Dream Maker

by Kristen Ashley

  “What?”

  She was still solely focused on his mouth.

  “Evie?”

  “Mm?”

  “Honey, you keep lookin’ at my mouth like that, I’m gonna be forced to give you a good morning kiss.”

  She did not take her eyes from his mouth, but Mag didn’t give her a good morning kiss.

  Evie lifted her hands, latched on to either side of his neck and yanked him down at the same time she was surging up, and one thing he could say.

  Her aim was true.

  With her lips she smushed his lips back into his teeth so bad he tasted that tang you got when you took one to the mouth.

  She then let go, jerked away, put her fingers to her mouth and muttered, “Oh God, what’s the matter with me? I’m so sorry.”

  But through this, Mag turned to the stove, shoved the eggs from the flame, turned off the burner, then went right back to her.

  “Do over,” he said.

  She dropped her hand. “Wh-what?”

  “Do you want to kiss me?” he asked.

  Her gaze dropped to his chest, shot up, but stopped at his mouth before it seemed she had to force it to his eyes.

  She wanted to kiss him.

  “Do over,” he repeated, reaching to her, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her closer.

  “Mag—” she began.

  “Danny,” he growled, angled his head and took her mouth.

  After her first attempt, he was surprised she opened right away.

  Even surprised, he didn’t let that opportunity slip.

  He slid his tongue inside.

  She tasted of coffee and woman, her soft hair all around his hand…

  Shit.

  This was a bad idea.

  Strike that.

  It was a fantastic idea.

  Terrible timing.

  He started to end the kiss, moving his hand to the side of her neck to gently press her away.

  But she latched on again, this time to either side of his head, before she plunged her fingers in his hair, curled them around at the back and held him to her, tipping her head and sucking his tongue deep.

  Jesus.

  Nice.

  Evie pressed close.

  Mag rounded her with his free arm, pulled her closer and took the kiss deeper.

  She whimpered and fisted her hand in his hair, her nails scraping scalp.

  He felt that in all the important places and growled his approval down her throat.

  They went at it and Mag was feeling it in his cock, which she’d fit her hips to, and his hand was heading for her ass when he heard a key scraping the lock at the door.

  He instantly broke the kiss, shoved her behind him, and wondered what the fuck he was thinking that he didn’t have weapons hidden all over the house, just as the door opened and Lottie strode in.

  Tex strode in after her.

  And behind Tex came near on every damn Rock Chick that still lived in Denver.

  Lottie looked pissed.

  Tex looked for Evie.

  And the Rock Chicks looked ready to rumble.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Chapter Eight

  For Now. And for Later.

  Evie

  I didn’t know what was happening.

  “Are you fucking joking with this shit?” Lottie shouted, throwing a hand my way.

  Wait, I did know.

  I had been kissing Mag, but now Lottie was there, shouting, a large man with wild hair and an insanely long beard that was not lumbersexual, it was ZZ Top, was staring at me, and Mag’s apartment was suddenly filled with beautiful women.

  “Mac—” Mag started.

  “Don’t ‘Mac’ me,” Lottie retorted. “She’s in your shirt and you’re in barely anything!”

  I could hear her.

  I could see the room filled with people.

  But all I could feel was Mag’s warm, hard body against mine, taste his tongue in my mouth, feel his lips moving over mine, the heady smell of morning man in my nostrils, the feel of his soft hair on my fingers.

  And all I could think was: toothbrush and toothpaste.

  He’d been off, talking to my brother, trying to figure out what was going on, how to protect me from it, all of this after I’d said such horrible things to him.

  And on the way there, or back, he thought to stop and grab me a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  Of course, I spent a good deal of time tossing and turning last night, thinking of my apartment, how I was going to bounce back from this fiasco, the danger my brother was in, the danger I might be in.

  But I had to admit, most of the night, I spent thinking of Mag telling me to hit him, scream at him, take it out on him, offering me a place to stay, going out to talk to Mick and coming back with the tools I needed to keep my teeth healthy.

