ThisTimeNextDoor

  “Did this guy touch you?” Mark growled in her ear.

  “Yeah, but—” she began.

  Mark pushed her behind him and said to the Viking, “Keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

  “Who the fuck are you?” said the Viking.

  “The guy who’s telling you to keep your fucking hands to yourself, asshole,” Mark said.

  The Viking rose up a few inches taller and planted his hands on his hips, his upper lip curling in a sneer. “Nobody calls me that,” he said, voice gravely. He swayed slightly.

  Oh God, he’s drunk or high or something, Rose thought. She tried to pull Mark away but they were wedged together in the crowd and, for some insane reason, Mark was solid as a lamppost.

  “This your girlfriend?” the Viking sneered.

  To her surprise, Mark answered, “No. And she’s not yours, either.”

  The Viking leaned sideways to leer at her over Mark’s shoulder. “Want to have a little fun, big girl?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied.

  Suddenly the man was on top of her, one arm around her waist, one strong hand clasping her ass so hard his fingers penetrated between her cheeks. She froze in shock, then reacted instinctively, drawing her knee back to crush his testicles.

  Before her knee reached him, he fell to the ground. One second he was there, the next—prostrate at her feet, the Viking helmet knocked off.

  With Mark kneeling on his chest, pressing an elbow into his throat. Stunned, drunken eyes gazed up in offended horror.

  The crowd flowed around them, some looking down, smiling, as though it was all part of the show. Somebody in size-fifteen platform heels tripped over the plastic helmet; a moment later it disappeared into the forest of legs.

  Mark said something Rose couldn’t hear. At first the man’s face twisted up in a sneer, but then Mark shifted his weight and the Viking’s eyes bugged out.

  “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the man cried, looking plaintively at Rose. “Help me!”

  Mark said something else.

  “I… swear. Just… let me… go,” he gasped.

  As graceful as a cat, Mark got to his feet. Rose watched in amazement as the blond giant rolled over, coughing, and staggered to his feet. He eyed Mark, confusion warring with anger and fear, rubbing his throat with both hands.

  “Fucking vampires,” he spat. Pointing a finger at Mark, he backed up into the crowd. “I am so fucking sick of vampires.”

  Rose let out her breath. The feel of that guy’s hands on her body—almost inside her—had shaken her. Mark was brave, but he was smaller and, she presumed, nicer than the thug who’d groped her. If he’d fought back, Mark never would’ve survived.

  Mark clasped her elbow. “I’m taking you home. It’s not safe here for someone like you.”

  Or you, she thought, moving closer to him. She didn’t want to risk him defending her again, no matter how hot it made her. “Okay.”

  He didn’t say anything, just pulled her closer and started walking back towards the car. At least she thought it was. She looked up to catch his attention, not recognizing the hardness in his eyes, the tautness of his jaw. For a split second she wondered if she’d accidentally latched onto the wrong brunette vampire in the throng, trading her mild-mannered neighbor in for this fierce, merciless stranger.

  It took several minutes to reach the barrier around the crowd. Cars were backed up on the other side of the street, trying to get through, honking at revelers who spilled over the fence and staggered into the traffic. Mark maneuvered her around the corner onto an empty stretch of pavement in front of a car dealership.

  Rotating her in his arms, he captured her shoulders in his hands and stared down at her. “Are you all right?”

  The desire in his eyes made her breath catch. She nodded.

  Cupping her cheek, he dropped his gaze to her mouth. While she felt her heart flutter into her throat, his thumb stroked her bottom lip.

  “I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.” His voice was low and tense.

  “Thanks.” When she said the word, the tip of her tongue brushed his thumb.

  And then he was kissing her, hard and deep, his fingers tunneling through her hair.

  Not gently like before. This was furious, wild, hot.

  Her defenses snapped under the sudden onslaught. She stretched up against him, her insides burning, melting, dripping, hot. Her knees wobbled and he slid a hand down her spine, pulled her firmly against his hips, supporting her, demanding her. She felt how hard he was.

