Daisy’s smile faltered. “What?”
Her revved-up satisfaction had been like steel wool on his raw nerves, but now he wished he hadn’t been quite so quick to burst her bubble. “Face front, you’re gonna get a crick in your neck.” She did so unquestioningly, and he looked around to see if the world as they knew it had come to a screeching halt.
Nope. He gently applied the salve and a bandage, dividing his attention between the chore and her bent head. There was something about her nape that looked so…vulnerable. He found his fingers reaching out to touch it.
“Come on, Coltrane, you gonna give me a few details, or what? Spit it out.”
His hand fell back to his side. Checking over his handiwork, he said crisply, “You’re patched up as good as it’s gonna get. You can turn around now.”
She spun around and he handed over her blouse. Sticking her finger through the hole in the back, she grimaced at the bloodstain surrounding it. “I not putting this back on.” She lobbed it into the wastebasket and surged up off the toilet seat. “C’mon,” she ordered, and it was clear she wasn’t talking about following her as she charged from the room. “Talk to me.”
“You ever consider joining the Army, Daisy? You’d be a natural as a drill instructor.”
She stopped dead outside his bedroom door and whirled to confront him, her chin thrust out at a belligerent angle. “I’ve been patient, dammit.” She didn’t even blink when he snorted; she just prodded him in the chest with her finger. “Tell me about Blunt Face pointing a gun at me.”
“Okay, all right.” He gazed down at her, trying to ignore the way she filled out her little white bra. “It all happened pretty fast, remember. Still, I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help when you and the bruiser were duking it out.”
Daisy’s expression was a study in surprise. “You have no reason to apologize.”
“I just stood there with my thumb up my ass while you—”
“Nick,” she interrupted with surprising gentleness, “I was trained for this sort of thing. Believe me, I know all too well how sudden violence can paralyze a person.”
He stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders. “Yeah, well, anyhow, I was mesmerized by the action between you and No-Neck and didn’t even see Blunt Face until he was right beside me. Even then, it wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of his arm raising in my peripheral vision that I realized anyone was there. Then I saw he had a gun in his hand and he was aiming it at you, so I knocked it away.” And stepped between her and the weapon when Blunt Face recovered enough to correct his aim. He was damn lucky he hadn’t been whacked upside the head. Blunt Face must have wanted to locate the film more than he wanted to put Daisy out of immediate commission, though—and coldcocked men not only couldn’t talk, they were damn tricky to haul around. Nick rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “You know the rest.”
“You saved my life?”
“Well, that might be stretching it a bit. For all we know, he wouldn’t have shot you at all.” He didn’t know anything of the kind, of course, but she looked sort of vulnerable again, and he sure as hell didn’t know for a fact that Blunt Face would have shot her. Odds were decent, in fact, that the goons hadn’t wanted the attention gunshots would have drawn.
“What did Blunt Face mean when he said, ‘He kept me from putting an end to this once and for all’?” Much as Daisy hated to admit it, it sounded very much as if Nick had saved her bacon, and honesty compelled her to say so. “He might not have killed me, but we both know he would’ve wounded me in a red-hot minute. They’d lost the advantage of surprise and needed to stack the odds back in their favor. So you saved me from something a heck of a lot more serious than a nail hole.” She studied him solemnly. Then, raising up on her toes, she pecked an impulsive kiss of appreciation on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”
Nick stiffened, and Daisy, who had felt the impact of the brief touch clear down to her toes, settled back on her heels. He stood very still and a dangerous light smoldered behind his narrowed lashes. Knowing she was playing with fire, but unable to stop herself, she cupped his face in her hands, raised up on tiptoe again, and aligned her lips to his for a real kiss.
The events of the past couple of days had piled and compiled, building electricity like a gathering storm, as each episode stacked escalating emotions upon the ones preceding it. Daisy’s kiss was the spark that blew it sky-high.
Nick growled deep in his throat and suddenly he was kissing her in return, kissing her hard, moving his lips over hers until even if she’d wanted to resist, she’d have had no choice but to open up. His tongue plunged into her mouth, and she shivered as he stamped his brand on every bit of slick territory he could reach.