  “You think now’s the time to make your move?” Lottie demanded, forcing me back to the moment, and I saw she was flinging her arm again. This time, to the people she brought with her. “We swung by her pad this morning. And except for Stella getting her place blown up, this shit is as real as we’ve seen.”

  Stella getting her place blown up?

  Who was Stella?

  And…

  Her place was blown up?

  “We’ll talk later about how you feel about the moves I make,” Mag said in a voice I’d never heard him use. It was low, dangerous and angry. Admittedly, I didn’t know him all that well, but I hoped it wasn’t oft-used in his tonal arsenal. “For now, I’ll be having that key back.”

  “It’s Mo’s key,” she returned.

  “It’s my key seein’ as I bought this place from him, and you’ll be leaving that key before you and your posse turn your asses around and get the fuck out,” Mag shot back.

  Uh-oh, times about five hundred.

  It was clear that wasn’t the way to roll with this crowd.

  I knew this because at his words Lottie looked even more pissed, and I did not think it boded well that now the ZZ Top guy also looked ticked and all the women, who’d seemed settled in for the show, now looked ready to become a part of it.

  I didn’t know who I was most scared of.

  And although ZZ Top Guy seemed the logical choice just from sheer size and what it might say of his state of mind that he hadn’t shaved in at least two decades, Lottie was the frontrunner.

  “Okay, let’s just all calm down here,” I began, moving out from behind Mag, only to have him curl an arm around my hips and yank me hard to his side.

  My head bounced.

  My hair swayed.

  And for a split second, I was stuck on the thought that no one had ever done that to me before.

  I didn’t like it.

  But after all he’d done for me, that kiss, and in our current situation, I didn’t dislike it either.

  What I did, after all he’d done for me, that kiss, and in our current situation, was understand it.

  But my attention shifted to the multitude of women and one wild man whose collective gazes had sharpened on Mag’s arm around my hips, and not in good ways.

  Right, maybe Lottie’s friends didn’t know he was an alpha-man commando who did stuff like that.

  I never in my life thought I’d be in this place, but in order to handle a sudden and unexpected volatile situation, I was in this place.

  That place being in a position to have to explain how an alpha-man commando operates.

  “He’s protective,” I said. “He was there when I first saw all the damage. And you’ve invaded his space. It’s a commando thing.”

  “Say what?” Lottie asked.

  In answer, I curled my fingers around Mag’s wrist (which, incidentally, didn’t move) and shared, “You’ve invaded his territory. He’s claiming his territory and nonverbally sharing what he intends to protect. It’s not bad, as such. It’s instinctive.”

  No one looked angry anymore, I was pleased to see.

  Though how they’d morphed str
aight to highly amused, I didn’t get.

  “She’s…” one of the blondes started. “She’s…” Her voice was trembling. “Giving us alpha lessons,” she finally got out.

  When she did, promptly, all of them burst out laughing. And another of the blondes, hers platinum, had a giggle that sounded like tinkling bells (she also had very large breasts and was wearing a suede jacket top that had some lace at the waist, some glitter at the shoulder-padded shoulders, a ragged hem that fell to her stone-washed–jegging-covered hips, enough cleavage for seven women and looked like Calamity Jane met Wynonna Judd, but a Wynonna with platinum-blonde hair).

  The lone African American lady, who, incidentally, had an enormous and highly attractive Afro, moved forward, tearing my attention away from the platinum blonde.

  “This here, girl,” she began, “is the Rock Chicks.”

  Oh…

  Lottie’s friends.

  Denver’s famed Rock Chicks.

  In Mag’s living room.

  Whoa.

  “It’s a wonder I haven’t grown a beard, I’ve been inhaling so much testosterone for the last however many years,” the only brunette noted.

  “Their men reinvented the idea of alpha,” the African American lady said. “Hers,” she pointed at another blonde, “took the book, doused it with gasoline, set it on fire, melted steel over the flame, fashioned a knife out of it and wrote the new definition by dipping the tip of that knife in ink then drawing a picture of himself.”

