by Jill Shalvis
She wriggled, and he slowly, carefully set her down in the center of the froufrou setup.
She had to remind herself that she was playing weak and hurt in order to get him out of her hair. But damn, the hardest thing she’d ever done was allow herself to sag back as if she didn’t have the energy to even get beneath the covers.
“You’re surrounded by mountains of pink.” He looked confused. “And miles of lace. You.”
She shouldn’t have been insulted, but she was. “It’s ridiculous, I realize that.”
“No, it’s—”
“I didn’t pick it out, okay?” If he smiled, she was going to kill him.
“Okay.” His mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. Smart man. “Your sister’s staying here with you?”
“Sort of.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell us you had a sister?”
Us. As in him, Noah, and Shayne. She wondered if the word choice was a subtle way of distancing himself, of being just someone from work.
Distance worked for her. “Why should I have? She doesn’t affect my ability to do my job.”
“Maddie.”
The low, soft chiding tone to his voice cut right through her righteousness and unexpectedly left her feeling stripped bare. Closing her eyes, she lay back, suddenly not having to fake being weak.
And stupid.
Let’s not forget very, very stupid. “I’m sorry. I’m not used to someone . . .”
“Caring?”
“Yes.”
“Well, at least you know I do care. I’ll take that as a good sign. Now if I could just get you to stop kicking at me.”
God, she knew it. “I’m sorry for that, too. And I’m sorry I said we weren’t friends.”
The light that came into his eyes would have warmed her soul if not for the knowledge that soon, she was leaving. For good. “I’m tired,” she whispered, throat tight. “I’m going to rest.” Lifting her arm, she settled it over her eyes to keep her from being tempted to keep looking at him, needing her fill.
But then she felt his hands on her foot, and then came the rasp of a zipper before he tugged her boot off.
And her other.
Which left her bare feet in his big, work-roughened palms. He took in her toenails, painted purple today, which didn’t mean anything except she’d been bored the other night. She had a silver ring on her second toe, which didn’t mean anything either. Nothing around her meant much, especially lately, and honestly, she was getting a little worried about that.
She needed something to mean something. And she wished it could be him. God, she wished that she could stop pushing and just let him in, really in.
Then his thumb skimmed over her instep, and she felt the touch in all the places she shouldn’t. She did her best not to melt under his touch, once again asking him the burning question of the day. “Where did you learn to fight?”
His eyes met hers, stubborn to the depths. “Where did you?”
“Do you always answer a question with another question?”
He sighed. “I grew up in Compton. Skinny little white boys didn’t fare so well unless they knew how to protect themselves.”
Staring up into his inscrutable face, she tried to see any of that vulnerability that must have been a part of him then. “You don’t talk about your family.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because.” When she just looked at him, he gave in. “My parents were barely able to score their next fix, much less worry about their street brat.”
“I see.” She knew it’d been bad, she just didn’t know how bad. She’d been lusting after the tall, enigmatic, gorgeous pilot for what, nearly a year now, and yet in all that time, she’d never seen him as anything less than a sure, steady, sharp, sophisticated man, a man who could, by turns, make her laugh, want to tear her hair out in both lust and temper, and in general, drive her mad.
She’d never pictured him doing as she had, overcoming mountains of shit to be where he was, and that was her selfish shame. “So you learned how to fight out of necessity.”
“Survival of the fittest.”
And he was fit. Incredibly so. Mouthwateringly so. But to find out it wasn’t just lucky genetics or a love of a good gym seemed to give him a whole new dimension for her to chew on.
“Now you,” he said.
“Classes,” she admitted. No need to hide that. “I learned to fight in classes. Lots and lots of classes.”
“Why?”
“A girl needs to be able to protect herself.”
He took that in, his gaze never leaving hers. “A girl shouldn’t have to. Especially a young girl. How old were you?”
“When I what?”
“Needed to know how to defend yourself.”
Okay, too close. She crossed her arms, or tried to, belatedly remembering it was a bad idea. When she winced this time, it was for real, and his mouth went grim. “Lift up,” he told her, and when she did, he pulled the blanket from beneath her to cover her up.
