by Angel Payne
“No,” I forced myself to answer. “What you said…before that. It doesn’t matter. And no, I’m not okay. I feel odd. I—I don’t know what’s going on.”
“You need to sit down again.”
“No.” I wrapped a hand around his elbow. It flexed beneath my touch, and I didn’t doubt he could support my entire weight if needed. But I couldn’t need him. I couldn’t need anyone. “I-I think it’s you, clown. I felt fine until I saw you today. Well, no, that’s not all the way true, either. There were the dreams.”
He inhaled sharply. “What dreams?”
“I-I’m not making sense, huh?” I smiled, letting my eyes drift shut again. The sun felt good without the glare.
“Taylor.” His growl was lower than before. And so much sexier. “Fuck.” After I responded with nothing but a woozy sigh, he gritted, “Now I’m really not taking no for an answer. Where’s your car?”
I waved in the general direction of where I’d parked. When I reopened my eyes, everything was fuzzy around the edges. Mac repeated his curse right before gathering me up again. With a blissful sigh, I burrowed my face into his neck. So much for resisting him. As if that was a possibility in the first place…
“Taylor.”
“Hmmm?” Belatedly, I realized he’d probably tried the command a few times already.
“What kind of car do you drive?”
“Drift missile,” I muttered. “You smell really good for a wolf.”
A weird choke erupted from him. “You have a Nissan 240sx?”
I lifted my head and looked him in the eye. “How do you know that?”
He shook his head. A new half smile tempted his lips. “I’ll explain another time. When you don’t have low blood sugar and low blood pressure.”
“’Kay.”
“Is this light-blue one yours?”
“Ah…yep.”
“And do you have any water in your car, love?”
“Stop calling me that.”
He snorted. “Water?”
“In the trunk.”
“You shouldn’t keep water bottles in your trunk.”
“You’re a nag. Better than not having any, right?”
“I guess. Where are your keys?”
“Purse.”
He lowered me gently, letting me lean against the car while fishing the keys out of my purse. After lowering all the windows and dropping the passenger-side seat all the way down, he helped me slide in. A moment later, he returned with a bottle of water, helping me sit up to drink before putting the lid back on and placing it in the cup holder.
I turned a little in the seat, trying to get comfortable, though that was officially impossible as soon as I caught sight of Mac through my lashes, dashing around the car’s hood like a kid beholding a new playground slide. As he slid in, that joy intensified. Stalker man, wolf boy, and Dr. Clown had vanished, leaving only one persona to define him now. Sexy Happy Man.
I liked it. A lot.
“I can’t believe you have this car.” He ran reverent hands over the steering wheel. “I’m in heaven right now. You have no idea. We’re going to have to have some fun with her one day, the second you feel better.”
I couldn’t help cracking a little smile. His energy wasn’t just lust-worthy. It was contagious. “I’ve had it since it was brand-new. One of my mom’s boyfriends bought it for me.”
“Well, it’s in great shape.”
“It is?” I was genuinely stunned.
“Oh yeah. Little crack here on the dash, but that’s unavoidable in this heat. What’s your address, love? I’ll put it in my phone so you don’t have to worry about telling me directions.”
I resettled, pushing up a little. “I can guide you. Really. I’m feeling better again. I don’t understand what’s going on. Maybe I have a bug. Wearing jeans on a heat alert day probably wasn’t a good idea either.”
“Drink as much of that water as you can. It’ll help.”
I complied with the command as he started the car and headed toward the parking lot exit. “Head south on the Five,” I instructed then. “You’ll want to hit the Eight east, into Mission Valley. Try to keep it under eighty. The steering wheel really starts to shake.”
“Sounds like you need your wheels aligned or balanced. Maybe new tires. Or all of the above.”
“No shit, but that all costs money.” I took in his profile with a little laugh. “So are you a mechanic as a side hustle? The whole brain surgery thing not covering the rent?”