Then, with his thumbs firmly on her cheeks and his hands wrapped around her nape, he jerked his head back and stared down at her. “Are you messing with me?”
Every protective instinct she possessed urged her to tell him yes. She felt his breath against her damp lips, saw the wary hunger that deepened the blue of his eyes, and warned herself to be smart, to laugh in his face. Stop this while you can.
Instead, she heard herself denying it. “No.” She tried to raise up to feel his mouth again but he held her away. “No.” A desperate kind of need jittered in her stomach, and the fact that she cared so much infuriated her. She did laugh then, but it was a sarcastic sound, lacking cheer. “Like you’d ever turn down the opportunity for a little hit-and-run sex even if I were messing with your mind. Don’t be a hypocrite, Nick. Kiss me.”
“I’ll kiss you,” he said in a hard voice, and it sounded more like a warning than a promise. And kiss her he did, in a take-no-prisoners kind of way, his mouth aggressive and a little rough.
Daisy moaned low in her throat, every nerve in her body throwing back its head to howl in satisfaction. For a few intense moments she kissed him frenziedly, gripping his hair in her fists to prevent him from pulling away again. Then, abruptly depleted of adrenaline, her kisses softened and she wrapped her arms around his neck and collapsed against his chest.
Nick picked her up and carried her into his room, kicking the door shut behind them. He lowered her to the bed and followed her down. Interlacing their fingers, he swept their arms in an arc, as if they were kids making snow angels, until he was stretched out on top of her, their arms extended overhead, their linked fingers brushing the headboard. Then he bent his head and resumed kissing her: slow, deep, soul-stirring kisses that turned Daisy’s bones to butter and ignited wildfires throughout her veins. A gritty little hum sounded deep in her throat, and she kissed him back, arching beneath him, loving the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.
The weight was removed when he pushed up on one elbow. He reached between them and eased her Glock from its holster inside her waistband. Setting it aside, he settled back on top of her. He caught her lower lip in his mouth and tugged at it, raking it with his teeth. Then he pulled back to look at her. “You sporting any other weapons I oughtta know about?”
“Knife.” She saw him glance at her bare arms and said, “On my thigh. Take your shirt off, Nick.”
He pushed back to kneel astride her legs, and pulled his shirt off over his head. She looked up at him, her gaze avid on the muscular planes of his chest and stomach. The bruise on his shoulder had faded to a paler shade of purple that was now mottled with yellow-green. She reached up to touch it with gentle fingertips.
She stroked her hands across his shoulders, outlined his collarbone with her fingertips, then flattened her palms against his chest. She was smoothing the fine hair over his pectorals when Nick reached for the button on the little skort she wore. He laid back the flap that gave it the appearance of a skirt and pulled down the zipper of the shorts underneath. She raised her hips and he pulled the garment off, leaving her in her white bra, a tiny pair of blue lace panties, running shoes and socks, and the knife strapped to her thigh. He crouched at her feet to unlace her shoes, then glanced up at her with amused eyes.
“Nice tennies. I kind of missed seeing your dainty blue combat boots today, though.”
“Dainty.” Daisy snorted. “Right.” She lifted a newly bared size-nine foot and swiveled it. “I assume you’re teasing, but on the off chance you’re not, it was too warm for all that boot leather.” She removed the sheathed knife on her thigh and set it on the nightstand. When Nick returned to his place astride her thighs, she hooked her fingers in the waistband of his slacks and tugged. “Speaking of warm, I’m starting to cool down. Heat me up, Nick.” She rubbed slow circles against his muscular stomach with the back of her hand. “Make me really, really hot.”
His face went hard as the humor fled his eyes. “Damn,” he whispered. Then he sprawled out on top of her, plunged his fingers through her short hair, and slammed his mouth down on hers. Daisy’s blood immediately began a rolling boil.
The finesse Nick had displayed moments ago went up in smoke. In a distant corner of his mind he was aware of the rough sounds that reverberated in his throat, but he ignored them as he pressed Daisy’s soft lips wider apart and sought dominion with his mouth, his tongue, his body.
