She made a low sound of agreement and undulated her hips. He braced both hands on the mattress and contracted his hips, almost withdrawing. Then he pressed forward again.
He watched her face as the slow rocking of his hips drove her closer and closer to orgasm. Her eyes grew heavy-lidded and her teeth sank into her lower lip, while a flush spread across her cheeks. She was silent except for the ragged blast of her breathing. But her hips moved in synchronization with his, rising off the mattress for each of his downward thrusts to facilitate the deepest penetration possible, and her short fingernails began to press with increasing pressure into his back.
“Oh, please,” she whispered. “That feels so—” She sucked in a quick breath and looked up at him as she once again bit into her lower lip. Then her reddened lip slid free of the white teeth gripping it, and she avowed fervently, “—wonderful. Oh, God, Nick, it feels so wonderful. I wish it could last forever.”
But his hips had already begun to pick up speed, and she didn’t hesitate to meet each thrust. He felt her tension grow and grow, and knew by the way she strained that her needs weren’t being fully met. He changed his angle slightly to accommodate her, and savage satisfaction filled him as he watched her eyes go blind and felt her start to contract around him. Her nails dragged down his back with enough force to leave welts on his hide, and her thighs clamped down fiercely on his hips.
And all the while, that hot, slick passage squeezed and pulled at him, as if demanding equal commitment.
He dug into in the mattress with his toes and thrust himself deep within her, trying to hold back the moan clawing at his throat as satisfaction began to boil deep in his loins. Then everything blew, and his back arched and he roared her name as he came, and came, and came, in violent, scalding pulsations.
He finally eased down on top of her, burying his face in the curve of her neck. “Ah, God, Daisy.”
Her arms tightened around him.
Before he had a moment to think it through, he heard himself saying, “Have I mentioned my idea for a twelve-step romance?” Tension immediately gathered in his stomach. Where had that come from?
She laughed deep in her throat. “What on earth is a twelve-step romance?”
What the hell—in for a nickel, in for a buck. He pushed up on his elbows to look into her face, and the knot in his gut relaxed a little at the sleepy smile she gave him, and the way she reached up to loop her arms around his neck.
“It’s a romance that you and I take one day at a time…with the thought that we’ve got a possible future in front of us. Maybe. Someday.” Her expression went blank, and he felt her muscles tightening beneath him. He stroked her face with his fingertips. “I realize you’re probably confused, since I’ve never even told you that I care for you. But I do, you know.”
“I know you care for sex with me.”
“That goes without saying. But if you think that’s all it is, Blondie—”
“You don’t have to make me any promises, Nick.” She unlinked her hands and slid them down to his shoulders, giving him a shove. He didn’t budge, and her brows drew together. “In fact, I’d really rather you didn’t. I accepted a long time ago that long-term relationships and me are an oxymoron.” She looked him squarely in the eye. “I don’t know how I can say it any plainer: I have zero luck in the romance department.”
The vulnerability in her expression punched him in the gut, and he said firmly, “That’s because you’ve never had a relationship with me.” It was hard to believe the R word was even coming out of his mouth, considering how he usually choked on it. And yet…“Hold on to your holster, cupcake, because your luck is about to change.”
If anything, she grew stiffer. “And how do you see that happening, Nick—by conducting a romance like a couple of drunks one bottle shy of falling off the wagon? Why can’t we just leave things where they are? Let’s enjoy what we have together while we have it—and accept that sooner or later it’s going to come to an end.”
He opened his mouth to debate her assessment of…he wasn’t sure what. Her take on the lasting qualities of a relationship? The relationship he specifically offered? Either way, he was stopped by the look on her face when she said, “Could we please change the subject? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Okay. Do you wanna stay here tonight?”
“After the fortune you’ve spent to rent the room? Of course.”
“It means you’ll have to walk through the lobby wearing your evening gown tomorrow morning.”
That startled a deep and rollicking laugh out of her, the likes of which he hadn’t heard since she was a teen. “And this is supposed to bother me why?”
“Damned if I know. It’s just one of those things that would bug nine-tenths of the women I date.”
She grinned up at him. “I don’t know whether to wonder how many women you’ve lured into hotel rooms, or to point out the obvious.”
“Which is?”
“I’m not the usual high-brow woman you date—though I have to wonder how high-brow they are if they run around without their underwear. But that’s beside the point. I’m just a low-rent girl from the ’burbs who doesn’t know enough to be embarrassed about being seen in her evening gown the morning after.”
“You’re low-maintenance, doll face—I wouldn’t call you low-rent.”
“Whatever, I’m not your usual type. And getting back to staying the night, at least the goons won’t know where to find us, huh?”
“There is that. Before we get settled in for the night, though, we should make a trip down to the gift shop to pick up a few essentials.”
“Such as?”
“Toothpaste, toothbrushes. More condoms.”
She shoved at his shoulders again, and this time he rolled off her. “So what are we waiting for? We don’t want the shop to close before we can get”—her gaze raked down his torso and lingered for an instant on his sex—“toothbrushes. Clean teeth are a priority, you know.” She jumped out of bed and grinned at him. “Man, I hate to see you put your shirt back on. I love the look of you in just that cute little bow tie. Maybe I ought to go down by myself. I can get dressed faster than you can, anyway.”