He grinned. The expression was nearly as alluring as his confident grip on the wheel. If it was possible, I swore my car purred more smoothly, as if feeling the force of his adoring touch. Damn. Even my car wasn’t immune to Mac Stone’s powerful presence.
“I’ve loved cars since I was a boy. It’s a hobby. Well, more than that. A passion. I race and collect now.”
He shrugged as though those were normal things to tell someone. My gape didn’t alter that.
“You race?” I finally got out. “Like, cars?”
“Uuuuhhh…yeah.”
“Like, on a track?”
“Where else? Hey, you okay? Why are you even paler?”
“I—well—” The seat jerked beneath me as I yanked the lever to straighten back up. “I think I’m just embarrassed.”
He scowled. “Why?”
“Well, poor Sally has a self-esteem problem to begin with, and now you’re behind the wheel.”
His gaze bugged. “You named a 240sx Sally?”
“What’s wrong with Sally?” I put my hands on my hips, though admittedly it wasn’t the most intimidating pose when delivered from the passenger’s seat and after almost passing out twice in the past thirty minutes.
“When you see what this car can do with the right driver, you’ll want to give her a different name.”
“Never.” Though watching him navigate the car down the freeway like threading silk through a needle certainly inspired some new perspective. “But maybe we can talk nicknames. Like an alter ego?”
“That works.” He flashed a devastating grin and rubbed a confident hand atop mine. I liked looking down at how his grip engulfed mine. It wasn’t a consummation I’d enjoy forever, but right now, in my dazed state, it was nice to be cared for, protected.
It was damn nice…
“So, do you know what drift missile even means?”
“Hmmm?” I was still too busy admiring his hands. They were filled with such powerful elegance. His fingers were long but not girly. His nails were manicured squares. “No. It never seemed important.”
“You’ve never googled it? Or looked at drifting videos on YouTube?”
“I’m a girl, Mac. That stuff makes me more nervous than anything.”
“What does being a girl have to do with anything? Women make great drivers. Small feet. Better pedal control.”
I just stared. Honestly, how is any of this even happening? An hour ago, I was preparing for a day of running errands and crossing shit off the to-do list. Give blood. Pick up dry cleaning. Get a christening gift for Iris. Scrub the toilet. Shave my legs.
Now, I was discussing car driving with my very own panty-melting clown. Being personally cared for by aforementioned clown. Thinking about the fifteen different ways I’d like to fuck, kiss, or suck several parts of his fascinating, not-an-inch-of-softness body.
But most of all, panicking as I realized there was no way Mac Stone could see the inside of my crappy apartment when we arrived there in five minutes. I needed to come up with an artful way of sending him home without inviting him inside, though my body had craved nothing more from the second he’d plunked down at that picnic table with me.
God…what am I going to do?
“This is it, right? So where should I park?”
Chapter Five
Mac
What the hell is going on?
In the span of a few minutes, everything had changed. Our conversation, effortless as whipped cream, had become the consistency
of a steak, and now we were trying to cut the damn thing with a butter knife. I glanced over, at once noting the flushed rose hue of her normally snowy skin, as well as the shallow breaths lifting and dipping her chest.
“Hey, what’s up?” I glanced between her and the road as I pulled in to the aged apartment complex. “Do you feel faint again?”
“Uh…yeah,” she replied all too quickly. “Yeah, that’s it. Exactly. Whew. I better just go on in by myself. Thanks so much for bringing me home, though. I really, really appreciate it. You can just call a car back to your hotel, right?”
I turned my glance into a frown. “I’d better walk you to your door at a minimum. The wolves raised me with a few manners at least.” And no way was I letting her out of my sight even after that, considering what had happened at the hospital as well as her bizarre behavior now.
“I’ll be fine. I’ve imposed enough. Spot seventeen is mine. Right there, third one in.” She pointed out of the windshield with a long finger. Christ, even her hands were gorgeous.
“I like your nails.” Maybe distracting her would help.
