Light up the Night (Firehouse Three #2)(47)

He took her purse and sweater and with linked hands the two of them walked into his apartment.



Across the lot, in a rental Toyota Camry that was the color of Two-Buck Chuck, Belinda stared at the front door that had just closed.

Behind them.

Drake and that scheming bitch were alone in his apartment together.

She wanted to scream.

It hadn’t taken that long to figure out who Drake was all up into. A few phone calls here and there, some online snooping, and the bitch from the charity auction was named and shamed. It was no more than she had suspected, but the confirmation stung all the same.

Everly Pitts. Pretty boring chick from all accounts, but for some reason, Drake was hardcore into her.

Belinda’s friend had promised her that he’d sent the email to Drake’s account. The same story about the rescue’s donation scamming would have hit his inbox along with the forty most likely charitable donors in the area. Every major sponsor for animal rescue related events had received the anonymous message, as well as every review site Belinda and her friends could find.

It was out there. So why was Drake still listening to the bitch?

She wanted to run straight up to his apartment, pound on the door, and demand that he apologize. Yank that slut out of Drake’s house by her hair and kick her ass into next week. That was her man, and she wasn’t about to sit by while some skank whined and lied and schemed her way into the title that Belinda had been living for the past eight years to achieve.

Mrs. Belinda Hammerfell. It still had that nice ring to it, and she’d be damned if someone snatched it away from her.

Even though everything inside her screamed for her to get out, run across the lot, and take back what was hers, she reached for the ignition key and gave it a turn.

It was okay. She’d known this might not do it, so fortunately, she had a backup plan.

The bitch had better enjoy her last night with Drake. Belinda would make sure that it never—ever—happened again.





16.

Drake’s arm was dead asleep, and he couldn’t give two shits. He was happy. Happier than he’d ever been in his Goddamn life. And the entire reason for it was curled up on the couch in a Lake Texoma vacation house beside him, her head resting on his bicep as the movie’s final credits rolled up the flat screen TV’s glossy expanse. Well, her and the snuffling, snorting fuzz-ball curled up by his feet.

“I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see Stranger than Fiction,” Everly said, stretching her arms above her head. Her movement disturbed the poodle who’d been halfway lying in her lap. “It was really good.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Drake said, regretfully rubbing the circulation back into his arm. Getting the feeling back into his arm was hardly as nice as being Everly’s pillow. Oh, well. Night would be coming before much longer, and then he could pillow her all night long.

Among other things. The horny devil on his shoulder grinned gleefully.

And on that note, why wait?

“Hey,” he said, cupping the back of her neck and turning her his way. “Since we’re stuck inside for a while…”

“Yeah?” Her eyes twinkled slightly, the endearing light in them heating his blood.

God, the smallest sign of encouragement from her and he was harder than concrete.

Instead of answering with words, he let his lips do the talking.

Pressing them against her wide, smiling mouth, he groaned slightly. God, she was kissing him back so eagerly now. The hesitation she’d exhibited early on in their encounters seemed to be a distant memory.

He couldn’t get enough of her.

She wound her arms around his neck, and he didn’t need any more encouragement than that. Deepening the kiss, he let his tongue plumb the dark, wet recesses of her hot mouth. Her fingertips dug into his shoulders as his hands began questing down her sides. He lifted the hem of her T-shirt, breaking their kiss just long enough to toss the offending garment aside. His greedy gaze took her in for just a moment.

Sitting there on the couch, nothing but her shorts and lacy peach bra on, her cheeks bright spots of color and her eyes sparkling with passion.

Nobody had ever captivated him more.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

He whipped his own shirt over his head and dived at her again. Laughing, she brought him down atop her on the couch.

When he pressed his erection into the sweet heat at the juncture of her legs, her laughter faded into moans of desire.

“You want this?” He punctuated the question with a grinding swivel of his hips.

“You know I do,” she said, raking her nails down the bare skin of his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

In just another moment, they were both naked. Drake loved being with her like this, skin-to-skin, breath and limbs tangling in a surging expression of passion.

He’d loved every one of their moments together, but he was going to make this special.

“Let me make love to you, baby girl,” he whispered against the warm softness of her earlobe, catching the sweet, tender flesh gently between his teeth.

She shivered in response. “You are.”

“Not what I meant,” he said in between kisses down her collarbone, and then her sternum. Lingering briefly at each nipple, he laved them with his tongue, suckling for just a moment until they were glistening and diamond-tipped.