“Honey, the woman hasn’t been born who can dress faster than a man.”
“Haven’t you learned anything from the past couple of days? Twenty bucks says I can beat you without breaking a sweat.”
“You’re on.”
They dove for their clothing, and a moment later she was buckling on the little pouch that held her gun while he was still struggling with the many studs that fastened his shirt.
She stepped into her shoes and came over to help him. “I almost feel guilty for taking your money. That was too easy.”
“You left off your pantyhose.”
“Big deal. I could put them on and take ’em off three times and you’d still be struggling with all these silly little things.”
“You’ve got a point there.” Leaving his collar unbuttoned with the bow tie inside its opening, he tossed his cuff links on the dresser and rolled back his sleeves. “You ready?”
Daisy snorted. “Ten minutes ago, bud.”
He admired the minimalist swivel of her hips as she preceded him from the room, and thought about what she’d said regarding her luck with relationships and leaving things the way they were. She was undoubtedly right. He’d argued the same points with himself ad nauseam. Yet he grinned as he closed the door behind him.
Because she’d never been wooed by a Coltrane. And it occurred to him that, at the very least, he owed it to her to show her what she’d been missing.
16
thursday
“DID you know there’s a phone in the bathroom?” Briskly rubbing her hair with one towel and wearing another, Daisy walked into the bedroom. It was time to put a little professionalism back in this relationship. Somewhere in the last twenty-four hours she had let that slip away.
She looked over at Nick, who had gathered their
breakfast dishes together and was setting the room service tray out in the hallway. For just an instant her attention got caught up in the way his tux slacks, the only garment he wore, pulled tautly over his very nice buns. Then she hauled her wandering attention back. What had she been saying? Oh, yes—“Why on earth would anyone want a telephone in the bathroom?”
He shut the door and turned to face her. “You got me; I suppose it’s a perk that a certain element appreciates. Workaholic businessmen, maybe.”
“Phoneaholic bathers,” she couldn’t resist contributing, but then drew herself up. Dammit, they weren’t here to engage in nonsensical banter, no matter how infectious the urge might be. “But that’s neither here nor there. It’s time that we—”
“You look kinda hot, Daise.” His voice adopted that low, sexual tone she had become so familiar with during the night, and her hair towel slid from suddenly nerveless fingers. He stepped close and pressed a finger into her flushed chest and they both watched the color flood back into it when he lifted his hand. He trailed the backs of his fingers across her shoulder and down her arm. “I think we oughtta get you out of this stuffy old towel and cool you down.”
She managed to raise a brow. “Generous, the way you’re always looking out for me.”
“I know about these things. Just do whatever I say, and you won’t go wrong.”
She guffawed. “In your dreams, ace.”
“All right.” He lifted one shoulder as if it were her loss. “But you’ll notice I’m not all flushed from being bundled up in yards of terry cloth.” His fingers tugged at the fold where she’d tucked the plush towel between her breasts, but he seemed unfazed when she slapped his hands away. “You really should take this off. Be nice and cool, like me.”
“Oh, yeah. That’d make us equal, all right. You with your bare chest, me buck naked.”
He appeared to think it over. “You’re right,” he agreed. He unfastened his slacks and pushed them down his narrow hips, and they fell to the floor, leaving him gloriously naked. “There. Never let it be said that Nicholas Coltrane doesn’t do his part to support equality.” He reached for her towel again.
Staring at him, watching his body transform in front of her eyes, she realized he was correct about one thing. She definitely felt overheated. And really, half and hour one way or the other wouldn’t matter.
She allowed him to untuck the towel.
He held it wide and slowly tracked every exposed curve with his gaze. He bent his head and kissed her shoulder. “Now, isn’t that better?”
“Mmm. Much.”
“Not to mention more befitting the occasion.” He kissed the side of her neck. “We’re just damn lucky you didn’t decide to swaddle yourself in one of the guest robes. No telling what extreme measure of resuscitation that would have called for.”
“Well, you know me.” She managed a faint shrug even though her muscles were dissolving. “Always clueless about the appropriate thing to wear.”
With a grip on either end of the towel he’d allowed to slip down to her hips, he hauled her in. “I’m always happy to guide you.”
She looped her arms around his neck, appreciating the hard warmth of his chest. Swaying from side to side, she lightly rubbed her breasts against him. “This doesn’t change anything, Nick. You should be aware of that.”
“Shh,” he said, and bent his head to kiss her. “I know.”
Forty-five minutes later they walked off the elevator and crossed the lobby to the front desk. The clerk passed the bill across the counter for Nick to check, then said, “I have a message here that two men were asking about you last night, Mr. Coltrane.”
Nick stilled, aware of Daisy doing the same. “Did they leave their names?”
“No, sir. The night clerk noted that they didn’t appear to be our usual type of guest. She also said they became abusive when she refused to give them your room number, then declined to use the courtesy phone when she offered to ring your room for them.”
