“Just a minute,” a warbling voice called from the back.
He didn’t answer, just waited, looking around. The entire place needed a good dusting—it reminded him of something from the show Hoarders, always had. Like all kinds of a yard sale, Hill Country Antiques was stuffed wall to floor with old junk. A massive glass case along the back wall locked up the really “valuable” stuff, and he could see a few Elvis plates on one shelf. An old rocking horse and some wooden furniture were scattered on the floor to his left. Shelves listed under the heavy weight of their items and needed obvious repair. There seemed to be a fine coat of dust on everything, and he brushed a finger under his nose, anticipating a sneeze. This place hadn’t changed in nine years, he decided, remembering how embarrassed Miranda had been as a teenager that her mom was the crazy junk lady.
But if anyone knew where Miranda was, Tanya Hill would. He knew Tanya didn’t like him—when he’d called Miranda’s house, right after he’d joined the NHL, she’d screamed and screamed at him as if he’d gotten her daughter pregnant or some shit, and then had never let him talk to her. But he’d tried his other options already—no one at the library would say where she lived, and she was unlisted in the phone book.
Tanya Hill was his best option.
Two minutes later, he wasn’t so sure. The woman popped out of the back room, clutching a stack of old LPs. She still wore her hair in a feathered fringe of bangs, but it had all gone gray and the ponytail down her back was shorter than he remembered. Her face was heavily lined, and her eyes widened behind a pair of glasses at the sight of him.
“You!” she screeched. “Get out of my store!”
Well, he’d known she’d hated him, but he hadn’t realized how much. “Mrs. Hill,” he began. “I just want—”
The woman picked up a cast-iron frying pan from behind the counter and hefted it with both hands, as if she were going to swing at him. “Get out of my store, you bastard, or I’m calling the cops!”
He raised his hands, brows going up. “I just need to know where Miranda is.”
“You need to get the hell outta my store, you two-bit trash!”
“Look, I’ll buy something if—”
“Get out!” she screeched again, then raced for the phone. “I’m calling the cops!”
Great, just what he needed. He put his hands up higher in surrender. “Don’t call, I’m leaving.”
As soon as he left the store, he heard her feet clomp across the wooden floors, and the door locked behind him. The OPEN sign in the window winked out.
Well. Not the reception he was used to getting. Dane scratched his face ruefully. Damn. He probably smelled like ass and was all unshaven. Maybe her mother thought he was a wino or something? The woman had always been a little off. Frustrated, he glanced across the street. Kurt’s Koffee was new, and had a few people in it. Maybe an Internet search…
As soon as he entered, the man behind the counter broke into a wide grin. “Well, shut my eyes and call me a blind man,” the stoner drawled. “If it isn’t the star of the Las Vegas Flush, Mr. Dane Croft, come to pay us another visit.”
“Hey, Jimmy,” he said casually, though his mind was racing. Damn. So much for keeping his presence quiet. “I’m looking for Miranda Hill.”
“I’ll just bet you are,” the stoner said with a smirk and raised his hand in a high five.
Dane ignored it. “So you know where she lives?”
“Small town,” Jimmy said, lowering his hand and nudging his sad tip jar down the coffee bar at him. “I know where everyone lives.”
He scowled at the barista, but pulled a few bills out of his pocket and shoved them into the empty tip jar. “This is a coffeehouse, not a bar, Jimmy.”
“Barista, bartender, it’s all the same. We’re just a couple of dudes slinging drinks for a few bucks, man. Tip’s a tip.” He leaned forward. “So. You remember where Old Johnson Lane is?”
Miranda’s house was just as empty and small as she’d left it. Boxes were scattered through her living room, but she hadn’t had a chance to pack much. She set down her backpack on the end of the couch and felt the overwhelming urge to collapse. She sat on the edge of the couch and then stood up. First, a shower.
Someone knocked at the door.
