Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(41)

Mac turned to lift a brow at Steady, wondering what his excuse might be. To his utter exasperation, the man didn’t even attempt to come up with a justification for his departure. He simply made an oh, shit face when he saw Delilah’s over-bright eyes and turned on his heel, escaping into the hall, slick as a whistle, pulling the door out of the sheetrock and closing it behind him.

All of ’em are worthless as teats on a bull when it comes to a woman’s tears, Mac inwardly groused. But when he turned back to Delilah, it was to discover the wetness had miraculously vanished from her eyes. And not only that, but she was stalking—yes, stalking; it was the only way to describe that slow, rolling gait of hers—toward him.

He instantly went from feeling sorry for her to feeling like a fly about to get stuck in a glue pot…





Chapter Ten


“What are you doin’?” Mac demanded, attempting to don that inscrutable mask of his, but failing to manage it. For one thing, Delilah could read the wary suspicion in the flash of his narrowed eyes, and she could see the muscles in his jaw jerking, causing that adorable dimple in his chin to twitch.

The sight worked on her like a Tom Hardy nude scene, warming her blood, tickling her womb, and making her realize that one: Mac fully clothed was much hotter than Tom Hardy in his birthday suit—imagine that, if you will. And two: She was right to do this. Because they’d been circling each other like a couple of heavyweight boxers for way too long, and it was way past time for one of them to throw the first punch and see where the match-up would take them.

Besides, what did she have to lose? The one man in the whole world who loved her just as she was had mysteriously flown the coop. And if he didn’t come back to her alive then she didn’t know—

No. Don’t think about that now.

And, okay, so that was sound advice. Because what would happen later, good or bad, would happen later. There was absolutely nothing she could do about that. But she could do something about this.

So make like Nike, and “just do it.” Mmm, hmm. Alrighty then…

“What am I doing?” She cocked a brow, hoping it looked as sexy as it felt. It’d been a hell of a long time since she tried to work her feminine wiles, which meant she was rustier than the springs on Charlie Sander’s bed. “I’m finding a way to take my mind off my uncle for the next hour or so,” she told him, lowering her chin so she could stare out at him from under her eyebrows. Was it coming off like she wanted it to? Like a look of pure seduction? Or was it more of the creepy/stalkery type of expression?

In all honesty, it was hard to tell. Especially since the big idiot just stood there. Blinking at her. But then, just when she was about to try another tactic…bingo! She’d managed to pull off pure seduction after all, because Mac gulped. Like, she seriously heard an audible gulp and saw his Adam’s apple bob in the long, tan column of his throat. If she’d been a cartoon villain, this is the part where she’d rub her hands together and laugh maniacally.

“H-how were you plannin’ to do that?” he managed, uncrossing his arms and glancing behind him like he was considering making a run for it.

She pointed a finger at her face, stopping a mere foot from him. “You know what I’m planning to do. It’s written all over my face.”

“Sex.” Mac said the word like one might say mucus—with a bit of a lip-curl. For a brief moment, just one split second, she was taken aback. But then she recognized his act for what it was…

“Yes, sex. Or something close to it,” she taunted. “And you can drop the uninterested shtick right now, Mr. McMillan.” That sounded a little like Marilyn Monroe saying Mr. President, didn’t it? Yes, it did. And, booyah! “I know you want to.”

She lifted a hand, walking her fingers up the breadth of his chest until she could lay her palm over his heart. To her intense satisfaction, the organ was racing at breakneck speed, belying anything he might try to say to contradict her last statement.

Yeah, that’s right. I still got it! If it wouldn’t have ruined the mood, she’d have pumped a fist.

“Wh-why would you think that?” he asked, blinking rapidly, breathing rapidly.

“Because I felt how hard you got when you were lying on top of me.”

“That was just…uh…just the adrenaline.”

“Bullshit.”

He gulped again. “Okay. But you can’t expect me to…just…fall into your trap.”

“What trap is that?” She loved this feeling of power. Loved that, for the first time in nearly eighteen hours, she could push the panic and fear aside and concentrate on something she might actually be able to accomplish. Namely, the bedding of one Bryan “Mac” McMillan…

“Cut the crap,” he growled, glancing pointedly at her boobs. “You know what trap it is.”

She smiled, making sure the expression was a little sly, like a cat watching a canary. “You see something you like, cowboy?” she murmured, moving toward him, putting him to the shark-bump test. You know the one Great Whites use to see if their prey is weak enough to go without a fight?

It worked just as she’d hoped. The instant her hip touched his, he sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring. As they stood there, toe-to-toe, heat poured from his big body. It made her realize the air in the room around them was close and cool, but it was his nearness that caused goose bumps to erupt over every inch of her skin. She curled her bare toes into the thick carpet as her nipples furled into tight, deliciously painful buds.