“Wh-What?” Yeah, I’d thrown her—and maybe that was a good thing.
I pulled into the parking spot. In the space to our left was a piece-of-shit Dodge Caravan. To the right, an Iroc-Z28. Whoa. The eighties called and wanted their gems back, minus the minivan, of course. Trouble was, I was ready to fight them for Taylor’s car. But more than that, for the woman herself.
“I said I like your nails. They look pretty.”
“You…”
“What? It’s not a lie. They’ve got those white tip things. It emphasizes the shape. Kind of sophisticated.” Except for when I imagined her hand wrapped around my cock. Then all bets were off on sophistication.
She huffed out a laugh, relaxing enough to flop back against the seat. “You’re an odd guy, Mac Stone.”
“You’re not the first to say that.”
“Yeah, but as a compliment?”
“That wasn’t exactly a compliment.”
“Wasn’t not one.” She smiled, rivaling the sun for brilliance, taking my breath away. I used the pause to get a better look at it, leaning back in my seat too.
“Well, it was certainly a first, at least.”
She returned my mock suspicion with a confused scowl. “A first what?”
“You used my name without referencing a circus performer.”
She looked ready to chuckle again before apparently stopping herself with some internal smack. That left her ready to hurl another insult—triggering an answering instinct in me. Before I could stop to question it or stop it, I let the impulse drive me through the space between us until I covered her lips with mine. I was pretty sure I shocked myself as much as her, but I was damn glad I’d made the move.
Fuck. So glad.
Her lips were soft and yielding, but I resisted the urge to plunge my tongue all the way into her mouth—barely. Instead, I focused on meshing our lips where I could and savoring the sweet, sunshine smell of her for as many long seconds as possible. She was so damn graceful. So delicious…
When I pulled back, her eyes were still closed and she swayed toward me. I smiled a little, exalting in her attraction, and cupped her rosy cheek. It was one of the few times I saw color in her skin. It was fucking intoxicating.
“Wh-What was that for?” She still didn’t open her eyes.
I let a low hum vibrate up my throat. “Didn’t want you to spoil your streak.”
Her blue eyes finally popped open. “One time isn’t a streak,” she murmured with a grin.
“You have to start somewhere.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, cl—”
I put my finger across her lips. “Don’t ruin the moment by talking.” And regretted the words before they were finished. The douchebag routine was sheer habit—not a fact I remotely wanted to embrace right now, especially in the two seconds it took for the light to die in her eyes and the dreamy softness to turn back into her narrow scowl.
“You’re such an ass. Goodbye.” Before I could process the end result of that, she yanked the keys from the ignition, swung from the passenger side of the car, and slammed the door. Her sandals made distinct clacks as she stomped down a walkway between a couple of the complex’s buildings toward what I assumed was her unit. I figured she lived in apartment seventeen to match her parking spot number, but at an older place like this, that wasn’t a given. And yeah, I meant old. The complex was small and clean but not one of the amenity-rich, luxury communities seeming to outnumber Starbucks shops all over San Diego. And at this point, I was an expert about that shit, having done my research about the area’s real estate offerings as soon as Lawrence had reached out with the job offer at Scripps. Rentals were much more affordable in these older, less glamorous developments, which were tucked into the canyons and river walks of the city and its suburbs.
“What neighborhood is this?” I asked, managing to keep at least a visual on her after bolting from the car and racing to keep up with her. Her shoes still made those click-clacks along the winding walkway, almost like an erotic pied piper to my mindless rat of a cock. How can such a sharp noise be so fucking cute?
“One a person with your last name wouldn’t be caught dead in,” she called back. “You’d better run along, mister.”
Sure enough, she strode up to a door with a worn number seventeen on it. I caught up, moving beside her while she frantically searched through her keys. The descriptor wasn’t empty. Her fingers shook as she peeled from key to key, prompting me to snatch the whole cluster away. With an equally decisive move, I grabbed both her hands in one of mine and then waited until her head jerked up and her glare confronted me again.