  “That’s an, erm, colorful description,” I noted.

  “I think the only time I’ve seen Luke hold a pen was when he signed our marriage certificate,” the blonde who had been indicated said. “Though, if he knew he could write with a knife dipped in ink, he’d probably do it more often. Including when he signed our marriage certificate.”

  Everyone burst out laughing again.

  Except Lottie.

  She started speaking.

  “Mag, Mo told me what went down and I not only did not call you a manwhore, I cannot believe you’d think I said that about you.”

  Everyone stopped laughing and stared at Mag.

  Oh boy.

  I turned my head to look up at him to see he was still angry and still focused on Lottie.

  “Yeah, then where did she get that shit?” he asked.

  “It wasn’t Lottie, Danny,” I told him, and felt like an absolute heel when his eyes came down to me and I had to say what I had to say next. “Some of the girls at Smithie’s talked, and it was, well…me who used that term. Lottie just said you had a bad breakup and, and…you needed a woman in your life who would let you be you.”

  He didn’t look any less angry, though it was a mixed bag that he didn’t seem angry at me.

  “She came in here making assumptions,” he explained his continuing anger at Lottie.

  “You are in nothing but shorts and I’m in your shirt,” I pointed out, though I didn’t tell him I was in his shirt and not back in my Computer Raiders outfit because I wanted him to see me in his shirt making breakfast, my body at odds with my mind as to what was the right thing for Mag in this situation.

  My body winning out.

  In a lot of ways.

  “I’m not fifteen. You’re not fifteen. And she’s not my mom or yours,” he returned.

  He had a point.

  I looked to Lottie. “We slept in separate rooms. Boone gave me this shirt because I didn’t have anything to wear to bed. I was making Mag breakfast as a thank-you and it was me who kissed him. Um, the first time.”

  “The first time,” the platinum blonde said through a tinkly giggle.

  I saw Lottie cotton on precisely to why I was wearing his shirt making breakfast. I also caught her lips shifting like she was fighting a smile. All while I felt my cheeks heat at the memory of that kiss.

  I hadn’t had the chance to process the mortification of possibly giving him a fat lip while trying to kiss him, nor how I felt that Mag gave me a do-over.

  Okay, so that do-over was the best kiss of…my…life, so that was a plus.

  But by kissing him, or letting him kiss me, I was not exactly saving him from the disaster my life seemed always to be, so that was a minus.

  “I never made Lee breakfast to thank him for invading my life and commandeering my problems,” the lone redhead said.

  “I made Hank breakfast, my stuffed French toast, but it wasn’t a thank-you for him invading my life and commandeering my problems,” yet a different blonde said. “Or was it?”

  “Your French toast is everything,” the blonde with the hubby who would write with a knife declared. “You totally need to make it when we hit that Vrbo in Vail next weekend.”

  “I’ll put the ingredients on the communal grocery list,” the other blonde decided.

  And then I jumped, though I didn’t get very far in Mag’s hold.

  This was because ZZ Top Guy spoke, and even though I sensed it was his regular voice, it was a boom.

  “Learn fast” was what he said, and he said it to me.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “In the face of death, destruction, car bombs, grenades, shootouts, etcetera,” he rolled a beefy mitt in front of him to demonstrate “etcetera” went quite a long and apparently scary way, “conversation will degenerate to grocery lists or even more ridiculous shit. While you’re in the middle of your drama, stay sharp, and by that I mean, don’t focus on French toast no matter how good my Roxie’s stuffed French toast is. And it’s fuckin’ brilliant.”

  This seemed bizarre, but good advice.

  “I thought we were here to grab her and take her somewhere safe so she doesn’t have to deal with her drama,” yet another blonde remarked.

  “You are not taking Evie anywhere,” Mag rumbled.

  All eyes got wide and focused on him.

  “Jet, you’re not supposed to say that in front of the cranky commando,” the one called Roxie mumbled.

