No Kind of Hero (Portland Devils Book 2)

by Rosalind James

  It was too public here, Beth thought. Candy was watching them, and the deck was crowded with locals and summer visitors. The lights winked around the edges of the building, and white candles flickered, casting pools of light into the center of shadowed tables. She toyed with her trout, and then she ate it, because it was exciting to sit with Evan, to say nothing, to touch his leg with her foot under the table, and to have him not touch her.

  A month ago, on the laughable chance she’d have done something like this or, worse still, said it? If the man hadn’t responded more than that, she’d have crawled away and hid her head. She knew, though, what Evan was doing. He wanted this at least as much as she did, but he was making her wait, and making himself wait, too. He was making her wonder. Because Evan was patient, and he was confident. She’d teased him, and now he was teasing her.

  He refilled her glass again sometime in there, and poured a little bit more for himself. She said, “Did we drink it all?” and he smiled at her and said, “We’re sure working on it, baby. Don’t you worry. We’ll get there.”

  The music over the speakers was decades old, and it was as sweet and slow as Evan’s smile, and with as many undercurrents. By the time he’d paid the check and she’d finished that last glass of wine, every cell in her body was humming, and all of her was set to his frequency.

  He put his hand over hers on the table, almost the first time he’d touched her since they’d got here, and asked, “Ready to go?”

  “Yes,” she said, and when she stood up, her legs trembled. She might be a little bit drunk, and she might be a whole lot carried away. She held his arm all the way down the stairs in the dark, all the way to the dock. The music played, she stepped carefully in her heels, and Evan stopped halfway to the boat.

  “What?” she asked.

  He didn’t answer. He just took her in his arms. More slow music, and then Frankie Valli over the speakers.

  “You’re just too good to be true,” came the crooning voice, and Evan was moving, dancing with her in the dark, on the dock. Slow and close, while the breeze lifted her skirt and the stars burned overhead. Around and around in careful circles, but still too close to the edge, to the deep, dark water.

  Beth Schaefer, slow-dancing on a dock with Evan O’Donnell in full view of the cream of Wild Horse. Beth Schaefer losing her heart, and halfway to losing her mind.

  The song ended, another one started, and Evan whispered in her ear, “Let’s go.” Which was her part, except it wasn’t. He held her hand over to the boat, helped her in, and cast off as she pulled her sweater on at last. And then he looked at her, reached into a side compartment, handed her a blanket, and said, “Cool out on the water. And I’m going to burn it up getting us home.”

  The buzz of the engine as the white boat cut through the dark water. A scattering of stars winking overhead against the black night, the nearly-full moon a silver disk low on the horizon. And Evan, quiet, still, his hands sure on the wheel, sending the boat like an arrow all the way across the lake. In another few minutes, he had them moored at his slip, was jumping out, then handing her out again with that same strong arm.

  In his van, then, leaving the pumping, too-loud music from the Yacht Club behind them and taking that drive to the little blue house. But this time, he didn’t say “Come on” and wait for her to follow. He gave her his hand out of the van and held hers all the way up the driveway and through the door.

  She had absolutely no idea what was going to happen next. And she didn’t care.

  He wanted to kiss her. He was going to kiss her. Just not yet.

  She wanted to be a new woman tonight. He could feel it in her. And he wanted to help her do it. The new Beth wanted adventure, but she also wanted a man she trusted to carry her out of that plane. He could be all of that. He could be everything she wanted.

  She stood there, eyes huge, watching him, and he put a hand under her hair, cupped her face, and kissed her softly, all the way over by her ear. She shivered, and he felt it. He kept his thumb caressing her cheek and whispered into that pretty ear, adorned with a slim golden hoop, “You want to play a little more tonight?”

  Another shiver.

  “I’m going to take that as a yes,” he told her. And then he got an arm under her shoulders and another under her knees and lifted her off her feet. The fantasy started right now.

