Up In Flames

by Lori Foster

  “I’ve always been really careful,” she whispered, trying to regain lost control, “about protection. Not that I’d mind having children someday, but not until I meet the right man.”

  His body taut and expectant, Mick rasped, “I want kids someday, too.”

  Del soothed him, stroking his right arm, his chest and shoulders. She met his smoldering gaze and asked, “With the right woman?”

  “Yes.”

  Sliding her leg over his hips, she positioned herself. “Well, this woman is going to make you crazy with pleasure tonight.”

  His back arched. “I’ll get my turn,” he told her.

  She laughed. “Not until the doctor says you’re able.” Slowly, so slowly every nerve ending sparked, she lowered herself. He’d barely penetrated at all, just the thick head of his penis inside her, her inner muscles gripping and quivering around him, when she stopped with a gasp. “It’s...it’s been so long for me,” she muttered, trying to explain, her words broken and breathless and fast. Already she felt stretched, uncomfortably tight, yet tantalized. “I’m...I’m not at all sure.”

  Mick strained beneath her, sweat dampening his forehead, his chest. Delilah knew she couldn’t wait any longer or he’d hurt himself. Swallowing back her own discomfort and uncertainty, she braced her hands on his chest, drew a deep breath and pressed down until he was fully, completely inside her.

  An explosive curse broke from Mick. She whimpered in response. For long moments, neither of them moved except for a slight trembling of rigid muscles and a spontaneous flexing of sexes as they each struggled to adjust.

  Forcing her head up, Delilah looked at Mick through a sweltering haze of sensations. “Are you...all right?”

  “No.” His left hand lifted, spread wide over her hip. “I need you to move, baby.”

  Del licked her lips. “It’s just that you’re...bigger than I thought.”

  Without his permission, his hips rose, pressing into her, deepening his penetration. “I can’t do this,” he groaned.

  And Delilah’s heart tumbled over.

  “Mick.” Leaning down, she kissed his mouth, his throat, licked at his salty skin. Very gently, subtly, she rocked her hips. His fingers contracted on her flesh, biting hard as he urged her to continue.

  She slid up, her wetness making it easy and smooth, then all the way down again, harder and faster with each turn. Suddenly, despite his injury, Mick gripped her hips in both hands and pumped into her, holding her tight to him, not letting her retreat. He looked feral and explosive and so sexy she felt her own climax begin.

  This was what she’d wanted, him filling her, his body a part of hers, wild and real with no reserve between them. She tipped her head back and cried out her pleasure, then heard Mick’s answering moan of completion.

  A few seconds later his fingers went lax and she lowered herself to nestle against him. He grunted, and she mumbled, “Did I hurt you?”

  It took him a little while to answer, but she didn’t mind. She felt the bellowing of his chest beneath her ear, felt his sex still deep within her. “Mick?”

  Using his left hand, he smoothed her bottom. “I’m feeling no pain. Even my brain is numb.”

  She didn’t want to, but she raised herself to her elbows. “Will it hurt you if I sleep here with you?”

  His dark eyes opened. “It’d kill me,” he said huskily, “if you didn’t.”

  Tears clung to her lashes. She hurried to blink them away and sat up more. After a deep, calming breath that helped to chase away the excess emotion, she said, “I’m ready for bed. You?”

  The way he looked at her told her she hadn’t fooled him one bit. He knew she was mired in sentiment, that making love with him had thrown her for a loop. She’d had sex in the past, but this wasn’t sex. This was... She wasn’t sure what to call it. Sex had been easy to give up, but she couldn’t imagine giving up Mick.

  More tears clouded her vision, but he didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looked...satisfied.

  Del snorted at herself as she swiped at her eyes. He’d come, so of course he was satisfied. “I’ll just get rid of the condom and turn on the air conditioner and—”

  Mick moved out of her reach. “I can take care of myself, thank you, and I’ll set the air conditioner. I’d like to wake up without hypothermia.”

