by Annie Dean
He tightened his arms on her, shaking his head. “No, I trust you. But for all you know, I could be a giant man-whore. Want me to see a doc for your peace of mind?"
Sadly, she'd expected him to take her up on it. Demand proof. She'd also expected him to require an explanation of her infertility as well, not that it was any of his business. Then again, maybe he shouldn't know about adolescent stupidity that resulted in scarring.
"My God, you're incredible,” she said. “And I trust you too."
"Same goes,” he murmured, dropping a light kiss on her mouth. “The nominal kiss.” Then he took her mouth again, lips turning over hers with a soft, fierce heat. “The throbbing kiss.” Sean lowered his head again, parting her lips with his tongue, teasing lightly. “And the touching kiss."
A long shudder rolled through her as she licked her lips. She'd never felt a kiss quite like that before. “You've read the Kama Sutra."
"In part.” His eyes gleamed like dark chocolate as he leaned down once more, plucking at her upper lip, scraping teeth, a flicker of tongue. “The clasping kiss."
Although she would've sworn she was sated, Addie felt a tingle down low. But she was starting to feel the cold. A bribe sounded like a good idea, or he might put her down. “I'll make French toast in the morning if you carry me to bed."
He paused on the second step. “How'd you know?"
"I dunno,” she mumbled, her head drooping onto his shoulder. “No, wait. I made it for your first morning here, and you told me you love it, I'm pretty sure."
"And you remembered?"
Why did he find that so surprising?
She nodded. “Yeah. I remember everything. It's a gift."
"And a curse?"
Addie raised her head at that, gazing into his eyes as he staggered toward the patio doors. “Monk?"
In answer, he shifted her body in his arms, smile widening. “You weren't even."
"I could fall in love with a man who watches Monk.” The words slid out before she could stop them, and he almost ran into a wall. They'd left a watery trail like two naked sea monsters returning to their lair, but she'd deal with that in the morning.
"You could?"
"You know. Hypothetically."
"Right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Of course."
Why did he look like that? In the half-light, for just a moment, she thought she saw something in Sean's face, an emotion that tugged at her heartstrings. Then he carried her into her bedroom, and the light fell another way. He was smiling at her, so she must be imagining things, born of junk food and great sex—two of Addie's favorite things in the whole world.
He dropped her on the bed with a bounce and she burrowed beneath the blankets without drying off. Until she laid down, she felt positive she would pass out, but as she beckoned him to bed, she realized she wanted pillow talk. She'd rarely done that with anyone—Eddie talked with his hands and the men who came after understood she wasn't interested in post-coital cuddling. At least, she hadn't been. Like she'd told Sean, she was the go-to girl for fun, no questions, no regrets.
But as she curled into him and he anchored her to his side, she knew she wanted something else this time. Addie smoothed her palm up his chest, wearing a dreamy smile. She felt him untangling her damp, chlorine-scented hair with his fingers.
"Why a reporter, Sean?"
He shifted enough to look down in her face, as if wondering what prompted the question. But he answered readily enough. “In junior high, we had a sub in English for a couple weeks. Sweet lady but clueless—she couldn't even find the lesson plan our regular teacher left. So each day we'd talk about something random or she'd rent some off-topic filmstrip from the school library. And one day, she showed us a documentary about Edward R. Murrow.” His voice dropped, and she could hear the wonder in his voice. “He was ... larger than life, even in grainy black and white. He was a man the world listened to because he wasn't afraid to tell the truth."
"Sounds like he was your hero,” she murmured, throat oddly thick.
To her mind, Sean was a man the world would listen to, for similar reasons. He'd turned out pretty damn well, and she felt a momentary impulse to dial up his mama, wherever she might be, and thank the woman. Instead she merely kissed his shoulder, reining all those feelings in.
"Yeah. So what about you? What did you want to be when you grew up?"
Addie didn't even need to think about it. “A rock star. Specifically, Pat Benatar. I learned all her dance moves, even cut my hair like hers. I did some shows at a crappy club in San Diego when I was nineteen."
He laughed softly. “I bet you were amazing."
