by Lori Foster
Beneath him, she stretched luxuriously. “I like that idea.”
“Great. I’ll let the front desk know.” Maybe, away from the familiar and all the responsibilities, he could get her to open up a little, to share some of her past, some of her worries and ambitions. “You’re beautiful, Red.”
While lightly tracing the edges of the bandage on his head, she said, “You’re sweet. Thank you.”
Brodie laughed. “Not a description usually put to me, but I’m glad you think so.” He lowered his forehead to hers. “I’m going to have to dispose of the rubber soon, which is going to wake Howler, so before I do that, will you tell me something?”
Wariness immediately crept into her gaze, forcing out some of the pleasure. “What?”
“Back up.” The last thing he wanted to do was lose the pleasure of the moment. “Before I ask, will you do me a favor?”
She huffed. “What?”
“Trust me?”
With her fingers playing over his shoulder, she frowned. “I do.”
“To a point?”
Her gaze met his. “To a point.”
“Will you try to trust me a little more?” He didn’t let her answer, not yet. “Just me, Red. Talk to me, confide in me, and it’ll end with me. You have my word.”
Skepticism clouded her expression, but she kept her tone soft. “Because we’ve had sex, I should trust your word?”
That stung. Hell, it stung too much. “I’m not a saint, Red, but I’m also not a liar.” He started to roll away but her legs tightened.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No?” If he didn’t move soon, he’d be taking a chance with her. The rubber really needed to go. “How’d you mean it, then?”
She stared at his mouth while she thought about it, but looked into his eyes when she said, “We had sex. We’ve both had sex before. Clearly it never meant much or we wouldn’t be together now. Sex is not a reason for confidences or...”
“Or for liking someone? For softening your stance and letting down your guard?” Her pragmatic approach bothered him more than it should have. That pragmatism often defined Mary, but damn it, what they’d just shared was more intimate, more special, than anything he’d known before.
For him, it wasn’t just sex.
It was so much more.
A small, almost helpless shake of her head wasn’t the answer he wanted.
This time Brodie got away from her and moved off the bed to stand beside it. Feet braced apart, feeling damned defensive, he marshaled his thoughts. This was Mary, and he sensed her uncertainty—though of course she’d do her best to hide it.
He banked his disappointment—not in the carnal act, because Mary’s enthusiasm had scorched him. But the cuddling and sharing afterward, which he usually disliked, was missing—and this time he wanted it. He thought about things while ignoring the way her gaze tracked over his body with renewed fascination.
“It could be a start.” But he wouldn’t beg her, damn it. “You just have to let it.” Turning away, he headed for the bathroom. He had the rest of the day and all through the night. Somewhere in his lust-clouded brain, he’d find the right words. And if he couldn’t...
Well, maybe he’d just find the right moves instead.
Mary liked sex. With him. Hell, he’d surprised her.
In a good way.
For now, for tonight, that might be enough. As he’d said, it was a start. If it all rolled the right way, he could build off it.
Not a bad plan at all.
CHAPTER TEN
HELTON STOOD STARING out the office window, watching the traffic go by below, when his cell phone rang. Tonight, he didn’t want to do business. He’d rather change into a casual shirt, drop into a bar at the old neighborhood and maybe start shit. A fight would feel good.
He’d gotten addicted to the feel of bruised knuckles and pumping adrenaline, the taste of blood in his mouth. Like the junkie needing a new high, his skin itched with the need to engage physically.
Sex, much as he enjoyed it, couldn’t compare with the satisfaction of a vicious brawl, not when he insisted on treating women with kid gloves.
He flexed his knuckles, smiling at the memory of his last fight. He’d demolished two men who’d insulted a barmaid, leaving them broken in an alley while he’d gone home with proud war wounds. He inhaled, missing it, wanting it...
The phone kept ringing so he glanced at the screen, then answered with an impatient, “What is it?”
Lem replied with his patented calm assurance, saying, “The men who screwed up—that situation is resolved.”
Helton glanced at the clock. That was fast. “Where’d you dump them?”
“In the same lake where they’d set up the exchange.”
A laugh took him by surprise. “Beautiful irony.” One problem down. “Getting info on the driver is the priority now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find out if they’re an item, what habits they might have, anything we can use.”
“We can use Ms. Daniels.”
“Last resort. Until then, get me info. I want to know Brodie Crews inside and out—his family, his friends, but also find out if he has any enemies, anyone who might like to see him brought down a peg.”
“I’m on it.”
“And, Lem? You don’t want to disappoint me again.”
“Won’t happen, you have my word.” He disconnected.
Helton picked up his suit coat and shrugged it on. God, how he would have loved to join in on the antics today. If only his dad hadn’t kicked it, leaving him a legit business to run.
If only he hadn’t died with a fanatic obsession for finishing a particular collection.
The good old days were gone, but maybe if the driver proved difficult—a hopeful thought—he could resurrect some of the perks and even get in on the action.