She returned his hungry kisses with a hunger of her own; she clung with hands and arms and legs, her body straining closer and closer yet. Her enthusiastic response negated his attempt to show her who was boss and drove him instead to the edge of his own control.
That rang an uneasy warning bell in his brain, for his entire adult life had been built around maintaining control. He pulled back, groping through the fog of arousal to marshal a defense.
“Oh, don’t,” she whispered as he lifted his head. “Please. I feel so…”
He stared down at her swollen mouth and her slumberous eyes, which had darkened to the color of bittersweet chocolate. Perhaps control was overrated. “What do you feel, Daisy?” He bent his head and kissed the soft skin where her neck met the curve of her jaw. Shuddering, she raised her chin to provide him freer access and he dragged openmouthed kisses down her throat. “Hot?” Insinuating his hand between their bodies, he molded it around her left breast.
Daisy sucked in a breath. “Oh. God. Yes. Hot.” Her legs parted restlessly beneath him and she thrust her breast up for closer attention, but he ignored both invitations to concentrate on exploring the smooth skin of her throat. “So hot.” She grasped handfuls of his hair and pulled his head back until he reluctantly left off kissing the vein that pulsed in the hollow of her throat and looked at her. “Do something about it!”
It was such a typical Daisy demand, it engendered an instant knee-jerk competitiveness. “You said ‘really, really hot,’” he reminded her. “We’ve only attained singular hot. I can do much better, sweetpea—I can make you steam.” And I’d like that. He’d like to see her totally out of control.
“Dammit, Coltrane, I couldn’t be any hotter.”
“Oh, yeah. You could be.” His fingers cupped and shaped her breast, circling her nipple without touching it. “I haven’t even begun to crank up the heat.”
“Will you forget degrees? I don’t need—I don’t want—” She moved restively beneath his marauding hands. “Nick! I’m going crazy here; I wanna move faster.”
“And we will, cupcake.” He slicked his tongue over her lower lip and caught the impudent thrust of her nipple between his thumb and fin ger. “Eventually.” Lightly pinching his captured bounty, he tugged.
Her breath hissed through her teeth. But she opened heavy eyelids that had drifted shut and said, “Now, Coltrane.”
He said dryly, “We’re gonna do this on my schedule, Parker. Live with it.”
“Oh, no; I don’t think so.” Slapping her hands to his chest, she shoved, catching him unawares, and when he toppled onto his back she immediately rolled over to straddle him. She knelt with her calves pressed against his thighs, braced her hands on his chest, and aligned the damp blue lace of her panties with the prominent ridge that tented the fly of his pants. Finding the fit she sought, she gently rocked her hips. “There,” she whispered and her eyes drifted shut once again. “That’s more like it.”
Oh. Yeah. That was good. Nick cocked his pelvis to maintain the connection and reached up to unhook the front catch on her bra. He peeled back the cups. “Ah, man. I tried not to remember these, but they were damn hard to forget. You’ve still got the prettiest breasts I’ve ever seen.”
They were cream-pale curves that rose out of the lightly tanned, freckled expanse of her chest. High and gently sloped, with lush bottom curves, Daisy’s breasts weren’t exceptionally large. But they were exquisitely shaped, rounded and proud, with soft, blush-pink aureoles and hard nipples that pointed straight at the headboard. Crunching his abs, Nick half sat up to capture one with his mouth.
“Ah!” Daisy froze as lightning flashed from her breast to the tight, achy core deep between her legs. She felt his hands slide beneath the leg openings of her panties to grip her bottom, and he directed her hips in an evocative rhythm that moved her against his hard erection between her legs.
She looked down at him and saw with surprise that his blue eyes watched her in return. Holding her gaze, he hollowed his cheeks and sucked on her nipple, working his tongue against its underside. More lightning flashed and she bore down on the rigid pillar of his sex in search of relief. “Oh, God, Nick, please.” Reaching between them, she fumbled with his fly, but her fingers felt like rubber. “You win, okay? I don’t want to play games anymore. Just, please, help me put out this fire.” He sucked harder on her nipple and air burst out of her lungs in an agonized, high-pitched explosion of sound. “Ohplease, ohplease, ohplease.”
