Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “I’m sure you can, but...”

  “Hey, babe.” Devin came up behind him and snaked an arm around his waist. Her hand came to rest on his hip, sending a bolt of white-hot desire to his groin. “Sorry I got held up. The line was ridiculous. Miss me?”

  She reached up on tiptoe and gave him a down-and-dirty, take-no-prisoners kiss, with just enough tongue to make it borderline obscene in a public place. He barely had time to reciprocate before she broke it off, sliding down his body and giving him a look that said Sit back and hold on tight. This is gonna be a wild ride. “That’s okay. You don’t have to answer. Your hard-on speaks for itself.”

  Kara gasped, and Gabe almost laughed out loud at the shocked look on her face.

  “Are you okay?” Devin took a half step toward the other woman. “I know CPR. And the Heimlich maneuver.”

  “I’m fine.” Kara held up a hand to stop her. “Thanks.”

  “Good.” Devin turned to Gabe and laid a palm on his chest. One finger traced the lettering on his T-shirt. “What do you say we skip the last stop on the tour and go back to my place? I’ve never been a big fan of E. E. Cummings anyway.”

  “I don’t know,” he teased, finally getting the idea and playing along with her. “That Black Label burger sounded awfully good.”

  “I promise I’ll make it up to you.” She pressed a kiss to the hollow between his neck and shoulder, making his pulse jump.

  “Well, in that case...” He picked Devin’s purse up off the bar and handed it to her. “It’s been nice catching up with you, Kara.”

  The polite lie tripped off his tongue. He gave Kara a dismissive nod and put his arm around Devin, shepherding her toward the door. Devin returned the favor by slipping her hand into his pocket and squeezing his ass. His cock twitched and his mind burned with a question only Devin could answer.

  Was she serious about going back to her place? Or was it all an act for Kara’s sake?

  * * *

  PLAYING WITH FIRE, that’s what Devin was doing. But damn if she could stop herself.

  Something had snapped when she’d come out of the bathroom and that designer debutante had put her claws on Gabe. Then she heard what that bi...witch had said about her. Devin might have gone after her with a switchblade. If she still carried one. But she hadn’t since she was nineteen, when Leo had convinced her that she didn’t need it anymore. That she’d found a home. That she was safe.

  She didn’t feel safe now. She was on edge. Ramped up.

  Horny.

  What had started out as a lighthearted game had turned super serious when she’d felt Gabe’s reaction to their impromptu kiss pressing against her thigh. Then she’d gone and practically propositioned him.

  Idiot.

  So what now? Was she for real when she’d offered to “make it up” to him? Was he for real when he’d accepted?

  There was only one smart, safe thing to do. Pretend it never happened. And if smart and safe weren’t normally parts of her vocabulary, well, she wasn’t going to dissect the reasons for her change of course now.

  “I can’t imagine what you ever saw in her.” She shrugged off his arm and pried her hand out of his pocket. He was right. The jeans were tight. She sneaked a peek at his butt.

  Delicious.

  “Devin.”

  She kept walking. Faster. “I mean beyond the perky boobs, flat stomach and long legs.”

  “Devin.”

  “And I suppose there was her ass...”

  “Stop.”

  The tone of his voice, gruff and demanding, made her obey.

  “Look at me.” He stepped in front of her, swept her hair off her face and tilted her chin up, forcing her to stare into the fathomless gray depths of his eyes. “We need to talk.”

  So not part of her game plan. She folded her arms across her chest. “What’s to talk about?”

  “What happened back there...”

  “With your ex?” She was trembling like a tenderfoot getting her first tat, and her cheek burned where his thumb rested.

  “No.” The offending thumb brushed her lower lip. “With us.”

  “There...there is no us.”

  “Don’t.” The noise of the traffic swirled around them, her heart beating in time to the rhythmic thump thump of the cars passing over a steel road plate.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Act like you’re not feeling it, too. Like— Watch out!” He yanked her out of the way of a late-night cyclist and swore. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her pulse pounding for two reasons now.

  “This is ridiculous.” He glanced at the night sky and scrubbed a hand across his face.

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

  “Not this.” He gestured between them. “This.” He flung an arm out toward Christopher Street. “The fact that we’re having this conversation in the heart of the goddamn Village.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the time for talking is over.” He did a hasty scan of the area then pulled her into a nearby doorway, trapping her there with his body. “Ask me again.”

  A hot flush spread up her face. “Ask you what?”

  “What you asked in the bar.” He rested his forehead against hers. “About going back to your place.”

  So he was serious. They were really doing this.

  Hot damn.

  “Do you want to go back to my place?” Bad idea. Her breath rasped in her throat. She was supposed to be putting out the fire smoldering between them, not dousing it with gasoline.

  But what a lovely way to burn.

  “Hell, yes,” Gabe croaked. She reached up to touch his face, but he grabbed her wrist and stopped her midway, lowering her hand slowly but not releasing it. “Not here. Not like this. No more doorways or alleys. This time we do it right. Slow and easy. Even if it takes all night.”

  Oh, yeah. A fucking lovely burn.

