He pointed a finger back at her. “Neither have you.”
She opened her mouth to retort, closed it again. Then, “I know people who’ve been in love. They get hurt.” She nodded along with herself. “Or they get married and then they get hurt, and then they’re stuck because they’ve got a couple of squalling brats—”
“Is that what happened to your mother? Were you and Lucy the squalling brats?”
It hit her like an openhanded slap. She fell back a step, landed on John’s tail. He shot to his feet with a yowl.
“Oh Jesus.” She dropped to her knees, put her arms around him, but he was already apologizing for his overreaction, licking her cheek, bumping against her so she landed on her butt.
“I’m sorry, John.” Tears geysered up; she couldn’t swallow them fast enough. She pressed her face into his fur, tried to hide her disgrace from Adam, but how could she, when he’d dropped to the floor beside her?
He reached out to stroke her hair. She ducked away from his hand. “Stop it,” she snapped. “John’s the one who’s hurt.”
“Is he, now?” He ran his other hand over John’s back, but kept his gaze on her. “Then why are you the one crying?”
“Because I hurt him, that’s why.” She lashed it out like a wounded animal. John let out a soft whine. “And stop making me snap at you. It upsets him, for God’s sake.”
To her everlasting shame, a sob racked her. She fisted her hands till the nails dug into her skin. Damn it to hell, why did she have to start bawling? Why did Lucy have to grow up and fall in love? Why did people have to turn their cruelty on innocent animals like John? Why, oh why, did Adam have to smell so good?
It was too much for her. Too much. Her circuits overloaded, the last shreds of control slipped.
She gave up and let him pull her into his arms.
“RISOTTOOOOO!” LUCY PRACTICALLY bounced in her seat as Bridget set the plate before her. “I love risotto! It’s Maddie’s fave too.”
“Is it?” Adam feigned surprise. He sat at the head of the mile-long table, Maddie on his right and Lucy on his left, with Crash beside her.
“Totally.” Lucy slid a forkful between her lips, rolled her eyes back. “Ohmygod, it’s yummy. Mads, can you believe it?”
“Yep, it’s delicious,” Maddie said, but Adam thought she seemed more interested in her wine. She hadn’t met his eyes since taking her seat. Somehow she’d erased the crying jag from her face. Looking at her, no one would know that twenty minutes before, she’d been sobbing in his arms.
For about ten seconds, that is, before she bolted from his suite.
“Good stuff,” Crash decreed, digging in with a twenty-one-year-old’s appetite. He polished it off and looked around for seconds, obviously disappointed when Bridget cleared his plate.
“Filet mignons for the next course,” Adam informed him. “All you can eat.” He nodded discreetly to Bridget, who disappeared into the kitchen to tell Leonardo to butcher another cow.
“Excellent.” Crash grinned appealingly. He draped his arm across Lucy’s chair and stroked her neck with two fingers, the move so casual it implied a much deeper level of intimacy.
Maddie glugged her wine.
Adam was contemplating just how drunk he could in good conscience allow her to get, when Henry stepped through the door. “Mr. Rain,” he intoned, and stepped aside so Dakota could stride into the room.
“I know I’m late,” he boomed out in his famous twang, “but the first two stores I stopped at didn’t stock Brunello.”
Adam eyed him unhappily. “I uninvited you, remember?”
Dakota flapped a big, bronzed hand. “Aw, I knew you were jokin’.” He dropped a kiss on Maddie’s blushing cheek, then reached across the table to shake Lucy’s hand. “Dakota Rain,” he said, striking her dumb.
“That’s Lucy,” Maddie said. “My sister.”
“You’re kidding me.” Dakota busted out a laugh. “I called that one, didn’t I, darlin’? But you didn’t mention she’s got a boyfriend.”
“Yeah. That’s Crash.”
Dakota clasped his hand in a friendly shake. Crash nodded politely, but he didn’t look thrilled with Hollywood’s heartthrob.
Adam knew exactly how he felt.
