30DaystoSyn (13 page)

She clamped her mouth shut and glared at
him. They weren’t directly under the spotlight so his face was deeply shadowed
but she could have sworn his bold blue eyes were gleaming with the chatoyance
of a cat’s.

“Tomorrow night you’re going to find out
what it feels like to have a man’s fingers inside you,” he said huskily. He
shook her slightly. “You think on that the rest of the night, my love!”

Night Ten

“No, no, no, no,
no
!” she cried as
she looked down at the toilet paper in her hand. The smear of red made her
heart sink.

Why
, she
wondered, had she not considered this complication?

Then again, she imagined he hadn’t thought
about it either.

“Why the hell are
you
here?” he
demanded of Jono.

“Got bad news, bro,” Jono said with a
lopsided grin.

His heart stopped. He was terrified she had
sent Jono to tell him to fuck off, that she was through with him and his
perverted games. That she would think of them as perverted he had absolutely no
doubt.

Then another worry shot through his
overactive brain.

“Is she sick?” he demanded. He felt the
blood drain from his head as a terrifying thought took hold. “Has she been
hurt?”

Jono didn’t get a chance to answer him
before he reached out to grab his friend’s arm in a punishing grip.

“
Tell me
!” he thundered.

“She said to tell you…”

Terror gave way to desperation. “Tell me
what?” he said and heard the pain in his voice.

“Chill, bro. She said to tell you Mother
Nature came to call.”

He stared at his friend. “Huh?”

“It’s the wet season, bro. Red sails in the
sunset,” Jono said. “You know. She’s bleeding.”

“Bleeding from what?” he gasped.

Jono rolled his eyes. “Bro, you are getting
to be as stupid as a two bob watch, you know that? She’s on her period!”

He grimaced. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jono said. “Poor baby was cramping,
too.”

“How the fuck would you know that?” he
demanded in a bellow that made Jono take a step back.

“I have five sisters, remember? I know
these things. She was rubbing her tummy, bro!” Jono told him. “And she was
making that face women make. You know…” He screwed his face around to mimic
what he thought Melina had looked like.

He went over to his chair, pushing the
remote control to turn all the room lights on. “I never considered that,” he
said, sitting down. He looked up at Jono. “How long does that usually last for
her?”

“She says five days.”

“Five days?” he gasped. “Five whole days?”

“Well, maybe four and three-quarters,” Jono
replied with a twitch of his lips. “Four and a half if you’re lucky, but then
again it could be five and five-eighths or—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” he snapped. “It’ll
be Friday night before…” He sighed. “Shit, this is just wrong.”

“It’s nature, bro,” Jono replied. “Can’t do
nothin’ ‘bout nature.”

He leaned forward, put his head in his
hands and braced his elbows on his knees. “I’m fucked, man,” he told his
friend.

“No, I’d say that’s what you ain’t gonna
be, bro!” Jono said with a laugh.

She hated having her period. Since her very
first one she’d experienced unbelievably hard cramping and heavy bleeding.
Sometimes her periods lasted longer than five days but this time she prayed
that wasn’t the case. Not seeing him, not being with him for five days was bad
enough. Any more…

“Shit,” she groaned and curled into a
tighter ball.

She was lying on the sofa with a quilt over
her, feeling sorry for herself, missing
him
.

The sound of a key entering the lock on her
front door made her frown. It was nighttime and Rachel—who had the only key she
knew about—would not be coming over to check on her. Slowly she sat up, tossing
the quilt aside. She had a baseball bat but it was standing against the
nightstand in her bedroom. She was making ready to run when he called out.

“It’s just me.”

Relief went through her first then anger as
he walked through the archway into her living room.

“Hey,” he greeted her with a grin.

“
What
are you doing here?” she asked
then saw he had two plastic shopping bags in each hand. He held the bags in his
right hand up.

“I brought you hot and sour soup, General
Tso chicken and fried rice for lunch tomorrow.” He lifted his other hand. “One
bag of DVDs and the other of trashy romance novels.”

She stared at him. “Where did you get a key
to my house?”

He shrugged, put the bags of books and DVDs
on the chair beside the sofa then headed for the kitchen, saying over his
shoulder, “I have my ways.”

