by Anne Marsh
“Baby?” His eyes went straight to hers. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
“I’m all right,” she lied.
“Like hell you are,” he said, starting toward her.
She flinched and took a step backward before she could stop herself. He was too much, too overwhelming.
God, she wasn’t ready for this.
Maybe, she thought despairingly, she never would be ready.
Standing there in Lily’s pretty little living room, Jack froze. He’d wanted to push her, wanted to make her burn for him the way he burned for her—but, Christ, he didn’t want to hurt her. Or scare her. Never that. She was looking at him like a skittish kitten. All big eyes. Later, when she rethought what was happening now, she’d hate that vulnerability, but, right now, it felt almost like trust to him. Whether she’d meant to or not, she’d let down her guard. He was seeing a part of Lily Cortez that she kept well hidden, and Ben’s little heart-to-heart in the bar kept replaying through his head. Don’t you dare hurt her.
“What’s wrong, baby?” He backed off immediately—still sensual predator, but now all that interest was focused on her fear. Not her body. Part of her was disappointed. The rest of her was aroused, intrigued by that rough tenderness, protectiveness.
“You smell like smoke.”
Yeah, he smelled of fire. And she looked as if she hated herself for not being able to dismiss a flash of fear.
He didn’t move, hand braced on the door frame, leaning a hip against it. “You don’t like the smell of smoke?” She shook her head mutely. “It reminds you of the fires in San Francisco, doesn’t it?” he growled.
“Yes. The smell of smoke.” She shrugged helplessly. “It takes me right back.”
“So I’ll shower.” He turned, stripping off his T-shirt as he headed toward her ground-floor bathroom. “Baby,” he warned as he hit the bathroom door, “I’m coming back, though, and this conversation is just getting started. I thought you’d want to know that.”
When Jack emerged from the bathroom, she’d done her thinking and then some. She didn’t doubt Jack would be every bit as sensually wild in bed as she’d fantasized—and this time, he wouldn’t hold back. Even more seductive was the man she was coming to know, strong and honorable, a natural-born protector who would defend her. If she let him. And, she had a sinking suspicion, even if she didn’t want to let him.
He padded barefoot into her living room, wearing just a pair of sweatpants and a battered old T-shirt.
“Smell,” he coaxed, holding out a hand to her, his eyes dancing with laughter. “I even used that damned lavender soap of yours.”
“All better,” she agreed, but she didn’t come any closer. Her senses were humming, hyper-aware of him. The lush warmth of the evening air surrounded her as the day’s heat mellowed into something softer, less searing, but no easier to ignore. She burned for Jack Donovan with each breath of scented air she took.
Her commercial fields—those were lavender. The garden spilling around her porch and her front door was pure play. Lavender tangled with heirloom roses, catmint, and the odd hollyhock. A sweet explosion of scent that greeted her each morning when she opened the door, and, when she left the windows open as she had tonight, the pungent scents drifted through her rooms, getting right under her skin. Right now, the heady aroma of night-blooming roses mixed with the potent scent of the man filling up her house.
He shook his head mischievously. “Not good enough.” Moving with the speed of a striking panther, he crossed the floor and wrapped his arms around her waist, swinging her off her feet.
“Jack,” she gasped, arms circling his neck reflexively.
“Now, that’s better.” He smiled down at her. Cheek to skin with him, nothing between them. Just the warm, masculine scent of him. He smelled so right. Nothing frightening about the arousal humming lazily through her.
“I’m waiting,” he invited.
Why not? she thought fiercely. Inhaling, she pressed her cheek against the hollow of his shoulder. Let her lips rest against his skin and felt the shudder go right through him.
“Lilybell,” he growled warningly, lowering her to her feet.
“I thought you wanted to play,” she whispered.
“Dance with me.” He put a little space between them. “We haven’t ever shared a dance.” The radio was playing country music, the low, throbbing twang of the singer promising heat and heartache.
Just like her Jack.
