It'd been so ... fucking ... long since anyone had wanted him with such honesty. If he were stronger at the moment, he'd have rolled her off him, pressed her back into the vinyl of the seat, and told her she didn't need to rescue him. He didn’t need that at all. What he needed was her.
More red hair brushed his face as she leaned over him. Fabric rustled, and bare flesh touched him. Jesus, she'd taken off her panties. The second she positioned herself at his tip, he hardened completely. She sank down on him and ... God, he'd forgotten the mind-blanking power of a woman's inner warmth. His consciousness clutched at the sensation, not wanting to ever again forget.
Rising up and sinking down, she rode him off a frenzied ledge until his heartbeat stopped punching at his ribs and leveled out to a dull thud.
He paused her moving hips, swiped the hair from her face.
A new hunger took over, one that dissolved his anxiety like sugar in water. His hands rose up her back to the clasp of her bra. He freed her breasts, and after one second to take in all her milky white skin and the pale peach of her nipples, his mouth latched on to taste. Her soft sighs as he licked and sucked, fed his courage. His hips began to match hers, pitching himself further and deeper inside her until he was nothing but raw lust and need.
He didn't last long, and when she gave a soft cry, he was cognizant enough for his ego to swell at the sound.
She draped herself over his chest and shoulders, and he held onto her thighs to keep her from sliding off. Her breathy pants were his new favorite sound, one he'd remember for the rest of his life—as well as the feel of her silky skin under his fingers, and the wet warmth that connected them.
She leaned up and put both her hands on his cheeks. “I'll take us back.”
“No. I’ll drive.” His body might be a little wrung out, but he wasn't letting her go, not yet. “Come home with me.”
She nodded slowly.
No more of this falling apart. Maybe she was too good for him, but he was going to man the hell up. Let the angels envy all they wanted. This woman was his angel, and the MacKenna’s could go fuck themselves.
20
Nathan woke with a start when a soft hand came down on his chest. A quick glance at the clock, and he rose to his elbows: 10:00 a.m.? His head hit the pillow again. He'd slept hard and for more hours than he could recently recall. He turned his head, and the slide of fabric under his ear sounded too loud.
“Morning.” Starr's sleepy eyes scrunched up as she smiled at him.
What day was it? Sunday? No, it was Monday. He twisted his neck to stare at the long crack that ran the length of his ceiling. Yesterday came back in a set of fuzzy mental postcards. The salt air, watching boats, and then driving. Starr on his lap, his cock buried inside her. Traffic and the familiar scent of his apartment. The streak of a cat running across his living room, and hot, hot, water bathing his body.
He had been in the shower with Starr. The palest, smoothest skin he'd ever seen had been under his hands, and then in his bed. In the dark, his mouth had run over every centimeter of her pliant and willing body. They hadn't talked. They hadn't needed to. Making love to her the second time—this time in a proper bed—was better than he could have imagined.
“Hungry?” The bed jostled as she sat up and pulled fistfuls of bedsheet to her. He ached to reach out and touch the pale swell of her breast peeking from the side of the bedsheet. She took it with her, and the sharp hit of air conditioning pebbled his skin. Okay, now he was awake.
Starr dragged all the fabric through the bathroom door and yanked it inside just before she shut him out with a soft click of the door. Did he mind? How could he? Midnight Starr had spent the night with him. Fuck, under him.
The bed jolted as a ball of fur pounced on his legs. With delicate prances, the cat made its way up to the pillow vacated by Starr. After circling twice, it stretched out and claimed its spot. Jesus, his world had grown surreal.
The bathroom door opened, and Starr stood in the doorframe in one of his tee-shirts that skimmed her mid-thigh. “I'm thinking pancakes. You have mix?”
He’d be lucky to have coffee. “Uh, don't know.” He swung his legs to sit up and the room tilted. Oh, yeah, post panic attack headaches were the worst, but it'd clear once he downed half a bottle of Tylenol.
