Mr. Dangerous (The Dangerous Delaney Brothers Book 1)

by July Dawson

  "This moment?" I murmured. "Between carjacking and pizza?"

  "Yes," he said, leaning in. I expected him to kiss me, but he paused, with his lips a breath away, his eyes intent.

  Oh, what the hell. This moment. Fine. I wanted this moment as badly as he did. I closed the distance between our mouths, my lips parting.

  Rob's mouth was warm and firm. His hand settled on my jaw. The roughness of his palm against my cheek felt like a welcome contrast to the softness of his lips. I could lose myself in that kiss.

  Rob settled his hands on my waist. Throwing caution to the wind, I broke away from his kiss for a second – my lips tingling already with the electricity between us – and flung one leg over his. Rob pulled me close. Straddling his lap, I felt the hardness of his cock even through his jeans. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.

  Rob’s mouth parted. Tentatively, I probed into his mouth with my tongue, felt the hard contours of his mouth, the contrast of those almost-pillowy lips, the softness of his tongue as it slid against my own. My fingers curled deep into the muscle of his shoulders, frantic with desire.

  “It’s just… the adrenaline. Coming down from the night. Making us act crazy.” I murmured when our lips parted.

  “Adrenaline is not the thing in this room that makes me crazy,” Rob said. He kissed me again, scooping me up from the floor, standing with me against his chest so he could toss me onto the bed.

  I sat up to untie my dress uncertainly. My fingers were clumsy in the knot of the fabric.

  Rob joined me on the bed, leaning over to kiss me. My lips parted against his. The tips of our tongues met, tentatively, and then he pulled away, pressed a peck of a kiss on the edge of my lips. It made me turn my face into his, seeking another, deeper kiss.

  His rough hands slid against my waist before he tugged the dress up over my body. For a second, it hung up around my biceps, blinding me. He pressed his lips to mine again while I was caught, his mouth exploring. I felt the warmth of his mouth as he kissed me, the solidity of his tongue when the tip touched mine. The sense of warmth and wetness made me imagine his cock thrusting inside me instead of his tongue in my mouth. A throb of desire went through my body. He tossed the dress across the room.

  My hands on his broad, muscular shoulders began to tremble. I hoped Rob wouldn’t notice, the way just touching him gave me the shakes again, but he caught my hands in his big hands and kissed them tenderly. His cool-water blue eyes were on mine as he pressed his lips to each scar, each knuckle. He turned over my hand to kiss the inside of my wrist where I’d dotted my perfume, and my breath caught. I’d never known there were so many nerve endings in my hands and wrists; every touch sent another throb of desire, of emotion, coursing through my blood.

  “Don’t be scared, Naomi,” he said. “I’m here.”

  “You’re the thing I’m scared of,” I said, squeezing those big shoulders in my hands; the feel of his muscle against my palms was so deeply satisfying. How could the same man who scared me, with my tender once-broken heart, be the same man who comforted me?

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured into my ear, wrapping his arms around my waist. “I’m so sorry.”

  I kissed those penitent lips, his mouth so sweet and lush-lipped despite the hardness of his jaw, and then began to unbutton his crisp dress shirt. My fingers worked steadily down the buttons as Rob watched me, the faintest smile playing over his lips. Then I pushed his shirt down off his shoulders, almost groaning at the sight of his white t-shirt beneath. Still not naked?

  He yanked the t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion and sent it flying across the room, somewhere after my dress. His pecs were broad and smooth, his body hard-angled; the broadness of his chest gave way to a narrow waist. His abs were so chiseled that I wanted to run my fingers across them, so I did, letting my fingernails skate over each defined muscle. His abs tensed under my touch, each muscle hard and warm and distinct. There were scars on his side, a puckered mass, and I looked up at him quizzically.

  “It’s not that interesting a story,” he said, cupping my jaw with one big hand, kissing my lips again.

  When our lips parted, I murmured, “I bet it’s incredibly interesting.”

  His mouth quirked up slightly. “You’re right. But it’s not nearly as interesting as the present.”

