”
Happiness spread from his heart to every corner of his universe. “Sex first, sure.” Reaching out, he fingered one of those long, silky hanks of hair that had fallen from her messy and somehow sexy bun. “Then I want to enjoy sleeping with you again.”
“I like that plan.” She finished up her meal, eating most of the chicken and all of the asparagus, plus some cherry tomatoes. “You’re a good cook.”
“I get by.”
“Do you really?”
“Get by? Yeah.”
She shook her head. “No, I mean…do you really enjoy sleeping with me?”
He started to tease, but the look in her eyes told him this wasn’t the time. She needed the truth. And hell, so did he. “Yeah, Stretch. I like sleeping with you.” Accepting it, he grinned and let the reality of it encompass him. “When you’re curled up with me, I sleep better than I have in a very long time.”
She put a hand to her heart and in the softest voice he’d ever heard from her, she admitted, “Me, too.”
Armie knew he was in deep, but at the moment he flat out didn’t care. “Is your ankle feeling better?”
She nodded.
“Sit tight a minute.” Aware of her watching him, he cleared the table with practiced ease. “You’re not used to letting someone else do for you, are you?”
“Are you kidding?” She licked her lips. “Cannon insists on doing things for me all the time.”
“He helps you, yeah. But I mean personally.” He rinsed out the dishrag, took the ice pack from her and put it back in the freezer, then carefully lifted her from the chair. “You’re like this natural-born caretaker. You like to cook and keep your house spotless and you play hostess to everyone.”
“My mom was like that.” She traced the neckline of his shirt, over his collarbone. “I loved cooking with her, learning from her.”
“I remember your mom being pretty terrific.”
Rissy nodded. “Dad, too.”
“Yeah.” She came from an amazing family, and that brought with it certain expectations. Her brother’s fight name was “Saint” for good reason.
Which always made Armie wonder—could he ever measure up?
When they reached the bedroom, he carefully lowered her to the bed and stripped off her shirt, leaving her beautifully naked.
Rising up to her elbows, she smiled at him.
Armie knew he needed a distraction and fast, before he forgot she was special, and hurt, and his best friend’s little sister. She didn’t deserve for him to lose it; she deserved every wonderful sexual experience he could give her.
Stepping back, he started removing his own clothes, starting with his shirt. “Did I ever tell you how I got my fight name?”
“Quick?” Her hungry interest moved over his chest and shoulders. “I assumed because you throw such fast jabs.”
Armie shook his head and toed off his shoes.
“Then is it because you end fights so quickly?” Her breathing deepened. “Most of the time it seems like the fight barely gets started before you’re finishing it with a knockout or a submission.”
“Nope.” Appreciating how she focused on his hands, he opened his jeans—and saw her lick her lips.
So suggestive.
Glancing at the mirror, he caught her pose in profile. He loved Rissy’s body, and he especially loved her body in his bed.
He bent to drag off his socks, straightened again and carefully stepped out of his jeans. He had an erection—no hiding
that—but he’d spent so much time denying himself, and denying her, too, that now he wanted her to know how badly he wanted her.
Always.
Buck-ass, he tossed his clothes over the dresser and his shoes into the closet. “Do you want to know?”
“What?”
Contentment settled into his soul. “How I got the name.”
“Yes.” She held her arms out to him.
Armie enjoyed stretching out with her crossways in the bed, facing her propped on one elbow, the mirror beyond her. “Are you paying attention?”
With her snaking a hand down to his junk, she nodded.
He caught her wrist, kissed her palm, and put her hand on his shoulder. “Back in high school, even before Lea, this superhot cheerleader decided she wanted to get me off behind the bleachers.”
Rissy made a face. “I bet you put up a real fight, didn’t you?”
“Not really, no.” Grinning, he bent to her neck, taking a few soft love bites of her fragrant skin and leaving damp kisses along her throat. “At not quite seventeen, I was all about sex.”
“That young?” she asked, before adding with a frown, “And you’re still all about sex.”
“You want to hear this or not, smart-ass?”
Dropping flat, Rissy turned those smiling blue eyes on him. “Go.”
Her hair was a distinctive turn-on for him. Using one hand, he eased out the cloth-covered band and sifted his fingers through the long, heavy length, spreading it out around her. “She got me off, all right. Gave me my first blow job.”
“So…you were a quick conquest?”
He arched a brow. “Actually, about one minute in, I reached my breaking point.” It still made his ears hot to think about it. “Of course, that wasn’t what she had planned.”
Rissy didn’t laugh, but he saw the humor in her eyes. “Oops.”
“Yeah. Her grand plan had been to tease, then get laid. Instead, I unloaded early…thus the nickname Quick.”
Turning toward him, Rissy lifted a leg over his. “You’re not quick anymore,” she assured him.
“Never was again after that, not unless a quickie was on the agenda from the get-go.” He worried for her ankle, but she seemed to pay no mind to it, behaving much as he would. “I made it up to the girl later. First time I’d ever—” he looked at her curious but sweet expression and censored the crude description “—given oral sex.”