"Except for the fact that I can't sing, pretty much. But thanks to a really loud girl band and a spandex micro-mini dress, nobody ever booed me off the stage."
"What was your act called?"
She felt his lips wandering her brow, brushing her temples feather-light, and a consuming shiver stole over her. “Promise not to laugh."
"Nope.” He grinned, unrepentant. “I can't promise that, baby. You've made me laugh more with you in a week than I have my whole life, I think."
A fist squeezed at her heart. “Fine, I'll tell you anyway. We were...” She simulated a drumroll on his chest until he caught her fingers and carried them to his lips. “Addie and the Kittycats. A little derivative, I know."
The mattress bounced with his laughter, her second favorite way to shake a bed. “Did you have long tails and ears for hats?"
Delighted, she nipped his shoulder. “No, we most certainly did not. We were ass-kickers. We wore black spandex and covered Joan Jett and Pat Benatar."
"You take requests?” he asked, punching up a pillow and leaning back. She followed his shift, snuggling close again. “I want to hear Love is a Battlefield."
"We totally rocked that one! Lorene played drums."
"Why am I not surprised?” But he sounded amused more than anything. “You're not going to sing it for me? I want to see the dance."
"Not tonight. But,” she added impulsively, “I'll dig out the dress and do some class-A Benatar karaoke before you leave. Manu got me one of those portable machines for my birthday one year."
"I'll hold you to that. When is your birthday?"
"September 15th.” Her eyelids felt heavy; probably had to do with the amazing things his fingers were doing to her spine. “Yours?"
"January 12th. Get some sleep, love. You owe me French toast in the morning."
"Mmm-kay."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sean couldn't have said what woke him up.
The moon had gone behind the clouds, so the room was measurably darker, and the filmy white curtains billowed on a storm-scented breeze. Something felt ... off, but otherwise there was no movement. After a moment, he realized it might have been thirst. He'd be lucky if the woman didn't dehydrate him.
That in mind, he rolled out of bed, smiling when she reached for him. Even with her dark hair snarled about her head, she looked lovely. He'd never known a woman like her, Sean decided, as he padded naked to the kitchen for a drink. His article was almost finished—he'd interviewed her thoroughly enough to write a ten part series, in fact. That meant there was no putting off his return home any longer.
Sighing, he poured some water from the jug Addie kept in the door of the fridge, drained half, and then headed back to bed. She might want some when she woke up. As he reached her room, a muffled sound from within chilled his heart, a choked cry abruptly smothered.
He heard a male voice whispering, “You shouldn't have fucked with me, baby. First I teach you a lesson and then I'm taking back my stuff."
The glass slipped from his fingers, shattered on the floor behind him, as he sprinted into the room. In a flash his cognitive mind disengaged, and he threw himself at man kneeling over her. Sean sank his fist into his stomach, his ribs, and then threw him on the floor like an animal, twisting the other man's arm behind him.
The whining pleas didn't register with him
as human speech, no more than a fly buzzing around his ears as he forced the son of a bitch down on his face and then planted a knee on his back. His heart hammering in his ears, he wanted to do so much more; he wanted to kill the motherfucker. It didn't matter that he had six inches in height and a seventy-five pound weight advantage; he still wanted to smash the guy's face on the floor until he stopped making noise. He trembled with resisting that urge.
Addie scuttled back against the headboard, obviously still groggy and disoriented, so Sean tried to sound soothing. “It's okay, I've got him. Call Ben Fuller. Go on, honey."
She took a deep breath, nodded, and wrapped up in the sheet as she made a dash for her cell phone on the dresser. “Ben? Sorry to wake you. I've got an intruder on my bedroom floor. Can you come haul him in?"
Disconnecting, she stared down at the man squirming on the floor, looking like she wanted to kick him. Her breathing had stabilized, and she no longer had that frozen, deer-in-headlights look that made him want to tear somebody's heart out with his bare hands. He wanted nothing more than to hold her, but ... first things first. Clothes.
"You think maybe you could hold him a minute, Addie?"