  Once again, just like that first time, he’d changed his sheets this morning in hopes of her, and his heart wasn’t hammering any less than it had then. Beth’s honey hair was falling over his arm, her own slim arm was around his neck, and she didn’t say a thing. She just looked at him, her mouth a little parted, like he was her rescuer and her danger all in one.

  He got it.

  He set her down in the middle of the straw-colored cotton bedspread, stood over her, and said, “You look so good there, baby. You just stay like that.”

  This time, he was getting naked first. She liked his shoulders and his arms. She liked to look at him, and she liked to feel him. And tonight, she was going to get what she liked.

  He unbuttoned the right sleeve, the left, and then he started on the rest. One slow button at a time, and she lay there and watched as if he were her show. Which he was more than happy to be. He pulled the shirt out of his jeans and tossed it on a chair, and there was definitely some hunger in her. He got his boots and socks off, stood over her, bare-chested in his jeans, and said, “Why don’t you come on over here and do the rest?”

  She smiled, and then she got onto her knees on the mattress and walked her way over to him. When she kissed his neck and her hands brushed over his chest, he was more than ready. And when her hand stroked slowly down to his waist, he tensed.

  Belt, he thought. Now.

  She didn’t go there. Instead, she was still kissing his neck, her warm mouth leaving tingles everywhere it touched. Her hands were exploring him. Arms, shoulders, chest, like she was taking a long, slow inventory of his muscles. It felt great, but it wasn’t fast enough.

  “Beth,” he said.

  “Shh.” He felt the smile against the skin of his neck, down low near his collarbone. She was giving him some delicate bites, and her fingers were teasing his nipples, sending shock waves straight down to his groin. He needed it bad.

  “What do you want?” she breathed into his ear, then took the lobe between her teeth and bit down softly.

  “I want everything.” It wasn’t a lie.

  “Mm.” Her hands were still moving, and so was her mouth. Butterfly kisses, agonizingly soft, and her hands weren’t getting there. When she got up off the bed, he said, “No. I want you there.”

  “But then,” she said, “how can I give you everything you want?” With that, she turned and took him with her, and she was dropping to her knees.

  His heart was on its way to red-line territory, and his hands went straight into all that hair. Because finally, her hands were on his belt, were sliding the leather tongue back, pulling it free, and she was at the buttons of his Levi’s.

  Slower than he’d done his shirt. Slip. One silver button gone. Slip. Button number two. Her hands weren’t all that intent on their job, either. They kept straying, brushing lightly over the cotton of his briefs, and every time they did, he jumped straight into her hand.

  “Beth,” he said again.

  “Shh.” Slip. Button three. And then, when he thought it wouldn’t happen . . . button four. Her hands slid down under his briefs on either side of his hips, and she was shoving everything to the floor. He stepped out of his clothes with her help, and he was free.

  He knew exactly how she’d felt the day before, because that was how he was feeling now. He wanted her naked, but he wanted this more. He wanted this bad. When her hands, which had been stroking up his calves, then his thighs, finally closed around him? He might have groaned a little bit.

  “Mm,” she said. She started with a couple slow licks, like she was warming him up, except that he was already burning. And then she went to town. Just as slo
wly as he’d done her the day before, like this was payback and she was going to give it everything she had.

  His hands were wrapped all the way into that hair. Maybe they were pulling too much, but she didn’t seem to care. Besides, he had to hold her hair back, because he had to watch. If there was anything better than a woman on her knees taking you deep in her mouth . . .

  He thought that, and after a while, he couldn’t think anymore, because she was pulling him over the edge. He was watching her, feeling the heat of her mouth, her stroking hands. She was bold, and she was working him over like she enjoyed it. He worried for a flashing second that he’d come in her mouth, and the next second, he worried that she wouldn’t want it. Because he had to. He had to.

  His entire body stiffened, his hands tightened even more in her hair, and he was shoving himself straight down her throat. And she drank him down like she loved it.