  We began to kiss again. I felt those calloused, rough hands wrap firmly around my hips as I lost myself in his kiss. The sense of desperate desire for him kept building, and I was the one who gave in first, running my fingers down his abs to his lap. I stroked his hard length through his trousers. It stirred a strange restless pride that he wanted me.

  “Undress for me,” he murmured.

  I unhooked my bra, sliding it over my shoulders. Then, guessing what he wanted, I held my hands up to tangle my fingers in my hair, arching my back, giving him a good look at my breasts. They were small, but he groaned in desire when he saw them, his eyes appreciative. He leaned forward, cupping one breast like it belonged to him, his palm rough against my nipple. His seeking mouth found my other nipple, kissed it gently, drew it into his mouth. I felt my head fall back again as his mouth worked steadily on my nipple, his tongue tweaking it. Another throb of desire ran through my body, leaving me weak-kneed and shaking, and I couldn’t bear it anymore.

  I pushed him down on the bed, my hands on his hard pecs. He grinned up at me as I straddled him.

  “Don’t look so self-satisfied,” I told him. His goddamn belt buckle was a mystery. I couldn’t get it open, no matter which way my fingers tried to work it.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. His fingers pushed mine gently out of the way, unclasping his belt buckle. I knelt on the bed so I could push my panties down, getting them out of my way, and then before he could finish undressing, I grabbed the waistband of his jeans and boxers together.

  He wanted to know I wanted him too? There was no denying I was mad for the man.

  I straddled his thighs. Rob had a long, smooth cock that bobbed in front of the hard muscles of his lower abs; it was beautiful, and I leaned forward, grasping it in my hand, rewarded by the faintest gasp from between his parted lips. I sat up on my knees so that I could brush the head of his cock between my thighs.

  “You’re so wet for me,” he said softly.

  “You drive me crazy,” I said. Which I normally didn’t mean in nearly as good a way as I meant it right now. I throbbed for him, and I guided his cock to massage my clit like he was my toy. The feel of him pressing against me in slow, languid circles felt good, but I was so eager for him now. I slid down on his cock, letting him fill me. He gently stretched me out as I slid lower, until my thighs rested on those hard abs.

  When I took his full length in, I gasped. He looked up at me, his blue eyes soft with longing, the expression on that handsome face fond, and traced his fingers over the curve of my cheek. Growing comfortable with his length now, I leaned forward and pressed my lips against his. His hands caught around my waist, kissing me back hard.

  I rose and fell up and down his cock, rising so high on my knees that he brushed teasingly over my clit again, then settling down, letting him fill me up. His eyes drifted shut, his breath quickening in time with mine. As my legs began to burn with the effort, he reached forward and cupped my ass in his palms, his biceps standing out even more dramatically as he helped me to move up and down. He could lift me easily.

  “Naomi, stop,” he murmured, his fingers squeezing my ass cheeks in a way that was possessive and firm and sexy as hell. “We need a condom.”

  I fell beside him on the bed, my limbs all trembling on the edge of orgasm, impatient for him to be inside me again. I watched as he rolled smoothly out of bed, went to his jeans and pulled a condom out of his wallet.

  “Really, Delaney?” I asked him.

  “I like to be prepared for emergencies,” he said.

  “Like carjackings and their inevitable sexual aftermath?”

  “Exactly,” he said.

  He rolled the con
dom onto his big cock and then rejoined me. He grabbed my thighs and yanked me down from the pillows against the headboard, bracing his body over mine in a push-up position. His cock slid inside me, and I gasped as he filled me up.

  I wrapped my arm around his shoulders, using him to lift my hips so I could take him in, my thighs squeezing around his narrow waist. I buried my face in the space between his neck and shoulder, squeezing my eyes shut, lost in the way he felt inside me, around me. He pumped steadily inside me, each pump answering that desperate throb, and I felt every muscle tense in a way that was almost painful, my core tightening around his cock even though he was already almost too big for me to handle. And then just when that sensitivity, that tension, was almost unbearable, my orgasm broke. All the world was Rob, Rob’s body against mine, his heat, his warmth, his cock buried deep inside me as pleasure arched through my body, from my curled toes to my fingernails digging into the flesh of his broad shoulders.