He had to honor his dad’s legacy, but nowhere was it written that he couldn’t have some fun along the way.
* * *
WAKENED BY THE dawn light filtering in through the curtains, Mary carefully lifted her head to see Brodie. With one arm he held her cuddled against his side, her head pillowed on his biceps. His other arm was up, folded behind his head, and the position made those incredible biceps bulge even in sleep. The sight of the dark, downy hair under his arm seemed oddly intimate, even more so than everything they’d done through the night, the things he’d done to her, the incredible orgasms he’d given her.
Seeing him like this—unguarded, tranquil, all his vital energy at rest—made her toes curl. His dark brows were relaxed, his thick lashes casting shadows over his cheekbones. Beard stubble added enticing angles to his already rugged face. His hair, mussed from sex and sleep, stuck out in every direction.
Be still my heart.
No, not her heart. She wouldn’t let it be her heart.
Too many times, in too many disastrous ways, she’d seen her mother hurt herself. Over and over again...
Mary squeezed her eyes shut, drew a breath and deliberately kicked the memories away. She was here, now, with the most elemental man she’d ever known, and studying him was far more enlightening than dwelling on the past.
With that thought in mind, she came up onto an elbow and looked at him again.
Around the small bandage she’d put on his head, she detected shadowy bruising. That knock on his head had to have hurt, yet he’d acted as if it hadn’t. Was it a macho display for her benefit, or was he really so used to injuries?
Across the room, she heard a snuffle that settled into a snore. Howler. Through the night the dog had groaned, stretched, snored elaborately and overall enjoyed his rest.
He made her smile.
Brodie made her smile, too.
Emotions commingled, leaving her thoughts turbulent.
; They could have been killed.
Therman had risked them both.
Brodie had pleasured her.
And God help her, she wanted to stay at the hotel. Another day, another week, having incredibly hot, amazing sex, being coddled as if she mattered, eating pizza in bed and watching old movies.
Like a dream, it was all so wonderfully normal, when her life had never been that.
During that very special interlude, the rest of the world had receded and now she found she didn’t want to face reality. She would—she was always responsible—but she didn’t want to.
Brodie shifted, sort of rolling toward her, moving one hand to her backside, the other to her breast.
“You’re awake?”
“Shh, no,” he said in a dark, sleep-rough voice. “I think I’m having a wet dream.”
Snickering, she bent to kiss his mouth. Oh, that hot, sexy mouth and the things he’d done with it...
“Another,” he gruffly demanded.
Obligingly, she returned to his mouth, this time teasing his lips for a five count, lingering, feeling her heart swell and her toes curl.
“Mmm,” he murmured. “I love the contrasts of you.”
Mary stilled. “Contrasts?”
He turned, putting her under him, his lower body pinning her down while he lifted to his forearms and stared at her chest. “These big soft tits, your prickly attitude—”
“Hey!”
“They are big and soft,” he insisted, deliberately misunderstanding her complaint. “I’d like to rub my dick between them.” His dark gaze locked on hers. “What do you think?”
He was so extraordinary, she didn’t know what to think. Yet somehow, everything Brodie suggested sounded hot. “Maybe.”
Those thick, masculine brows shot up. “Seriously? See, that’s another contrast. You contradict me so often, then out of the blue, bam, you’re agreeable.”
She was agreeable to more sex, more orgasms, more bone-melting pleasure and in that, she did trust him. Completely. He’d already proved to be a pro in bed. “If you think I’d like it, I believe you. You haven’t been wrong yet.”
“Yeah?” Grinning, he put a hand on each breast, idly caressing. With a hint of mischief, he said, “Well, I think you’d love giving head.”
Hearing him say it made her want it, so she replied honestly, “With you, I probably would.”
He stiffened, then turned again, pulling her atop him. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this—like, I really can’t believe it—but let’s put that on the back burner for a bit.”
Feeling unaccountably agreeable, maybe because his body could so easily distract her, she shrugged. “All right.”
“I promise I’ll bring it up again later.”
She believed him. Brodie was so sexual that it probably wouldn’t be far from his mind. Unfortunately for her, they’d used both condoms last night. If she insisted on pleasuring him, it would pleasure her, too. But sex was out without protection, and the idea of getting aroused—or more aroused—without satisfaction didn’t sound like much fun.
Of course, before Brodie, she hadn’t realized the scope of “satisfaction.” Now she did, and she would never again settle for less.
“You’re so distracting.” The firm column of his erection burned against her belly and she pressed against it, making his eyes close.
“I want to talk.”
“Okay.” She loved his chest. He had these rock-solid pecs sprinkled with hair, making that part of his body especially appealing.
Of course, his biceps were also amazing, as were his hairy thighs and his flat abdomen with that line of hair that led her gaze to his erection... She shouldn’t think of that now, but Brodie had easily made her obsessed.
Sighing, she spread her fingers out over his chest, then lightly dragged them down, letting her nails graze his nipples as she did so. “What do you want to talk about?”