  He pulled her to the curb and whistled for a cab.

  “We can walk. Or the subway’s just up the block...”

  He shushed her with a finger to her lips. “I know you’re a big fan of public transportation. But I’m done sharing you tonight.”

  Could mere words make someone come? Because Devin was pretty sure she almost had.

  She pulled herself together and ducked into the open door of the taxi, sliding across the bench seat until she was pressed against the far door. If Gabe could wait, so could she, but only if he didn’t touch her.

  He gave the cab driver her address and flashed Devin a good-boy-with-bad-intentions smile that had her practically coming again.

  It was a damned good thing her apartment was only a five-minute ride away.

  “You’re awfully quiet way over there,” Gabe said as the cab pulled away from the curb. “Having second thoughts?”

  Second, third and fourth, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. What the fuck was wrong with her? When she wanted a guy, she wanted him. And she usually had him. No hemming and hawing, full steam ahead.

  So why was it different with Gabe? She wanted him. He wanted her. It should be as simple as that.

  The cabby jammed on the brakes in front of Devin’s apartment building, saving her from answering. “That’ll be six bucks even.”

  Gabe handed over a ten and got out without waiting for change. He extended a hand to Devin, and she took it before she could chicken out. A tremor ran through her at the contact.

  “You can still change your mind.” He dropped her hand, almost like he realized how much his touch affected her and wanted to make sure she was acting with her head and not her hormones. “I hear it’s a woman’s prerogative.”

  “Maybe.” She exhaled slow
ly, reclaimed his hand and led him up the stairs. “But not this woman. Not tonight.”

  7

  DEVIN’S APARTMENT WAS just like her. Cluttered. Eclectic. Fascinating.

  But Gabe barely had time to notice the collection of Game of Thrones bobbleheads on a shelf over the sink in the tiny galley kitchen, the pile of cooking magazines on the living room end table or the stack of paperback romances by the front door. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only.

  Devin. In his arms. Preferably naked.

  The snick of the lock echoed behind him.

  “Do you want something to drink?” She moved past him into the living area, flicking on lights as she went. “I’ve got beer in the fridge and a bottle of merlot stashed somewhere. Or there’s coffee or water if you want something nonalcoholic.”

  He stared at her as she fluttered around the apartment. Picking up a dirty dish. Straightening a picture frame.

  She was nervous. Ballsy, badass Devin Padilla was nervous.

  He sat on the couch and patted the cushion next to him. “Come here.”

  “Or I could cook something if you’re hungry.” She took a few steps toward the refrigerator. “I’ve got eggs, cheese and a pepper I should use before it goes bad. I could whip up an omelet.”

  “I’m not hungry. Or thirsty.” He leaned back and patted the cushion again, one corner of his mouth curling into an amused smile. “Come. Here.”

  She crossed to him, the spiked heels of her knee-high black boots tapping the wood floor with each slow, deliberate step, and lowered herself next to him on the couch.

  “Tell me about your tattoos.” He took her wrist and flipped it over, tracing the letters inscribed there. “What’s this one?”

  She hesitated for a moment before answering, thrown off track by his abrupt change of subject. Just as he’d intended. “It says ‘not afraid to walk this world alone.’”

  “I can see that.” He continued to stroke the soft skin of her wrist, her pulse jumping under his fingers. “But what does it mean?”

  “Have you heard of the band My Chemical Romance?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “I didn’t think so.” She gave him a bemused smile. “It’s from one of their songs, ‘Famous Last Words.’”

  “Pretty grim lyrics.”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I always saw them as words of strength. Determination to keep on going, no matter what.”

  “Interesting interpretation.” He hooked a finger under the straps of her bra and tank top, inching them off her shoulder to reveal a swath of red, orange and yellow on the swell of her left breast. “How about this one? A bird?”

  “A phoenix.” He nudged the straps further down to see more of the tattoo. Her lips parted and her breath tickled his cheek. “Rising from the ashes of my misspent youth.”

  “And the spider behind your ear?” His hand trailed up her neck and into her hair, pushing it back. It ran through his fingers like silk, releasing the fresh almond scent of her shampoo.

  She tipped her head back, encouraging him to explore further. “That was my first tattoo. I was barely eighteen. And monumentally stupid. I thought it made me look tough.”

  “It makes you look dangerous.” He bent his head and nipped, then licked the spot. She tasted like honey and marshmallows and warm, willing woman, and he wanted more. Way more. “Sexy. Are there any others I don’t know about?”

  With one finger, she traced a path up his inseam to his waistband and toyed with the button there. “Why don’t you undress me and find out?”

  Her voice was thick with desire. He looked around the room for a door or a hallway. Something, anything that led to her bedroom. He needed a little more maneuvering room for what he had planned. A slow and steady seduction the likes of which Ms. Walking-the-World-Alone had most likely never let herself experience. “Bed?”

  “You’re sitting on it. The couch folds out. It’s actually pretty comfortable.”

  “Sweetheart, at this point it could be a rusty cot in Sing Sing and I wouldn’t care.” As long as he could lay her out and feast on her as if she was his private, personal Thanksgiving banquet.