Damp and soap-scented from his shower, his short hair curled a little on the back of his neck. And she was dancing with him. Moving slowly in the circle of his arms as he waltzed her barefoot around her living room. Focused on her.
Why not? she thought again. The sun was just going down outside, the room sliding into shadows and twilight. The moment was deliciously tempting.
She slipped her hand into his. Callused and warm, careful, his fingers closed around hers and tugged teasingly, pulling her closer to his big body. Toward the warmth and heat of him.
“We’ll go just as slow as you like, baby.” Heated promise filled his voice. “Just tell me what you want.”
“I want to dance.” To start with. She stepped closer, sliding her body into the protective curve of his. Perfect fit.
His husky groan was the perfect reward. “You’re going to kill me, baby.” Heat washed through her, followed by the now-familiar, soft pulse of desire. Oh, how she’d missed him.
“You remember that night we had together, Lilybell?” His question was a husky whisper by her ear. His large hands wrapped around her waist, settling on the waistband of her shorts. “I do. I’ve thought about that night every night since, dreaming about what would have happened if I’d stayed there at the swimming hole with you instead of taking you home. I wanted you something fierce. Ten years haven’t changed that.”
Dancing in his arms made it all too easy to remember. He’d chosen to keep her safe, when she’d been dying for the sweet, sweet danger of his touch. He’d coaxed her out of the water, sure, but then all he’d done was put her into his truck and driven her home. Well, he’d kissed her, but that was all.
“But I’m back now, baby. And I think we’ve both grown up enough to make this turn out all right. I want you. I want us.”
His hand on the small of her back rubbed coaxing circles, and she was melting into him as if it was high school all over again. She should have been pissed he’d just waltzed back into her life like this, but she wasn’t stupid. It might be no more than some really great chemistry, but most people went a lifetime without experiencing this. Even if he was just a summer fling, did she want to miss out on it? On him?
Jack Donovan could be her treat to herself.
Yes.
She liked that idea.
“Baby,” he whispered, those wicked hands of his still sliding up and down her back. Coaxing. “You’ve got to choose for us. Say yes, baby, because you’re killing me.”
Rough and sexy, his words rocked through her, a sensual promise she wanted to hold him to. Sliding her arms around his waist, beneath the cotton of his shirt, she pressed a cheek against his chest. The beat of his heart was reassuringly fast, his breathing harsh. Jack Donovan wanted her, and he wasn’t afraid to let her know what he wanted. Who he needed.
She smiled slowly, before she could stop herself or hide the little sign of feminine pleasure. The radio cowboy was winding down his song, missing his girl something fierce as the night closed in around them.
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching up to pull his head down to hers. “Yes, Jack Donovan. Show me what we missed out on that night. Show me how you would have touched me.”
“It’s a damned good thing you’re sure, baby, because I’m not ready to let you get away from me tonight.” Lifting her up into his arms, he crossed the room swiftly, lowering them both into her wicker armchair. “We’ve got all night, and I plan to be very, very thorough.”
“Promises, Jack?” Tilting her head back, she smiled slow
ly as she wrapped her legs around his waist. The summer night unfolding outside the open windows was thick with the scent of lavender and the drowsy hum of crickets. The perfect accompaniments to summertime romance. She’d never felt like this before. The lush heat building so slowly inside her demanded more. She needed Jack, needed his kiss.
The heat spread, building, as she squirmed on his lap, feeling the strength of his thighs and the erotic rub of the worn denim against her bare legs. Just his closeness, the erotic possibilities of the slowly darkening room, had her panties dampening. Making out in the dark like a couple of high school seniors, only there was no one to walk in on them. No reason to stop. The throaty purr of pleasure and acquiescence slid from her throat before she could bite back the sound.
From his answering groan, he liked it.
“God, yes, baby.” One hand slid up her back, then cupped the nape of her neck, angling her face for his kiss. His fingers tangled in her hair, sending erotic shivers down her spine. “Tell me how much you want this.”
