Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(43)

Warm.

And…

Wet.

And I think it might be…

A tongue?!

The only thought I can conjure is, Holy heck, something just licked me! In my own bed! Without my permission! How rude is that?!

Eventually, my survival instincts take over — heart pounding, I bolt upright and scramble backwards out of bed. Pressing my tailbone to the wall, as far away from my mattress as I can get without leaving the room, I curl my legs up to my chest and keep my eyes locked on my pretty pale violet comforter. For a second, I think it was my imagination…

But then it — whatever it is — starts moving again, a basketball-sized lump thrashing around beneath my covers, trying to find me and, most likely, eat my brains. Horrible visions flash through my head, every invisible monster who ever lurked in my childhood closets or haunted me from the dark flooding into my brain in less than a second.

The lump makes a lurch toward my pillows and I can’t help it.

I scream.

Not some small sound of distress, either — one of those massive, awesome, Old Hollywood shrieks, where the camera pans in close and lingers for what seems like an eternity. We’re talking Fay Wray, the first moment she spots King Kong, or Janet Leigh in that infamous Psycho shower scene. As the sound reverberates from my throat, I wonder vaguely why they never let actors get away with showing that much emotion anymore.

“AHHHHHHHHHHH! OH MY GOD! AHHHHHHHHH!”

I’m a certifiable scream queen.

As the monster in my bed moves ever closer, I somehow find my feet. My spine presses tightly against my bedroom wall as I search for something with which to defend myself. Unfortunately for me, every potential weapon is carefully boxed away. Unless I plan to bean whatever is crawling toward me over the head with my alarm clock, I’m out of luck.

Man, I wouldn’t last a single episode on The Walking Dead.

I stand my ground, heart slamming against my ribs as the demon creeps closer. My hands fly up to shield my face as it makes a final lurch beneath the blankets…

“AHHH—Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

My screams of distress die in my throat as I recognize the small, wet nose and shiny red muzzle snuffling its way from beneath my covers. I think I hear a distant slamming sound, but I’m so focused on the small dog who’s just struggled his way to freedom — and the undeniable sensation of relief that I’m not about to die gruesomely — I barely register it.

The puppy’s eyes sweep the room. When he spots me, his mouth falls open in a toothy grin. He starts sprinting my direction at the speed of light, a blur of fur and unrestrained adoration. I can’t help laughing as he slams full frontal into my bare legs with surprising force, for such a little creature. I rock back, off balance…

Straight into a warm, well-muscled chest.

“AHHHHH!”

Certain I’m about to be slaughtered — for real, this time — I scream again. And, to be totally upfront with you, my throat is starting to ache. Don’t ever let anyone tell you it’s easier to take the coward’s way out; I can now officially confirm that yelling this loudly, this frequently, takes a lot more effort than one might originally think.

Large hands clamp down on my shoulders, rendering me immobile as fresh visions churn through my head. These are more the stab-rape-kill variety than the mommy-check-under-my-bed type I was worried about mere moments ago. My heart is pounding so hard, I’m worried I might actually have a heart attack and die right here on my pathetic air mattress, clad in a lace underwear set I got at the Rigby & Peller semi-annual sale for a serious bargain, my demise witnessed only by the small dog at my front and the cat burglar lurking at my back.

I might appreciate the symmetry of such an end, if I weren’t experiencing cardiac arrhythmias.

My heart stops beating altogether a few seconds later, when an amused male voice hits my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

“Chill, babe. It’s only me.”

Only him.

ONLY HIM?!

I think I would’ve preferred a murderer.

I spin around to face him, hands planted on my hips and a glare fixed on my face.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Luca’s eyes are intent. “Was about to knock when I heard you screaming your head off. Didn’t think you’d want me to wait around for an invitation, if you were being attacked.”

“How’d you get in? The door was locked.”

“Picked the lock,” he says casually, like he’s just revealed his favorite color or described the upcoming week’s weather patterns.

My mouth gapes. “You did what?”

He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy studying my nearly naked body, his eyes roaming across my skin with so much fire in their depths, I think I may succumb to heat stroke.

“Hey!” I snap my fingers in front of his face. “Eyes up, bucko.”

Light blue irises lift to mine. The desire in them makes my mouth go dry.

Oh, boy.

“Gotta tell you, Delilah,” he murmurs, voice gravelly. “Your outfits get more intriguing every time we cross paths.”

I hold my ground, feigning aloofness even as my face turns red enough to rival the shade of my hair.

“As if you’re a maven of fashion.” I narrow my eyes at his attire. “Black t-shirt. Black jeans. Black boots. I’m sensing a theme. What, you afraid a little color will make you less intimidating?”