Caught Off Guard

by Ramagos, Tonya

  “Well, hello there. I was wondering if you would show.”

  He cocked a brow at her, a thin smile spreading across his lips. “Hoping to see me again?”

  Dying to see him again was more like it. Dying to finish what she had started in the locker room. She looked at him, at his large hands that she longed to feel on her bare flesh, at his broad shoulders and rippling chest that she knew were hard and warm to the touch, at his brown hair with hints of blond highlights, which was disheveled and looked as though he had just crawled out of bed. Oh, yes, she had definitely been hoping to see him again.

  “A little.” She shrugged. “Hoping work wasn’t keeping you away.”

  “It’s my day off. We work a four-days-on, four-days-off schedule. I was filling in Wednesday. My shift begins again in the morning.”

  “Then I better enjoy you while I have you, huh?”

  He laughed, shook his head. “You certainly grew up to be one amazing woman, Veronica Abbott.”

  She allowed her eyes to do a slow sweep over his body again, making it more than obvious that she was checking him out. He wore kaki shorts with a red T-shirt. A white bear dressed in firefighter turnouts printed on the front. The sleeves had been ripped off at the seams, putting his wide, glorious biceps on full display. And at the top of his left arm she saw a tattoo. She hadn’t notice that on Wednesday. But she hadn’t been all too concerned with his biceps then either, had she?

  Finally, she met his gaze. “And you grew up to be one hot bed of perfection, Dean Wolcott.” She lifted a hand to his arm, lightly ran the back of her fingers over the comic book hero tattoo, and reveled in the heat that seeped through her from feeling him again. How much better would that skin feel all sweaty and slick after a round between the sheets? She couldn’t wait to find out. “Wolverine?”

  He gazed down at her, an unreadable expression on his chiseled face. “I’m a big fan.”

  “I’ve thought about getting a tattoo,” she confessed, continuing to gently stroke his shoulder. Now that she touched him, she couldn’t seem to stop. It felt too good, he felt too good. Though Robert had had a nice body, it had been nothing in comparison to Dean’s. The man was built for pure sin. Good thing she wasn’t a religious woman, because she fully intended to commit every sin in the book with him. “But I’m not sure what I would want or where I would want it for that matter.”

  He scratched the side of his nose, coughed, obviously biting back a grin. “You want a tattoo?”

  “I think they’re sexy. Don’t you? I have my bellybutton ring.” She flicked a nail over the silver hoop with the dangling red heart in her bellybutton. “But I want something more. A tattoo would be perfect.”

  “And permanent,” he said and reached down, traced a finger around her bellybutton. Her stomach trembled under his touch. A raging heat streamed through her settling between her legs. “This isn’t permanent. It can be removed when you want to. Maybe you should try a fake tattoo first. Get an idea of whether you truly want one or not.”

  “That may not be a bad idea,” she said and inspiration struck. She stepped around him, moved to an aisle near the back of the store. He followed as she had hoped he would. “I bet I could find something in here that would work,” she said and picked up a tin box of temporary tattoo messages.

  Dean took the box, read the top. “Make your body a billboard for your lover. Choose from over eight hundred, carefully selected letters, words and symbols relating to love, romance, and steamy affairs. You do have some interesting stuff in this place,” he said on a laugh.

  “You’re only hitting the tip of the iceburg with that. We’ll get to the rest later.” She watched his gaze grow dark with desire from her promise. “So, what do you think? Where should I try one?”

  * * * *

  Where should she try one ? She was no doubt baiting him. She made the first move. Oh, boy, had she made the first move. His dick still got hard every time he thought about the move she made, the way it felt to have her lips wrapped around him, and when he watched her swallow his cum… Sweet Jesus!