She wound her hair up into a ponytail, and the edge of the faded cotton tee-shirt rose up and threatened to give him a glimpse of what he still could not believe he'd had last night. “I'll find something.”
Just like that, she was out of the bedroom and headed toward the kitchen. The cat jumped off the bed and followed her out.
After brushing his teeth, downing four Tylenol, swiping his hands over his unruly hair, and throwing on jeans, he found Starr in the kitchen in front of his stove. Something sizzled, its yeasty scents close to heaven.
He eased himself down on the stool at the counter. “Guess I had pancake mix. Who knew? Those first few weeks after my release were a blur.” He’d never opened the cabinets. Who knew what was in them.
The beep of his microwave sounded. She pointed toward it with her spatula. “And syrup, which is a good thing because pancakes without it are not worth the calories.” She opened the microwave and pulled out a bottle of syrup he didn't realize he had. “Luna taught me this trick. Keeps the pancakes warm if you make the syrup hot.” She ran her finger over the open bottle top and brought it to her lips. The small slurping sound she made as she sucked the sticky syrup off her finger made him harden. The cat made plaintive sounds as it circled her bare legs, competing for her attention. Get in line, cat.
“You hungry, precious?” She’d adopted an adorable little girl voice.
He rose, got out a can of cat food, and after opening it, set it before the cat, who attacked it with its usual gusto.
She reached down and ran her hand over the cat's back. “What's her name?”
He shrugged. “Don't know. Haven't gotten around to naming it. Honestly didn’t know it was a girl.”
“How about Moonlight?” She leaned down more, got close to its ear. “Would you like that, little girl?”
The cat's tail twitched, but it kept at the little tin like a starving beast, the bottom of the can scraping along the kitchen floor until it got stuck under the counter. Starr kept running her hand down its spine.
The scene made his insides wobble. For one second, he imagined this was his life now. One of them would cook breakfast. One of them would feed the cat. Normal people stuff had been so far off his radar for so long, they might as well be in a Twilight Zone episode.
Moonlight looked up at Starr, licked her mouth, and Starr returned to petting her, which amazingly, the cat let happen.
“You're a cat whisperer,” he said.
“Nah, animals are just like people. You be nice to them, they'll be nice to you.”
If only that were entirely true. Perhaps to Starr it was. “I'd say you're special. That cat's never gotten near anyone.”
“She goes near you.”
He chuckled, and didn't that loosen more inside him? “I was the closest thing to food.”
“I had a cat growing up. I wonder whatever happened to Snow White?” Starr's eyes grew distant but then cleared, and she went back to the sizzling pancakes on the stove. Nathan never had grand life goals, but this morning, the way she jutted out her hip in his tee-shirt, in his kitchen, making breakfast, a cat rubbing against her perfect legs, his world became clear. He wanted this morning every day.
She scooped four pancakes onto a plate and set it before him.
“Smells great.” After dousing them in the warm syrup, he picked up a fork and attacked them. They were probably the best things he'd eaten in weeks. “Do you need to call your sisters? I mean, I think you all live together, right?”
She leaned against the counter. “Yep, three-bedroom apartment with three baths. We're never giving it up for that reason alone.” She pushed the syrup bottle toward him. “Eat up. There's more.”
“
You're not having any?”
“I never eat in the morning. Feeling better?” She put a glass of milk in front of him.
The concern in her eyes rubbed at him. “I'm fine. You?”
“Fine.”
Shit. They'd reverted to polite talk.
She ran her finger along the syrup bottle cap. “So, about last night.”
Here it comes. The moment where she says “tell me more…”
She came around and settled on the stool next to him. “So, I’m just going to ask. Um, you don’t think I’m easy, do you?”
He nearly choked on a forkful of pancakes. He took a swallow of the milk. “I would never think that.”
She relaxed, and her palpable relief irked him. This woman should never have to worry about being easy.
“A man should have to work hard to be with you. If anything, I’m going to have to up my game.” He took her hand. He needed to feel her skin, to connect.
