Devil and the Deep (The Deep Six)

by Julie Ann Walker

  And now her stupid heart wasn’t just flying, it was doing loopty loops. She jumped to her feet. The idea she’d been toying with earlier solidified in her head. She knew what she wanted to do. Knew what she had to do. It was the only option left to her.

  “Friends with benefits,” she blurted.

  Bran had a way of going completely still that was unnerving and slightly…predatory. A smarter woman might have backed away from the danger flashing in his eyes. She took a step closer, closing the distance between them until they were toe-to-toe.

  “W-what?” he asked slowly, a muscle ticking frantically in his wide jaw.

  “We should be friends with benefits,” she said, lifting her chin even higher.

  She could tell the idea shocked him by the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way the muscles in his face seemed to tighten. But beneath that shock was intrigue and maybe, just maybe…excitement. She decided to press her case.

  “Look,” she said. “There’s all this…tension between us. This crazy, sexual tension, right?”

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there, stock-still, like he was afraid any sudden movement and whoops! his penis would accidentally slip into her vagina.

  Not that I’d complain.

  “So let’s scratch the itch,” she said. “Let’s solve this mystery. Let’s make like Nike and just do it. And then once we’ve done it, all the curiosity and tension will ease and we can focus on what’s important, bein’ friends.”

  He shook his head slowly at first. Then he picked up speed.

  “Why not?” she demanded, fisting her hands on her hips. “It just makes good sense.”

  At least it did to her. Because he was in her blood, like a disease. A wonderful disease. And she wasn’t sure she could recover from him any other way. She needed to know. Know him. Like getting a vaccination. She needed an infusion of the live virus so she could eventually become immune.

  But he didn’t seem to get it. She decided to change tactics. “Unless…you’re worried it won’t be any good and then it’ll make things weird between us.” She screwed up her face as if she really thought this might be a possibility.

  “It’ll be good,” he gritted.

  “Well, I figured as much,” she allowed charitably. “What with all the practice you’ve had. Unless…” she said again, cocking her head.

  “Unless what?”

  “Unless the reason you’ve had so many one-night stands isn’t because you wanted it that way, but because your partners wanted it that way. Oh, Lord Almighty. You don’t do that weird jackhammer thing, do you?” When he lifted a brow, she clarified. “The one that’s all bam, bam, bam!” She clapped her hands together to illustrate her point and was reminded of the splinter. “No real finesse and definitely no real friction on any of the parts that need it. Or, ew…” She made an awful face. “Are you one of those guys who thinks a clitoris is like a magical go button and all you have to do is give it a quick flick and assume that should be enough to—”

  “It’ll be good,” he insisted. And now the muscle in his jaw was twitching fast enough to beat the band.

  “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” she challenged, batting her lashes, knowing the best way to goad a man into doing something was to challenge his prowess.

  Four older brothers, remember?

  “Maddy.” The way he said her name, emphasis on both syllables, had her coming right back at him with a slow “Bran.” She made sure to thicken her accent, splitting his name into two parts and stressing both.

  “Are you trying to seduce me?” His voice was so dry and hoarse it sounded like someone had shoved a wad of cotton down his throat.

  “Nope,” she assured him, glancing pointedly at the bulge straining his fly. Well, hello again, Mr. Wood. So nice to see you! “By the looks of things, that’s already done.”

  He expression turned pained. Then he reached down to adjust himself.

  When Maddy saw his wide-palmed hand grab the thickness of his shaft through the fabric of his cargo shorts, her throat dried up. Who is this person with the cotton? Heat spread across her chest, tightening her nipples.

  There was nothing sexier than watching a man touch himself and knowing you were the cause of his excitement. She’d dreamed of this moment, fantasized about it. And she stared with a watering mouth and aching core as he gritted his teeth, sucking in a breath like his touch brought both pleasure and pain. When he found a position he liked, he released himself and Maddy blew out a ragged breath.

  “Next time,” she told him, licking her lips, “let me do that for you.”

  “Maddy.” He emphasized her name the same way as before. So, same as before, she met him with “Bran.”

  “You’re not a friends-with-benefits kinda woman,” he insisted.

  “You’re right,” she admitted. “Sex always equals commitment for me. Eventually. Which is why I’m proposin’ we become friends with benefits just once. Just tonight.”

  So she was Paula Abdul-ing it after all. Those three girls were too smart for their britches. “And after tonight?” His pulse was pounding in his neck. Her pulse was pounding decidedly lower.

  “After tonight we go back to the present state of affairs. Friends. Email buddies. Pen pals.” She grinned evilly when she used the phrase he would probably prefer she struck from her vocabulary. “With all the appropriate itches havin’ been fully scratched. If we can’t have it all, at least we can have this. And besides, maybe it’ll make things better between us. Easier. Make the friendship that much stronger.”

  Her heart stuttered when he didn’t say anything for a ridiculously long time. Just stood there looking at her. Try as she might, she couldn’t read his expression. The man gave new meaning to the term poker face. But finally he said, “What if you end up regretting it?”

