by Angel Payne
I nodded, connecting the dots of that obvious conclusion. “None of that can be fun for a guy who likes driving and collecting cars.” But still, the dots seemed unreal. Was I really having a conversation about car collections when I’d be begging Sally for another day of her best effort tomorrow morning?
“Bingo.” He tapped my nose, an affectionate show that turned me a little gooey inside. “Nice cars get ruined in that shitty weather, and idiots drive like bigger idiots in heavy rain and snow. I’ve fixed more skulls from bad-weather accidents than I care to count, meaning I’ve paid my damn dues on that front. I’d love to live somewhere like this, where every day is a top-down kind of day.”
I paused for a second, letting the smile he induced in my heart break free on my lips. The man was transformed when talking about his passions, and I couldn’t help but feel changed with him. Caterpillar, meet butterfly—and the big, beautiful wings were preparing to take flight. I couldn’t imagine anyone not getting swept up in the glory.
“Have you ever driven a convertible?” The question was a good follow-up and bought some more minutes in the presence of his glow. I was entranced with the commitment he gave to his favorite subjects…so similar to the way he’d plunged into the act of fulfilling me…
Ohhhh, my God…
“I’ve driven one but never owned one,” Mac answered. “Though it’d be a must-have in a climate like this. Weekly drives up the coast just to smell the ocean air…”
“During your two seconds off?” I teased.
He chuckled. “Time worth finding.”
“Bingo.” As I returned his affirmation, I used a knuckle to buss his nose before nodding in agreement and saying, “There’s nothing like coming home to San Diego after you travel. The minute you get off the plane, even on the gangway, you can already smell the ocean in the air as you walk toward the terminal. It tempts me to tear up every time I come home from a business trip.”
“Do you travel a lot?” The sincerity in his voice was obvious. He was truly interested in my contribution to the conversation—such a change from the usual guys I dated.
“It’s not too bad,” I explained. “Maybe once a quarter. Depends what SGC has going on.”
“Whoa.” He started as if I’d set off a firecracker in his face. “You work for my cousin too?”
I quirked a frown. “How did you think I knew Claire and Talia?”
“Same hairdresser?” He joined me in a laugh, but tension still clamped his features, which were now infused with annoyance. “So…the guy employs all of San Diego.”
I batted his chest. “Don’t tell me you really didn’t know.”
“Guess I didn’t care.” Just like that, as he held my fingers over his heart, his tone mellowed like mist over a sunset sea. “I don’t think things completely through when it comes to you, love. I’m usually too busy being distracted by you in general.”
Sweet, freaking blister bug in a pepper patch. How’s that for the sexy side of honesty?
It was fine. Very fine. I grinned like a fool and didn’t feel a morsel of shame for it. And for some reason, he was grinning like a fool too.
“All right, all right,” I drawled. “You win, mister. Let me go shower really quick, and then we can go eat. TV’s over there,” I swung a finger in the vague direction of the sofa and television. “Remote’s on the table if you’d like to watch something.”
His stare, not leaving me, turned the shade of a lagoon in the middle of my sweltering pepper patch. “You know what I’d prefer watching, firecracker.”
I rolled my eyes. “And isn’t that a shocker?”
His expression took on a hopeful Boy Scout ardor. “You really sure you don’t need some help?”
Okay, make that a naughty Boy Scout. I had no idea they existed, but he proved the point with blaring clarity. “I think I can manage. Thanks, though.”
“Can’t blame a clown for trying.”
“Indeed.”
He gave my rear a swat as I turned to retreat into the bedroom. When I swung back around to scold him, he whirled me close again, kissing me soundly enough to suck out my breath. As a result, my senses spun and I desperately grabbed the boulders of his biceps for purchase. His groan was my response, reverberating through my mouth as he swept inside with his skilled tongue. My entire head swirled again. It was the most blissful vertigo I’d ever known.
Is he seriously this good at everything?