  Rob kept pumping as I clung to his shoulders, his lips parting as he came, and I still held tight to him because this intimacy was the sweetest. And then suddenly, he was finished, his hard body rolling over onto his back, holding me tight against his chest so that I was suddenly on top of him as he sprawled across the bed.

  His hand patted my ass familiarly, his fingers resting on the curve of my cheek. “That was worth the wait,” he said.

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm?” He mimicked me.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I was expecting something more.”

  His blue eyes on mine were shocked for a second, before he caught the laughter in my eyes. He grinned, and my own smile couldn’t be resisted anymore.

  He patted my ass again, harder this time, a smack of his open palm. “You are trouble, Naomi Anne Papadopolous.”

  But I knew damn well he was trouble.

  I knew damn well that no matter how languid and content and warm and filled I felt now, my heart was going to pay for this later.

  16

  Rob

  The next morning, I woke up in Naomi’s bed. Alone. I sat up, listening for her sounds somewhere in the suite. Instead I heard only the low hum of the air conditioner. There was a faint creak in the hallway outside, and then a high-pitched child’s voice, laughter, a parent’s answer, all moving away down the hall.

  I threw aside the duvet and did a quick circuit of the suite, making sure she wasn’t there. Then I grabbed my cell phone from the nightstand. Where the hell was Naomi? She’d fallen asleep the night before in the crook of my arm. I’d been happy to think I could make her feel safe again after all she’d been through, and I’d been happy to have her warm body molded against mine.

  Now I was worried for her all over again, and under that all, the constant throb of guilt that I was dragging Naomi into my life at all.

  Naomi picked up, sounding sleepy. “What?”

  “Where are you?”

  She yawned. “Your room. I took your keycard.”

  “Why the hell would you do that?”

  Her tone changed, became irritated. “I can’t sleep in the same bed as you. Your resting temperature is like one-hundred-ten degrees.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said gruffly, because I wouldn’t relax–not really–until I saw her safe and sound. I tossed the phone on the bed, hurriedly dragged on my jeans, and went down the hall to the next room. I knocked on the door and waited.

  What was wrong with that girl?

  What was wrong with me, for that matter? She made me feel crazy. Made me long. Made me ache. Even after last night, I didn’t feel satisfied; I wanted her just as badly as I’d wanted her before.

  She swung the door open, rubbing dark-smeared eyes with the back of her hand. As she stared at me, her raccoon eyes widened in horror.

  "I need to take a shower," she said, rushing back into the room. I caught the door with my hand and stood in the doorway, waiting to be invited into my own damn room. "When are we meeting your dad? Ten? I overslept. Or do you want to just go on your own? Since you have to call a cab anyway..."

  "I want you there," I said, surprised by the sudden heat and emphasis in my voice. "We can be late. You shower. I'll go get us some lattes, see if we can get some spring in your step."

  "Extra sugar," she reminded me.

  "I get it," I said.

  She tossed me the key card.

  There was something attractively domestic about going down to the hotel lobby and getting us both coffees. I tapped on the hotel door and then swung it open, expecting to still hear the shower running. Instead, I found Naomi dressed, clean-scrubbed and fresh-faced, combing wet hair in front of the mirror.

  "It's nice to see there's one way you're low maintenance," I said.

  "Oh please," she said. "I iron your family's boxers. Don't talk to me about low maintenance."

  "Why would you do that?"

  "Because it's my job. Look at the contract.”

  "But that's stupid."

  "I know," she said. "I didn't write the contract. Your father did. Or rather, his lawyer, but I assume your family lawyers are well-versed in your underwear preferences."

  I perched on the edge of the white duvet-covered bed. "No wonder you don't want to date me."

  She made a silly face in return. "All right. I'm ready to go."

  "You don't need more time?" I asked.

  She threw her hairbrush into her bag and zipped it up. "Sorry, I--"

  I broke in. "You're beautiful."

  "Rob."