  “I set it too cold?” She watched him climb from the bed, and was gratified to see he shook just a bit, too.

  He stood in front of her and touched her chin. There was a silly smile on his face, in contrast to the male triumph in his dark gaze. “Yeah. You set it too cold,” he agreed. “I’m a man, not a polar bear.”

  Then he went down the hall to the bathroom. Del stood there, bemused, until she heard the water turn off and the toilet flush.

  She rushed to straighten the bedclothes and reposition Mick’s pillow. She’d sleep on his left side, to keep from injuring his shoulder, she decided.

  He walked into her room, as comfortable with his nudity as she was. After setting the air conditioner a tiny bit higher, he got into bed as if sleeping with her were nothing. She wasn’t sure if she liked that or not, considering it seemed like a very big something to her. But then he turned off the light and settled back, and when she crawled in next to him, he put his arm around her, drawing her close. The darkness added a new level of intimacy, filling her with contentment.

  Her mind peaceful, her body sated, she kissed his chest and asked, “Will you tell me if you get uncomfortable during the night?”

  “No.” She pushed up to frown at him, but he only laughed and pressed her face back to his chest. “Shh. Go to sleep, Delilah. You’ve worn me out and I need to recoup so I can get even tomorrow morning.”

  Feeling smug, she said, “You’ll have to wait to even the score. I have to go out in the morning.”

  His arm tightened. “Where to?”

  “Neddie’s funeral is tomorrow.”

  “Neddie?”

  Because she’d already told Mick all about him, she sighed. “Neddie Moran, the man who helped me with my research.”

  A volatile silence followed her statement, then seemed to detonate. Mick turned, pinning her beneath him in one hard, fast movement, his expression furious. “Neddie Moran is the criminal who taught you how to steal cars?”

  Watching him warily, she said, “Yeah, so?” He’d sounded ready to fall asleep one moment, then outraged the next. “Mick, you’re going to hurt your arm.”

  For some reason, he looked astounded that she would even mention his arm. He jerked around and flipped the light back on. “Forget the morning. We’ve got to do some talking right now.”

  “We do?” Del scooted up in the bed and pulled the sheet over her breasts.

  “Damn right we do. Do you know how Neddie Moran died?”

  “He drowned.”

  “He didn’t just drown. Someone else drowned him.” Mick drew a breath. “Sweetheart, he was murdered.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Mick awoke to an empty bed. Again.

  This time, in light of everything he now knew, fear hit him before anything else. He glanced at the bedside clock. Three-thirty. They’d finished their talk almost four hours ago. Where the hell was she in the middle of the night?

  He was out of the bed and heading for the door on silent feet before he’d even given himself time to think about it. The reality of her association with known criminals had his skin prickling with unease, his every sense on alert.

  She saw no connection between Neddie’s recent death and her own very near escape from death.

  Mick, however, was positive that the two events were in some way related. She’d associated with Moran, formed a strange friendship even, and now the man was dead. It had been tricky, telling her what he knew of Moran’s death without telling her how he knew, or giving away confidential information. The death was still under investigation, but thanks to reporters, it was public knowledge that Neddie had been drowned in the river, so Mick had no problem sharing t
hose details.

  Not that they’d swayed her. The most he’d been able to get out of her was a promise that she’d let him escort her to the funeral. Mick planned to avoid even that, using a deception to keep her away, while he had men checking into any possible associations between Neddie and the robbers at the jewelry store. He didn’t like himself for it, but he felt it necessary to protect her.

  Hours of talking to her had proved that reason and logic wouldn’t work. Not with Delilah Piper, and definitely not when she felt an obligation to a friend.

  Mick went only a few steps down the hallway before he saw the dim blue light of her computer shining in the otherwise dark apartment. He heard the light tapping of her fingers on the keyboard, and peered around the hallway corner.

  Sitting there in front of her computer, her glossy hair mussed, a T-shirt her only clothing, Delilah looked totally absorbed in her writing. Mick leaned against the wall and watched her, aware of a strange twisting in his heart.