The question was a funny hum in my head, even after he stopped. No way was I about to let him go, since my brain was still twirling like a three-year-old ballerina.
In a flash, the solution to that struck me.
“Hey. Did you drug me?”
Confusion stormed across his face—until my gist clearly sank in, making him succumb to a deep, hard laugh. “Oh, sassy girl.” He smacked my forehead with a sound kiss. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“Christ Almighty.” I mumbled it under my breath, but he chuckled again, making sure I knew he’d heard.
“Shower.” He spun me toward my room, lightly pushing me this time. No more swats. Bummer.
Despite his leniency, I nearly faceplanted before catching myself on the doorway. I rested my head on the stained wood trim for a second or two before pushing open my bedroom door and then closing it behind me—and instantly flattening my back against the portal as I struggled to catch my breath.
Like a damn three-year-old ballerina at her first recital.
No. A virgin with the star quarterback in the next room.
No. Worse.
A woman dying to throw open the door and let that man barge in here, throw me onto the bed, and slam his long, incredible thighs right between mine…
“Get a grip on yourself,” I ordered from between clenched teeth. “Nobody gets in here, Taylor.”
Nobody.
Not this room. Not my sole sanctuary left on earth. This was mine, just like the protected room inside my soul too. The place nobody got to see—because that way, nobody got to hurt it, either.
Nevertheless, this was all getting embarrassing—and my hide-and-seek act wasn’t helping. The man’s ego was already out of control, meaning he must be thinking I’d escaped for not being able to handle him.
And isn’t that partially true?
Maybe more than partially?
Not that Doc Stone himself needed to know that—or have his damn fire fueled any more.
With that thought, I took a lightning-fast shower, ran a quick refresh to my makeup, and declared myself ready to go despite five wardrobe changes.
Why this outfit selection stuff was so hard, I had no damn idea. Finally, knowing we were just going for pizza and beer, I kept it super casual. Lightweight skinny black overalls were paired with a white crop top underneath, with block-heeled sandals finishing off the look. My jewelry was simple, since I owned little of it in the first place.
After one last once-over in my closet door mirror, I grabbed my bag off the dresser and went back out into the living room. As soon as I reemerged, Mac stood—his stare raking me from head to toe with appreciation he didn’t bother to hide. With strides emulating an approaching lion, he sauntered over, going straight for another kiss—though this time, he took my mouth with an admiring kind of reverence.
“You’re gorgeous,” he finally said in a soft snarl. “And you smell good enough to eat.”
“I thought you wanted pizza?” Yeah, that was me deflecting with humor. Compliments were uncomfortable for me to accept, even when they came from people who didn’t want anything from me in return.
Mac tilted his head, seeming to comprehend exactly that—though he countered just as easily, “Hmmm. I may have changed my mind. What is that perfume? I love it.”
I laughed lightly. “You’re a strange clown, if I’ve ever met one.”
“Do you know a lot of clowns?”
“Guess it depends on how you define clown.” I punctuated that with a small shriek as he lowered back to the faded c
ouch, pulling me down with him. “Hey! What’s this?”
“Comfortable.” He secured me on his lap by practically engulfing me in his arms. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
The question was rhetorical. Sort of. His grip relaxed when I only fought half-heartedly to get back up. I blamed that on getting to caress little circles into his forearms, exposed now that he’d hiked up his dress-shirtsleeves. Damn. Even the man’s forearms were hot. Just the right amount of rough hair and hewn muscle.
“Why do you think you can just manhandle me like this?”
“Because you let me,” he supplied. “And you like it.”
I shook my head—and refused to give him the all-too-true assent to that. Instead I said, “Believe it or not, the perfume is Allure, from Chanel. Margaux gave it to me because she didn’t like it. But I think it’s nice.”
“And why do you say believe it or not?” Again, he seemed genuinely curious about my answer—a luxury I ordered myself not to get used to.