She got off the sofa and padded after him.
“Where did you get a
key
to my house, Kiwi?” she asked again. He was
putting the food in her fridge.

“How you feeling?” he queried as though he
hadn’t heard her.

“Where did you—”

“I have a crack security team who could get
into Ft. Knox if I wanted them to,” he said. “Your house is a piece of cake.”

She held out her hand. “Give me the key,”
she ordered.

“No.”

He began rummaging around in her
refrigerator. When he took out a bowl, uncapped it and brought it to his nose
to sniff, she stomped her foot.

“Give me the damn key!”

“No,” he said in a voice she knew was meant
to shut her up.

She marched over to him as he was bending
over to open the vegetable drawer and thrust her hand into his right pocket. He
jumped as though she’d goosed him and spun around, looping an arm around her
waist as he drew her to him.

“No,” he said, staring down at her. “I’m
not giving you the key so stop asking. My woman, my key.”

“Your…?” She shook her head. “I am not—”

“The hell you aren’t,” he said and swooped
down to claim her mouth.

The man could kiss, she thought. Sweet
Jesus on a stick the man could
kiss
! His mouth should be registered as a
lethal weapon for it was completely destroying her. She clung to him as he
walked her backward across the kitchen, kicking the fridge door shut with his
foot as he moved. His mouth was grinding this way and that over hers and his
tongue was pressing in and out. Hot waves of pure lust rippled through her lower
belly.

“Mmm,” he whispered against her lips and
the low groan that came from somewhere deep in his chest sent spirals of need
straight through her.

“Kiwi,” she said around his kiss. “We
can’t…”

“I know,” he mumbled, continuing to kiss
her until she thought she would lose her mind with desire.

“We
can’t
!”

He seemed to come to his senses and pulled
back. His eyes were glittering with need. He was breathing hard. The vein at
the side of his neck was throbbing wildly. When he dropped his forehead to hers
and closed his eyes, she felt the ripple of barely checked lust undulate
through him.

“I swore I wasn’t going to put my hands on
you. I was going to come over, drop off the stuff then leave unless you asked
me to stay,” he said. “So much for retraining my baser traits.”

“You can’t just bop into my house any time
you want,” she told him.

“Yes, I can,” he said in a voice that
suggested she was being silly. “I own the damn house.”

She drew back, feeling as though he’d
slapped her. “What?”

“I’m your landlord now so I have a right to
have a key.” He shrugged. “I also bought Dunham and whatever so you can expect
a raise in your next paycheck.” He held up a hand when she opened her mouth.
“Everyone is getting a raise, Melina. Not just you. Those selfish bastards weren’t
paying you guys nearly what any of you are worth.” He squared his shoulders. “I
pay my people a decent wage and you’re getting dental, by the way.”

Nothing he could have said would have
surprised her more. There he stood with his arms wrapped securely around her,
his body pressed intimately to hers and he was grinning like he’d just
delivered a bag full of Christmas presents to needy kids.

“You are unbelievable,” she said. “Truly
unbelievable.”

“But I’m
your
unbelievable,” he said
and planted a quick kiss on her forehead before releasing her. “Now, I’m outta
here.”

He turned to go and she reached out to grab
his hand. He stopped, looked down at her with his eyebrows raised.

“I hurt,” she said by way of explanation
and watched the most beautiful smile slowly stretch his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I need a lap to lay my
head in.”

“One lap coming up,” he said and before she
could stop him, he bent his knees, put his arms behind her back and under her
knees and swept her into his arms.

He took her back to the sofa and sat her
down at one end. He took the other end then patted his right thigh. “Come here,
baby,” he said.

She moved over and stretched out, placing
her head in his lap, drawing her knees up on the cushion. His hand went
automatically to her hair and he began to stroke her head.

“How bad is it?” he asked.

“The bad comes and goes,” she said. “Some
cramps are worse than others. Especially if I’m clotting.”

He winced and she realized she’d given him
more information that he actually wanted.

“Let’s go out to Luigi’s tomorrow night,”
he said, changing the subject.

“You want to take me out to eat?”

The grin was wolfish and crude, the blue
eyes filled with devilish mirth. “I’d rather eat
you
but—”

“Behave,” she said.