  “I’ll bet you’ve got a California king.”

  “Not quite, but it’s big enough. We’ll have to try it out sometime.” He rose, pulling her up with him. In a hot second, he had the cushions off and was reaching for the handle under the mattress. “But for tonight, this’ll do just fine.”

  He said a silent prayer of thanks when the thing sprang open without much effort, already made.

  She yanked the hem of her tank from under her cutoffs and started to lift it over her stomach, but he stopped her with a raised hand. “I believe you offered me that pleasure. Lie down. I want to uncover those tattoos one by one. Like the seven wonders of the world.”

  “So you’re the Indiana Jones of body art now, huh?” She raised an eyebrow but complied, letting her shirt fall and positioning herself across the bed. Propping her head up on one hand, she gazed at him with a hint of devilment in her eyes. “I should probably warn you. There are more than seven.”

  He met her gaze. “I’m up for the challenge.”

  “What about you? Aren’t you going to get naked?”

  “Ladies first.” He knelt and lifted one of her feet, the leather of her boot smooth and cool under his hot palm. “As much as I’d love to have your legs wrapped around me in these, they have to go.”

  “Something else for next time, I guess.” She sighed as he pulled her boot off and his hands returned to caress her toes, her instep, her heel, the pale skin of her calf, a spot at the back of her knee that made her moan.

  Next time.

  Her words reverberated in his head as he repeated the process on her other leg. Oh, yeah. She might not be willing to admit it yet, but he was getting to her. Breaking through the brassy bravado she used to keep everyone at arm’s length.

  Not for long. The Devin the world saw was just her hard exterior, her protective armor. He’d gotten glimpses of what lay beneath when she talked about her brother, or Leo or teaching kids to read. And those glimpses only whetted his appetite. He wanted to unearth more than her tattoos.

  But they’d do for a start.

  “What do we have here?” He examined one ankle, then the other, his thumbs moving over the twin hearts etched on each one. “A matched set?”

  “Not quite.” She moistened her lips and parted her legs slightly. “The left has my initial inside, the right has Victor’s.”

  “Nice.” His hands moved up her bare calves. “Nothing here?”

  She shook her head. “You have to go a little...higher.”

  “Like here?” He snuck a hand under the frayed edge of her cutoffs.

  “You’re getting warmer.”

  “How about here?” The hand traveled up her thigh to her crotch, making her suck in a sharp breath.

  “Warmer.”

  “Here?” He brushed her hipbone and she shivered.

  “You’re burning up.”

  “No, sweetheart.” With his other hand, he unbuttoned her shorts. The lacy fabric of her do-me-red panties teased his knuckles as he lowered the zipper. He eased the cutoffs over her hips and down her long legs, leaving her flushed and panting, wearing only the naughty undies and skimpy tank top. “You are.”

  * * *

  BURNING UP? THAT WAS putting it mildly. More like spontaneously combusting.

  Was that possible?

  “Please,” Devin moaned, hating herself for begging even as the word escaped her lips. She was supposed to be running this show, not Mr. Nice Guy. How had she lost control so far, so fast?

  Gabe lay next to her on the bed—still fully clothed, damn it—and she swung a leg over his hips, straddling him. It was
time for her to get the upper hand before he teased her into oblivion.

  “Not so fast.” He rolled her onto her back and held her there with the weight of his long, lean body. “I’m not finished exploring. By my count I’ve got at least three more tattoos to discover.”

  She arched against him, begging with actions now instead of words. “They’re not going anywhere. Can’t you finish your inventory later? I need to come.”

  If she thought her crudeness would shock him, she was wrong. Gabe grinned down at her like she was a pitcher of ice-cold beer and he was dying of thirst. He dipped a finger into her panties, skimming the top of her pussy, temptingly close to her aching clit. “Oh, you’re going to come all right. Multiple times.”

  “Now.” She rolled her hips. The movement only made him withdraw his finger, frustrating her further.

  “Trust me. It’ll be worth the wait.” He raised her shirt over her stomach, and she sat up part way, helping him yank it over her head and off, exposing a red lace bra that matched her undies. “Now about those tattoos...”

  He mapped each one with his fingers, his lips, his tongue. The starfish on her hip. The wood nymph on her shoulder. The chain of daisies around her belly button. The sugar skull, a colorful symbol of Mexico’s Day of the Dead, on her lower back.

  Devin was about ready to climb the walls when he finally reached for the clasp of her bra.

  “I think it’s time we lose this, too.” Gabe peeled it off with maddening slowness, like he was uncovering a priceless treasure. When he was done, he tilted his head and admired his handiwork, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, before moving in for her panties. “And these.”

  They quickly went the way of her bra.

  “Now you.” Devin grabbed at the waistband of his jeans.

  “I told you.” He gave her a hard, fast kiss—the first of the night, she realized, bewildered—then slid down her body, putting his fly out of reach. “Ladies first.”

  “Gabe.” She gasped as he kissed and licked his way past her breasts to her rib cage, her navel and beyond.

  “Oh my God.” She gasped again when his warm breath fanned over the strip of hair she’d left above her pussy.