Driven to Distraction

by Lori Foster

  Now, that was a nice enough image for his brain. “She’d brush it for you? Maybe put it in a braid?” His mom had done the same for Charlotte many times.

  But Mary shook her head. “She used to try out new hairdos on me.” Her mouth twisted to the side. “In fifth grade, I was a Marilyn Monroe blonde—sort of. It’s not easy to dye red hair white. In sixth, I was as dark as Elvira.”

  He shook his head. “Why?”

  She shrugged. “Mom and I looked alike so she’d try things on me to see how they might look on her.” Touching a finger to the dresser, she traced around the base of a lamp. “She gave me a pixie cut once, then laughed every time she looked at me.”

  Jesus, Joseph and Mary. He had no words.

  Mary flickered a glance at him. “She told me it was a good thing she hadn’t done that to her own hair.”

  Scrubbing a hand over his face didn’t help remove the scowl, not when it came from his heart, from his very soul. Her mother had been downright cruel, whether on purpose or through ignorance, he didn’t know.

  But Mary’s insistence on playing down her hair now made sense.

  “I do remember something, though,” she went on. “Something good, I guess.”

  “Let’s hear it.” God knew he needed one decent memory for her.

  “When I started seventh grade, I was already ridiculously chesty.”

  Nothing ridiculous about it. “You have killer curves, Red. Gorgeous killer curves.” She needed to know that.

  Her lips tipped up in a slight smile—that all too soon faded away. “One of Mom’s customers noticed.”

  Shit. Brodie tensed all over.

  “After they—” she flapped a hand “—finished up, he was supposed to be leaving the house, but he...he detoured.” Her gaze fixed on his. “To my room.”

  Brodie locked his hands to the back of his neck and walked a tight circle, trying to contain the scalding rage. A hundred scenarios raced through his brain, each one worse than the one before it.

  He wasn’t a man who lost his temper, but the things she told him, combined with how much he was starting to care...

  Facing her, he demanded, “Give me a name.”

  Tipping her head, Mary studied him with fascination. “There’s no need.”

  “There is every fucking need.” He’d find the bastard and make him pay—

  “No, you don’t understand. My mother heard me yell and she took care of it.”

  Stilling, he drew a breath, hopeful, but no way could he relax yet. “Took care of it how?”

  “She came charging in like a crazy woman, armed with a bedside lamp and swinging like a home-run hitter. I’d never seen her like that.”

  Like a protective mother, she meant, and that had him grinding his teeth. “You weren’t hurt?”

  She shook her head. “I thought she would kill him, she was so furious. He started by apologizing, then by accusing, and still she kept after him—until he decided to swing back.” Growing quiet, she admitted, “He struck her here—” she touched her own cheek “—and she sprawled on the floor. I was hunkered down on the other side of my bed, and she landed right by my feet.”

  Brodie swallowed heavily, waiting for the outcome of this grisly tale.

  “He told her to settle down, but she didn’t. She was right back up and attacking again, and finally he ran off.”

  The quiet in the room was suffocating.

  Brodie tried to recover, to assure himself she hadn’t been hurt, but he knew it was a lie.

  She’d been hurt so badly it ate him up.

  At his silence, Mary said, “I’ve never really told anyone about that before. It’s not the same as the fun stories you share. It’s... Well.” She chewed her lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “Please don’t be.”

  Hand to her forehead, she turned away. “I don’t know why I keep telling you stuff.”

  Because she trusted him. Because what they had was special. She needed to talk, and hard as it was to hear, he wanted to be the one to listen. “What did she say after he was gone?” Please let it be soft words, motherly words of concern.

  “That it was bound to happen sooner or later and that from now on I should stay in my room with the door locked whenever men were over.”

  Okay, not what he was hoping for, but he could work with that. “She didn’t want you hurt by her decisions.”

  “I assume not.” She looked around the room again. “Your childhood sounds wonderful. Like an ideal upbringing.”

  “We had our moments of upset. Everyone does.” But he’d never, not once, felt unloved.

  Seeing her like this, so emotionally exposed, redirected his lust in a big way.

  He still wanted her, he always wanted her, but he also needed to be a part of her, to hold her as close as two people could get.

  She needed to know she wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

  “Want to catch a movie?” He’d go old-school with her, snuggling close in front of the boob tube. Given her upbringing, he was willing to bet she’d never experienced the joys of necking, of stolen feels and naughty suggestions. Brodie wanted her to know it all—with him. “Howler probably already has the couch but we could curl up in a chair together.”

  For tonight, being with her would be enough.

  And that idea alarmed him. What the hell was he thinking? He had a gorgeous woman alone and he wanted to snuggle?

  Jack would laugh his ass off if he knew. Luckily, Red saved him by saying, “Maybe later.” Her sultry smile sent blood rushing to the wrong head. “I need fifteen minutes to shower and then I expect you—” she pointed “—in that bed.” Her gaze moved over him. “Preferably naked.”

  And with that, she picked up her overnight bag and walked away.

  Brodie stood there, a little in awe of her resilience...and a little bit in love.

  Yeah, he figured he may as well face the truth.

