She took one look at him and the barely smoldering fire and arched a brow. “What, not a Boy Scout?”
Replying involved using his mouth for something other than exploring every inch of her skin not covered by the pathetic excuse for a towel. Did she realize that no matter how hard she tugged, it wasn’t going to get any bigger?
The second he felt his cock start to harden, he looked backed at the fire.
“I find the whole being prepared thing highly overrated.” At least he had starting thirty seconds ago.
“Is that so?” She crossed to the chair behind him where she’d left the extra clothes.
He watched her from the corner of his eye, the tucked-in fold on her towel in particular, the one that looked ready to come undone. “There’s a lot to be said for just going with the flow. If I had been more prepared, you wouldn’t be standing there in nothing but a towel.”
It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but he thought her cheeks flushed or maybe that was just from the shower.
“Don’t remind me.” She gathered up a few clothes.
He stood, but kept his feet planted in front of the stove. “Funny how things work out, huh?”
“Yeah, hilarious.”
“At least you didn’t end up in the trunk of my car.”
She stopped next to him. “I’m sure you’ll forgive me if I don’t kiss your feet in gratitude.”
“There is going to be more than kissing going on if you don’t get dressed.” If he looked even half on edge as he felt when her towel was one tug from hitting the floor, then she’d be smart to put some space between them.
Seeming to read his mind, she took a step, only it was closer instead of farther away.
“I think we both know that would be a really bad idea.”
He caught her hand and just touching her unleashed a rush of bone-deep need. He tugged her closer. “Define bad.” Because he didn’t need to think very hard to know bad would feel really fucking good—the same way her mouth had felt when she’d surprised him in the diner.
He’d barely had time to process her grabbing his shirt before she’d kissed him. Leaned in, slanted her mouth across his and, with a quick catch of her breath, like she wasn’t sure if she’d gotten in over her head, kissed him.
In less than three point five seconds he’d been hard for her. If he’d been able to communicate with his brain longer than it took to kiss her back, he would have hauled her into his lap.
“Like we don’t trust each other bad.”
He curled one arm around her waist, drawing her flush against him. One of them let out a shocked breath at the contact, and if his gaze wasn’t already locked on her mouth, he would have tried to figure out which one of them had made it.
“You can trust me, Max.”
Her cheek grazed his. “That doesn’t mean I should.”
“Still don’t believe I’m one of the good guys?”
“Either way you’re dangerous.”
He lowered his head and his lips skimmed her bare shoulder. She gave a little moan of approval.
“You don’t sound too worried.”
“I can handle it.”
He trapped her jaw in his hands. “At least one of us can.”
Her lips parted, and he nipped the bottom one then slowly pulled it between his. This time he knew that sharp intake of breath was definitely his, and when she fit against him completely, her hands sliding around his neck, like she needed something to hang onto—and Christ he knew the feeling—he had to tamp down the satisfied groan that vibrated through his chest.
So damn hungry for her, he opened his mouth over hers, taking complete possession. She arched against him, rubbing just hard enough that the slow, sweet friction left him aching to get inside her. Catching her hips, he rocked against her, and she released a deep a carnal sigh. He swept into her mouth, stroking deep with his tongue.
Trouble.
With every slide of her lips he knew he was falling deeper into it. He knew he should care, and maybe if kissing her wasn’t frying brain cells by the boatload, he would have.
The towel pooled around her lower back and he knew the second it slid down her chest by the way she squirmed against him.
“You’re cold and wet.”
“Working on it.”
She smiled against his lips, and whatever she was going to say was lost to a startled yelp as her legs hit the back of the couch, knocking her off-balance.
He could have steadied her, but he enjoyed the way she clung to him, trying to regain her equilibrium. Not that it mattered when he lowered her to the cushions and followed her down, moving faster than he’d planned, a little too eager to get his hands all over her.
Pain flared across his ribs, and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s okay.” Already the pain was easing.
She shifted beneath him, allowing him to settle deeper between her thighs. He didn’t have a clue if that was her intention, but the moment he fit snug against her, a rush of intense pleasure streamed through him. Irritating his bruised ribs was more than worth it if it meant he could feel her thighs squeeze him again.
Hair damp and tousled and looking like she’d just stepped out of some locker room fantasy, Max stared up at him. Bending to run his mouth along her shoulder, he made his way to her neck, loving how her head fell to the side giving him complete access.
She moaned low and deep and tugged at his shirt until she got her hands beneath it, splaying her fingers across his back. If she wasn’t already warming him up, the shared body heat as her hands slid up and down his spine would have gotten the job done.
He traced the hollow of her throat with his tongue before pulling away to peel his shirt off, careful of his shoulder.
“Jesus.”
He followed her gaze to the bruise on his side. As far as injuries went, it looked worse than it felt, and he’d certainly had worse. The expression on Max’s face bothered him more than anything, and he didn’t miss the flash of guilt in her eyes before she looked away.