She curled her fingers into his. “Good. And, thanks for sharing everything with me yesterday. You don’t have to talk about it again if you don’t want to. The past can be hard. I should know. So.” She stood and wrapped her arms around him. “Since you told me yours, I thought I'd fill you in a little bit on mine.”
Did he want to know? A buzzing in the bedroom grabbed his attention. He half welcomed the interruption since they were about to veer into conversational territory he wasn’t sure he was equipped to deal with. Talking had not worked out too well yesterday, despite Starr’s compassion.
He turned to pull her between his knees. “Okay.”
“It’s not pretty.”
“But you are.” He tucked hair behind her ear and let his finger trail down the side of her neck.
She blushed a little, which made him harden even more.
His stupid phone buzzed again. Someone wanted him—badly.
“You need to get that?” she asked.
“One sec.” He rose to answer the damned thing.
“Hey man, sorry to bug you on your day off.” Trick's voice was the last he’d expected to hear.
“S’okay, what's up?” He headed over to the large window in the living room.
“Have a bit of a problem. Someone rammed their Crown Vic into the club's front entrance.”
“No shit.”
“The cops are arresting the guy as we speak.”
“Drunk?”
“Worse. Sober as a nun.”
21
Starr pulled out her phone. She needed to check in with Phee and Luna, though from the way Nathan paced, his fingers raking through his hair, she'd have to make it quick.
“You still with Nathan?” Phee did not sound happy.
Starr huffed. “Well, good morning to you, too.”
Phee had answered her text last night, announcing she was spending the night at Nathan's with “you sure you want to do that?” followed up with “sleep with the light on.” Starr hadn't answered. Phee's suspicious nature was justified given her past, but she’d crossed the line with her last message.
“Coming home?”
Starr eyed Nathan, whose pacing hadn't abated. She’d overheard something about truffles? Joyeux la Monde? Wasn't that the restaurant Ruark MacKenna had suggested?
“Hello,” Phee sang.
“I'm here.”
“Well, you need to come back. Guess who's been calling? Our sperm donor. Luna gave him her phone number. Take a wild guess what he's been calling about?”
Starr turned away from Nathan and walked deeper into the kitchen area. “Did he outright ask for money?” That's all he'd ever reached out to them for, those first early years when they were still kids—at least until he'd fully disappeared, thanks to her final deal with him. “Why is Luna even answering?”
“Why has Luna, or that matter you, done any of this?”
Things were getting worse between them. Nathan's voice also rose, but he soon killed his call.
“Okay, look I'll be home soon, but I have to do some things—”
“Like what? You and Nathan playing house now?”
What was up Phee's butt? “Oh, better. We're going house shopping today. Jesus, Phee. Lay off. Just ... things. We're taking care of a cat.” By the look of the fur on her belly, or rather the lack of fur on her belly, she needed to get Moonlight to a vet, stat.
“A cat? We’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
“Later, Phee. Around” —she waved her hands in the air to no one— “four. We'll talk then.”
She ended the call.
So their father had started up again. Shocker.
Nathan’s head swiveled her way. “Someone ran a car into Shakedown’s front entrance.”
“You're kidding me, right?”
“Nope. But it'll be fixed. Declan will call everyone later. Let us know what it means.”
“We might close?” That would suck money-wise, but having more time off could be nice, especially now.
“No, nothing like that.” He shrugged himself into a tee-shirt, stretching it across his pecs.
Yeah, time off with Nathan would be very nice indeed. She wanted to kiss every scar on his magnificent body. He hadn’t been kidding about the damage done to him, and it maddened her to the core he’d suffered such obvious violence. She knew first-hand how it changed a person.
“Hey, you ever have a truffle? I gotta pick some up from some French restaurant,” he said.
“Ick. They're Phee's favorite. Declan's put them on the menu for her, hasn't he?”
“He's got a thing for her.”
“He does.” She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.