“Because I would never spend that kind of money on perfume. It’s silly. I usually just use lotion that smells good. Whatever’s on sale.”
“But you should treat yourself to something nice once in a while. You work hard. I’m sure my cousin pays you well. He’s a cocksucker, but he’s not unfair or stupid.”
I spurted out a little laugh. “First, I’m pretty sure Killian Stone doesn’t suck dick. I think Claire would’ve mentioned that.” I grinned even thinking of such a thing. “Second, he pays me very well. And third—” My lips compressed. I dashed my gaze down, glad for the distraction of his all-too-awesome forearm. “Well, third isn’t worth talking about because we’re having a nice evening.”
“And nothing you can tell me will ruin that evening.”
Christ. He really was a Boy Scout. But if he wanted to earn this merit badge so badly, I might as well let him. He was the one into honesty, after all.
“All right, then.” I straightened my stare, locking it directly with his. “I’m the ‘adult child of an addict.’” I air-quoted the words, though the somber understanding in his eyes made them unnecessary. “And, needless to say, my mom has the awesome habit of playing with the trouble fairy. When their shenanigans get out of control, I’m pretty much it for her financial, physical, and emotional rescue.” A deep whoosh of a breath later, I concluded, “Annnnd if you want to run for the door, it’s right there. No harm, no foul.”
The breath I’d just been indulging now clogged and tangled in my throat. No harm, no foul. I’d meant it when I said it, but the reality of possibly following through wasn’t as easy to accept—which was why so few people in my life were allowed behind that door. Beyond that portal, I was soft. Exposed. Open to be wounded.
Or healed.
Which isn’t what I expected from Douchebag McHunk, is it?
Then why am I still staring at him…holding my damn breath? And why did it feel so freaking good when, a moment later, he pushed me gently off his lap like I’d merely admitted my mother collected yarn and liked doing sock puppet shows for local school kids—neither of which was true but was a small fantasy to consider for one pretty moment…
“Come on, woman. I’m starving,” he declared before standing. “I called for a car, and they should be pulling up in a few minutes.”
While we walked back out to the front of the complex, he slipped his hand just inside my overalls, pressing it over the bare skin at the small of my back. While the move made me feel valuable and cherished, I couldn’t resist canting a saucy look up at him. “Uhhhh…Dr. Stone?”
His eyes glinted like a grab bag of green gemstones. “Yes, Miss Mathews?”
“Aren’t you being a little forward?”
“Maybe. Probably. But I can’t seem to keep my hands off you, firecracker. So what do you propose I do about that?” While I floundered for a comeback full of brilliance and wit, he turned fully toward me. “Seriously speaking, do you mind the contact?” His gaze searched my face. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
Well, there was the opening for my wit again. With a dramatic flourish, I glanced around the lawn. “I’m sorry, sir. Who are you, and what did you do with the clown I had to myself for the day?”
He laughed but quickly sobered. “He’s with you in public now—and the wolves taught him that different rules apply here. What we do in private is a different story—I can and will push you to every limit you have then—but I’m not into humiliation.” His head cocked. “Unless you are?”
Now I almost laughed—but caught myself at observing his earnestness. “And if I was…”
“Then I’d have to do some research on it first,” he replied easily. “But I’d be up to speed soon so your needs are fully met.”
My needs. The term crashed into the walls of my mind before detonating into shards of pure shock—along with the others he’d been using with me, so foreign yet so amazing. My comfort. My pleasure…
Holy hell. This man.
Yeah, the same one I’d written off as King Ding Dong Douchebag just a few hours ago.
Seriously, who the hell was he? And what planet had he come from?
“No, no,” I dismissed him in a rush. “You’re saved from homework. Codependent, remember?” I pointed back to myself with my thumb. “Have already logged those frequent-flier miles.”