  He was falling for short, stacked, bossy and blue-eyed Mary Daniels. A first, but he figured he’d get used to it.

  As long as he wasn’t falling alone.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  BRODIE COULDN’T LOOK AWAY.

  Mary’s hair hung loose around her shoulders, and she wore only a T-shirt and panties when she stepped out of the bathroom, a waft of steamy air following her.

  By deliberate choice, he’d made sure he wasn’t in the bed and wasn’t naked. He’d spent the time—twenty-two minutes, not fifteen—thinking of what he’d do and how he’d do it.

  If Mary had her way, she’d make their time together about sex and only sex. Usually a plan he agreed with.

  But not now, not with her.

  He needed her to know it was more.

  After he’d washed up in the kitchen, then taken Howler out again, he’d removed his shoes and socks so he wore only his T-shirt and jeans.

  As she stepped into the bedroom, she set her overnight case by the door, with her purse and briefcase, almost as if she wanted everything there and ready when she decided to book.

  Like hell.

  She’d barely gotten both feet into the bedroom when he pressed her to the wall and kissed her, a slow, deep, consuming kiss that had her quickly clutching at him.

  Just what he’d intended.

  Just what he needed.

  When he trailed wet kisses to her throat, she whispered, “You’re still dressed.”

  “Safer that way.” Catching her bottom in both hands, he rocked her against him. Yes, he was already hard.

  He’d had twenty-two minutes of torturous fantasizing to get him primed.

  Against her neck, he whispered, “Much as I want you, it’d be too easy to jump the gun if I didn’t have denim in my way.” Not that the denim was helping that much. He strained the damned zipper, he was so hard. “But you should totally be nak
ed.”

  Saying it, he caught the hem of the shirt and pulled it up and over her head. Mary helped, but then she stepped against him before he could look at her.

  He felt every lush curve—but he wanted to see them, too.

  “I’m a visual person,” he said and gently pressed her back the length of his arms until her shoulders met the wall. Taking his time, he looked her over, starting with her face.

  A damned precious face to him now, freckles included.

  Especially the freckles.

  She looked younger without makeup, extra small and sweet. Small in stature anyway. Her figure... He couldn’t hold back a throaty growl, she was so damn shapely. And for now, she was his.

  He trailed his gaze down her pale throat, her delicate collarbone, those proud shoulders that had carried so much hurt, and then to her big breasts.

  As he studied her, her nipples drew tight.

  “Brodie,” she complained. “You’ve seen me before.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I could look at you all day, hell, all week, and not get my fill.”

  She tried a sexy pout that proved pretty damned effective. “I want to look, too.”

  “Soon,” he promised.

  A lustrous hank of red hair hung down around her left breast, framing that pale flesh with vibrant color. Fucking hot.

  Keeping one hand on her shoulder so she wouldn’t move, he gathered the hair in his fingers and teased it back and forth over her nipple.

  Her breath caught. “I’d rather have your hand.”

  “All right.” He brushed her hair back and cupped her, gently kneading, marveling at her softness, at the weight of her breasts.

  Mary shifted. “I’d like your mouth even more.”

  So would he. He bent down and licked her, all around her nipple while avoiding the tip.

  Frustration had her groaning. And threatening. “Brodie.”

  “All right.” He drew her in, sucking strongly until her back arched.

  Her fingers tunneled into his hair and she cried, “I need you, Brodie.”

  “Let me see.” Savoring her, he stroked a hand down to where her waist sharply nipped in, over the ripe flare of her hip, around to the slight curve of her belly—and straight into her panties.

  Widening her stance, she breathed faster.

  He found her hot and wet, and he eased a thick finger into her. The way she stiffened stopped him.

  “Mary?” He looked into her eyes. “What is it?”

  “It’s fine. It’s good.” Her eyes were big, trusting.

  “I know women, honey.” He brushed his mouth over hers, his hand utterly still...but his finger still in her. “Tell me the problem.”

  Heat colored her cheeks. “I’m just a little sore.”

  Yeah, she would be. How long she’d gone without sex before meeting him, he didn’t know, but she’d been so tight, gripping him like a fist... He knew it had to have been a while.

  Swallowing a groan, he started to withdraw.

  Her thighs closed, trapping his hand against her. “Don’t you dare.”

  He put his forehead to hers. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Not ever, not in any way.

  “I’m a big girl, Brodie. I’ll tell you if I want you to stop.”

  True. So far Mary hadn’t held back, not with him. Reassured, he kissed the bridge of her nose, her cheekbone, her jaw. “We’ll go slow, then.”

  “I don’t want slow.”

  “I know.” The grin tugged at his mouth. Being wanted by her was the biggest turn-on of all. “But you’re like a new present I want to enjoy. Patience, okay?”

  “Brodie—”

  He pressed his finger deeper, effectively cutting off her complaints.

  “Once you’ve come, you’ll be even wetter and it’ll be easier for you. Then when you come again—”

  She groaned.

  “—I’ll be inside you, filling you up.”

  She clenched around him.

  He went back to her nipples, all while working a finger in her. Her legs trembled and she breathed low and deep. With the heel of his hand, he pressed her clit.