I had words ready, though they came out rougher than I’d expected. “I’d appreciate not being compared to my cousin at every turn,” I stated. “You barely know me—and Killian’s hardly a fucking saint. Nor is he suffering in that castle of his in Rancho Santa Fe.”
For a second, her features softened a little, and I thought—perhaps hoped—she’d read through the veneer of my bitterness to the pain underneath. But it was only an instant. “Why, Dr. Clown,” she quipped, yanking her hands down and popping her hip out to one side. “I wouldn’t have guessed you to be the jealous type.” She added a coquettish head tilt, once more seeming tempted to take her thoughts deeper, but then straightened with a lurch, snatched her keys back from me, and deftly opened her door.
Once inside the threshold, she whirled around and winked. The proverbial “W” for winner was practically stamped across her forehead.
“Bye now.”
She gave a bratty smile, swinging the old wooden panel toward the doorjamb.
I rammed one hand into the middle of the door.
Whump.
Who’s got the “W” now?
Flush with victory, I stepped into the foyer—if it was legal to call the three-foot-square space of tile a foyer—which also crowded every inch of me against her. The spoils of war had never felt so good.
“You really need to be taught some manners, Miss Mathews.” I closed the door without looking back, the warped wood lurching in complaint, while never letting an inch of space develop between our bodies. Not wasting another moment, I pressed my palm flat against her sternum, backing her against the wall. My spread fingers spanned her upper chest, making it easy to feel her heartbeat, thundering at a tumultuous cadence.
Tentatively, I rubbed. She mesmerized me. Her slight body held such a ferocious, fiery spirit. Did one beget the other, and if so, how? What drove her? Inspired her? Hurt her?
Arouses her?
Her cheeks were pink again, burning beneath her paper-thin skin.
Very pink.
Goddamn. She was aroused. And now, so was I.
Before even thinking of talking myself out of it, I leaned forward slowly. I only stopped when my mouth reached the apple of her cheek. I gave her the smallest nibble there, resulting at once in her sharp inhala
tion. She did it again, pulling in air through her nostrils, but didn’t move. Most importantly, she didn’t tell me to stop. I wasn’t hurting her. I would never hurt her. I just wanted…
To consume her.
To sample every delicate inch of her.
To taste her in every way I possibly could.
Starting with this…
When I stepped back, she raised her hand to the spot I’d just bitten. Her fingers curled in, lightly stroking where her skin was still shiny from my saliva, though her big blue eyes remained hidden beneath her closed lids.
I watched, entranced, as she spread the moisture around the red mark I’d left.
“You…bit me,” she breathed more than spoke.
“Just a little.” One side of my mouth kicked up.
“Why?” Again with just the breath more than volume. Fuck, it was a beautiful sound.
“I like biting.” As I shrugged, I bent closer to her again. Let my own voice drop to something like a breath. “The truth? I want to eat you alive, Taylor. I want to taste every fucking inch of you.”
“Mmmmm.” She still kept her eyes closed, while her moan blasted open all my nerve endings. “I…I want that too.”
“So…” My constricting throat roughened my voice. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“No.” She swallowed. “I liked it.”
I pushed closer. Stepped a little wider so my thighs braced the outside of hers. “How much?”
Her lips parted. “H-How much…what?”
“Did you like it?” The syllables practically rumbled from me now. “Are you wet, Taylor? Right now…are you wet for me?”
She dropped her chin to her chest. Damn. So beautifully submissive…but not giving a discernible answer.
“Answer me.”
“I said I liked it, didn’t I?” Her fire flared back with a gorgeous, brilliant vengeance.
My cock responded in matching degrees, surging and stiff. Dear fucking God, this woman is going to be fun to crack open. To break into screaming, sobbing pieces.
“But that’s not what I asked you.”
At last, she popped her eyes wide open. Through gritted teeth, she huffed, “Just stop talking, clown. It sucks the hot out of things.”