  "Every day," I told her lightly, touching her lower back to steer her out the door of the hotel room before she could argue with me. "I told you. Every day, for twenty-four more days."

  We took a cab to a dim sum restaurant in China Town. As the bright storefronts flickered by on our way through the historic area, I said, "You know, dim sum was my favorite when I was a kid."

  I assumed my father was trying to be disarming with his choice of restaurant. Mitch did that well. Growing up, our house had felt like the center of the world, and not just because that was the nature of childhood. Mitch and a series of companions -- two wives, many girlfriends – had entertained a broad and colorful cross-section of New England. There was always someone interesting coming to dinner. There was always someone being charmed. For a long while, I had been charmed by Mitch, too.

  As the cab nosed alongside the curb, I knew that I was going to be disappointed if Mitch charmed Naomi.

  "What do you know about Mitch?" I asked.

  "I know he wouldn't approve of taking the help to lunch. But I'm sure he doesn't remember me."

  "Mitch is pretty much an asshole," I said, coming around to open her door. "But he's not a classist asshole. Not that I know of, anyway."

  I held my good hand to her. She side-eyed me, then slid her palm against mine, allowing me to hand her out of the car.

  "Not that you know of. You know, I can open my own doors."

  "Do you mind me doing this?"

  She hesitated, then shook her head. "You do the gallant thing well, I have to admit."

  "Gallant." I felt a rise of happiness. "That's not something you hear every day. Makes me feel like a knight of the round table."

  "I wouldn't go that far," she said, her fingers sliding away from my palm. I resisted the urge to reach for her hand as we headed up the sidewalk to the red-carpeted stairs into the restaurant.

  Inside the restaurant, Mitch already waited at a round table in the red-and-gold dining room. For a second, I was reminded of childhood trips here after going to the museums and special birthday dinners. Chocolate milk and shu mai.

  Mitch sat with his legs crossed, ankle on thigh, wearing a black t-shirt and a gray blazer. He was rapidly typing a message on his Blackberry with his thumbs. His dark hair was touched with silver, but of course, the gray made him look mature and interesting. Despite the fact that he'd maimed one girlfriend, there were always new ones lining up.

  Mitch looked up and saw us, and his face brightened
. He dropped the Blackberry on the table and stood, flashing an easy smile.

  "Son," Mitch said warmly, reaching out to hug me. I returned my father's hug, for the first time in years, leaning in with one shoulder. "It's so good to see you."

  "It's been a long time," I said in return. I pulled a seat out for Naomi, who sat gracefully, unfolding a yellow napkin into her lap. I took the seat beside her.

  The round table seemed too big for the three of us. Maybe we should have waited to do brunch until Liam came in. It would have taken some of the pressure off me to make friendly small talk.

  "This is Naomi," I said, touching Naomi's arm. "A friend of mine."

  Mitch nodded, no trace of recognition in his eyes. "And what do you do, Naomi?"

  "She owns her own business," I said. "Professional problem-solver."

  Naomi quirked her eyebrows, but let that pass.

  Two waitresses came out, pushing the steam carts from the kitchen. We ordered one of everything.

  "You might like this," I said, offering one of the silver steam bowls to Naomi. "It's a beef ball. Not a trace of seafood."

  "I don't hate seafood," she said. "I just don't prefer it."

  It sure had seemed like she hated it the day before. I wanted to know if she preferred eating seafood or being carjacked, but I wasn't about to tell that story.

  Naomi dropped a round dumpling onto the tablecloth as she tried to fish it out of the silver dish with chopsticks. She handled her chopsticks in a way that suggested a lack of familiarity. I bit my lip, wishing I’d suggested a different restaurant to Mitch. Her eyes caught mine and her cheeks suddenly flushed, her eyes dropping to the tablecloth.

  "You look so young to own your business," Mitch said approvingly. "Where did you go to school?"

  Naomi made a valiant effort to pick up a beef ball with her wooden chopsticks. "CCRI."

  "Oh," Mitch said. "Did you know that's the largest community college in the United States?"

  "The only largest Rhode Island has to offer," Naomi said.