  Beth sat back on her knees, licked and stroked him clean, and felt . . . powerful. A sexual creature, and that was all. A woman who could take a man anywhere she wanted. Evan’s legs were shaking, and she pushed him back to sit on the bed. She’d loved him standing up, standing over her. But now? She wanted him lying down.

  She struggled to her feet, but her heels didn’t make it easy. She was only halfway up, in fact, when Evan reached for her, got her under the arms, lifted her with no apparent effort, and put her on the bed. On her back.

  “Nice,” he said, with absolutely no smile. “Very nice. Turning the tables, huh? Well, they just turned back. I’m going to be your fantasy tonight, too. Stay right there.”

  Oh, boy. Her body was already pulsing with arousal, and all she wanted was to satisfy it. But if Evan was going to be her fantasy . . . she’d shared a lot yesterday. Or he had. She couldn’t remember whose ideas they’d been. She just remembered how good they’d sounded.

  He’d already switched on the bedside light. Now, he padded across the bedroom and switched off the overhead one, then stopped at his dresser and pulled something out, and she might have forgotten to breathe. Some sort of . . . fabric.

  When he came back and draped a red scarf over the lampshade—well, the rosy glow was nice, but it was also a distinct letdown. Except that he was still holding another one. He dropped it on the bed beside her, and then he just stood over her.

  He didn’t start unbuttoning her dress, not the way she’d imagined. Instead, he traced gentle fingers along the delicate gold chain she wore. Along her neck, over her collarbone, and lower. Like he could wait. Like he had all night. Around to the other side, until his hand was at her throat again, his thumb wrapping around, and he was holding her neck gently in one big hand.

  It was a power move, and she knew it. It was gentle, and it was dominance. A stallion sinking his teeth into his mare as he mounted her. Just that hand, and she was already shivering.

  “Want to see how much I want you?” he asked. His voice was low, nothing rough about it. But his hand was still there.

  “Y-yes,” she said. A wise woman didn’t sign anything until she read the fine print. Unfortunately, she wasn’t a wise woman. Not tonight.

  “Do you trust me?” His eyes were shining too hot. His eyes were seeing too much.

  “Yes.” This time, it was a whisper.

  “If you want me to let you go,” he said, “you tell me. And if you don’t want me to let you go . . . I won’t.”

  She was burning up. Every secret part of her was tingling, throbbing. She needed this now.

  He took her hand in his, ran a hand all the way up her arm and back down again, then lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it. First the back, and then he turned it over and kissed her palm. There was no smile on his face when he said, “I’m going to tie you up. And then I’m going to take off your clothes.”

  He was on the bed, straddling her, pulling her hand over her head, then taking hold of the other one. Both her wrists held in one big hand, and then something wrapping around them. That piece of silk.

  She’d wanted a man who could do mechanical things. Who could change his own oil. Put in a floor.

  Tie knots.

  He moved off her, then, so he was standing by the bed again. His chest was rising and falling as if he’d run a race, and she knew how he felt. Her arms were stretched all the way over her head, and she couldn’t move.

  She didn’t say anything, and neither did he. The moment stretched out, and then stretched out more, until he reached a hand out and unbuttoned her top button, then the next one. He was looking down at her, his fingers tracing over that sensitive spot between her breasts where the clasp of her bra would have been. If she’d been wearing one.

  One more button, another, and he was pulling back the fabric on either side of her breasts, baring them.

  “Nice,” he said, his hand grazing first one, then the other, and just like that, she was shifting on the bed, the unfamiliar restraint driving her up higher.

  He was over her again, straddling her, his hands cupping her breasts, teasing the nipples, and then his mouth was on her, and . . . oh. So good.

  It didn’t last nearly long enough. Just when she thought that surely, if he kept doing that, she’d come from that alone, his mouth left her, and he was moving down her body, unfastening more buttons, touching and caressing every inch he uncovered. The dress was parting, and he was below her navel, almost . . . there.