Sean gestured up and down his nude body, and despite the situation, she seemed to find his nakedness hilarious, although not for reasons men have feared throughout the ages. With a nod, she plopped down hard enough to flatten the guy; Sean heard the air rush out of his lungs. Shit, I don't have any clothes in here.
"Will you be okay with him for a minute? I'll hurry."
"Get the curtain cord,” she said. “Help me tie his stupid ass up and then go."
As they hogtied him, wrists to ankles, the man on the floor twisted and spat curses that would've made a longshoreman blush. “What the fuck do you two think you're doing? I have civil rights! Addie, I'm going to make you so sorry..."
"That's enough out of you,” he said and shoved a dirty sock in the guy's mouth. “If you spit it out, I'll make you eat something a whole lot worse. Please do, I want to. You going to be all right now?” he asked her.
In answer, she bounced between their prisoner's shoulder blades, forcing a pained sound out of him. Thankfully, she looked more mad than scared, or Sean wouldn't have been able to leave her, and he'd have wound up greeting local law enforcement wearing her quilt as if in imitation of Manu.
"Yeah, I've got this. Hurry, though. Please."
Her tone sent him off at a dead run. As he went, he reflected he really ought to keep clothes in Addie's room because wandering around naked here should come with hazard pay. Sean pulled on sweats and a t-shirt, no underwear, and returned, just a little out of breath, in time to hear:
"You make a habit of having women tie you up, don't you, Eddie?"
Fast Eddie. This has to be her bastard-ex.
Sean wished he had broken his face, but since his rage had cooled, he couldn't justify beating the shit out of a helpless man, much as he wanted to. Not that the scrawny piece of shit could offer him a fight, even unbound.
"Your turn,” he told Addie. “Watch the broken glass, love."
"I'll get the hand-vac."
His head snapped up, as it seemed almost symbolic. “No,” he said quickly. “Let me clean it up. You get dressed."
After she went out into the hall, trailing her sheet like a toga, Sean snapped on a light, and then he pulled Eddie's head back by the hair, looking down into his sadly unmarked face. “You're a pretty boy, aren't you? They're going to love you in jail."
Whatever the guy said, it was muffled by the sock. Keeping an eye on Eddie, Sean cleaned up the mess, and he felt like he'd passed some indefinable test when he put away the Dust Devil. When she returned, wearing a pair of tatty cutoffs and a t-shirt that said More Cowbell, he wrapped her up in his arms, closing his eyes for a moment as he rested his chin on her tangled hair. If he hadn't been here, she would've been alone tonight, helpless in her sleep. A shudder ran through him, followed hard by a wave of nausea at the idea of anything happening to her.
They stood like that, oblivious to the idiot on the floor, until Ben Fuller knocked on the front door. She hurried to greet him while Sean stood guard, and soon the lanky deputy stepped into Addie's bedroom, hopefully the first and only time he'd be there. Fuller appeared to take in Eddie's position on the floor and the rumpled bed, but to his credit, he reacted to neither.
"I'll need to take your statements,” he said, seeming in no hurry to move the man from what had to be an extremely uncomfortable position.
Addie glanced at the glowing numbers on her clock radio, and Sean followed her gaze. Christ, it was nearly four in the morning. “If you want, I could make some breakfast while we talk? Least I can do for dragging you out here over this sack of shit."
Fuller smiled. “That sounds good. He's not going anywhere. By those knots, it looks like one of you was in 4-H."
"Guilty,” Sean said. “Can I get my eggs scrambled?"
"Absolutely."
They adjourned to the kitchen then, still ignoring Eddie's struggles. He'd tied the cord so that that the more he twisted, the tighter it would be. By the time Fuller got around to cuffing him, he'd be lucky to walk.
She got busy with a mixing bowl and two frying pans while Sean started some coffee. He knew his way around her kitchen almost as well as he did his own, now, and in many ways, he liked it better. This house had character that made it a home.
"Want to tell me what happened?” Fuller asked, accepting a mug when the coffee was ready.
Sean glanced at Addie, but she was stirring the eggs. “I was getting some water and I heard a noise coming back to Addie's room.” He half-expected the deputy to bristle at that but he simply made a note on his pad. “When I ran in, the fucker was on the bed, hands on her throat, threatening her."