Dakota settled into the seat next to Maddie, held up his hands to let Bridget slide a place setting in front of him. “Thank you, darlin’,” he said with a smile that made her titter. “Do me a favor, will you, and tell Leonardo he doesn’t have to catch me up. I’ll just take two of whatever’s next. And bring me a corkscrew, will you? I gotta get Adam drunk before he tosses me out for flirting with his woman.”
“I’m not his woman,” Maddie piped up. “I’m his lawyer.”
Adam held his tongue. What could he say? It was true.
“Is that so?” Dakota sent Adam a game-on look, scooted his chair an inch closer to hers. “How long you staying in New York?”
“I live here.” She’d lost interest in her wine, Adam noted, batting her eyes at Dakota like a starlet.
“Then maybe you can help me out. See, I’ve got this thing tomorrow night—”
“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Adam cut in. “For Italy.”
“We are?” Lucy tore her big blues away from Dakota. “I thought you canceled the trip.”
“Maddie talked me out of it.” Adam smiled tightly, feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to let Dakota get his hands on her.
“Well, that’s too bad.” Dakota uncorked the wine, poured a round into the fresh glasses Bridget provided. He clinked his glass to Maddie’s, smiling all over her. “But I’m filming here all summer, darlin’. We’ll get together when you come back.”
It infuriated Adam, the way Dakota just assumed Maddie would fall into bed with him. The fact that he was right only pissed him off more.
Before he could say something stupid, Crash took his shot. “I’m a big fan of your brother’s,” he said, earnestly. “He’s a hell of an actor.”
Dakota sat back in his chair, gave Crash another look, like he was seeing him for the first time. Adam did the same, growing fonder of the kid by the minute.
Then Dakota nodded, every bit as earnest. “He sure is. I hate to say it, seeing as how he’s my little brother and all, but he can act circles around me.”
“That’s so not true.” Lucy leaned forward so abruptly Crash’s hand slipped from her neck. “You were unbelievable in Cry for Me. We watch that movie every single time I come to visit, and we always cry when you have your breakdown, don’t we, Mads?”
Maddie nodded vigorously. “That part when you’re holding the knife . . . It just kills me.” She put her hand on her heart.
“And when the police come and take you . . . your expression . . . God . . .” Lucy actually sniffled.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t win the Oscar,” Maddie huffed. “You were robbed.”
“Totally,” Lucy said with feeling.
Adam caught Crash’s eye, his grim expression. The women had circled the wagons around Dakota, who, in another Oscar-worthy performance, was playing the aw-shucks role to a T.
Even his twang hit a humble note. “I sure hate to disagree with a couple of intelligent beauties like yourselves, but Denzel deserved it that year.” He shrugged a shoulder wistfully, topped off their glasses. “Maybe I’ll get another crack at it someday.”
“Oh, you will!” Lucy’s wide eyes overflowed with encouragement.
Maddie nodded along. “Another role like that and the Academy will have to recognize your talent.”
Her hand patting poor Dakota’s arm pushed Adam over the edge. He gave a snort of disgust that brought both women’s heads around.
They glared at him with identical offended expressions, which pissed him off enough that he made the same rookie mistake Crash was still regretting.
“Before you ladies waste anymore sympathy on Dakota, you should know that behind his self-deprecating facade he’s imagining a ménage with both of you.”
/> Maddie’s lip curled. “That’s disgusting. You’re just jealous.”
Oh, that was the last straw. His blood pressure spiked. “Jealous, you say? Why would I be jealous?”
“Because Dakota’s famous and handsome and hot,” she shot back.
His temper sizzled like fat on a fire. “Is that why you’re throwing yourself at him?”
“I’m not throwing myself at him.” She scorched him with burning eyes. “I’m enjoying the company of a nice man who’s not an egomaniac.”
“I’ll differ with you there,” he scoffed, ignoring their spellbound audience. “But that’s beside the point.”
“And what is the point?”
“The point is—” He stopped. What was the point? It had nothing to do with Dakota, that much he knew.
He leaned back in his chair, took a deep, slow breath. The infuriating woman knew just how to get a rise out of him.