  Now, it's your turn . Every sensible cell in his brain screamed for him not to bite. It didn’t matter how badly he wanted her—and he did want her. He wanted her against a wall, on the floor, on a bed, in the shower, in the backseat of a car…He wanted her any way he could get her. But the simple fact still remained. He couldn’t have her. Not in the way he truly wanted her. Not if he intended to keep his sanity intack. He had run across women like her before. Women who had lived sheltered, boring lives and then suddenly let their hair down, so to speak, and went wild. It always spelled trouble.

  There had been a time when he would have leaped at the opportunity to get wild with Veronica Abbott. He had always known that all it would take was one night with her to get her out of his system. You gave up one-night stands a long time ago, Wolcott, he reminded himself. For nearly the past decade, the only sexual encounters he’d had were with women he had actually been involved with, women he was in a relationship with. Though for various reasons, not one of those relationships had lasted over a year.

  Still, Dean looked for more than a quick roll in the hay. He wanted love, commitment, marriage, a family. And something about the new Veronica Abbott told him he would find nothing of the sort with her.

  “Most women get one on their ankle,” he said, thinking that was the safest of her body parts to mention. She lifted her left leg, rested the toe of her shoe on one of the shelves, and he knew in an instant he had been wrong. Even her ankle wasn’t safe, because it was connected to that long shapely leg—a leg that he dreamed of having wrapped around his waist as he fucked her to oblivion on more occasions than he could count.

  She shifted her foot, turning her ankle a bit as if she were modeling a pair of shoes for a commercial. Dean stared, utterly entranced by the smooth tanned skin. “Wouldn’t that hurt? There’s nothing there but bone.”

  “It wouldn’t be on your ankle exactly."

  "Good because I hate pain." She shuddered. "Unless it's pleasurable pain, of course."

  Shit, shit, shit . Pleasurable pain? The images those words brought to mind had sweat beading on Dean's forehead. Deciding it best to ignore that little come-on, he said, "It would be above it a bit."

  "Like how far?"

  "Right about here.” Before he realized what he did, he reached down, lightly touched her leg a few inches above her ankle. The softness of her skin seeped into his fingertips, traveled through his body straight to his cock. And just like that, he was toast. Dammit, he had taken the bait hook, line, and sinker. One look at the hint of triumph in her eyes told him that he had done exactly what she wanted him to.

  “Maybe,” she said, her voice growing softer, huskier. “Or higher.” She grabbed his wrist, dragged his hand up.

  But Dean didn’t stop midway up the side of her leg as she probably expected. Instead, the non-sensible cells of the brain in his cock took over. As if on autopilot, his hand continued up and over, not stopping until he touched her inner thigh. Even through the material of her shorts, he could feel her heat, and he thought he would go mad with the hunger that clinched his insides. “If you go higher,” he said, his tone breathless, “this is where it should go.”

  Her fingers were still wrapped around his wrist, and she loosened her grip, slid her hand up his arm. “I think I like that,” she whispered. “It would be hidden, erotic, my little secret.” She shifted ever so slightly, and the movement had his hand moving even higher on her thigh. “A special treat.”

  "Jesus, Veronica. What are you doing to me?"

  "A treat for you, of course," she continued as if she hadn't heard his question.

  “I think you already have that. Right here.” He cupped her through her shorts and heard her quick intake of breath. His gaze locked with hers and the triumph he had seen there turned to a hot pleading desire.

  "Yes, Dean. That is yours." Her fingers gripped at his shoulder. "All you have to do is say you want it." />
  "Oh, I want it." He began to caress her, silently cursing the material that prevented him from feeling that sweet pussy. "I shouldn't want it, but I do. I shouldn't be touching you, but I am."

  Her lids slowly lowered, her lips parting, her breath becoming ragged as he continued to cup her, caress her, stroke her. "God, Dean, please."

  Her soft cries made his head spin. He wanted to rip off her shorts, feel her pussy without the barrier of the clothing. She was hot, so hot it nearly scorched his palm. And she was wet. He could feel it beginning to soak through the thin material of her shorts. His fingers ached to plunge inside her, to fuck her until she came in the palm of his hand. He owed her after all. He owed her for the orgasm she had given him.