Maybe Mad Max really wasn’t as tough as she looked.
“Touch me.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t want to make it worse.”
He caught her hand. “It’ll be worse if you don’t.” And he meant every word.
Maybe they didn’t really trust each other, but whatever she’d been through, and he was starting to think it was more than anyone realized, he didn’t want to see her hurt by it any longer. He’d glimpsed that easy, sexy grin, heard her moan against his mouth, felt her shudder in his arms and he’d do whatever he could to make it happen again and again.
He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her fingertips. “Touch me, Max.”
She scooted up a little and he clenched his jaw at the sweet tease along his cock. She tugged her hand free, but instead of running her finger over his ribs, she leaned up and carefully opened her mouth on his skin.
The flick of her tongue set fire to his blood, and he slid down, groaning as her body molded perfectly to his. This time he crushed his mouth down on hers, stark need warring with whatever part of his brain kept insisting he shouldn’t rush this.
He cupped her breast, lazily rubbing his thumb across her nipple. She whimpered, so he did it again then inched down so he could draw the tight peak into his mouth. Her back arched with every long, greedy tug.
He swirled his tongue over each hard tip, learning the feel of her, the taste. Her nails raked his arm, and the soft sounds that escaped her quickly heightened his own arousal.
His heart pounded faster than when they’d been running from the police, but the tremor that worked through him was new. If he didn’t know better he’d think he was fooling around for the first time, caught in that surreal place between feeling so damn good and praying he wasn’t about to screw it up somehow.
He slid a hand between their bodies, tugging impatiently at the towel. Once it hi
t the floor he caressed the inside of her thigh, inching higher. She squirmed beneath him, tightening her thighs and hugging him closer.
Lightly raking the tip of one nipple with his teeth, he palmed her sex, rotating slowly. God, she was already damp.
“Yes.”
He grinned. “Was that yes, or yes?” He followed the deliberate emphasis with a soft pump of two fingers that slid deep inside her.
They both groaned, and the slick walls clenched around him. He withdrew, sliding up her cleft in search of the sensitive knot and spreading her wetness across it.
Looping both arms around his neck, she dragged him up to meet her mouth. Bolder than before, she pushed her tongue between his lips, robbing him of any coherent thoughts he might have been clinging to.
As the kiss blew past wild and right into savage, he drove his fingers back inside her. The faster and harder he thrust, the more she strained beneath him. And when he circled her clit again, thumbing the plump flesh in teasing strokes, she lifted her hips, meeting each thrust.
So damn hot. She had barely touched him and he was ready to lose his mind.
The responsive roll of her hips grew more frantic, her mouth moving faster against his.
“Lucas…I…fuck…” She threaded her fingers through the ends of his hair.
Her thighs trembled around him and he buried his fingers deep once more, waiting for that panted moan to slow, then he rubbed her clit. She cried out, her body tensing as she came.
Slowly, she melted back into the cushions, but didn’t let go of him, her face tucked against his throat. He already had the top button undone on his pants and his zipper half way down when she pulled back enough to look at him.
She offered him a smile that perfectly suited her stunning blue eyes, which didn’t seem quite so haunted. That vulnerability she’d shown him in the hotel room that morning was still there, but softer somehow.
She arched her hips, silently encouraging him to keep going, and so help him, he couldn’t think of damn good reason he shouldn’t already be inside her and halfway to heaven.
Except that if things went any further between them, he wasn’t so sure he could do his job and bring her in.
Chapter Eight
“Lucas?”
Limbs still deliciously heavy from her explosive climax, Max watched indecision run across Lucas’s face.
He glanced at something over her head, then straightened. His expression grew tense and he cringed, his hand sliding over his ribs.
“You’re hurting,” she guessed.
He nodded vaguely and moved to the other end of the couch. Without the warm weight of his body, she felt both chilled and increasingly exposed.
Suddenly self-conscious, she reached for the towel on the floor and wrapped it around herself. “I saw some ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom if you could use something to take the edge off.”
“Not this kind of edge.” His eyes met hers, the heat in his gaze making her stomach tighten all over again.
He finally stood and she knew she should be grateful one of them had slowed things down. It was the part of her that wanted to coax him back to finish what they’d started that she didn’t know what to do about.
She was afraid she was looking for more than just sex, because even with her body riding the sharp edge of release, his hands all over her—and god he knew how to use them—she’d felt…safe.
As much as kissing him in the diner had thrown her world into a wonderfully dizzying backspin, she hadn’t truly let go. She hadn’t let go in so long she’d been convinced she couldn’t anymore—until Lucas had covered her body with his, the drugging weight of him sheltering her, protecting her.
It was almost laughable considering what she’d been through since he had walked into her life. But right this second something in her craved only his arms sliding around her.
She told herself she didn’t need it, that she was doing fine on her own, and even if she could trust him, she was still better off on her own.
And what if you’re wrong?
Ignoring the small voice in the back of her mind, Max watched the rain spatter on the front windows. Fog was rolling in, making it harder to see across the river.