  “Anything’s possible,” she admitted. Her conscience had been poking her on the shoulder during the entire conversation, trying to tell her something important. She’d studiously ignored it. Instead, she took a running jump. “But, honey, the worst mistake beats the hell out of never tryin’.”

  * * *

  9:28 p.m.…

  Bran could hear the belief buried like a land mine beneath Maddy’s persuasive tone. And he was terrified that one false move would have him stepping on it and blowing his friggin’ legs off.

  No matter how he looked at the situation, he was screwed. If he didn’t agree to give this one-night-only thing a go, he’d hurt her. Again. Reject her. Again. But if he agreed, there was a chance that tomorrow morning, in the cold light of day, she’d realize she really wasn’t okay with the concept. In which case, he’d hurt her. Again.

  He looked around, trying to figure out if by some small chance there was a third option. Unfortunately, the only thing that met his searching gaze was the long hexagonal circle of the fort’s parapets, the dark sea, and the lip that Maddy once again caught between her teeth.

  Everything inside him was pushing him, needling him, damn near hitting him over the head with a rubber mallet to give Maddy what she wanted. One scenario guaranteed her hurt feelings, and the other one only guaranteed a chance of her hurt feelings, right? Right.

  And now you’re rationalizing.

  Damnit, he was. The soil of abstinence was oh-so-fertile ground for a breakdown of self-restraint.

  Zero-dark-thirty read the display on his diver’s watch. Don’t be a fool, warned his brain. Trust me and give me one night, said her liquid mercury eyes.

  “Bran?” she finally said when he’d been quiet for too long. And even the way she said his name was a turn-on. “Say somethin’,” she insisted, her voice deliciously low and throaty.

  “I don’t wanna step on my dick here,” he managed. “So I figure I’m better off keeping my damn mouth shut.” And that was the third option he’d so desperately been searching for. Neither Doo
r A nor Door B, but Door C. Behind which was shut-up-and-hope-it-all-miraculously-goes-away.

  Her expression turned impish. “Well, I wholeheartedly agree with that first thing. I don’t want you steppin’ on your dick since I have plans for it that require it bein’ in top-notch shape.”

  He made a weak, strangled sound at the back of his throat. He was now harder than those nights when he’d lain in bed and jerked off while looking at the picture of her he’d found on the Internet—the one where she was in a short, black cocktail dress that showed off her flawless back and the high, tight curve of her ass. The one where her head was turned over her shoulder and she was grinning wickedly at whoever had snapped the photo.

  “But I don’t agree with the second thing,” she continued, completely unaware he was teetering on the brink of what was likely to turn into a medical condition if he didn’t do something quick. “You keepin’ your mouth shut isn’t an option. Tell me what you’re thinkin’.”

  What he was thinking? What he was thinking? He was thinking her deal probably made about as much sense as a cool spring breeze, but it was just as sweet and delicious and alluring.

  “So what happens if we do this tonight, but instead of banking the fire, it only stokes it?” he demanded. He got the distinct impression that one-and-done wouldn’t cut it when it came to Maddy. In fact, he didn’t know if a-thousand-and-done would cut it. Not when there were a million things he wanted to do to her. A million things he wanted to share with her. A million things he wanted to learn about her and teach her about himself.

  “Well, then we’ll have the Gulf of Mexico between us,” she said, shrugging. “Just like you said. Surely all that water and distance will be enough to bank any lingerin’ conflagration.”

  The more she talked, the more she chipped away at the foundation of his reason. Particularly since he knew that if he did this, he’d have something real and wonderful to take out and cherish during those quiet times, those alone times when he allowed himself to touch upon the feelings he had for her, when he allowed himself to think about, to dream about, what if.

  “You tempt me.” And that was the understatement of the damned millennium. “But, I…” He stopped there. For some reason he couldn’t force out the words.

  “Nothin’ will change between us,” she swore, grabbing his hands and squeezing. Her touch affected him like it always did, making him hyperaware of the coolness of her fingers, the softness of her palms, the delicate feel of the bones in her hands. “Good or bad, fire stoked or banked, I will remain your friend. I swear it.”

  His heart skipped a beat. Was it possible? Possible to have his cake and eat it too? Possible to know Maddy as a lover and a friend?

  It seemed too good to be true. But, oh, how he wanted it to be true. He’d never wanted anything more in his life. Before he’d made the conscious decision to open his mouth, he heard himself asking, “You promise?” And there was so much longing in his tone. So much desperate longing.

  “Cross my heart and hope not to die of anything but bliss.” She grinned and winked.

  He snorted. But he couldn’t tell if it was with humor or surrender. When he squeezed her hands, something that looked very much like pain flickered across her face.

  Is she changing her mind? Is she second-guessing herself now that I’m on the verge of agreeing?