“We’ll be ahead of schedule for the first
dinner date, but I didn’t factor in the wet season,” he said.

“The wet—” She nodded. “Kiwi speak for
menstrual cycle?”

“Actually Aussie speak,” he answered, “but
we share and share alike Down Under.” He sniffed. “Though they talk funny
Across the Ditch.”

“
They
talk funny?” she asked.
“Weest, instead of West? Which one of you says that?”

“We use proper pronunciation in the Shire,”
he said with a wink.

He continued to stroke her hair back from
her forehead. It was a tender gesture so at odds with his usual strong touch
and the steely eyed glare he could aim with such precision.

“You set a schedule for my deflowering?”
she asked.

“I did.”

“How cosmopolitan of you,” she mumbled.

“Fucking son of a bitch asshole dickwad
prick with a God complex is the name. Debauchery is my game,” he said. He
stroked the pad of his thumb across her lips.

She craned her head to look up at him and
his thumb slid to her chin. “Your intent was to corrupt me?”

“What I intended is not what I’m winding up
doing,” he admitted with a sigh.

“Why did you put that ad in the paper?” she
asked. “I know damn well you don’t have trouble finding women to warm your
bed.”

His eyes flared. “I’ve never taken a woman
to my bed,” he said. “I’ve always slipped into theirs or the motels or the Room
or—”

“Why not?” she interrupted.

“I want to be able to wake up and get the
hell out of there without having to shoo them out of my house,” he replied. “I
don’t want any woman thinking she’s going to be putting her toothbrush on my
vanity.”

“Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh?” she asked.

“Fuck ‘em and forget ‘em,” he said. “I’ve
never slipped my blade in the same sheath twice.”

“And that’s what you’re planning for me,”
she said bitterly. “Slice through the cherry and go your merry way?”

He cupped her chin in the palm of his hand.
“That depends on you.”

She reached up to wrap her fingers around
his wrist to pull his hand away but he tightened his grip. His eyes were steady
on hers.

“Do you want me?” he asked.

“Let go,” she said, tugging at his wrist.

“Do. You. Want. Me?” he repeated, not
allowing her to break free.

“Do you want
me
for more than your
characteristic one time?” she queried.

He didn’t answer. He was looking at her so
intently she felt uncomfortable, vulnerable beneath the stare. He skimmed his
thumb over her bottom lip.

“You really think the very worst of me,
don’t you?” he asked. He narrowed his eyes—not angrily but sadly—then moved his
hand from her face. “I shouldn’t be surprised, considering.”

For some reason his words cut her to the
quick. “Considering what?”

He shrugged. “Who I am. What I am.” He
shifted to let her know he wanted to get up from the sofa. “What I was.”

She sat up and turned to face him. Her gaze
followed him as he stood and began walking toward the hallway.

“You didn’t answer me,” she said.

His back was to her so she couldn’t see his
face and his words were said in a soft, tired voice, “Yeah, baby. I want you
more than life itself.”

She was so stunned by his answer she let
him walk out. The sound of her front door opening and closing didn’t register
and when it did, she jumped up and ran after him. He was throwing a leg over
his motorcycle when she came to stand on the edge of her porch.

“Don’t go,” she said.

“I’ll be the one picking you up tomorrow
night. Be ready by seven thirty,” he said as he pulled on his helmet. He
leveled the bike, hit the kill switch then turned the ignition key.

“Kiwi, please don’t go,” she said.

He pushed the starter button and the bike
roared into life, shutting out her words. His boot heel came up on the
kickstand and the bike roared to life. He revved it a few times then backed it
down her driveway. She watched him angle it into the street then drive away as
though he were being chased by demons.

And maybe he was, she thought as she stood
there on the porch with her arms wrapped around her to ward off the chill of
the mid-November night.

“Who I am. What I am. What I was.”

She thought back to what she had learned
about him from her research on the internet. She knew he had been born on the
North Shore of New Zealand. That his parents were deceased and he had no
siblings or other family. He had inherited his money from his father Sean
McGregor, and had doubled his holdings within two years of taking the reins of
McGregor Industries. In ten years, he had quintupled the worth of the company.
MI was in the top two percent of
Fortune 500
companies. He had a
Master’s Degree in Finance from the Harvard Business School.