  She’d been wet since she’d sat at that table with him, drinking her wine. Or before. When she’d walked toward him, had seen his eyes sweep her body, and had known he could tell everything she wasn’t wearing. Everything she was feeling. Now, though, he’d moved down farther, was unbuttoning the dress up from her mid-thigh, his hands whispering over her sensitized skin, making her shift.

  When he finally unfastened those last two buttons that were all that hid the evidence of her spa trip, he sighed, shoved the two sides of her dress apart so all of her was bared, and drew a slow hand straight down her body, all the way to the heart of her. He opened her, explored her, like he had all night and he was never going to stop. And she didn’t want him to.

  And then he did stop, slid his hands all the way down her thighs, and stopped at her ankles. He looked into her eyes, and he untied the bows.

  “Ah.” He sighed, because under that ribbon that encircled her ankle, he’d found the golden chain. Even thinner and more delicate than the one around her neck, with a tiny golden heart hanging from it.

  “You said . . .” she managed to say, “that you wanted it.”

  His hands were around her ankles again, dragging her legs apart the same way he’d done the day before. But this time, she was so keyed up, she could swear she was almost there, her muscles contracting as if they could do it all by themselves.

  “Evan,” she said, and it was a moan. “Evan. Please.”

  The moment he set his mouth to her, she was arching her back, making noise, yanking at her restraints. And when he got his hands into the action, touching her everywhere, using every bit of her, she soared higher.

  Two fingers inside her. Three. And his mouth on her, giving her no place to escape, nowhere to rest. She was going up, up, so close . . . and he stopped.

  “No,” she begged. “No. Don’t stop.”

  He didn’t listen. He was over her again. He was ready, and she was shaking. He asked again, “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes,” she said. “Yes.”

  He wasn’t smiling. He was sitting above her chest, holding her head. “Then if you want it,” he told her, “Open up and take me. If you don’t, tell me so. But know that this time, I’ll be in charge.”

  There was no way she was saying no. The electricity was too hot, too dark. She opened her mouth, but she didn’t say a word. Her hands were still tied, his body over hers, his hands around her head, holding her for him. And he’d been right. She had no power right now.

  Her heart was pounding almost out of her chest, her knees bending to allow her to set her feet flat on the bed, trying to get some c
ontrol, but she couldn’t do it. Evan was being careful not to go too deep, but he was right at that edge, pushing her hard. And she had no choice but to take it.

  “This is how . . .” he said between gasping breaths, “the rough trade does the princess. Any way he wants.”

  The words. The darkness. The thrill. Her muscles were clenching, releasing. And just like that, she was coming. Losing control. Her eyes were rolling back in her head, and Evan was out of her in an instant, somehow sensing what was happening. Sliding down her body, shoving the backs of her thighs all the way up, and thrusting inside, filling her even as the orgasm continued.

  She heard the wail as if it were coming from somewhere outside herself. She shook, was jerked forward as she pulled at the restraints, then shoved back by every thrust. On and on, the waves rebuilding, cresting, rolling her under. And Evan swearing, saying things she’d never heard from him, dark and dirty, plunging deep, then deeper still, as if he wanted to bury himself in her. As if he wanted to make her his.

  And she was. She was. Only his.

  Evan’s hands were shaking when he untied that scarf, pulled her around to face him, wrapped his arms around her, and held her close.

  He hadn’t even kissed her, so he did it now. One hand pushing back that pretty hair, and his mouth brushing over hers, then settling in. Gentle, the way he hadn’t managed to be at all.

  “Hey,” he asked her softly, “you OK?”

  She nodded, then buried her face in his neck and held him tight, and his heart sank. What had he been doing, taking that out on her, pushing her to that limit when he knew she’d never done anything like that?

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t check enough. I’d been thinking about it all day, and then when you wore that dress, and you told me there was nothing under it. I didn’t even think. I just wanted to get you home and fuck your brains out.”