  Mary held his head to her, occasionally guiding him to the other breast. He tongued each stiffened nipple, leaving them wet, then sucked again.

  “I need...” She put her head back. “Brodie?”

  He pulled his finger from her and, using her own wetness, teased her swollen clit.

  “Ah... God.”

  He stroked, rolled, caught her in his slippery fingers and tugged.

  The climax erupted all at once, gripping her with tension, making her body bow and shake. He stayed with her, still playing, his heart full, his cock straining, until the last tremor had left her.

  He caught her against him, smoothing her hair, crushing her close. “I’m dying for you.”

  Hands fisted in his shirt, her body lax against him, she released a long shaky sigh. “Then have me.”

  “Yeah.” Turning them both, he back-stepped her, slowly, to the bed. “I think I will.”

  When they reached the mattress, he waited, giving her a little more time while he stroked the elegant line of her spine, the small of her back, that firm ass.

  “Panties off.” He ran both hands into the slinky material over her cheeks, dragging them down to her ankles.

  Holding his shoulders, she stepped out and toed them aside. “I’m limp.”

  “I’m not.”

  Her lips curled. “I know.” She reached for him, but Brodie turned her so she faced the bed.

  “Bend forward.”

  Intrigued, she glanced over her shoulder. “What?”

  Nudging her behind with his erection, he said, “Bend over the bed, legs wide.” One-handed, he opened the snap on his jeans, then eased down the zipper. “And hold on.”

  She looked back at the bed, hesitating. Deciding.

  He loved how Mary approached sex with healthy curiosity and a willingness to try things. He marveled that, until him, she’d only found self-serving fools, because God knew the woman was a glutton for pleasure. Any man, even those lacking experience, could have won her over with patience and attention.

  Unfortunately, she’d drawn the short straw on the lot of them.

  While she considered things, Brodie reached around to hold both her breasts, catching her nipples between his fingers. In her ear, he whispered, “I can get to you this way, play with your nipples or your clit while pounding away.”

  A light tremor went through her. For only a moment she rested her head back against him, allowing him to ramp up her interest again. “Okay.” She stepped forward until her knees touched the mattress.

  To his extreme pleasure, she bent at the waist, arms outstretched to support her, legs straight with that phenomenal ass up and on display.

  Hell yeah. “Legs a little wider,” he murmured while stripping off his shirt and tossing it aside.

  Slowly, a little uncertainly—which somehow made it sexier—she did as he asked.

  Seeing her swollen pink sex, glistening wet, Brodie groaned. “I could come right now.” He ran his hands lightly over her, feeling the softness of her inner thighs, up to where they met the twin curves of her bottom. He palmed her, a cheek in each hand, and got even harder—which until it happened, had seemed impossible.

  “Stay exactly like this.” As he stepped back, his gaze never left her. He kicked off his jeans and boxers, grabbed a rubber from the nightstand and rolled it on with practiced ease. His balls were tight, his muscles clenched, his heart hammering.

  He wanted it to be good for her, always, but emotions were somehow pushing him, leaving him on the ragged edge, physically desperate, whole body burning. He’d never before experienced anything like it; it was confusing as hell, but also satisfying.

  He wanted her. He ne
eded her.

  For now at least, she was here.

  He stepped up to her, one hand on the small of her back, the other holding his cock as he teased the head up and down her slit. So wet. For me.

  The Neanderthal in him whispered, Only me, but he ignored it as he nudged into her, barely there, watching as she opened around him. Knowing she was tender from previous enthusiasm, he did his best to go slow, but she pressed back, wanting more, those slick, swollen lips kissing him there, trying to draw him in.

  He locked his jaw. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

  She groaned, “You’re killing me.”

  With a firm press, he got the head in.

  On a vibrating moan, she tightened, squeezing him, and he lost it.

  He held her hips and in one smooth glide, buried himself until his groin pressed firmly against her plump cheeks and they were both breathless.

  “I was going to take it slow and easy,” he accused.

  “Forget it.” She arched her back, lifting her rump more, pushing back against him, that gorgeous hair spilling around her shoulders. “Go fast, Brodie. Fast and hard.”

  No need to tell him twice. Leaning over her, he braced himself with one outstretched arm and with the other, he caught a nipple, gently rolling as he withdrew, sank in again, dragged out, thrust deep. Over and over, quicker with each stroke until they were both close, so close. Then he reached lower, down her belly to her sex. Her hands fisted in the sheets and she cried out.

  That did it for him. Feeling her squeeze him, seeing the frantic tensing of her body, hearing her uninhibited sounds of release... Brodie put his head back, buried himself in her and let himself go.

  When his cock pumped for the last time, leaving him spent, he gently lowered them both to the mattress, turning so he spooned her on his side.

  He still breathed deep and his legs were shaky.

  She cuddled her bottom into him and gave a heavy sigh.

  Trailing his fingertips down her arm, he whispered, “You’re getting good at this, Red.”

  Her elbow came back, not hard—he wasn’t sure she had the strength in her present listless condition—but it was firm enough to make him grunt.

  “Is that a complaint?” she asked with still-breathless humor.