The swat he landed on her behind startled her more than it hurt. “Hey!”
“Quit distracting me, Red.” With both hands, he massaged her butt as if that could take away the sting. “I’m going to take Howler out, and I’ll grab coffee on my way back up. The bathroom is yours until then.”
She badly wanted to run her face over his chest. And down his body, following that tantalizing line of hair to—
Another swat had her growling and ready to smack him back.
Brodie laughed. “I could almost feel what you were thinking, honey. I had no idea you were so wicked.” He bobbed his brows. “I like it.” Once more, he turned, this time dumping her to the side of him on her stomach.
His big hand settled on her left cheek, right where he’d landed that firm smack, but now his fingers were ultimately gentle.
“Damn.”
“What?” She reared up to look over her shoulder at him in accusation. “Did you leave a mark?”
“’Course not. I’d never hurt you, Red.” His gaze sought hers. “It didn’t hurt, did it?”
“It smarted.”
He made an “aww” face. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
She gave it thought... “Maybe.”
Grinning, he dutifully, slowly, buffed his lips over her cheek. The grin vanished as he circled a spot on her hip. “You have a big bruise here.”
She tried to see but couldn’t. “Remember I told you I’d landed on something hard when that jerk accosted me?”
“I should have killed him.” He gave her another kiss, this one to the injured spot. “If I get a second chance, I’ll make him suffer. I promise.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t sound so bloodthirsty. Personally, I hope we never see them again, but if we do, remember your promise to avoid conflicts when possible.”
“Yeah,” he said, his tone rife with irony, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Brodie,” she warned.
“Gotta drain the pipes, honey.” He strode into the bathroom, his butt and thigh muscles moving fluidly, making it a grand show.
Mary sighed and fell onto her back.
She heard the toilet flush, then water running. When he stepped back out, she hadn’t moved. She wasn’t sure she wanted to.
“Perfect,” he said as he stepped into his jeans, his gaze caressing her body. “Only problem now will be getting zipped.” He carefully got his jeans closed.
Mary smiled and stretched—which made Brodie groan.
It was so nice the way he carried on, as if she were a model or something—even though she knew she wasn’t. Yes, she had a lot of curves, but they were on a short frame, which made them even more exaggerated. She didn’t dislike her body, but neither was she blind to her flaws.
What she usually disliked most was the attention her curves drew from men.
Not so with Brodie. She loved seeing the heat in his intense gaze.
“Do you want any breakfast?”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than Howler rolled clumsily to his feet, ears perked with expectation. Brodie laughed. “Yeah, for you, too, bud.”
“That dog was awfully accommodating all night.” She slanted her suspicion his way. “Is he often in rooms with you while you have sex?”
“Not when I can help it, believe me. But last night, with you, I’m pretty sure a herd of elephants rampaging through the room wouldn’t have put me off.”
The odd comment, which she took as a compliment, warmed her.
Brodie pulled on a shirt. “The rain has stopped. Before we can leave, I’ll need to clean the car.”
True. The interior had to be covered with mud. “I can help.”
“We’ll see.” He came over to the bed and bent to kiss her, one hand fondling her breast as if he had the right.
And she supposed, after last night, he did.
“Food?”
>
“I could eat.”
“Then I’ll see what I can scrounge up. Give me twenty minutes.” With a final kiss, he straightened, leashed Howler, and out they went.
Mary took the opportunity to shower and put on makeup, not her usual full face’s worth—she just plain didn’t feel like it—but enough to look like a qualified professional instead of the drowned rat she’d been yesterday.
She started to pin up her hair, but feeling absurdly mutinous, she decided against that, too, and instead put it in a high ponytail.
Surveying herself in the mirror, she wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe the ponytail was too much? In her own jaundiced opinion, it made her look younger. Less serious.
She exhaled, debating between what she wanted, what she felt and what she was used to. Everything felt different now. She felt different. But it was so new, such an unfamiliar sensation, that she didn’t know if she should trust it.
Brodie, she could trust...in some things. Like sexual things. Pleasure things.
But herself? She’d made so many mistakes, especially in matters of intimacy—or rather, lack of intimacy. Would loosening up be just another mistake?
Too late. Brodie would return soon and she had to be dressed or they’d never get out the door. Much as she’d wish it otherwise, they had to leave today—no more stolen moments.
Before they did, though, she had a few things to get straight. That much she knew was important.
As she dressed in her replacement outfit, she listed them in her mind so that by the time Brodie returned, she’d be prepared.
He’d barely gotten in the door when she made the most important announcement. “You can’t tell anyone.”
Juggling an overflowing tray, bag and Howler’s leash, Brodie paused.
Her words had landed with the impact of a rude slap. Not her intention, but she couldn’t take them back.
His attention tracked over her, taking in her slightly wrinkled business attire: a boxy gray skirt that fell a few inches below her knees, flat-heeled sandals and a sedately striped, untailored blouse with a straight hem.