His other hand moved to her waist, playing with the edge of her tank top before slipping beneath it to stroke her bare skin. A slow, heated promise of pleasure and all the time in the world.
His hand cupped one breast, stroking its softness. “You’re so beautiful.” His mouth lowered, brushing her with a teasing kiss. “You like this, don’t you, Lily? You’re wet for me, for us, aren’t you?”
God. She was going to come from the sound of his voice, the sexy growl of satisfaction he made as he pulled her shirt off. His fingers flicked open her bra, nudging the lacy cups aside.
“I don’t hear an answer, baby.” He licked a hot, damp path down one breast, rolling the stiff little nipple in his mouth. The pleasure threatened to overwhelm her, suck her down into a heated maelstrom of pleasure. He was pure wickedness. Every bit as delicious as his reputation had promised.
“I owe you something for that night,” he whispered, his hands cupping both her breasts now. Teasing her nipples knowingly. “Do you have any idea how many nights I came, remembering how hot you were? Just thinking about what we could have done next?”
Gently, he pinched her nipples, his dark eyes watching as the pleasure tore through her.
One hand slid to her waistband, flicking open the little silver button. Opening her up for him. When he saw the glint of her white lace panties in the gathering shadows, he sucked his breath in. “Better than my fantasies,” he groaned. “Let me touch you now, baby. Please.”
Leaning forward, she captured his mouth. He wasn’t the only one with fantasies. She ate at his mouth, devouring him. Swallowing his harsh groan of pleasure as her tongue dueled with his. Took his mouth with long, slow, heated strokes until there was no part of that mouth she didn’t know. All hers.
His hand parted her thighs wider, covering the scrap of white lace concealing her aching flesh. His hoarse groan was her reward as she arched her back into his touch with a wordless cry.
He touched her there, there where she burned. The pleasure was a bright bolt tearing through her as he teased and stroked. Coaxed her higher with each wicked pass of his fingers over the cotton soaked with her juices. Wicked, teasing strokes that traced the needy folds, promising ecstasy with each touch. With each brush of his fingertips, the heat built, her flesh growing wetter, tighter.
She shattered, crying out, rocking against his hand.
Chapter Ten
He was smart enough not to get caught, but the tension was humming through him, and his dick was viciously hard. It had been too long since the last fire.
Bitch had moved a man into her house.
She’d never done that before. When he’d teased her back in San Francisco, she’d done a little screaming. Called the police and purchased a home security system that he could have warned her wasn’t worth shit. Those systems only kept out the stupid. This new place of hers didn’t even have that, just a few cheap locks on the windows and a forty-year-old lock on the door. Hardware store had spare keys for all the houses in Strong—that small-town neighborliness thing—and he’d helped himself.
Simple.
He went where he wanted to go, as the women who’d filed the restraining orders peppering his college career had learned. All carefully swept under the rug by his grandfather’s money while his fires kept right on burning.
Clearly, though, his Lily needed another lesson. Another reminder he was coming for her real soon. Dropping the dirt bike behind a convenient stand of thick grass, he considered his options. He could set her fields on fire, but that would bring out the insurance adjuster double-time, and then he’d have to finish his little game too quickly. Ditto for burning the farmhouse. He’d save those for later. When he was ready to be done here.
Humming, hand in his pocket, he scuffed up the edge of the driveway, scattering the gravel. The little purple and white sign advertising fresh-cut lavender—that would do. Close enough to frighten her, but not too close. His Lily wouldn’t get burned.
This time.
Setting the fire was simple. Beneath the fresh paint, Lily’s pretty sign was old wood. Once the fire caught, it’d go right up. The little pink and white flowers she’d planted around the sign just made the job easier, as did the woody stalks of lavender. All he needed was a little newspaper and lighter fluid.
Trembling with anticipation, he struck the match and dropped the flaming stick into the little nest he’d made for it. Wrapping his fingers around his dick, he massaged his swollen shaft, keeping time with the flames slowly licking up the painted wood.
