Midnight Man (Midnight #1)(18)
“Men.” John’s deep voice was soft but it got results. He had his back to them, but the four men stopped in their tracks, put down their burdens, and stood stiffly to attention. “Meet our new landlady, Suzanne Barron.”
“Ma’am,” four bass voices said in unison.
John clamped a big hand around her upper arm, turned around and nudged her forward. Not particularly gently.
“Suzanne, let me introduce my men. You’ll be seeing them around a lot. Pete, Steve, Les and Jacko.” As he said their names, each man stepped forward, took her hand in his much larger one and squeezed, very carefully, for two seconds. Through all of it, John didn’t release her left arm.
How foolish she’d been to think that John looked like a biker. These men looked like bikers, with torn jeans, earrings and sweatshirts with the sleeves ripped off. The last one—Jacko?—was truly frightening, broader even than John, with a shaved head—probably to make up for Les, with his waist-length French braid—sloping weight-lifter shoulders, biceps as big as footballs, pierced nostrils, and barbed wire tattos around his wrists. But he said “ma’am” politely, just like the others, and gently squeezed her hand with a shy smile.
“Inside, men.” John said, never taking his eyes or his hand from her. “Door locked.”
Just like that, they picked up their burdens and disappeared silently into John’s office. The sound of the lock engaging was loud in the silent, empty hallway.
John immediately moved forward, invading her personal space. Lover-close. She stepped back, alarmed.
That was supposed to be his cue to back off, but he didn’t take it. She retreated and he advanced until her back hit the wall. She closed her eyes for a second, remembering that wall. What he had done to her against that wall. How much she had loved it while he was doing it to her and how much she hoped it wouldn’t happen again.
Once was quite enough.
Closing her eyes wasn’t much help because she could smell him. Rain and leather and man, a smell that would forever be etched into the deepest recesses of her brain, the reptilian animal part of the brain that never, ever forgets. That smell would be associated until the end of time with the kind of wild sex no woman should ever have, for her own peace of mind. His scent enveloped her and her entire body quivered.
“Look at me. Talk to me. Are you all right?” John’s voice was harsh, his hand shaking her a little, as if she’d fallen asleep. “Did I hurt you last night?”
Her eyes popped open. If she breathed deeply, her breasts would touch his chest. She laid a hand against his leather jacket. It was wet from outdoors. She pushed slightly and he stepped back just enough for her to feel a little less crowded.
“Of course I’m all right.” She bit her lip. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I was rough, and you were tight,” he answered bluntly.
She blinked, his hard words evoking memories she couldn’t handle. I can’t do this, she thought, slithering sideways.
“No, um, no, I’m fine. Don’t worry. I’m…fine. Just fine. Don’t worry about it, I was…I’m…” If she said fine again she’d scream. He was looking down at her intently. How to deal with this man? She had no idea and started walking briskly toward the door, hoping to make a quick escape. He fell right into step beside her.
This wasn’t going at all like the scenario she’d imagined in her head—the one where they politely said hello, how are you, wished each other good day and went their separate ways—though it very much felt like a John Huntington scenario. The one where she was kept off her guard constantly.
“I didn’t use a rubber last night,” he said and she stopped and closed her eyes again.
The feel of him hard and hot inside her, erupting. Afterwards, the unmistakable wetness.
Her thighs quivered. She might be trying to erase the memory of the rough, exciting sex from her mind but her body remembered. Oh, how it remembered.
“No,” she said tightly, “you didn’t.”
“I never do that. I’m always careful. I would have told you that right away if you’d stuck around last night instead of locking yourself in your apartment to avoid me.”
Suzanne bit her lip and said nothing.
“We were given constant checkups in the Navy and I never had any problems. And anyway I have a rare blood type,” he continued. “I donate blood every three months and they test the blood every time. I’m clean and I haven’t had sex for six months so there’s no chance at all of you catching something from me.”
She opened her mouth then closed it. Where was the nearest door so she could beat her head against it? She hadn’t thought of disease, not once. How crazy was that, in this day and age? The man clearly messed with her head. “I’m…okay, too.”
“Yes, you surely are,” he said, his voice low and husky, a trace of… something in his voice. Was that a slight southern accent? “Except maybe here.”
He reached out with a big hand and touched her gently on the neck, where he’d given her a love bite. He had eyes that could see right through her concealer.
“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Not about any of it.” He stroked her neck as she tried really, really hard not to shiver in delight, and then dropped his hand.