But there was a pattern at work, he realized, in the still-sane corner of his brain. And now that he saw it, things finally made sense.
He’d shared a moment with Maddie in his suite, a moment where she let down her guard. That vulnerability scared the hell out of her. So she lashed out.
The same thing had happened the morning after they shared carbonara. And again after the gala. It happened whenever mutual desire flared up between them.
It was her defense mechanism. Each time she softened up and let him get close to her, she reacted by pulling back farther. Hitting back harder. Building her walls higher.
He scared her, he realized, not because he’d threatened her livelihood, but because he threatened her defenses.
It was a startling, and heartening, revelation. The harder she slapped at him, the deeper he’d gotten under her skin.
Viewed through that lens, the day had been a rousing success.
And the night ahead didn’t look quite so hopeless after all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Vicky: I promise to try not to hurt you, and if I do, I promise to say I’m sorry.
Maddie: But not without talking to my lawyer first.
MADDIE WASN’T THE only St. Clair who moved on little cat feet. Lucy was halfway to Crash’s room before Maddie realized her sister had snuck past her door.
Legging it down the hallway after her, eyes focused on her quarry, she nearly leaped out of her slippers when a door whipped open behind her and a figure darted out. Before she could yelp, a hand muzzled her mouth, an arm circled her waist, and she was lifted off the floor and hauled backward into her own darkened suite.
Her abductor kicked the door closed and leaned back against it, setting her feet on the floor but clamping her tight to his chest. In another time or place, she would have been terrified. Now her heart drummed not with fear, but with fury.
“Darling.” Adam’s voice, amused, tickled her ear. “You really don’t want to follow her.”
“Yes, I do!” she shouted.
His hand muffled it to “Mmm, m mm!”
She tried biting his fingers but he’d cupped his hand just enough that she couldn’t sink her teeth in.
Frustrated, she kicked his shin, but her slipper skidded off denim. She stomped his toes, but the wily bastard had worn shoes.
His voice was a silky caress against her straining throat. “I’ve got a hundred pounds on you, darling. You’re not going anywhere.”
Quivering with thwarted violence, she threw every cussword she knew against the palm of his hand. God help him when she got loose. He’d see what ninety pounds of pissed-off Pitbull could do.
For the moment, though, she was helpless.
And the totally fucked up thing was, some perverse part of her liked it.
This was why she’d resisted him. Even more than the felon thing, his wicked way of making her like things she shouldn’t like, want things she shouldn’t want, was too dangerous, too unpredictable.
Like now. The arm at her waist slid down so his strong hand gripped her hip, lifting her, pinning her against his erection, hard and huge. She should be panicking. Instead, flames licked her skin. Heat flooded her core.
She wanted . . . she wanted . . .
No!
Wriggling like a snake, she tried to slither from his grasp. He sucked a breath through his teeth. “Do that again. Please.” Jacking her higher, he pressed against her.
And her ass, her traitorous ass, lifted into him.
This was wrong, wrong. She should be fighting him. She slapped at his arm. But then his teeth scraped her earlobe, and the moan she let out was nothing about resistance, and all about take me.
It seemed to unleash him, that moan. He turned her head, exposing her throat, pulling her tighter as he sank into the long muscle of her neck, holding it in his teeth, predator and prey, growling as she quivered, waiting to be devoured.
His hand tunneled down into her nightshirt, his rough palm scraping her nipple, his fingers working her breast greedily. It sapped the last of her fight.
Giving in to lust, she reached around behind him, digging her nails into his thigh muscles, pulling him closer, closer. She would have pulled him under her skin if she could have. His name slipped from her lips. She begged him, begged him, to do something, anything. To give her more, more.
“Christ,” he rasped, spinning her roughly, turning them both so her back hit the door. He jerked her shirt up, her panties down. Sucked a nipple into his mouth, sank his fingers inside her. “Jesus,” as she flooded his palm.
He pulled out, drawing a moan straight from her core. Took her mouth, swallowed it with his lips, then filled her again, more fingers, faster, driving her higher.