Miranda groaned. Not today. Not now. Her mother had called seven times in the past week and she’d been furious that Miranda hadn’t answered. She’d soothed her mother with a cover story about scoping out her apartment in Houston, and she’d managed to deflect the worst of her anger. Miranda had avoided going over, but her mother still called. In fact, she’d called three times in a row just now, and Miranda had avoided all three calls. She didn’t want to talk to her again. Not while she felt so utterly lousy and unhappy and lonely.
Miranda hesitated, staring at the door with frustration. Her mother wouldn’t go away. She’d just keep knocking, even if Miranda pretended not to be home. With a heavy sigh, she moved to the front door and pulled it open. “Mom, I’m just not—”
A big, male form stood in her doorway. Broad shoulders and a gorgeous body lounged just inside her screen door, and Dane gave her a slow, pleased smile. “Surprise.”
The look of unhappy surprise on her face wasn’t a pleasant welcome. Miranda stared up at Dane with her mouth hanging slightly open, her pretty brown eyes fuzzy, as if she wasn’t quite able to piece together exactly how he’d managed to show up on her doorstep.
That just made his stomach sink all the way down to his work boots and confirmed his suspicions. Miranda was married and he’d been nothing but a cheap fling on the side. His mouth tightened and he shoved his hands into his pockets, doing his best not to crane his head and see who sat in the living room of the tiny house.
Still, he’d gone to all that trouble—he wanted confirmation at least. “Should I go? Is your husband home?”
Her astonished expression grew even more confused and she opened her mouth wider, then closed it, then tilted her head in a way that made her hair spill over her shoulder and drove him absolutely wild. “Husband? I—I’m not married.”
“Good,” he growled low in his throat, feeling pleased. “Can I come in, then? I think we should talk.”
He half expected her to put up a fuss or make excuses, but she only pushed her hair back over her shoulder and then stepped aside, swinging the door wider so he could enter.
“Sorry, the place is a bit of a mess,” she mumbled.
His gaze moved to the boxes scattering the room. “You just move in?”
She gave him an odd smile. “Yep. Still haven’t unpacked.” And then she darted past him, picking up shoes and the bra she’d apparently discarded as soon as she’d come in the door. She scooped up the items and tossed them into her bedroom, then shut the door. “Have a seat on the couch.”
He didn’t want to sit on the couch like some uninvited guest. Dane wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her now that they didn’t have to hide it from prying clients. He wanted to hold her body against his and feel every curve, soft and naked, and pull her down to the floor and make love to her. To kiss and tease and coax that vague, worried look out of her eyes that told him she was thinking entirely too much right now. “Miranda, come here.”
“Oh, no,” she protested with a half smile, retreating a step even as he advanced. “I smell like I’ve been living in the woods for a week.”
“You smell good to me,” he murmured, snaking one arm around her waist and drawing her close. “But then again, I’ve been living in the woods, too.”
A girlish giggle escaped her throat and her gaze went to his face, and she smiled, her body melting against his. His cock grew instantly hard.
“You and I,” he said slowly, “need to talk about why you ran away earlier today.”
Her smile disappeared and she tried to slide out of his arms. “I wasn’t feeling well. Girl troubles.”
He didn’t buy it. “So did you have girl troubles before or after you wrote down a fake address and phone n
umber on your documentation?”
Her eyes flew open. “How did you—”
“Because I tried calling you, dammit. Once I found out you disappeared this morning, I wanted to know where you’d run away to.” His voice dropped and his hand slid down her back; he sensed she was escaping him, trying to flee even if she stood stock-still in his arms. He needed to anchor her or cut loose for good. So he told her the truth. “I thought we’d had something. It wasn’t just a fling in the woods for me.”
Miranda had never been “just a fling” for him. She’d been the one that had gotten away. The one he’d dreamed about for years. The one that he was going to risk his job for when he told his friends they’d been sleeping together. But he didn’t tell her that. He simply said, “I want to keep seeing you, if you want it.”
She seemed to hesitate, then she slowly melted against him, as if all the things that had been bothering her had dissolved and left her boneless. One hand slid over his shoulders, touched the hair at the nape of his neck, and her gaze roamed over him in a gesture that was both shy and possessive. “You do?”