"I'll call it breaking and entering, although the partially open window makes that a gray area, intent to commit a felony, maybe assault and battery if we can get it to stick. Any marks on you?"
The question sent him back to low boil. Oddly subdued and focused on her cooking, Addie didn't seem to know, so he examined her throat, turning her head gently from side to side. “Faint bruising, it looks like. He choked her a little."
"Son of a bitch,” Fuller swore softly. “I'll get the camera from my car. Need to document, if that's all right?"
She nodded, flipping the pancakes like she'd come apart if she didn't keep busy. Sean stood behind her, rubbing her back gently and wishing he didn't feel so fucking helpless. When she spun into his arms, he thought he'd cry, even though she wasn't. Some big strong hero he made.
"You going to be okay?"
"Yeah,” she said, obviously trying to sound tough and self-assured. “I'm fine."
Within moments, the deputy returned and took a couple pictures of her neck, and then tucked them into his clipboard. “How long's it been since you saw him, Addie?” Ben met her gaze steadily, and for some reason, she looked away first.
"I can't remember,” she said, shrugging as she set the food on the table.
Though it meant risking his food, Sean checked on Eddie, wanted to be sure the guy hadn't pulled a Houdini and escaped out the window. But he was still twisting on the floor like a fish on a line. Satisfied, he returned to the kitchen, and then paused when he heard the tone of the conversation.
"Any idea why he'd come after you?"
"No, none.” He knew Addie's stubborn tone when he heard it.
Fuller sighed. “If there's anything I need to know, tell me now. I just want to keep you safe, that's all."
That exchange set the gears whirring in his head as he came into the kitchen fully and dug into his breakfast. Seemed that a middle of the night brawl, if that wasn't glorifying the fight Eddie had offered, worked up an appetite. They ate in silence, more with efficiency than grace, and when they were done—Sean caught himself licking maple syrup off his thumb—Fuller led the way back to her bedroom.
The deputy cut the line with a Swiss army knife and cuffed
Eddie immediately, jerking him to his feet like a rag doll. As Sean had predicted, the guy could hardly stand; the pins and needles would most likely be excruciating when the feeling came back. Much to his dismay, Fuller yanked the sock out of Eddie's mouth.
"Hold up, hold up, I just wanted my stuff back. Where's my new X-Box, huh? Where's my portable DVD player?! I swear I wasn't gonna hurt her, really, just wanted to scare her some, even though her cunt-friend hit me on the head and everything. Stupid bitches think they can mess with me and get away with it. Not in this lifetime. I have rights, I've been illegally detained, and I'm suing all you motherfuckers..."
"I see why you gagged him,” Fuller observed and stuffed the sock back in. “You do indeed have rights. Let me read them to you.” When he'd finished with the Miranda and asked Eddie if he understood, the deputy strong-armed him out to the patrol car.
They followed him out, stood around while he checked some stuff from the terminal in the car. “Yep,” Ben added finally with some satisfaction. “He's got a nice little rap sheet going. That'll hurt him when it comes time for sentencing. Judges hate a recidivist."
Her ex spat the sock onto the backseat and tried a wheedling tone. “This is bullshit, man. I can't believe you're hauling me in for having a little disagreement with my old lady. Aren't we cool, Fuller?"
The deputy started the engine. “We most certainly are not cool, Mr. Alger. Not by any stretch of the definition. If I didn't already dislike you for cheating on her, those bruises on her neck would've sealed the deal. Besides, as I recall, you called me a ‘gay-ass faggot’ the last time I stopped you."
By the time Ben left, the sky was lightening at the far edge of the horizon, and Sean had put the pieces together. He folded his arms, wrestling with warring emotions. On one hand he wanted to put her over his knee and on the other, he wanted to scoop her in his arms so she wouldn't do such crazy stuff.
"He was telling the truth, wasn't he? That's where you and Lorene went Tuesday night. You robbed him!"
She glared. “It's not robbery if he's been stealing from me for years. He's single-handled ruined my credit and people keep telling me there's nothing they can do about it. Well, there was something I could do and I did it."