  “Rose,” he growled in her ear, sucked the lobe into his mouth. “Rose.” She felt his teeth.

  Desire pooled between her legs.

  She reached up to explore his chest, shoving under the suit jacket to feel the broad planes of muscle and bone and flesh. She kissed his jaw, fumbled with the tie, hungry for skin under her fingers.

  His hands were hungry, too. She felt them slide down her back, over her hips, up her side to her breast. She pushed it into his hand. “Oh, yes,” she whispered.

  He dipped his head and kissed his way down.

  Grabbing his head in her hands, she encouraged him lower, blocking out the sight of hundreds or thousands of people just a street away, even though some eyes were turned in their direction, openly drinking in the scene she and Mark were making with everything else raging that wild night.

  Just as Mark’s face was between her breasts, his breath hot and moist on her skin, he froze.

  Hungry for him, she wiggled against him, but he broke free, gripped her shoulders, and held her away from him. “Not here,” he said, voice husky.

  “Right. Home.”

  “Yours,” he said.

  She smiled, thinking of the big bed. “Yes.”

  “We’ll have to walk to the car. Can you make it?” His hands squeezed, loosened, stroked, squeezed.

  She wasn’t sure what he meant. She certainly didn’t want to wait, but they could hardly finish what they’d started pressed up against the glass window of the Ford showroom.

  “Your shoes. You were limping,” he explained.

  His vampire hair was mussed. One floppy swath hung across his left eye, boyishly adorable, sexy. “I was?”

  “Yeah.” His gaze fell to her mouth again. He licked his lips.

  Her feet could fall off and she wouldn’t notice. “Let’s hurry. Which way?”

  He made a move to kiss her again, then stopped himself. “We’ll never make it if I touch you again.” He moved away and roughly took her hand in his, an arm’s length of distance between them. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 15

  THE SLOW TRAFFIC OVER THE Bay Bridge only increased the tension between them. Mark had to drive, but kept shooting hot glances at her that made her ache. One hand on the steering wheel, one on the stick shift, none on her. She rubbed her hands up and down her thighs and willed the cars in front of them to turn into pumpkins and roll out of the way.

  Finally the car exited the freeway, crept through the city streets, headed up into the hills to the house. In minutes they would be alone, together, nothing stopping them.

  She wouldn’t worry about what would happen later. If this meant anything to either one of them. If this was going to be anything more than an easy, quick night of fun.

  You swore to yourself you wouldn’t do this again, she told herself.

  Then she watched his long, lean fingers stroke the steering wheel as he pulled into her driveway. She shifted in her seat, restless to have those hands on her own wicked skin.

  I don’t care. I want him.

  The Spanish-style mansion next door to her house was having a party; every light was on, music rolled over the fence, cars were parked in a long line along the narrow road. Mark pulled up in front of her garage and killed the engine. They sat in the car for a long second, not moving, not speaking, the muffled laughter and music from next door surrounding them like a blanket.

  She turned her head and her chest tightened. He was staring at her, hi
s eyes dark with desire. There was a ruthlessness there she’d never seen before, a hardness that made her breathless.

  His voice was low, tight. “Have you changed your mind?”

  Is that what he thought? Holding his gaze, she shook her head slowly from side to side, then turned and got out of the car. Her steps to the front door felt weightless. Vaguely, she tugged her skirt down, reached for the house key tucked in her purse.

  When the driver’s side door slammed, she looked over her shoulder to watch his familiar stride, suddenly undone at the sight of him. He looked different tonight. Taller. Older.

  As she turned the key in the door, his hands slid around her waist, pulled her against him. He felt long and muscular against her back, her bottom, her thighs. Hardness everywhere.

  “I want you,” he said in her hair, making her shiver. She tilted her neck and he pushed the hair aside to kiss her just where she wanted him to kiss her, below her ear, along her neck, there.

  She exhaled, her knees weakening.