  But he couldn’t kid himself into believing he did this out of obligation. No, he touched her because he wanted to, needed to. He couldn’t resist her and that frightened the hell out of him. She could rip him to shreds. Probably would if he weren’t careful. He managed to find her clit with his thumb, caressed it harder. Yeah, he was being real careful, wasn’t he?

  * * * *

  “Veronica?”

  Her eyes flew open at the sound of Judy’s voice calling through the store. She jerked her hand off of Dean’s shoulder, her leg still resting on the lower shelf dropped to the floor, and she took a stumbling step backward.

  He caught her arm, steadied her. “Careful.” There was a bit of amusement in his tone, though his expression was completely serious, his eyes were dark, his lips set in a thin grim line. He almost looked angry. But who was he angry at? Her? Judy? Himself? “Are you okay?”

  No! She was absolutely not okay. She had been mere seconds away from sheer bliss, from a complete and total meltdown, from orgasm heaven, and it had been violently ripped away from her. Her pussy burned, soaking wet and begging for the satisfaction that would now be denied.

  “Veronica, you have a—” Judy rounded the corner of the aisle and stopped, her cheeks instantly turning a deep shade of crimson. “Phone call,” she said more softly and quickly added, “I’m so sorry. The phone—I didn’t know—It's your father.”

  “My father.” Veronica exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Even hundreds of miles away, his timing doesn’t fail. Tell him I’ll be right there. I’m…” She glanced at Dean, looked back at Judy. “Tell him I’m with a customer.”

  Judy’s gaze danced between Veronica and Dean, a small knowing smile beginning on her lips. “I can tell him you’re busy and will call him back later.”

  It was tempting, but what would be the point? The moment with Dean was over. The sexual tension that had surrounded them evaporated almost the instant Judy called Veronica’s name. “No. Just tell him I’ll be there in a second.”

  She waited until Judy disappeared before turning her attention back to Dean. He stared down at her, and her stomach did a quick little dance. It hadn’t been anger she had seen in his expression. It had been frustration, longing, need. He was as aggravated as she that they had been interrupted. Again! But God, what would have happened if her father hadn’t called at that moment? They stood in the middle of an aisle in her store for crying out loud! The locker room at the station had been one thing. At least it had been a bit more secluded. But he had been fingering her—well, fingering her the best he could through her clothes—in the middle of a very public place. The thought was both erotically thrilling and chilling. How much farther would they have gone if they hadn’t been interrupted? She shuddered while cursing her father at the same time for not allowing her to find out.

  “I should go,” he said, and his tone was as soft and seductive as the hand he brought to her cheek. He slid the back of his fingers down the side of her face, and she tilted her head, leaning into the touch.

  “When can I see you again?” she asked in a whisper. “When can we finish what we started?”

  A look of uncertainty, of indecision came to his blue-green eyes. He didn’t say anything for several long agonizing seconds. “I’m not sure we should finish,” he finally said. “I’m not sure that we should have started at all. Wednesday you—What you did—I shouldn’t have let you, but it was fabulous, amazing, absolutely wonderful. But this is dangerous, Veronica.”

  “That’s almost funny coming from a man who used to live on the edge of danger,” she said but couldn’t find it in her to laugh. He was being so serious, so deep, and she didn’t want him that way. She wanted the carefree soul, the man who lived by the seat of his pants, the man who would fuck her at the drop of a hat and not think twice about it just because he was attracted to her.

  “I told you I’m not that man anymore, baby,” he said gently. “I’ve changed, and what I want now is something I don’t think you’re ready to give me.”

  She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, and at the moment, she didn’t care. They would finish what they started. She looked at him, at the warm swirl of desire that was still in his eyes and knew that even though he attempted to be reasonable, sensible, all she had to do was make the move and he would give in. He wanted her that badly, as badly as she wanted him. “I’ll be closing the store at 9. Come by the house around 10. I’ll take the phone off the hook,” she said, her words, half question and half request. Then she quickly added, “So that we can talk without interruption.”