“Of course I do. Did you think I was just fucking you in the woods and jeopardizing our first class simply because I’d nail any hot piece of ass that walked past?”
“The thought occurred to me,” she said meekly.
He winced.
“Sorry,” she added. “You were just…flirty, back when we were teenagers.”
“Flirty with you,” he said.
“And half a dozen starlets afterward,” she added in.
His jaw set, aching with tension. “So my past is going to be a problem?”
“If it was,” she said in a low, trembling voice, “I wouldn’t be in your arms right now. I just don’t want to get hurt, Dane.” Miranda’s eyes met his and he saw stark terror in them. “I’m terrified of being used.”
She seemed intensely vulnerable in that moment, and he didn’t know what to make of it. Like she was offering him everything she was—and was completely terrified to do so. He brushed her cheek with his fingers and leaned in and gave her a feather-light kiss, sweeping his mouth over hers. “How about you just use me instead? I thought that was how our relationship worked, remember?”
A soft chuckle escaped her, the sound going straight to his cock. Damn. He loved to hear her happy. “Very well,” she said in a playful voice. “You are mine to use and abuse.”
“Sounds good,” he agreed.
She reached for his shirt and then wrinkled her nose up at him. “I smell.”
“I do, too,” he said with a grin. “I came to find you before I showered. Hope that’s okay.”
She smiled, a wide, lovely smile that covered her entire face. “I had no idea I was such an urgent matter.”
“To be honest, I was afraid you were going to waltz back out of my life again, and it scared the shit out of me.”
She looked pleased. “Come on,” she said, giving his shirt a tug. “You can scrub my back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled. “You wanna wash me, too?”
She gave him a sultry look over her shoulder. “Absolutely.”
As she entered the bathroom and began to run the water, he moved into her small bedroom. Though it felt like an invasion of privacy, he hadn’t brought any condoms with him, and he needed to find some. He wasn’t leaving this house until he’d made love to Miranda again. Guessing, he pulled open the drawer of her nightstand. A magazine lay inside, a scatter of condoms, and a bright blue vibrator.
Now, that gave him ideas. Grinning, he grabbed a condom—close to expiration. It was pretty obvious Miranda didn’t buy them often. He’d fix that. Tucking the condom into his pocket, he headed into the bathroom after her.
Like her bedroom, Miranda’s bathroom was neat and clean, the counters shiny and white. A cheerful yellow shower curtain matched a plush bath rug, and she sat on the edge of the tub, peeling off her socks. “I can’t wait to shower,” she admitted with a tiny smile at him. “I’m not exactly feeling sexy at the moment.”
“That’s fine,” he said, trying not to think too hard about the condom in his pocket. “We’ll clean up first, and then have sex.”
She laughed and finished stripping her clothes off. “All right.”
This, Dane decided, was going to be the shortest shower ever. He quickly stripped out of his own clothes and tossed them on the rack while Miranda stepped into the streaming water. Just the thought of her naked body all wet and gleaming made him hard, and her moan of pleasure made his balls tighten. Damn. Get in, wash himself, wash her, then back into the bedroom. Five minutes, max. He could do this.
Steeling himself, he stepped into the shower. She stood in front of the spray, the water only grazing his body as she soaped up. Her long hair trailed rivulets of water down her back and he sighed, hard, thinking of how he’d like to take her in this shower, bend her over, and—
“You want the soap?”
He took the pink bath pouf she offered him, accepted the squirt of fruity shower gel, and began to rub it on himself with grim, quick intensity, concentrating on getting himself clean rather than on the warm, soapy woman who stood less than a foot away, her face blissful as she washed her hair.
“Do my back?” She turned and presented it to him.
Dane set his jaw. He began to methodically scrub her back, swiping the pouf over her in quick, rapid strokes. Miranda yelped in surprise and jerked away. “Are you trying to scrub my skin off?”