  “Inside,” he said. “Now.” One hand tight around her waist so her ass was pressing against his erection, he reached past her to open the door. They stumbled in together, slammed it shut, turned into each other’s arms.

  His mouth came down on hers. She ran her fingers through his hair and tugged him closer. She was burning up, possessed with need. He tasted dangerous, familiar but foreign, her friend on fire.

  To her dismay, he put a hand over her lips, lifted his head. His eyes were dark, unblinking. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  She stared at him, not sure what she was hearing.

  He drew back another inch. “All of it?” he asked.

  Rose felt suddenly uneasy. Was he having second thoughts?

  She kicked off the heels, felt cold tile under her feet. Putting her hands on his chest, moving close, she backed him up against the door, satisfied to see the smolder came back into his eyes. That’s better.

  “Here’s something you should know about me,” she said softly. “I only have sex with guys who really, really want to have sex with me.”

  He closed his eyes for a second. Opened them, dropped his gaze to her mouth. “I’m really, really glad to hear that.”

  “Otherwise,” she said, “I start to worry. Feel insecure.”

  His hands found her waist, slid up and down her hips, latched on there and pulled her close. “Here’s something you should know about me,” he said roughly. He lowered his head to her temple, his breath low and hot against her skin. “I’ve never wanted to have sex with anyone, ever, as much as I want it with you.”

  * * *

  He kissed his way down her neck. She smelled so good, even after the city and the groping Viking. The little hairs on her temple mesmerized him. The long hair down her back paralyzed him. He kissed and nuzzled, catching silky strands between his lips while his hands lightly brushed the undersides of the breasts he’d been fantasizing about for weeks. “Time to get naked,” he growled.

  She twisted around in his arms, smiling a little, looking him over. “You first.”

  “Me?” He reached for the zipper in the small of her back. “Forget that. I’m nothing special.”

  She batted his hands away. “I’ll be the judge of that.” Then, “No, not a judge. An appreciative audience.”

  “You’re a much better performer than I am. I’m a hermit, remember?” He bent down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. She tasted even better than she looked. “You need to help me out of my shell.” He captured a handful of her skirt and pulled it up, seeking skin. The lace band of her black stocking on her upper thigh captured his attention. He bent his knees, planning to pull it down with his teeth, when she escaped again.

  “Look at you. What do you have to be nervous about?” She waved her hands up and down at him. “You’re tall, you’re male, you’ve got muscles in all the right places and nothing extra.”

  “Nothing?” He had to get her into the bedroom and show her about that. “All right. Me first. But not here.” He captured her hand and dragged her down the dark hallway.

  “No, not the master bedroom. I’ll never get those pillows back up.”

  He kissed her hard on the lips before he went into the bedroom and strode over to the elaborate bed. First he got rid of the fake breakfast tray. Then, with an impatient yank, the comforter came off the bed, most of the tower of decor with it. He swiped the survivors to the floor and turned to face her, his hands at his collar. “Come here.”

  Eyes wide, a faint smile wavered in the corner of those lush lips. “You’re still dressed.”

  He stared at her until she came over and sat on the edge of the bed. Seeing her there, lush and feminine, her knees slightly parted under the slinky fabric of that dress, knocked the air out of him. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.

  With a sultry glance from under her lashes, she sank onto her back, reached her hands over her head, stretching like a cat.

  The moon was nearly full, and the floor-to-ceiling windows let in the city lights; her fair skin glowed against the dark sheets.

  “Take off your clothes, Mark.”

  In a daze, he lifted his hands to the shirt button at his throat. “I’m pretty insecure.”

  She smiled, bit her lip. “I guessed.”

  His fingers worked their way down to the fourth button, stopped. “Is this enough or do you need to see more?”

  “Please,” she said derisively.

  “Promise not to laugh?”

  “Take it off before I do it for you.”

  He paused. “I’d like that,” he said, but added, “Maybe next time.” He swiveled around, giving her his back as he continued. When the shirt was full open, he peeked at her over his shoulder. Wiggled his hips.