In a sudden flurry of motion, Nick rolled her onto her back and knelt over her. Bending to pay homage to her other breast, he unfastened the button on his waistband, unzipped his slacks, and pushed both pants and boxers down his hips. He hooked his fingers in her panties and tugged them down, then reached for the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a box of condoms. Shaking a few out on the mattress, he tossed the box aside, then rolled to his feet to kick off the shorts and slacks tangled around his ankles. He gazed down at her as he ripped open one of the packets and rolled a condom down the length of his erection.
“Ah, God, look at this,” he said hoarsely and reached to wiggle a gentle fingertip in the damp crevice of her sex. “Blondie is a genuine blonde.” His finger slipped and slid languidly.
She arched beneath sensations that threatened to blow the top of her head off, but managed to choke out, “And look at you.” She gave his penis a nod as it bobbed, long and thick, away from his hard belly. “Coltrane is a genuine stud.” But the words had no punch, forced as they were past her heart, which was lodged firmly in her throat. She reached to wrap her fingers around his erection. “No more fooling around, Nick.” She moved her hand up and down the length of him, feeling the velvet slide of flesh over forged steel. “Keep me waiting any longer and I’ll have to get mean.”
“Ohh, I’m scared.” But he fell over her, catching himself on his palms and propping himself above her. He bowed his head to kiss her and lowered himself as if performing a push-up, to rub his chest against her breasts. “Guide me,” he demanded hoarsely. “Put me in you, Daisy. Now.”
Fingers around the base of his penis, she rubbed its blunt head in tiny circles against her opening, then lined it up for a direct shot home. Nick nudged forward with his hips and she sucked in a sharp breath as he sank into her a short way. “Oh, gawd, Nick.”
“Damn, Daisy, you’re so…” Lips pulled away from his clenched teeth, he straight-armed himself away from her and looked down to where they were joined. “Tight. You’re so tight.” He pulled back a little, then pushed forward gently, pulled back and pushed forward, gaining a little ground with each move. He looked up at her. “How long has it been since you’ve done this, anyway?”
“A while.” She wriggled her hips and they both inhaled sharply as the minute adjustment sent him sliding deep inside her.
“A long while, if the way you feel is anything
to go by.” He held himself still for a moment. “God. I feel like the ugly stepsister trying to cram my big foot into the too-small slipper.” Carefully, he withdrew.
“Oh!” She liked the friction but hated the emptiness he left behind. Then he thrust back in and she felt filled and restless and itchy. “Oh, please. More.” She shifted her legs, not sure what to do with them. Finally she drew her knees up and braced her feet on the mattress, lifting her hips to meet his next thrust.
“Ah, damn!” His hips picked up speed. “That’s it, Daise. Yes, just like that. God, you feel good.” Then he ceased his thrust and retreat and rotated his hips in small, tight oscillations.
Daisy let out a strangled cry. She was so close—dear, God, so close. “Oh, please,” she whispered. “I feel so…I want to…Nick, please.”
Nick’s hand crept between their bodies to the soft rise of her mound. One long finger insinuated itself into the slick cleft and slipped up and down, up and down. Then, just as his hips resumed a hard, fast thrust and retreat, he located the slippery pearl of her clitoris with his fingertip.
Sensation gathered beneath his stroking finger, and at the apex of each thrust when he filled her, stretched her, bumped and retreated from a spot she’d never known existed. She began to pant, to plead, to demand. When she managed to focus unfocused eyes on Nick’s face, it was to find him watching her with an unholy light in his eyes.
He gave her a crooked smile. “You want satisfaction, Blondie?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”
He sank into her, swiveled his hips once, and pulled back. “And what’ll you give me if I see to it that you get some?”
“Anything. Well, not money—oh, God, Nick!” Daisy felt her eyes cross as he touched that place inside her again and then withdrew. “My firstborn son. The clothes off my back. Name it.”
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