His lips dragged across her cheek, he breathed fire in her ear. “Spread your legs. Let me in.”
“You’re in. God, you’re in.” She panted it out as tension coiled and built.
“Wrap your legs around me. Take me inside.”
“Yes.” She moaned it. “Yes. Yes.” Nothing mattered now except fucking him. She kicked off the panties that chained her ankles, clawed at his buckle, his zipper. “Condoms,” she gasped. “I don’t—”
“I do.”
Frantic with need, she worked his jeans over his hips as his teeth tore through foil. She reached for him, desperate to feel him, to handle him, but he batted her away.
“Later,” he got out through gritted teeth. “I’ll come if you touch me.”
“No don’t, not yet.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, tried to climb him like a tree. His breath hissed through his teeth as he rolled on the condom.
Then his hands scooped her ass, lifting her, spreading her, and oh, thank you Jesus, he drove hard and deep, one thrust that filled her, that nailed her to the door.
He was big, so big, but she was soaking wet. Arching, she took him deeper, lifting her hips, riding him, thighs gripping his waist, ankles twist-tied behind him.
The darkness made it dreamlike; he could have been anyone, a stranger, a madman. But he was all Adam, his animal scent, his muscle-roped arms. She raked his biceps with her nails, scraped the length of his forearms, bulging with the strain.
Pumping harder, he found her mouth, bit her lip. “Come with me,” he panted, “come all over my cock.”
“Yes,” she said again, as wild as he was. “So close. Don’t stop.” She threw her head back, whacked the door and didn’t notice, as every cell, every sensation spiraled down, coiled tighter . . .
She heard her own voice cry out as the orgasm shook her, heard Adam’s voice too, drawing out her pleasure, telling her he’d fuck her all night, that he wouldn’t stop. Again he slammed into her, again, and again, and one last time.
Then his fingers flexed, digging into her cheeks. His muscles, every one, went hard as iron. He threw back his head, neck arching, tendons rigid.
His knees buckled, and gave. And locked together, they slid down the door to the floor.
OPENING HIS EYES, Adam got his bearings, not unhappy to discover himself cross-legged on the floor with Maddie
straddling his lap, still impaled on his cock.
Before he had time to savor the sensation, she started to stir. Cinching his arms around her, he stroked a hand over her head where it rested in the notch of his shoulder.
“Give it a minute,” he murmured into her hair, and she surprised him by letting her taut little body relax. He hummed his appreciation, enjoying it while it lasted. Soon enough she’d start squirming again, trying to get away from him, to brush him off like lint.
Well, good luck with that. Whatever was between them, the heat, the connection, demanded to be explored.
She’d want no part of it, of course. She’d laugh in his face, tell him to grow up. She’d claim it was just sex, a one-off with no strings, no emotion. But he’d had plenty of just-sex, and never was it like this. Never had he wanted every part of a woman, her body, her heart, her sharp edges, her venom.
Not even with Maribelle, who he’d once imagined he loved, had he felt this desire to have it all.
Maybe he was a fool, the moth to Maddie’s flame. But he hadn’t gotten this far in life by playing it safe. He took chances. Now he’d take one on her.
Whether she liked it or not.
And she wouldn’t. She was still hung up on the Lady in Red. And more than that, she was hung up on relationships.
On that score, he had little room to talk. He hadn’t given a woman more than a weekend in ten years. And if he’d been looking for a girlfriend, he wouldn’t have looked at Maddie. They couldn’t be more different, the prosecutor and the thief.
Perhaps that was the fascination. She was black and white; he was shades of gray. She was all about right and wrong; he zigzagged across the line.
Whatever it was, this thing between them was powerful stuff. He’d tried to say no to it, and couldn’t.
Now was the moment to begin convincing her to say yes to it too, to show her how good they could be. She was loose and limber, wrapped around him like spaghetti.
Right where he wanted her.
Her nightshirt had flopped down over her back. He slid his hands up under it, a soft stroke up to her shoulders, then down again over the swells of her ass. She didn’t object.
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