Bad Boys of Summer

by Lori Foster, Erin McCarthy

  “I don’t know,” she said finally. She was staring out the window, but her fingers worked the strap of her bag unconsciously, twisting and untwisting it. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just your hair, your earring, your…” She trailed off, but he saw that her gaze was now fixed on his bicep. “You have a kind of dangerous air. Rock and roll, not nursery rhymes.”

  He pulled into her driveway and cut the engine and the lights, sliding his arm along the seatback behind her. She thought he was a bad boy, or whatever women called them today. He had to restrain a bark of amazement. Rock and roll. She had no idea.

  But all he said was, “Dangerous, huh?”

  She nodded, and despite the darkness he knew she was blushing. “Not really. Not like you’d hurt me.”

  Not physically. Never. But the violence of the lust rushing through him was almost frightening. He turned her on. He could hear it in the husky whisper of her voice, feel it in the heat and tension of her body. And that turned him on.

  “Of course I wouldn’t hurt you,” he agreed, getting out and walking around to her side of the truck. He opened the door and offered her a hand. “You probably wouldn’t expect this, though, would you?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted. Her hand felt small in his—small and delicate and very warm.

  He led her down the driveway and through the gate to her back porch. After the first day he’d come to the house, he’d never seen her use the front door. The shadowed shelter of the little porch was better for what he had in mind, anyway.

  “You’d probably expect a guy like me to take instead of asking, huh?”

  She’d backed up against the door, and he braced his hands on the frame on either side of her. In the velvety darkness she was nearly indistinct, but he could sense her body, warm and alive, trembling slightly.

  “Maybe,” she said. The word was a breathy whisper.

  “Definitely,” he told her, and leaned in, covering her mouth with his own.

  It was hot and soft, her tongue a wet surprise, spiking his arousal even higher. She tasted so good, felt so good, and when her purse dropped to the floor with a thud, her hands crept up his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

  She didn’t know from dangerous. She didn’t have any idea how easy it would be for him to sweep her up and carry her inside, tossing her down on that rumpled, lonely bed in her room. Get her naked, fill his hands and his mouth with her, the silky heat of her skin, the rich, dark taste of her body. Fillher , with his cock…

  She whimpered when he tangled his fingers in her hair, angling her head back to give him easier access to her mouth and the slender column of her throat. She was melting against him, nearly boneless already, and he hadn’t even touched her.

  But he was going to. Oh yeah. Didn’t matter how stupid this was, how dangerous it was for him to get close to a woman who was too curious for comfort. Mackenzie Pruitt had gotten under his skin.

  She groaned, a low vibration of pleasure against his mouth, when he slid his other hand under her shirt. His fingers were firm and sure against her back, her ribs, the sweetly curved underside of one breast beneath her bra. Squirming, her fingers clutched at his shirt again, pulling him closer.

  He let go of her hair and dragged her up against him, inhaling the scent of her hair and her skin, and cupping her ass with one hand. Soft, round, and so fucking sweet.

  She was holding on now, arching into him, and he pushed her T-shirt and bra out of the way so he could lower his mouth to her breast. The skin was flushed with heat, the nipple ripe and firm already, and he fastened his mouth around it, drawing hard, his cock responding to her moan of delight.

  Bracing her against the door, he slid his hand into the loose waistband of her pants and then into her panties, smoothing his palm over the curve of her ass, and then moving around to stroke her thigh. She murmured something wordless, an incoherent sound of pleasure, and he twisted his hand to delve between her legs as he licked the hard, hot point of her nipple.

  “Leo,” she said breathlessly, and he smiled against her breast. Her heart was pounding beneath it, a frantic drumbeat, and she was already wet, creamy and hot.

  He slid a finger through her folds gently, lingering at the dark center of her, circling it before sliding up to stroke her clit. It was swollen, already pulsing, and she was panting now, shudders of pure need racing through her.