  “Damn, Roxie. Guess I’m out of practice,” Jet mumbled back.

  “Evie was making me breakfast and you were leaving?” Mag prompted. “After, that is, you drop the key,” Mag said directly to Lottie.

  “I’m not leaving the key,” Lottie said to Mag. “Mo would be upset if I left his key.”

  “After, that is, you promise you’ll never let yourself into my condo just because you’re in a snit,” Mag amended.

  I could see Lottie wasn’t fond of the word “snit.”

  Fortunately, ZZ Top Guy intervened.

  “We got a plan, bud,” ZZ Top Guy shared.

  “I heard your plan and I’m not in favor,” Mag replied.

  “That’s the girls’ plan. Except for Ally and Jules, we never do the girls’ plans,” ZZ Top told him.

  “Hey!” the redhead snapped.

  “Gotta say, it’s the only rule we got that makes any sense,” the African American lady said to the platinum blonde.

  “Mm-hmm, sugar,” the platinum blonde hummed.

  “I’ve had some good plans,” the redhead disagreed.

  There were some shuffling feet.

  The redhead was not good at planning.

  I made note of that.

  ZZ Top simply ignored her. “We get your girl. Take her home for some clothes. Take her to Eddie and Hank for a chat. Take her to Fortnum’s for a coffee where she can hang and Duke and me’ll look after her. Lottie, Roxie and Ava are free, so they’re gonna go over and sort out her place. You can come get her when you’re finished at work. We’ll make sure she gets lunch. I’m feelin’ Mexican, but that part of the plan is up for discussion. You down with that?”

  His final words were a question.

  A question directed at Mag.

  Before Mag could answer, I curled toward him, and when I moved, he again looked down at me.

  “If you open your mouth to agree or disagree with what I am going to be doing with my time during my drama, it will be me who’s cranky.”

  “You’re a dork, a klutz, a menace wi
th your mouth and unbelievably cute,” Mag responded.

  Part of that was true, part of that was mortifying (the mouth part) and part of that made me feel warm and happy.

  I ignored all of it, and since none of it actually was a response to my statement, I asked, “Is there a purpose to you saying all of that?”

  “Fortnum’s is watched 24/7 by Nightingale Investigations, which means it’s covered,” he stated, then jerked his head to ZZ Top Guy. “Tex may look like he lives in a cabin with no plumbing or electric but lots of explosives, but he’d step in front of a bullet for you. Duke would do the same. You gotta make a statement to the cops and I gotta get to work. And I don’t like you having to sort through that mess that’s your apartment. It’s too much too fast. So it’s your life, your time, your drama, but my advice is, go with Tex’s plan.”

  I was 100 percent unsurprised booming ZZ Top Guy had a cool name like Tex.

  And as bizarre as it was to admit, I was 100 percent unsurprised he would step in front of a bullet aimed at a woman he did not know.

  What could I say?

  He just gave off that vibe.

  “I kinda need to get into my apartment and see what’s what, Danny,” I said softly.

  He instantly turned his head to our company. “You gonna help sorting her pad?”

  “No,” the brunette said. “I got shit on today.”

  Mag looked back at me. “Ally’s not there, my advice is, be close to Tex and Duke with Nightingale eyes on you. They’ll be cool with your stuff. You can trust them.”

  I got closer to him and whispered, “I don’t know any of these people but Lottie. I can’t ask them to help.”

  For a moment, as he held my gaze, he seemed to be pondering this.

  Deeply.

  And then he spoke.

  “More advice, the Rock Chicks want to adopt you, as crazy as they are, let yourself be adopted.”

  I felt, having this conversation as we were, in front of them, was highly awkward.

  So, I curled closer to him and dropped my voice so much lower, he had to dip down to hear it.

  And him dipping down the way he did reminded me that he did, indeed, do that when he kissed me, which reminded certain parts of my anatomy how much I liked it when he did, all of which I had to ignore or this conversation would become even more awkward.