His fingers dug into his scalp, then his arm dropped by his side. “Men do crazy shit when they're into a woman.”
“So do women.” She stepped forward until her body was flush against his. “They heat up syrup for pancakes.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed, and his jaw loosened a bit. The tension around his eyes softened, and he almost smiled. He did that only around her, and it felt so good to know she mattered to him.
Fur rubbed against her ankles. “Hey, if I can get an appointment, will you drop me and Moonlight off at the vet's while you go and get the truffles? She's got a skin problem. Then pick me up later?”
“Later.”
“Yeah. Unless you have stuff to do.”
“I can do that.” He pulled her closer into him. The feel of his hard body soothed her jagged nerves. Nothing bad could happen to her when she was with this man. He’d fight for her.
“How do you know what the cat's problem is?”
“Some things are just obvious.” Like how his heartbeat thumped through the thin cotton and made her own heart ratchet up.
“Well, I was convinced she was a he, so it’s probably not a good idea to rely on what’s obvious to me.” He shrugged.
God, he was cute, in a scruffy, gruff way. She held out her hand. “Come on, cat lover, you're going to get some truffles and Moonlight some cortisone cream.”
His hand engulfed hers, the warmth and rough calluses comforting in an odd way. This was the type of guy who'd barricade the door for you if anyone tried to do you harm—unlike the man who’d fathered her and her sisters.
Nathan wouldn’t abandon his kids, that was for sure. He’d laid his past out for her yesterday, and, if anything, it showed how much he stuck up for people. But he had burdens on his shoulders like an ox yoke. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to pile on more with her crappy past. It made her think of Phee, suddenly. So many past hurts, so much to wade through, but Phee could handle them. Nathan could handle more than he knew, too. She just knew it, but today maybe wasn’t the day to test that theory.
He pulled her down the hallway, which was fine by her. They’d shower and get dressed and have a day together just like a real couple. “So, what happened at the club?”
His face sobered, and he didn’t answer her.
22
After dropping Starr off at Bayside Animal Hospital and Sp
a, Nathan headed out to pick up the truffles.
He still couldn't get over the cheery girl behind the counter taking one look at Moonlight and declaring they could definitely “fit in a visit for a rescue.” Maybe he'd go back to school and become a vet so he could work in a bright yellow room dotted with aquariums in every corner while well-dressed men and women sat patiently in padded chairs either holding a fur ball on their lap or had a dog lying by their feet.
He’d left Starr to handle the paperwork. The forms rivaled a human emergency room visit, including instructions to download their app and the freaking wireless Internet code for the “guest's use” when visiting. He’d turned that crap over in his brain on the way to the French restaurant, and got out of the car, still shaking his head.
“You Nathan?” A guy stood outside La Monde Joyeux, which was really a small white house with red gingerbread trim along the wrap-around porch. Restaurants had changed, too, since he got out.
Nathan took the paper bag from the man's hand.
The guy glanced around nervously. “Tell Declan, we're even. That's $200 worth.”
Two hundred fucking dollars? For mushrooms? He peeked inside. A decaying earth smell immediately assaulted him.
The guy scrunched his hand around the bag. “Watch it. My boss doesn't know how many I snagged.”
He just shook his head and took the bag of smelly things to his car. He eased back into traffic and cracked his window. He scanned his dash to see if he needed gas. Traffic was tough today. Damn, it was already two o’clock, but Starr and Moonlight were going to have to wait a bit longer because he was not driving around with these smelly things a minute more than he needed to. He'd drop off the mushrooms and go to get them after. It still took a good forty minutes to get to Shakedown's parking lot. Just in time, too, because his gut roiled with the smell of truffles.
Eight workmen in hard hats gathered around the debris, two of them holding beams that supported the roofed portico, while another barked orders at a guy holding a drill as he stood on a ladder. Hammering, sawing, and drilling sounds filled the air. Shit, who knew a Crown Vic could do so much damage to a building.
Tough Luck (The Shakedown Series Book 1) Page 10