  One finger, then two, thrusting inside her, stroking hard, the way he wanted to thrust. The urge to take her, to devour her, to fill her was overwhelming, but not yet.

  Now, what he wanted more was to feel her break, to watch as she gave herself up to the pleasure, and with one long, sure stroke against her clit, she did. Knees buckling, mouth opening, she arched into his hand, the only sound she made a desperate, breathless groan.

  Holding her close, he buried his face in her hair, stroking her down, rearranging her pants, her shirt, waiting for her trembling to stop. When she looked up at him, eyes full of moonlight, he kissed her hard, sating himself on the taste of her tongue.

  When he pulled away, she drew in a shuddering breath and opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. It was too much—it was crazy. He wanted her in ways he hadn’t wanted a woman in a long, long time, and that was bad. He wanted her in ways that had nothing to do with lust, and everything to do with a far deeper need. Maybe she expected him to take his fill, maybe she wanted to give that to him, but he couldn’t do it. He shouldn’t have done this.

  “Good night, Mackenzie,” he murmured, reaching down to pick up her bag and hand it to her. He didn’t trust his voice—it was rough with need. “Sleep well.”

  And then he was striding toward the truck, cursing himself and everything he couldn’t tell her. Stupid. He was so fucking stupid. He’d wanted to keep his distance, and instead he’d opened himself up to her, or at least to her curiosity.

  Mistakes. He was so fucking good at them.

  Five

  By eleven o’clock the following morning, Mackenzie had decided that watching the clock truly didn’t make time go any faster. If anything, she felt as if she’d been planted in front of the damn thing for about three days instead of nearly three hours.

  Thank God it was the microwave clock. If she’d been monitoring a timepiece that ticked, her head would have exploded by now.

  She glanced out the kitchen window as she took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. The sky was a dull slate, and the air was swollen with the promise of a storm. But Leo had pulled into the driveway just after eight, truck tires crunching the gravel. By eight-fifteen, she’d heard the groan of old wood being torn away from its studs, and the metallic clatter of tools in use.

  What she hadn’t heard was hello. After those wild minutes on the back porch the night before, she’d sort of figured it was the least she could expect.

  So she’d waited, scrambling out of bed and into the first clothes she stumbled across. She’d brushed her teeth and made coffee, all with an ear cocked toward the backyard. She’d ditched her shirt for a different one—okay, a prettier one—and she’d brushed her hair and slid lip gloss over her mouth, certain she’d be interrupted any minute.

  Wrong. It had been the longest three hours of her life.

  Stirring a spoonful of sugar into her iced tea and swallowing down half of it in a single gulp, she made up her mind. She couldn’t very well hide in the house all day, just because she didn’t have an appointment scheduled. Not that she was hiding, of course. No, she was waiting. Well, she couldn’t wait all day, either. She wanted to clear the air. She wanted to discuss what had happened between them.

  She wanted him to kiss her again.

  Taking a deep breath, she set down her glass and marched outside, swallowing hard when she saw that Leo was in the yard outside the shed. One confrontation, no waiting, she told herself, fighting the hot flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks just at the sight of him.

  He was breaking apart old boards, throwing them into a lo
ose pile outside the shed, and he was already sweaty. The sun was only a suggestion of light behind the clouds that had amassed over the ocean, but it was hot and sticky, the air full of moisture and the faint, burnt smell of electricity.

  He looked up when he heard her crossing the grass, and nodded curtly. “Morning.”

  “Morning,” she echoed, waiting, wriggling her toes in the damp grass.

  Well, this was awkward. He’d turned back to his task, the cut-off sleeves of his dark T-shirt giving her an unobstructed view of the muscles in his arms. His hands were encased in heavy work gloves, his feet in dusty construction boots.

  What to do…She stood there, impatient, irritation beginning to tingle along the back of her neck.Turn around , she wanted to say.Talk to me.

  Kiss me again.

  As if he’d heard her unspoken thoughts, he glanced at her over his shoulder. “You need something?”