Which had been her plan. Let him put her to bed.
Except he didn’t look like he was planning on going anywhere. She needed to get him to leave for long enough that she and Leena could get out without him following. The only idea that came to her seemed fairly evil, even for herself, but she had no choice. “I can’t sleep in my clothes.”
He went still, then lifted only his gaze. “No?”
“I need help undressing.”
A dizzying mix of reluctant arousal and discomfort crossed his face. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Why don’t you go to the post office for me, and I’ll get Leena to do this.”
At his expression, she knew she’d done it. Finally. He was about to run like a little girl and choose the post office.
Chapter 10
Brody stared at Maddie lying in the bed, looking wan and helpless, and very unlike herself. If he hadn’t kissed her, he might really wonder if he indeed had the right twin. Slowly, he repeated the important part of her statement because it bore repeating. “You need help undressing.”
“Yes.” She tossed back the blanket, reminding him of how little she was wearing. “But don’t worry. Leena’ll help me undress and make me hot tea for the pain meds while you go to the post office.”
Uh-huh. Except . . . yeah. She sounded just a little too eager for him to go.
Big surprise.
He took in her teeny tiny little miniskirt, something he’d been doing his damnedest not to. It had crept up so high on her silky smooth, creamy thighs that he could just see a barely there hint of silk between. Her top, that lacy number, fit her like a glove and had risen too, revealing a strip of belly and that sparkly piercing twinkling at him like a beacon.
Jesus.
Sliding her fingers up her body until they rested low on her abs, her thumb playing with the hem of the shirt. “I’m not sure I can get this off by myself.”
As if to prove it, she tried, using her good hand, pulling the material up to just beneath her breasts, squirming as she strained to get her arm out. With some work, she did get the one arm out, and then she was caught halfway in, halfway out, her head beneath the stretchy material.
Beneath the lace, she had silk. Tiger-striped silk in the form of a demi bra cut so low that all her wriggling and squirming threatened her coverage.
Not to mention, shot his distance theory all to hell.
“Uh-oh.” She bounced up and down. Yeah, like that was going to do anything except maybe give him a heart attack because her breasts were bouncing too, shimmying and shaking, and he actually felt a coronary coming on—
And then it happened.
A nipple popped right out of her bra, a sweet rose-colored nipple.
Riveted to the spot, he stood there, heart pounding, blood roaring like a white-water rapid as it rushed through his body to pool between his legs.
“Damn it, I’m stuck. Can you get Leena?” Her voice was muffled through the shirt. She had her bad arm pin
ned to her side, her good arm straight up over her head, her top still half on and half off.
And a nipplegate situation going on.
He had to clear his throat to talk and even then managed only a barely audible “I said I’d do it.”
Because he was stupid. Very, very stupid.
For her part, she kept valiantly trying to free herself, which involved more bouncing. He tried to move, but in reality, he could do nothing but stare at her breast, the tip puckering up tight right before his eyes, making his mouth water.
“Brody? You out there?”
He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah,” he managed hoarsely.
She tugged again and then let out a low cry of pain, which pretty much galvanized him into reluctant action. Setting a knee on the bed, he leaned over her. Christ, where to put his hands? “Be still,” he demanded, but the woman never listened. She kept moving, moving, moving, and her bared breast kept bouncing, bouncing, bouncing. “Seriously. Sit still.”
He held her raised arm with one hand and ordering himself not to look, grabbed the hem of her shirt to try to get the thing off her, all the while taking care of her bad arm.
And not looking.
He succeeded at the first and failed miserably at the second. The shirt snagged on her elbow, and once he fixed that, he was nearly home free until he caught the material on her earring.
“Ouch.”
“Don’t move!”
“I’m not!”
Not earring. Earrings. She had four silver hoops in her ear, and he had no idea why, other than the tiny hoops made a sweet little tinkling sound when she moved, and for some reason, the sight of them made him want to nibble there.
But there were lots of places he wanted to nibble at the moment. With Herculean effort, he finally dragged her free of the shirt and tossed it aside.