  “What is it?” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Maddy, if you’re not sure, you need to tell me right now because—”

  “No.” She pulled her hands from his grasp. He felt the desertion of her touch like a blow to his solar plexus. “It’s not that. I have this splinter. See?” She held her hand in front of his face and he blinked, trying to focus on the angry red circle of skin at the base of her thumb. In the center was a line of gray buried beneath the surface. “I tried to pull it out, but—”

  He didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. He was too busy turning her hand toward what little light glowed up from a nearby spotlight. And never let it be said that he couldn’t roll with the punches. One second he was inches away from Don Juan-ing her and scooping her into his arms. The next second he was forced to slip back into the role of friend—a.k.a. Splinter Remover.

  “Hold still,” he told her, squeezing the skin around the splinter in an effort to push it out.

  “Ssssss,” she hissed.

  He stopped and, on impulse, bent to press a kiss to the irritated flesh. “Sorry,” he said into her hand, loving the way her fingers curled around his face like she was trying to hold on to his words. “I never wanna hurt you, Maddy.”

  They both knew he was talking about much more than the splinter. Her free hand smoothed a lock of hair back from his face, her fingers running through the strands and sending ripples of sensation across his scalp and down his spine.

  “I know that.” Her voice was hoarse. For a couple of seconds neither of them moved, neither of them spoke. Finally, she said, “Just leave it. It’s in too deep. I’m goin’ to need—”

  “If you leave it, it could just work its way in further. And then you’ll be in real trouble. This is gonna sting,” he warned.

  “No pain, no gain, right?” She lifted her chin and squared her shoulders. His little soldier ready to bear the brunt of battlefield surgery. And she was his. For this one night she’d promised to be his.

  Anticipation nipped at the nape of his neck, urging him to hurry up and finish the job so they could get back to…friends with benefits. Even the phrase made him feel primed, pumped, and raring to go.

  “Stop me if it gets too bad.” He once again squeezed the soft flesh around the splinter, cursing the sucker to hell and back for having the extremely bad sense to mar Maddy’s perfect skin.

  The end of the sliver poked through to the surface, but no matter how hard he squeezed, the rest refused to budge. He tried to pull it out, but his fingers were too thick and blunt.

  “I gotta use my teeth,” he said before lifting her palm to his mouth.

  She gasped when his breath caressed the center of her hand, but it had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with the current of want, of need, of desire that arced between them.

  Using the sensitive pads of his lips, he located the splinter. Then he grabbed hold of it with his teeth, and as gently as he could, as slowly as he could so as not to break it off, he pulled it from her tender flesh and turned to spit it on the ground.

  “Ohhh, that feels a million times better,” she whispered, which made him contemplate the million other things he could do to her that’d feel even better than that.

  He lifted his eyes to her face, and when their gazes met, electricity jumped in the air around them, sparking, sizzling, washing over them in voltaic waves until she gasped and he…throbbed.

  For a while they just looked at each other. Wanting each other. Aware of each other. Poised to take the next step together, but neither of them moving a muscle. Maybe because it felt so big.

  Finally, through trembling lips she said, “You can live a hundred years and never really live one minute if fear of what could happen, what might happen prevents you from goin’ after what you want. Tonight, I want you, Bran.”

  She didn’t give him time to respond. She didn’t give him time to argue—not that he would; he was past that. She grabbed his ears, went up on tiptoe, and dragged his head down for a kiss that was so hot it burned away his ability to think, his ability to reason, his ability to do anything but meet her lick for lick, nip for nip, and stroke for deep, wet, penetrating stroke.

  Chapter 18

  9:37 p.m.…

  Maddy may have been the one to initiate the kiss, but it didn’t take long—two seconds, maybe—before Bran was leading the way.

  He was the kind of kisser who reveled. The kind of kisser who took his time. A hedonist. A glutton. A master.

  She let herself surrender.

  “Bran,” she whisper
ed when he came up for air sometime later—two minutes? Ten? Time had ceased to exist in its usual state—and kissed the corner of her mouth. Her nose. Her cheeks. Her chin. Peppering her with quick, biting caresses that were as much about the need to claim every inch of her, brand every inch of her, as they were about pleasure or lust.

  Her whole body was humming. His kisses alone were better than any full-on sex she’d ever had. Her skin was sensitized to every brush of his fingers, every touch of his lips, every warm sweep of his breath.

  “Say it again,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear. His teeth gently tugged on her lobe until her eyes crossed and her toes curled from the thrill of it. “I love it when you say my name.”

  “Bran,” she said huskily, giggling and moaning when the pressure on her earlobe increased. A gentle nip, a soft warning that he was barely keeping himself in check. She knew what would come next. Knew he would let the raider, the conqueror, the plunderer go free.

  She wanted that. Oh, how she wanted that. To be raided. To be conquered. To be plundered and made his. His…woman.

  Just for tonight, her conscience warned.

  But she wouldn’t think about that. Like Scarlett O’Hara, she was determined to think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day.

  “Again,” he moaned, reaching around to palm her ass.

  Turning her face into his, she was pleased with the throaty, sexy sound of her voice when she whispered softly, “Bran.”

  “Fuck me,” he moaned, pulling her tight against him, forcing her up on tiptoe. He ground her swollen sex against the steely rod of his erection, and the warm sea breeze at her back underscored just how hot he was against her front. A living flame. And like a moth, she sought to fly even closer.