  Did sheneed something? She took a deep, calming breath, willing her voice to remain steady. She needed something, all right. She needed some answers, some clarification.

  Almost as much as she needed him to finish what he’d started last night.

  “I…need to talk to you,” she said finally, taking a step closer.

  “Can it wait?” he said, not looking at her, breaking a splintered piece of siding apart with a single blow. “I’d like to get this done before it rains.”

  She glanced at the sky, which was even darker now, an ominous near-black. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

  “It will only take a minute,” she insisted, jumping when he threw the pieces of wood onto the pile with a sharp clatter.

  He sighed and turned around, stripping off his gloves. Beneath his furrowed dark brow, his green gaze pinned her to the spot. “What is it?”

  He had to know whatit was, didn’t he? Why was he making her try so hard? Why was he being so goddamned difficult?

  “Mackenzie?”

  She cleared her throat, feeling like every kind of fool on earth, and straightened her spine. “It’s about last night.”

  He ran a hand over his head, bristling the barely-there fuzz. “Okay.”

  Crap. Now what? If only her heart would stop banging so violently, maybe she could think of something intelligent to say.

  “You’re not making this easy,” she said finally, taking another step closer and looking him in the eye.

  “Making what easy?” he asked, shrugging. But he ran his hand over his head again, as if he were restless. Possibly uncomfortable.

  Huh. She went closer still, nearly close enough to touch him. “Last night was…well, it was unexpected, for one, but it was also wonderful. It would have been more wonderful if you’d come in.” She stopped, the double entendre occurring to her too late, but Leo ignored it.

  “I don’t sleep with my clients,” he said flatly.

  “But you do…that?” She waved vaguely at the porch, baffled.

  “No.” He practically growled it. He was staring past her at the gathering mass of clouds, and his eyes were just as stormy.

  “But you did,” she protested. “With me.”

  “You’re not like most of my clients.” He shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not like most women I’ve met lately.”

  Oh. Well. “I’m going to take that as a compliment,” she told him, covering the final few inches between them with one step and laying her hand on his forearm. His skin was hot, the rough hair dark and bristly. “I don’t know what happened last night, but I liked it. I…”

  Her heart was in her throat as she looked into his eyes, which had gone dark and hungry. She wanted him so much—not just his body, but him, the man he was and the man he was hiding. And she wanted to tell him that, wanted to say the words aloud, but all she could feel was his heartbeat, drumming in time with her own, and his soft release of breath as he bent his head to kiss her.

  And then the sky opened with a magnificent clap of thunder, lightning streaking the sky with blue light. The rain pelted down, stinging her bare arms, and without warning Leo grabbed her and pulled her into the shed.

  The door banged shut behind them, and for a moment they stood facing each other, silent and panting, shaking off the rain. Just as Leo reached for her, lightning crackled outside in a crazy flare, and she found herself wrapped in his arms, his mouth hot and urgent on hers.

  God, he tasted so good—dark and strange, all man. The rough stubble on his chin and jaw rasped against her skin, and the sturdy denim of his jeans brushed her thighs, and she loved it—this was real, this was right now, Leo’s solid body the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

  He stumbled backward, taking her with him, and dropped onto a wooden crate. Tugging her between his spread thighs, he hooked his fingers into the hem of her shirt and stripped it off.

  She shivered, still damp, but hot beneath the skin. So hot—she wanted his mouth on her, everywhere, wet and demanding. “Leo,” she murmured, without any idea what she meant to say.

  “Right here,” he murmured back, and then he unhooked her bra with a sharp click and tossed the delicate scrap of silk to the floor.

  Bare to him from the waist up, she had never felt more desirable. His eyes swallowed her up, and his hands were possessive when they stroked over her breasts. “Gorgeous,” he said, and then he was tasting her, his tongue just as wet and urgent as she’d imagined.

  She groaned as his mouth fastened around one tight, aching nipple, his tongue pushing against its underside as he suckled. It was almost too much—the sensation rippled outward like a stone in a pond, until she felt its echo in her belly and between her legs.