In unison, they looked down at her exposed breast. “Whoops,” she said and tucked her nipple back into the cup of her bra.
He’d carried her through the house and up the stairs without breaking a sweat, but he was sweating now. “Okay, then. I’ll just . . .” Dream about your body, and that nipple, for the rest of my life. “. . . get you that tea.”
“But I’m not all the way undressed.”
He eyed her skirt. The smallest skirt in the history of skirts. “Right. I guess that has to come off.”
“The zipper’s in the back,” she said helpfully.
And then she all but stopped his heart by rolling to her belly, exposing the smooth, sweet skin of her slim back, broken only by the strap of her bra and that scrap of material masquerading as a skirt, which revealed her tattoo and emphasized the sweetest ass he’d ever seen, not to mention the two tightly toned legs that could take him weeks and weeks to explore.
“Do you see the zipper?” she asked, her face pressed into the bed.
The one that ran a whole whopping two inches from the small of her back just below her small tattoo to halfway down the already aforementioned sweet ass? Yeah, he saw it.
“Brody?”
“On it.” His palms itched. His fingers twitched. Everything twitched. He should have gone to the damn post office. With a knee still on the bed, he leaned over her and grabbed the zipper tab.
Then pulled.
She wriggled, widening the gap, and if he’d thought her skirt tiny, it had nothing on her thong panties, a matching tiger-striped, narrow strip bisecting the most amazing, mouthwatering ass he’d ever seen.
Reaching down with her good hand, she shoved the skirt off one hip and then wriggled—Jesus H. Christ—wriggled to try to lower the other side as well. She did have a small birthmark on the back of her right thigh, and at the thought, a strangled sound of lust tumbled from his lips.
Craning her neck, she blinked at him. “You okay?”
No. No, he wasn’t. All of the blood in his body, every single drop, had left his brain for parts south.
“I can’t—” She struggled some more, those sweet cheeks lifting off the bed, and he found himself actually leaning in as if to kiss them.
Or take a bite out of them.
“A hand?”
Yeah, a hand. How about both hands? He could cup and squeeze—
“Brody?”
“Yeah.”
You are so fucked, he told himself and slipped his fingers into the waistband of her skirt to tug. Shrink-wrapped to her skin, the skirt only gave an inch. But that inch . . . more sweet flesh, more of the thong . . . holy mother of God, he wasn’t going to recover from this. He really wasn’t.
Another tug, and the skirt slid to her upper thighs, exposing her in full, including the line of the thong as it narrowed and vanished between her legs. And then she scissor-kicked the skirt off her legs, giving him an all too quick, tantalizing view of the barely covered treasure in between.
“Brody?”
He blinked and realized she’d turned back over and was waiting for him in nothing but tiger stripes. “Huh?”
“Blanket?”
“Right.” He yanked it over her and swiped his forehead. “It’s hot in here. Is it hot in here?”
Her eyes were already drifting shut. “It’s just perfect. Thanks for your help . . .”
Okay, then. He strode to the door as fast as he could, needing out, needing air, needing . . . well, what he needed didn’t bear thinking about.
The minute Brody left the room, Maddie slapped her forehead. Asinine. Her great plan had totally and completely backfired on her because now she was shaking. Shaking and quivery and so turned on she could hardly stand it. She shoved the covers back off and took a deep breath.
He’d wanted her.
By the look in his eyes, he’d wanted all of her, fast and wild and maybe a little dirty. Whew. Fanning her face, she got out of the bed, then went looking for Leena.
They had to go. Like yesterday.
Only Leena was already gone. Her bag, her suitcase . . . gone.
Oh, God. Maddie stood in the center of the spare bedroom, the spare empty bedroom, and then ran to the window. Leena’s car was gone.
Damn it! She’d decided to execute The Plan on her own.
But Maddie couldn’t let her do it. Stupid plan or not, they were stronger together than apart, and she was going after her to prove it.
Leena bought the last ticket on a plane bound for New Orleans and hoped to be at Ben’s art gallery by dawn.
Assuming her courage caught up with her.
