Blue-Eyed Devil (Travis Family #2)(70)

"Look at me," Hardy said after a minute.

I didn't want to. I knew he would read my face far too easily. I couldn't help remembering what Todd had said about him . . . "You watch his eyes. Even when he's doing his regular-guy routine, he's taking measure, learning, every damn second . . . "

But I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"Did you know he was in town?" Hardy asked.

"No, it was a surprise."

"What did he want?"

"He said he had some old things of mine that he wanted to give back."

"Like what?"

I shook my head. I wasn't in the mood to tell him about Aunt Gretchen's bracelet. Certainly I wasn't about to explain that I'd left it behind because I'd been beaten up and thrown out on the front steps of my own home. "Nothing I want," I lied. I tugged my hand from his and removed the paper towel. The bleeding had stopped. "What did you tell Nick at the door?"

"I said if he showed up here again, I'd kick his ass."

My eyes widened. "You didn't really, did you?"

He looked smug. "I did."

"You arrogant . . . Oh, I can't believe you just took it upon yourself to . . . " I sputtered into silence, fuming.

Hardy wasn't a bit sorry. "That's what you want, isn't it? Not to see him again?"

"Yes, but I don't want you making decisions for me! I feel like I've spent my life surrounded by dominating men — and you'll probably turn out to be the worst of them all."

He had the nerve to smile at that. "You can handle me. I told you before, I'm tame."

I gave him a dark glance. "Yeah, like a buck-strapped rodeo horse."

Hardy's arms went around me. He bent his head, and his low voice caressed my ear. "I guess you got your work cut out for you."

A baffling wave of heat went through me, something rooted in excitement, too intense to name. And with that came a touch of queasiness, and I felt scared and all twisted up with desire.

"Worth a try, isn't it?" Hardy asked.

I wasn't entirely sure what we were talking about. "I . . . I'm not trying anything with you until you promise to stop acting so highhanded."

He nuzzled behind my ear. "Haven . . . do you really think I'd stand aside politely while another man comes sniffing around my woman? If I let that happen, I wouldn't be a man. And I sure as hell wouldn't be a Texan."

I wasn't breathing well. "I'm not your woman, Hardy."

Both his hands curved around my scalp, angling my face upward. His thumbs stroked over my cheeks. He gave me a look that dismantled my brain and set off an erotic flush that covered me from head to toe. "That's something we're going to fix."

More arrogance, I thought dimly. But much to the shame of my politically correct self, it was a huge turn-on, sending heat mainlining through every vein. My fists clenched reflexively in his shirt.

It was a beautiful light-gray shirt that probably cost the equivalent of the average mortgage payment. And I saw my finger had left a bright red splotch of blood on it.

"Oh, no."

"What?" Hardy looked down at my hand. "Damn, it's bleeding again. We need to get you a Band-Aid."

"I don't care about my hand, it's your shirt! I'm so sorry."

He seemed amused by my concern. "It's just a shirt."

"I hope I haven't ruined it. Maybe it's not too late if I soak it in the sink . . . " I began on the placket of buttons, wincing at the sight of the bloodstained fabric. "It is a silk blend? Maybe I shouldn't try to wash it."

"Forget the shirt. Let me see your hand."

"Is it dry-clean only? What does the tag say?"

"I never read the tag."

"Such a man." I undid another button . . . another. My fingers slowed, but didn't stop. I was undressing him.

Hardy didn't move, just watched me, his amusement evaporating. His chest went rigid beneath the blinding-white undershirt, his breath coming faster as I made fumbling progress.

I tugged the hem of the shirt free of his jeans, the thin fabric crumpled and warm from his body.

Such a man. A good-looking, over-the-top male, trying so hard not to seem dangerous . . . he was absolutely tantalizing. My hands shook as I reached for the cuffs of his sleeves, pushing the buttons through the crisp starched layers of fabric.

Hardy remained still as I tugged the shirt from his shoulders. When the shirt reached his wrists, he moved as if he were dreaming, slowly pulling his arms from the sleeves. He tossed the garment to the floor and reached for me.

I went weak as his arms enclosed me, his mouth descending with hot, searching pressure. I reached around his back, beneath the T-shirt, finding the powerful muscles on either side of his spine.

His lips slid to my throat, exploring gently until I squirmed and arched to get closer to him. Excitement roared through me, and I stopped thinking, stopped trying to control anything.

Hardy lifted me until I was sitting on the small kitchen island, my legs dangling. I shut my eyes against the artificial glare of the overhead lights. His mouth came to mine, tender and devouring, while his hands closed over my thighs and stroked them apart. God, the way he kissed. It had never been like this with Nick, or anyone, this urgent heat that melted me at the core.