“I’m going to grab a shower.” He didn’t move, though, his attention fixed on the fire in the woodstove that was going strong now.
“It’s pouring out, Lucas. I’ve got no dry clothes, no money, no ID and have no idea where I’m even at. I’m not going anywhere if that’s why you’re still standing there.”
She waited for him to look at her to see if she was lying. He only nodded and disappeared into the bathroom.
Once the door was closed, she sagged back against the cushions and closed her eyes. Having grown up with three older brothers and worked in a field dominated by men, she should have more confidence when it came to handling Lucas.
Worried she was going to over-think the last few minutes, she stood and pulled on one of the T-shirts she’d brought out, relieved it fell to mid-thigh. After she arranged her wet clothes on a chair in front of the woodstove to dry, she turned her attention to the pantry.
There were mostly canned goods inside, some unopened condiments, a few bottles of water and packages of pudding, and—she shuddered—sardines.
Choosing two small cans of beef stew, she set them on the counter and dug through the cupboard until she found a small pot to warm up the stew. She also came across two more empty beer bottles, a half-eaten chocolate bar and some kind of hard candy someone had spit into an empty glass.
Classy.
Definitely couldn’t be the owner’s party leftovers.
With the stew heating up, she crossed to the open door, leaned up against the jamb and watched the rain come down in drenching sheets.
She hadn’t been lying when she said she had nowhere to go. She’d been so careful for so long, always keeping her next move in the back of her mind, never letting her guard down. But she’d grown too comfortable in Riverbend, telling herself she’d figure something out, but never quiet deciding when, since it would mean she’d have to leave.
And now here she was with nothing but drenched clothes by the fire and no game plan.
How much longer could she keep running? Whatever Lucas was after—revenge, justice, something else entirely—he was right about one thing. Cara wouldn’t have run, not for as long as Max had.
Having grown up with her parents on one scientific expedition after another and her older brother in the military and gone almost just as often, Cara had been one of the most self-reliant people Max had ever met.
Being on the run and away from her family left Max lonelier than she’d ever been, but she refused to put them at risk. It didn’t matter that her dad and older brothers were in the service—two cops and a firefighter—Blackwater would have found a way to hurt them to get to her if he thought they knew anything.
No, Cara wouldn’t still be running. She would have found an angle or a weakness to exploit Blackwater by now.
She heard the bathroom door open behind her and steeled herself before she glanced over her shoulder. It didn’t do a damn bit of good. One glimpse of the towel hanging low and loose around Lucas’s hips, his chest bare and his gaze locked on her, and she was grateful she had the support of the door frame.
The man’s unwavering confidence echoed in every sure and determined step, and his effortless smile drew her completely. And she wasn’t even counting the eyes she’d once believed to be only cold and empty. She knew better now, had felt the heat, the hunger, the sheer want in them every time he’d looked at her earlier.
Lucas had a soul all right, and it burned hot and fierce and touched far more of her than she wanted it to.
She glanced back at the rain, suddenly unsure if she preferred to think he was playing her as opposed to being caught up in something she was afraid to put a name to.
“You’re still here.” Something hit the floor, his towel maybe.
“Sorry. I k
now how much you were looking forward to chasing me out in the rain.”
He laughed. “Guess I’ll have to find another way to amuse myself.”
When she felt him behind her, she straightened and turned. Thirty seconds ago she’d been convinced that as long as he got dressed she’d stop thinking about running her hand up his chest.
Apparently not. The plain white T-shirt looked just as good on him and—
She burst out laughing. “Are those—” she tipped her head, “—naked women on your shorts?”
“Hey, you picked them out.”
“I must have still been getting over my run-in with Bambi’s mom and didn’t notice.”
He frowned. “Bambi’s mom? How much river water did you swallow out there?”
“I’m talking about the deer head in the armoire in the bedroom.” She checked the stew, not the least bit surprised that Lucas went to see what she was talking about. “Don’t most men usually keep them up some place they won’t scare the crap out of unsuspecting people?”
He walked back out of the bedroom. “Am I supposed to have an answer for that because I’m a man?”
She shrugged. “Tracking and hunting just seemed to be an area of expertise for you.”
He grabbed a couple bowls out of the cupboard. “Well if I had a choice, I’d take tracking big game over people any day.”
“Why is that?”
“Because no matter how big or strong they are, their hooves just aren’t capable of swinging a gas can like a pro baseball player.”
Despite herself, she felt a smile tug at her lips.
Lucas poured the stew into two bowels and carried them to the table. She moved the garbage and empty beer bottles to the counter before grabbing them each a spoon and water, and sat opposite Lucas.
They ate in relative silence, but it wasn’t quite as strained as breakfast. More than once she felt him watching her, but couldn’t force herself to lift her head.
“You play checkers?”
Without answering him, she put her empty bowel in the sink and rinsed it out.
Trust Me: The Lassiter Group, Book 1 Page 11
