Defeat the Darkness (15 page)

Maybe Tate's clearly unexpected company would keep her distracted long enough for him to get past her eagle eyes for once. The woman took far too much interest in his business, although that was his fault, too.

Odd that she hadn't asked him any questions about last night. Either she was too freaked out and wanted to forget it even happened, or she was being sensitive and not wanting to upset him by bringing the subject up. He wasn't sure which irritated him more.

Speaking of Tate's guest, that woman was a piece of work. He might not have immediately realized the woman was Tate's mother when he'd entered the shop, but he'd known she was trouble at first glance. He'd never had much use for pit vipers. And it didn't take a genius to figure out what Mabel had been talking about the other day when she'd slipped up and mentioned her.

He smiled. Mrs. Justice hadn't much liked it when he'd refused to pay homage to her beauty when he'd walked into the tea shop. She'd liked it even less when she'd found out that he was occupying the apartment
she'd staked out for her own. If Tate had asked him, he would've considered moving out, because family came first. But he'd heard the panic in her voice when her mother had announced that she was moving in.

He didn't know why he'd decided to lie about having a lease, but he didn't feel the least bit bad about it. Not with that harpy sharpening her claws on her daughter.

Time was up. He needed to get to bed. Bracing his hands on the side of the tub, he stood up and gingerly put weight on his right leg. The pain was far less than he expected. As long as he was careful, he should be able to get to sleep without taking a pain pill.

After he toweled off, a jaw-cracking yawn had him hurrying to get horizontal. He slung the towel over his shoulder and strolled out into the living room buck naked. He'd thrown all of his clothes in the hamper and hadn't brought any clean ones into the bathroom, planning to sleep in the nude and get dressed later.

Unfortunately, there was one small thing he hadn't planned on: Tate standing at the door looking in his window.

S
on of a bitch! Short of hitting the floor facedown and risk bruising something precious, there wasn't much he could do to rectify the situation. Damn the woman! How many times had he told her to stay away?

He had to give her credit, though, for toughing it out. He would've expected her to go stumbling ass over end down the steps in full retreat. Instead Tate stood her ground, her eyes pinned on his ceiling as if it had suddenly become the Sistine Chapel. Judging by the bright pink flush on her face, she'd already seen about all there was to see. His perverse sense of humor had him considering doing a three-sixty in case she'd missed anything important.

Instead, he snatched the towel off his shoulder and wrapped it around his waist before jerking the door open.

“You can look now.” Although the towel didn't cover much.

She peeked at him with one eye, as if to make sure. He half expected her to rip into him, but instead she used the tip of her tongue to moisten her lips. It was probably due to nerves rather than lust, but his cock didn't care.

When she still didn't speak, he tried again, giving the basket in her hand a pointed look. “Tate? Why are you here?”

She blinked twice, as if trying to clear her head. “I wanted to apologize for my mother's behavior, so I brought you these.”

He accepted the basket and set it down on the coffee table so he could check the contents. He couldn't unwrap it one-handed, and he was holding the towel together to prevent any mishaps. The rich scent of cinnamon and cloves wafted up.

“These smell great, but apologies weren't necessary.”

Her eyes twinkled as she held out her hand. “Okay, I'll take them back home then.”

“Oh, no, you don't! I didn't mean to sound ungrateful.” He picked the basket back up and carried it across to the kitchen counter. As he turned back toward Tate, the towel came undone and dropped almost to the floor before he caught it. He was about to apologize for flashing her, even if it was an accident, when he realized that this time, Tate had made no pretense of looking away.

“See something you want?”

His voice, always rough these days, came out little better than a growl. With even the slightest encouragement, he was going to be all over her.

She actually nodded.

He started toward her, ready to throw in the towel, so to speak, on his resolve to keep her at arm's length. Her eyes stared into his briefly, then started a long, slow trip downward, taking their time. He let her look her fill, liking it when her breath shuddered when she got as far as his cock, fully erect and jutting straight out at her. After lingering there briefly, they continued downward. That's when everything went to hell.

“Oh, God, Hunter! Your leg!”

His ego wasn't the only thing deflated by the dismay in her voice and what he suspected was pity in her gaze. Fury, dark and hot, burned through him, aimed directly at himself. For a few minutes he'd actually forgotten that he was no longer the guy who liked to flirt and enjoyed the company of a pretty woman.

No, he was the guy who'd died and should've had the good sense to stay that way.