Tearing his mouth from hers, Jack buried his face in Lily’s throat, drinking in her small shivers as she came for him, tiny, bright pulses of pleasure beating against his fingers like butterfly wings. Her pleasure was so damned beautiful, he wanted to take her there again and again until she was limp and boneless in his arms. God, he needed a bed, needed to lose himself inside her and love her the way she deserved to be loved.
The familiar, acrid whiff of smoke creeping in through the open window was an unwelcome alarm. There shouldn’t be smoke. Not here.
Swiftly raising his head, he pulled Lily closer and looked out the window into the darkening yard. There. A familiar orange flicker and a smoky haze. He’d spent the better part of a decade spotting smoke, but this cloud was surprisingly small. Yet too damned close. Christ. Rising to his feet, he tucked Lily back into the chair and headed for the door and the familiar tang of burning wood and tinder.
“Call Rio,” he barked, tossing her his cell as he took off at a dead run for the farm’s sign at the bottom of her driveway. Orange flames were licking straight up the white posts, paint peeling away in dark curls. The little pink flowers and curling vine that she’d planted were already gone.
Too long, he decided, to get the hose unwound. He didn’t want to lose that sign. Lily had painted it. That sign mattered to her. It was a symbol. Grabbing a shovel and a blanket from the back of his pickup, he got to work. Smothered what he could with the blanket and then covered over the rest with dirt.
“Oh, God,” she said, right behind him, pulling her clothes back on. He wanted to order her back into the house. What if her stalker had progressed from fire starting to sniping? He didn’t want her out here where someone could take potshots at her.
Hell. Already, the remaining flames were dying away beneath the weight of the blanket and dirt. Behind him, he heard Lily dialing.
“Get your asses over here. Now,” he barked as he heard Rio pick up. He shifted another shovelful of dirt onto the flames. The paint had barely blistered, and the fire hadn’t jumped the neat little garden bed Lily had dug around the farm’s sign. Plenty of tinder, but there hadn’t been enough time for it to catch. There was hardly any damage.
Thank God.
His eyes narrowed, his head coming up. “Get into my truck,” he snapped, tossing her the keys. “Take it down to the road, and wait for my brothers. You see anyone else headed your way, you drive like the wind, Lily. You got that?”
He couldn’t send her back into the house. When they’d seen those flames, they’d both run outside. That meant anyone could have slipped in behind them.
He dropped the shovel, running his gaze over the woods. Bastard was in there. Watching them. He knew it.
“What’s wrong, Jack?” She came up behind him, snapping the cell closed.
“Get into the truck, Lily,” he repeated, pressing the keys into her hand. “Just do it.”
She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. “You think he’s out there.”
He filed away her unconscious reference to the gender of her stalker. He’d hash out that telltale sign with her later. For now, he turned toward the strip of woods nearest them, on full alert. Whoever this bastard was, his days of terrorizing Lily Cortez were over.
“Fire’s out.” He didn’t take his eyes off the woods. It was hard to see in the gathering shadows. There. The grass at the edge of the trees shifted a few inches. There was no wind. If there had been, he’d have been facing a much larger fire. “Get into the truck, and go wait for my brothers.”
Without turning around, he ran his fingers along her cheek. His hands were ashy from the fire, covered in dirt, so he knew he should have waited. But he had to touch her. Had to feel for himself that she was right there beside him. Safe.
She must have caught his tension, because she stopped fighting him. He savored that little moment of trust. “All right,” she said, her fingers closing around the keys. “When you’re done here, though, Jack, I want answers.”
Gravel crunched as she moved away. Her little hiss of pain as the stones bit into her bare feet only fueled his anger. This bastard had hurt her for the last time.
He waited until the truck’s door slammed shut and the lock clicked into place. Then he sprang into action, his legs tearing up the ground between him and that stand of grass.