  He kept suckling, but his hands were busy. Before she knew it, he was sliding her shorts and panties over her hips, pushing two fingers between her legs. She whimpered as they thrust inside her, filling her, stroking her, coaxing the flame higher, hotter.

  But she wanted so much more. Struggling free of his hands, she reached blindly for his jeans. The air in the shed was too close, humid and stale, and the floor was gritty beneath her bare feet. It was dark, too, with the rain drumming on the flimsy roof, but she didn’t need to see to unbuckle his belt.

  It was his turn to groan when she’d fumbled it open and tugged down his zipper—she reached inside and curled her fingers around his erection. Smooth and hot, gloriously hard, it rose to her touch when she ran her thumb over the velvet head.

  When she climbed into his lap, straddling his rigid thighs, she could have sworn he growled.

  She reached between them for his cock, but he was already there, stroking through her folds, spreading the creamy wetness, his free arm wrapped around her waist.

  Now.Please, now. She raised up to take him in, and Leo muttered, “Damn. Can we? I don’t have—”

  “I’m on the pill,” she bit out, and slid onto his cock, taking him deep.

  He growled again, thrusting up into her, the whole breathtaking length of him. They set the pace together, hard, fast, deep, her arms around his neck, his hands on her ass.

  Nothing mattered, nothing but the feel of him inside her—not the rain or the shed or the conversation they hadn’t really gotten around to, not his secrets or her growing suspicion that her “type” might be exactly like Leo. No other man had made her feel what he did, inside and out.

  And right now she felt deliciously full and so incredibly alive, every part of her awake to his touch.

  He pulled her closer as he drove inside, thrusting home again and again. She groaned. The pleasure was coiling tight now, drawing in on itself, but it was going to burst, soon now, so soon…

  His lips fastened on her throat, and he licked the damp skin before drawing it between his teeth in a startling, possessive bite. She came in a dazzling starburst, a surprised gasp of pleasure escaping her lips. It went on and on, that widening ripple, sharp and bright and endless.

  And Leo followed with a gruff shout, arms tightening around her as he spilled, his body shuddering with rel
ease.

  She leaned her forehead against his, still panting.

  “Bet this isn’t what you had in mind for this shed,” he said, his voice still rough.

  She laughed, and settled against his chest to lay her head on his shoulder. He was like a furnace, hot all over, and his arms around her felt like the only thing holding her up. “Right now,” she whispered, “I can’t think of a better use for it.”

  So much for keeping his distance, Leo thought a few hours later, in Mackenzie’s bed. She was asleep beside him, sprawled facedown in the tangled sheets, her hair a dark, glossy fan on her bare back.

  He lifted a strand of it, rubbing it between his fingers, remembering the way it whispered against his face as she arched over him.

  He’d stripped off his T-shirt and wrapped her in it before sprinting through the rain and inside, and once there they’d only blinked at each other in amazement before winding up in her bedroom. He couldn’t get enough of the feel of her against him, the little incoherent sounds of pleasure she made when he touched her, the complete lack of inhibition in her response.

  Mackenzie had a wild thing inside her. And experiencing it only made him want more.

  Despite the fact that he’d gone and done exactly what he’d said he wasn’t going to do. Last night had been torture, at least when it came to walking away before taking his pleasure—walking away from her now, after this afternoon, would be impossible.

  But he couldn’t ignore the knot of uneasiness in his gut. If Mackenzie had met him a few years ago, there was every chance that she not only wouldn’t have been interested in him, she would have been appalled. And she would have been right to be. The man he’d been in those days wasn’t anyone a woman like Mackenzie would want in her home, even as a carpenter, much less in her bed.

  Mackenzie was forthright, responsible, focused. And, yeah, she was kind of a strange dresser, and he really didn’t understand the snow globe collection, but the woman, at her core? She was good where it counted, and she was beautiful.