Baddest Bad Boys(44)
“Some. Not enough to make you a prisoner on the second floor. Come and go as you like. It won’t bother me.” Much.
“I know you don’t want me here, Mac. So as soon as I work things out, I’ll be gone. I promise.” She ran a hand nervously through her hair, shoved one side of it back. Mac caught a glimpse of an ivory throat, the sparkle of a single diamond on her lobe. “I’m just grateful you took me in.” She laughed lightly. “God, I sound like a stray cat—probably look like one, too.”
As strays went, this one merited a bowlful of rich cream and a warm place in the master’s bed. He deep-sixed the image.
He could see she was working hard to look casual, stay in control. “Hugh said you were in some kind of trouble.” Mac waited, watched.
Her hand fluttered from her hair to the deep vee of her top; she tucked her fingers under its trim to massage the space between the shoulder and the top of her breast. Mac followed the play of her hand as she idly stroked herself. The fire made her hair glow to gold, an angel halo atop the body of a Penthouse bunny.
Fuck! She hadn’t been in the room five minutes and he wanted her.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not talk about it.” Her eyes darted from his. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Suit yourself.” He strode toward the kitchen area, set apart from the great room by a long counter. The more distance between them, the better. “Hungry?”
“Starved.” She gave him a grateful smile, either for not asking any more questions or for offering her food; he wasn’t sure which. She trailed after him and sat on a stool at the tiled counter, tossed her head to settle her long hair down her back.
“Nuked leftovers okay?” He frowned at the clear plastic container he’d pulled from the fridge. “Chicken is my guess.”
She came around the counter, took the container from his hand. “How about I earn my keep?” She glanced around the fully appointed kitchen. “I can see we’re not exactly roughing it here.” She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Which means there must be wine.”
“Just red.”
“Perfect.”
As Mac headed for the wine, his phone rang.
“My cell quit miles back,” she said and looked puzzled.
“Satellite. If you have calls to make, feel free.” He abandoned the wine project and crossed the room to his phone. “I’ll only be a minute.”
He was twenty minutes at least, and by the time he hung up, two plates with chicken, salad, and rolls were on the table.
She’d found the wine and was reaching vainly for the wineglasses on the top shelf. He took his gaze from the four inches of bare back her stretch exposed and went to stand behind her, easily picking a pair of wineglasses off the high shelf. This close to her, he couldn’t ignore the scent of roses drifting up from her hair, or the rousing pressure where his groin met her buttocks as he’d reached above her head.
He sure as hell couldn’t ignore the stir behind his zipper when she turned—almost in his arms—to look up at him, her eyes not quite focused, face delicately flushed, lips parted in perfect invitation.
Pupils dilated.
Mac knew the signs, sensed the vibes, and damned if he didn’t get hard thinking about it. About her.
The air between them burned blue-hot.
Could he…Could it be this easy?
Their bodies touched, held, exuded heat, one into the other.
Neither stepped away.
Mac raised the empty glasses, looked down at her. “Need anything else?” he asked, his voice deeper than he intended.
He heard the hitch in her breathing, knew his own followed suit. Then…she blinked.
And slid away from him with the speed of a cornered cat.
“No, that’s it.” She coughed as if to clear her throat. “Let’s eat. Then if you’ll show me to my room, I plan to sleep for at least twenty-four hours. Oh, and I have to call Hugh, and—” Her words were rushed, anxious, her face still pink.
“That call was Hugh. He’s called three times to check on you. I told him you were fine.” He stepped back. “The phone’s yours if you want to tell him yourself.”
“No. That’s okay. Thanks.” She rubbed her hands down her thighs. “Let’s just have dinner, all right?”
He nodded.
They managed a spotty local-news-and-lousy-weather conversation during dinner, but her eyes didn’t meet his directly until a half-hour later when he showed her to her room, where she muttered a weary “Thanks, Mac” and a good-night before she closed the door in his face.
Mac went back to the fire, poked at it, and, for the first time since Hugh called and woke him early this morning, smiled.
The smile dropped off his face when he thought about his brother and his feelings for Tommi.
If it weren’t for Hugh, he might strap on some emotional armor—and a condom or two—and get in line after all.
For the next few days at least—for once—that line would be damn short. He’d promised Hugh he’d take care of her, keep her safe.
Fucking her was not an option.
Tommi sat heavily on the edge of the bed. What in heaven had happened down there? And what magic had transformed the skinny, awkward boy who used to be Mac Fleming into a calendar hunk of the month?
Shannon McKenna & E.'s Books
- Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)
- Standing in the Shadows (McClouds & Friends #2)
- In For the Kill (McClouds & Friends #11)
- Fatal Strike (McClouds & Friends #10)
- Extreme Danger (McClouds & Friends #5)
- Edge of Midnight (McClouds & Friends #4)
- Blood and Fire (McClouds & Friends #8)
- Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)