“Hmmm.” He handed over his credit card. “I can’t imagine who it could have been. But thank you for the message.”
Daisy didn’t say anything until they paused outside the Fairmont’s entrance. “Blunt Face and No-Neck, you think?”
He stared blindly at the Flood mansion across the street. “Had to have been.” He was aware of her alertness to their surroundings, and decided it wouldn’t hurt to pay closer attention himself to the activity going on around them as they made their way down the hill to the spot where he’d been lucky enough to find street parking.
Then he spotted his Porsche and was forced to reevaluate the luck factor. “No!”
Daisy took her eyes off the streets to look at him. “What? What is it?” She followed his gaze. “Oh, my God. Oh, Nick! Your beautiful car.”
Someone—and it didn’t take a card-packing Mensa member to figure out who—had taken a tire iron to his Porsche. Its windows and headlights were smashed, its top slashed to ribbons, its pristine body dented and caved in. It sat on four flat tires, and where it hadn’t been bashed, obscenities had been scratched deep into the paint.
“Fuck,” he whispered hoarsely. He circled the car, once, twice, three times, a frigid knot sitting heavy in his gut and red-hot rage clouding his brain. He lashed out at the driver’s-side tire with his foot. “Fuck!” Then he whirled away, plunging all ten fingers into his hair, scraping it away from his face with a force that stretched the outer corners of his eyes, the heels of his hands digging into his temples where a headache had begun to throb. He stared off into the distance, unaware of anything but the red mist of his temper for several long moments.
Then gradually Daisy’s warmth, pressed against his back, began to penetrate. She’d wrapped her arms around his waist and her hands rubbed soothing circles on his stomach. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and it occurred to him to wonder how many times she’d already said those words while he was oblivious to all but his anger and pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“I love this car,” he said hoarsely. “It was the first thing I bought when I began to earn more than just grocery and rent money. Even then, it took me three and a half years to pay the damn thing off.” And he’d been proud of it, had kept the car in immaculate condition as a testimony not only to his increasing earning power, but to his independence from his father’s spendthrift lifestyle.
“But big deal, huh? What the hell. It’s not like my dog died—it’s just a thing.” But it had been his thing, dammit, earned with his own two hands. He felt stifled suddenly, overheated and hemmed in, and his voice came out harsh when he said, “Do you mind, Blondie? Your gun is goosing me.”
He felt her stiffen, and her arms dropped away from his waist. A second later her warmth was removed from his back as she stepped away.
He discovered that the breath of coolness bestowed by his newfound freedom wasn’t a big improvement. Without thinking, he turned and hauled her into his arms. She stood stiffly while he rubbed his hands up and down her back and pressed his chin against the crown of her head. “I’m really pissed, Daisy.”
“So you thought you’d take it out on me?”
“Yeah. Something like that.” He bowed his head to kiss her temple. “It was unfair,” he admitted huskily. “I’m sorry.”
“No, you were right.” She pushed away. “I wasn’t behaving at all professionally—”
“Ah, great, play the guilt card.” It worked like a charm, too, which pissed him off all over again. “Dammit, Daisy, why not just rub a little salt in my wounds while you’re at it?”
She had the temerity to laugh. At the same time, however, she reached out to touch conciliatory fingertips to his jaw—and looked so appealing with the sunlight shining in her eyes that he found his anger fading.
“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Nick,” she assured him. “I really didn’t act in a professional manner. Chances are the goon squad is hanging around, ready to pounce while we’re distracted by the mess they made of your car. I sh
ould have been on the lookout for them instead of—”
“Offering me a sugar tit.”
Her cheeks flushed with hot color. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite that way, but…yeah.”
The truth was, he liked the fact that she’d offered him comfort. She’d made it clear how important her professionalism was to her, so it showed he must be, too, if she’d put his feelings first.
He also knew better than to get sentimental over the fact. She’d just get all protective of her tough-guy image and end up making them both pay. “What do you suggest we do next?”
“You’re not going to like this, but we have to call the police.”
Every defense snapping firmly into place, he glared at her down his nose. “Forget it, Blondie.”
“You have to file a police report before you can even talk to your insurance company, Nick.”
Well…hell. She was right. “Fine. I’ll file the report. But damned if I’m going to play the who-coulda-been-responsible-for-the-damage game with them.”
“Part of me would like nothing better than to debate the merits of that with you.”
Oh, big surprise. He snorted. “Let me guess. Could it be the ex-cop part?”
She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that the cops couldn’t do anything even if you were willing to discuss it with them, because we don’t have a shred of proof to offer. So we’ll do it your way.” She looked around. “I guess I was wrong about the goons lying in wait for us. I’ll call a cab to take us back to your place, and we can call the cops from there to get you a case number for your insurance company. Is there anything you need from inside the car?”
He had his photo bag with him, which was his most immediate concern. He nevertheless looked inside the car—and immediately wished he hadn’t. The interior had also been ripped to shreds: the leather seats torn, the rugs pulled up, the dash mutilated. The glove compartment door had been hammered until it sprung, and the knob was missing from the gearshift. Swearing under his breath, he straightened.
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