The car pulled up then, and we climbed inside. But as soon as the driver, a friendly enough guy who liked smooth jazz, stepped on the gas pedal, Mac’s low grumblings began. First, it was about the compact car itself, and I smacked his thigh. Next, he started in on how the guy wove in and out of traffic. Smack number two. When we exited and hit more condensed traffic, he swore we’d end the ride with a trip to the emergency room. Smack number three, as well as a concerted effort on my part to hold back my laugh—as well as a serious mental note to never get behind the wheel in his presence.
When we finally got out in front of the little pizza place in Hillcrest, there were actual beads of sweat on the good doctor’s brow.
“Sweet corn on the cob,” I muttered, letting the accent get a good stretch. “You are a mess.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He jerked away in order to thank the Kenny G fan and was shockingly cordial about it. When he walked back over, I was still busy biting back a giggle. “You have got to be the worst backseat driver I’ve ever seen.”
His shoulders settled but instead of a protest, he said, “I should’ve sat up front. It’s worse for me in the back seat.”
“Then why didn’t you?” I pressed a hand over his cheek, which was still pale in the neon glow from the restaurant’s sign.
He leaned his face into my touch. “I wanted to sit with you.”
My heart swooned—just before I let the laughter burst out. As in knee slapping, doubled-over laughter.
“What’s so funny?” He smiled past his defensive tone.
“You. You’re so funny.” I straightened and swiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. “Is this a control thing?”
He chuckled “I suppose so. I just can’t deal when other people drive. I’ve operated on so many auto accident victims…” Sobriety crept into his composure. He jammed both hands into his slacks pockets. “And I’ve lost plenty of patients too.” He shrugged and kicked one expensive loafer at the sidewalk. “It’s just too real for me.”
“Yet you love to race cars,” I pointed out.
“Yep.” He nodded firmly, exposing the brawny cords in his neck. Sometime between the Blood Mobile and our intimacy on my couch, he’d ditched the suit’s coat and tie. By now, he was gorgeously rumpled. “Yep, I really love racing cars.”
I shook my head and stated softly, “You are such a dichotomy.” And let that rest while staring at him. Dear God. He was pretty magnificent. How the hell did I get here?
“A what?” My tag had clearly disarmed him.
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I…don’t know. You’re just…interesting, I guess.” I just shook my head again.
He kicked the sidewalk while pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re making me self-conscious.”
“Maybe you should be,” I riposted. “You’re pretty put-together for a clown. But now I know you have a fault. I may have to go to the media with the news. Facebook at a minimum. Insta and Twitter too.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” He shifted his hands up to his lean waist. Moved in toward me, useless in his effort at appearing menacing. Yeah, I was positive of that. The wattage of my snark was clear proof.
“Well, I can be bought.”
“And I’m very interested in knowing your price.” He lion-crept closer, into that space where our heads had to bend to accommodate the twine of our stares, his dipping low, mine arching back. “So what do you say let’s go inside and discuss your terms over a big, greasy deep dish?”
“Thin and crispy, and you’ve got a deal.”
“Thin and crispy?” Once again, I’d exploded an invisible firework in his face. “Are you fucking serious?”
“As a heart attack.” I folded my arms. “Which is what deep dish will give you, after gulping down enough of that dough.”
He snorted. “That’s what the gym is for.”
“Uh-uh.” I raised a hand, palm out. “Allergic to the gym.”
“Sassy. I’m from Chicago.”
“You’re in the land of fruits and nuts now, buddy. Time to assimilate.”
“What have I gotten myself into?” Though he groaned it, his grin was brilliant as he swung open the door for me. I stepped through, certain mine matched—because the bubbling bliss in my heart dictated it.
Ohhhh, shit.
We were stumbling into very dangerous territory. The emotional equivalent of penetrating enemy lines, where landmines and tripwires lay hidden and deadly for the unwary—and the stupidly grinning. Yeah, the kind of stuff that blew up in someone’s face, rocking their entire world when they least expected it. The kind that destroyed entire villages and burned their civilizations to the ground.