  Never had he allowed himself to consider hearth and home and a family of his own. He’d become so discriminating with women, so particular, that he’d doubted any woman would have ever appealed to him on that level.

  But standing in a dark hallway looking at Delilah, he felt a contentment unlike anything he’d ever known. She was a woman of constant change and contradictions. She made him hot with her careless, comfortable air, and she kept his emotions turbulent with her daring and her stubbornness. And now that he’d laughed and argued and made love with her, he couldn’t imagine not having her in his life.

  Insane, he insisted to himself. But his pulse continued to riot and his lungs constricted, and only a small part of that reaction was due to lust. Hell, he shouldn’t even have felt lust. It hadn’t been that long since she’d wrung him out.

  But he looked down at himself and, sure enough, he was already semihard. What could you do with a woman who affected you so strongly, except keep her close and make sure she didn’t have the chance to affect any other man the same way?

  Delilah paused, bit her lip, stared at nothing in particular and then smiled and began typing again. Mick shook his head. She amazed him, amused him, and she turned his libido red-hot.

  Not wanting to startle her, he said softly, “Am I interrupting?”

  She glanced up, then held one finger in the air, indicating she needed him to wait.

  He should have been annoyed. They’d finished making love for the first time and she’d sneaked away to write, and now had the gall to make him wait. He smiled. No woman had ever treated him as she did, and damned if he didn’t like it. Probably because her reactions, her responses, were all so real. Delilah didn’t have a deceptive bone in her body. She said what she thought, did as she pleased, and that meant she could be trusted—the most appealing factor of all.

  Mick sidled closer and stood behind her. He moved her heavy hair off her nape and used his thumbs to stroke her.

  Delilah froze, then twisted to face him. “Um...I can’t write with you there.”

  “Why not?”

  She frowned, then turned off her monitor. Shadows closed in around them. “It makes me jittery for anyone to look over my shoulder. I don’t want you to read anything out of context and think it’s lame.”

  “I wasn’t reading,” he explained, still holding her neck easily between his hands. “I was considering the possibility of dragging you back to bed.”

  Delilah faced the computer again, her hands in her lap, her head bent forward. Finally she said, “I’m running behind, Mick. I need to finish up this scene, okay?”

  “It’s almost morning.”

  “I know. But the scene is there now, in my head.” She twisted again, this time in a rush. “I’m sorry. I know this probably seems odd to you. But writers write...whenever. And I do have a deadline that is quickly closing in.” She shrugged. “I’ve never had anyone live with me, so I’ve never had to not write when I wanted to. Know what I mean?”

  Mick grinned. She meant that she didn’t want him to interfere with her writing, but was trying to be tactful. He said only, “How long do you think you’ll be?”

  Again she shrugged. “I don’t know. As long as the words are coming, I want to keep at it. Once this scene’s done, I’ll have some free time before I need to start the next one.”

  A thought occurred to Mick: if she stayed up all night writing, perhaps she’d forget about the damn funeral, and he wouldn’t have to deceive her. “Okay, sweetheart. You take your time, okay?”

  “You don’t mind?”

  “Of course not. There’ll be times when I’ll be gone all night working.” Even in the dim shadows, he saw her scowl and had to fight from laughing out loud. “I’m sure you’ll be understanding, too, won’t you?” he teased.

  Very grudgingly, she muttered, “I guess.”

  “Then I’ll see you in the morning.”

  She continued to stare up at him. “Since you’re here anyway, will you give me a good-night kiss?”

  “My pleasure.” Mick made it a kiss to singe her eye-brows—and felt himself burned instead. In that moment, he wondered if he’d ever get enough, if a lifetime of tasting and touching her would ever satisfy him.

  He had his doubts.

  “Wow,” she said when he lifted his mouth. “You think I can work a kiss like that in with a murder scene?”