  Smiling broadly now, she shimmied up the mattress, put her hands behind her pretty blond head. The slit of her skirt gaped open, exposing the stockings again. He swallowed over the dryness in his throat and turned away.

  His Nordstrom’s trousers were too expensive to have a noisy zipper; they parted with a muffled, metallic hum. He risked another glance over his shoulder and caught Rose’s encouraging nod before he let the pants fall to the floor, pushed his underwear after them, faced her completely.

  “Oh, my,” she said, sitting up. She reached out both hands. “Come here.”

  His unbuttoned shirt still hung from his shoulders. “Would you be offended if I take the condom out of my pocket now?”

  “I’d be more offended if you didn’t.”

  Grinning, he squatted down to reach into his pants, threw off his gaping shirt, and crawled over to her, the foil packet between his teeth. Then he dropped it on the soft sheets in front of her like a Labrador with a tennis ball. “You don’t have to worry about its expiration date.”

  She sank back, one arm reaching out along the bed, one in the air in welcome. “New?”

  “Mm-hmm,” he agreed. The day after she and her roommate had moved in, he’d had a deluded surge of optimism at the drugstore.

  He’d deluded himself all right, thinking he could ever want Blair as much as he wanted a woman like Rose.

  God, he wanted her. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her.

  He hooked his finger over her bra, right between her breasts, pulled. “Your turn.”

  Still, she hesitated. He moved closer, took her in his arms, rolled her on top of him.

  What began as a light and teasing kiss quickly turned dark and impatient. He pushed his tongue past her teeth and tangled with hers, a moan escaping him to finally have her sexy body here, now, alone, for as long as he wanted. Her body was heavy on his, deliciously real, soft, erotic. While he distracted her with his mouth, his hands found the dress’s zipper down her back and jerked it down. Then he slipped his hands inside, finding skin, glorious skin, velvety soft and warm.

  She broke the kiss and wiggled around on top of him. Hands and knees braced on the bed, she sat up and straddled him, her hair a sh
ining cloud falling around her shoulders. Full lips, ripe and parted. High cheekbones under those wide-set eyes that were looking at him the way he’d dreamed—awake and asleep—she’d look at him. With molten, eager desire.

  Her fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed. “You’re huge,” she said.

  Jaw clenching, he arched his back, dug his fingers into her thighs.

  She worked him harder, not afraid, gently demanding, perfect.

  He wouldn’t last if she kept doing that. My God. Just another minute, another second—

  With a groan, he grabbed her wrists, flipped her onto her back. “Your turn.” Stroking her shoulders, he explored her warm, inviting body, over her heavy, soft breasts, the gentle curves of her stomach, her hips, between her thighs. So hot. God, finally.

  “You’re good at that.”

  Seizing her mouth again with his, he pulled the stretchy fabric down over her shoulders, her chest, her stomach, her hips, and then, without stopping to admire the push-up bra or the crimson red panties, he had the clasps unfastened and the elastic shoved out of the way and finally, Rose stretched out under him naked, gorgeous, and willing.

  He left the stockings where they were. He liked those.

  As he admired her, light-headed, hypertensive, he realized she’d said something. “Good at what?” he asked.

  “Flipping people over.”

  He looked in her eyes, saw her smile. “Years of judo.” He stretched out on top of her again, mouth against her mouth, then moved lower, determined to wipe that grin off her face. Too wild with raw, blinding need to make jokes.

  She pushed her breasts together for him, an offering, and he gratefully sucked a silky pink nipple into his mouth and wondered just how long he was going to last this first time.

  Once wouldn’t be enough. There was too much of her for just once.

  Her nipple pebbled in his mouth, he felt her arch, heard her moan. The sting of her nails raking his back made him suck harder. With the tip of his fingers, he traced the soft curve of her hip, then returned, finally, to the thatch of curls between her legs. He ventured deeper.