“Sorry,” he said, averting his eyes. Damn, he’d looked over and her breasts were dripping water, the globes of them slick and inviting. He wanted to shove his cock between them and come all over those pretty tits.
Five minutes, he reminded himself. She’d asked him to wait five minutes. Surely he could do that.
“Your turn to rinse off,” she said, and parted the curtain, stepping out. “I’m done.”
Thank Christ. This was the longest shower in all eternity. He quickly rinsed his body off, staring through the small gap in the shower that showed pink buttocks being rubbed dry by a fluffy towel—
Fuck it, he was done with this shower. He turned the water off and shoved the curtain aside, reaching for Miranda as soon as he stepped out of the tub. She squealed in surprise as he pulled her into his wet embrace, and he kissed the surprise out of her voice. She was lovely and soft and smelled like fruit, and she was driving him utterly insane just by being here. His tongue slid into her mouth and he gave her a long, sensual lick that told her exactly what he wanted to do to her.
She shuddered in his embrace and wrapped her arms around his slick shoulders.
The hallway would do. His hands on her, he dragged her a few feet out of the bathroom onto the rag rug that ran down the length of the hall and dropped to his knees, pulling her down with him.
Her throaty giggle just made him harder. “Right here?”
“First time right here,” he agreed, separating from her for just a brief moment, long enough to reach for the condom he’d stolen from her drawer. His other hand continued to roam over her body, his mouth kissing her pretty jaw and throat. “Next time, in the bed. Time after that, we’ll wing it.”
“Mmm,” she said in response, and he knew she approved of his plan. Her fingertips slid over his abdomen, feeling the wet muscles and sliding lower to grasp his cock.
Goddamn. He closed his eyes and groaned, bracing himself. He’d nearly lost it then and there.
“Need a condom.”
He tore the packet open with his teeth. “Got one.”
Dane slid between her knees and she wiggled on the rug below him, her breasts jiggling with that small movement. Beautiful sight. He leaned down and kissed one tip as he quickly rolled the condom on.
Her breath caught in a sexy little gasp. Fuck, he wanted to hear that all over again. Condom in place, he hauled one of her legs up around his waist and slid a finger down through the heat of her pussy, seeking her entrance. Was she wet? Was he moving too fast?
&n
bsp; Her gasps turned into soft cries and she pushed against his finger, raising her hips.
Not only was she wet, she was hot and slippery with need. Beautiful. He let his fingers graze her clit once before removing his hand, enjoying the little jump her body gave in response. Then he took his cock in hand, guided it to her opening, and slammed home.
Miranda gave a breathy little shriek, her eyes widening. Her hands found his shoulders and her nails dug in. “Oooh, that was good.”
“You like that?” he gritted out, doing his best not to fuck her right across this floor and spend himself in two seconds flat. He needed to make sure she came, or else he’d be as bad as those other pricks she’d dated.
“I did,” she said in a soft, breathy voice, lifting her other knee so her hips tilted up.
He circled his hips against her own, rocking deep inside her, and she moaned.
“Like that?” he murmured again, watching her head fall back with pleasure. “Want me to fuck you slow, baby, or fast and hard?”
“Fast and hard,” she whispered, her nails digging like claws into his back, her hips twitching under him.
He didn’t need any more encouragement. He drew back until he was almost out of her, then slammed home again, and was rewarded with her calves tensing against him, a slight flutter in her pussy in response. The only sound she made was another sharp gasp.
“Like that?”
She nodded.
He thrust again. And then again. And again, until he was pumping her hard, his fingers digging into her hips to keep her anchored in place. Each thrust slammed into her, and he knew he wasn’t going to last long. She was covered in droplets falling from his skin, her body wet and slippery like his, and those breasts gleamed and bounced with each hard drive of his cock, and it just made him wilder with need. She gave a small moaning breath with each thrust, her eyes closed with pleasure, and she raised her hips to meet his thrusts almost violently, until he was afraid he was going to hurt her. She wasn’t hurting, though; her moans grew louder with every lift of her hips.
The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting Page 21