  Mick stared at her blankly and she waved her hand toward the computer. “That’s where I’m at in the book. All your talk about Neddie and connections and conspiracies gave me an idea for the murder scene. Do you think my hero would stop in the middle of trying to chase down the escaping madman to kiss the heroine?”

  Mick shook his head. “If the heroine was you, I’m sure of it.”

  He saw the white flash of her teeth, then heard her chuckle. “You’re outrageous. Now go on before I totally lose my train of thought and end up with them making love in the middle of the street instead of doing the responsible thing.”

  Thinking of the “responsible thing,” Mick pushed any remnants of guilt from his mind. He’d do whatever was necessary to protect her. “Take as long as you need,” he said. “Good night.”

  As soon as he turned away, he heard the tapping on her keyboard resume. Madmen and making love and responsibility. Somehow they were all tied together with Delilah, and probably with her research pal, Neddie Moran, and the shooter, Rudy Glasgow, and the robbery.

  All Mick had to do was find out how.

  His mind filled with possibilities, both intimate and protective, so it was no wonder he slept fitfully. He had just awakened again when he felt Delilah slipping into bed beside him. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was only an hour or so until dawn.

  Turning toward her, he slid his good arm beneath her head and murmured sleepily, “Did you finish your scene?”

  “Yes.” She snuggled down, fitting herself to him as if they’d been doing this for most of their lives. That’s how it was with Delilah, natural and comfortable and right. Her hand settled on his chest, her fingers twining in his body hair, caressing. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t.” Mick pressed his mouth to her crown, drawing in the sweet scent of shampoo and Delilah. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “You should have been sleeping.”

  “I’ll sleep with you.” He felt her smile against his chest. “What were you doing in the jewelry store, honey?”

  Startled, she looked up at him, then with a shrug, nuzzled into his side again. “I was researching.”

  Their voices were both low, mere whispers over the hum of the air conditioner and the lazily twirling ceiling fan.

  “What kind of research?”

  Her fingertips sought and found his nipple, toying with him, making him stiffen even while half-asleep. “In this book,” she whispered, “the hero has to break into a jewelry store and steal something that the madman is after, before he can get it. So I was trying to see how I’d break into that store if I was a madman.”
/>   Mick chuckled. “Neddie couldn’t tell you how to do that, huh?”

  “He told me a lot of things, gave me a lot of ideas, but not details on a robbery.” She pressed her face against Mick in a show of emotion. “I’d contacted him about it, and even left a message, but he hadn’t returned my call. I realize now that he probably couldn’t.”

  Shit. If she’d left a message on a machine, then that could be the link that had led them to her. Mick squeezed her closer. No way in hell would he let anyone hurt her. “What exactly did you say on the message?”

  “Mick.” She rose up on one elbow to look at him. “I do like talking to you in the middle of the night like this, but—”

  “Actually, it’s morning,” he said softly, pushing a curl away from her face.

  “That’s my point. I really would like to get some sleep.”

  He chuckled. “No sparing my tender sensibilities, huh?” That made her frown with concern, and he added quickly, “I’m just teasing.”

  “Are you sure? Because I guess I could stay awake and talk more about this if you really wanted to.”

  “Actually,” he murmured against her mouth, “I was thinking about sports.”

  She again pushed away, peering at him through the dark with interest. “Are you an athlete?”

  Snorting, he said, “Hell, no.”

  “You don’t like sports?”

  “I have no idea. I just never played any.”

  “But all little boys play baseball and football and—”

  “I didn’t.”

  She seemed to have forgotten all about sleeping, and her frown was back. “Well, why not?”

  He didn’t want to talk about his childhood, about his mother’s shortcomings. Not now. Preferably not ever. “I was thinking about a sport you taught me.”

  Despite his best effort, there was an edge to his tone, a deliberately forceful change of subject that she picked up on. She might often be obtuse to her surroundings, but Mick found she was very attuned to him. It unsettled him, and turned him on.