  “Talk,” he repeated. One corner of his lips quirked in a smile, and she knew that he knew she had no intentions of simply talking. Still, he nodded, just the slightest almost imperceptible movement of his head and said, “I’ll see you at 10.”

  * * * *

  It was a bad idea. It was a very bad idea. Dean knew it in his bones, in his gut, in his heart. Yet, here he was pulling into Veronica’s driveway. He couldn’t get within ten feet of her without exploding. That much had been proven twice! Well, okay, so that wasn’t exactly true. He could get within ten or even five feet from her and still maintain his control. It was when she touched him, or he touched her, that all reasonable thought got lost.

  So he would keep his distance. That was the plan. Oh, it wasn’t what she had planned. She wanted to fuck. She hadn’t said as much when she’d told him to be here at 10:00, but she didn't need to. Dean didn’t have to be a psychic to read the intention in her eyes. Maybe they would get to that.

  Maybe, he thought as he switched off the bike’s motor and let down the kickstand. Be honest with yourself, Wolcott. They would no doubt get to that. But first they would talk. They had to talk. They had to get everything out in the open before anything between them—What was happening between them—went any further.

  Dean climbed off his bike, looked at the house. A rush of different emotions swept over him. How many times as a young boy had he longed to be invited to this house? Not just because of his monstrous crush on Veronica though yes that had been the primary reason. He had also been envious. He had yearned to be a part of more, to have a family that cared even if that said family was, in his opinion, as snooty and stuck-up as Veronica’s parents. They cared for her. They loved her. They may have been controlling, strict, and even a bit harsh, but they had been there. They hadn’t deserted Veronica by leaving or sinking into a bottle as his own parents had done.

  As he walked up the long winding path to the front door, he realized he was nervous. It was both ironic and disconcerting. He had faced a lot in his thirty-two years of life, most of which could have taken his very life from him, but none of it had ever made him feel nervous—poised, excited, or even a bit crazy maybe, but never nervous.

  Leave it to a dammed woman to turn even his emotions upside-down, he thought with a dry chuckle and rang the doorbell. In what felt like no more than a half a second—she must have been watching for him—the door eased open. Instead of seeing Veronica as he had expected, he saw only open space, a dimly lit entryway.

  Heart hammering in his chest, he stepped inside. His boots made a soft sound as they met with the hardwood floor. It was an entryway like that which would be seen in a movie about the rich. Classy an
d exquisite with framed artwork strategically placed on the walls and a small table that appeared on first glance to be from the turn of the century. It was the candles on the floor that lined both walls that had his eyes widening in surprise.

  He sensed more than saw the door close behind him. Then he felt the soft delicate hands come to rest on the back of his shoulders. So much for keeping his distance, he thought as he slowly turned.

  And took an involuntary step backward even as his heart stilled in his chest.

  Chapter 4

  If a strong wind ripped through the entryway at that moment and blew out every candle, the vision before Dean would still be forever etched in his mind. She had pulled her hair up into some sort of stylish design he couldn’t name and didn’t care to guess, with thin tendrils spiraling on either side of her face and tangling with a pair of silver earrings decorated in dangling red hearts. The red coincided with a barely-there, fire-engine-red teddy that made his mouth run dry. Spaghetti straps led to a red floral pattered, but completely see through. lace bodice, tied in a sweet bow between her breasts. The lace hung open in a flyaway shape revealing every slender line of her body and stopping just above her thighs and a pair of red g-strings. She wore red heels that seemed to make those already breathtaking legs end somewhere at her ears.

  “Is there a problem, Captain?” she asked, her mouth curving in a satisfyingly wicked grin.

  Dean felt his IQ sink into the single digits even as his dick sprang to attention inside his trousers. “My God,” was all he could manage on a husky, ragged whisper.