He jerked the towel up to hide the jagged scar that cut across his thigh at an angle from his groin almost to his knee. Eventually it would fade to a faint silver streak under his skin, courtesy of his Paladin DNA, but right now it was still vivid and raw.

When she started toward him, he backed away, shaking his head. “Go home, Tate. Now.”

“But why? I'm sorry if I offended you, Hunter. I knew you had a problem with your leg, but I didn't realize it would be that bad,” she faltered, obviously trying to dig herself out of the hole she found herself in. “Please, give me another chance.”

“To what, Tate? To pity me? I don't need that, not from you, not from anyone.” He threw the towel aside in disgust.
He hated the way his leg looked, but damned if he was going to run and hide either.

Once again Tate surprised him. Women—and most men—had the good sense to back away from a man like Hunter when he was riled up. But she came straight for him, looking determined and spoiling for a fight.

“I don't remember saying anything about pity. You're sensitive about how your leg looks. Fine, I get that, but don't go putting words in my mouth.”

By now, she stood close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body and breathe in the faint scent of cloves and cinnamon on her skin.

“Next time, just warn a person, you big jerk.” She inched closer. “But when you asked if I saw something I wanted, I said yes.
That
hasn't changed.”

Her hand settled on his chest. With a slow smile, she trailed her fingers across his skin, tracing down until she skirted his burgeoning erection and brushed lightly across his scar.

“I'm sorry this happened, and I'm sorry you hurt. But if you're thinking a little thing like a scar or a limp makes me think less of you, you don't know me at all.”

She leaned in close to plant a soft kiss on his chest.

That's all he needed.

He took her hand and led her straight to his bedroom.

Tate's lungs had forgotten how to work. From the second she'd knocked on Hunter's door only to see him walk out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a frown,
she'd been having trouble drawing in enough oxygen.

And now she was being towed along in Hunter's wake, headed straight for his bed. She wasn't sure how they'd got to this point, but she planned to make the most of it.

God, that man had an ass to die for, and the rest of him was built like a god. She hadn't been lying about his scar, either. Whatever accident he'd been in had been horrific, but it didn't detract in the least from Hunter's powerful masculinity.

Stopping just short of the bed, Hunter turned to face her, his eyes stormy and intense. “Are you sure about this?”

She liked his slight hint of insecurity. Actions always spoke more eloquently than words. She inched closer, giggling a bit when his erection kept her at an impressive distance. Feeling a boldness she'd never felt before, she wrapped her fingers around the velvet and steel of his cock and tucked it up between them so she could settle her body against his strength.

“I'm sure, Hunter. Are you?”

He frowned as he brushed the back of his fingers along the side of her face and down the curve of her neck. “I've been wanting this from day one, Tate.”

His lips followed the path of his fingers, his warm, moist breath tickling her skin and sending shivers up her spine. She grabbed his shoulders for support, loving the flex and play of his powerful muscles.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” he murmured in her ear as he tugged her T-shirt up to slide his hand along the small of her back.

“Why don't you do something to level the playing field?”

“You really want me to put on some clothes?” He nibbled on her earlobe.

She loved his teasing. “They'd only get in the way of what I have in mind.”

His eyes darkened. “Fine, so that leaves you taking yours off.”

“You don't want to help?” She reached for the hem of her shirt when he shook his head.

“Nope, since I took my own off, it would only be fair if you did the same.”

He backed away and crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, this way I get to watch.”

His smile was pure temptation, and she found this playful side of Hunter irresistible. For the moment the shadows were missing from his eyes, replaced with a burning heat. She peeled off her shirt and tossed it aside. After easing her bra straps down off her shoulders, she flicked the front fastener open, but hesitated briefly before letting it slide away completely.

He groaned, his approval obvious. Feeling more confident, she turned away as she hooked her fingers in the waistband of her shorts and panties. She took what seemed like an eternity to slide them down her legs, bending over to push them as far as her ankles before stepping out of them.

“Tate, honey, you're killing me.”

Hunter's voice was a low whisper, rasping over her nerves like a caress. She hadn't heard him move, but his hands settled on her hips, pulling her backside flush up
against his erection. God, all that warm male strength made her purr, especially when his hands moved up to cup her breasts.

She straightened, soaking up the heat from all that luscious skin-on-skin contact. Hunter murmured his approval, nuzzling her neck as he kneaded her breasts and tugged gently on her nipples.

She never wanted him to stop—but she wanted so much more.

He loosened his hold on her. “Tate, baby, we need to move this act to the bed or I'm going to take you standing right here.”

Oh, yeah, she liked that idea. Instead of heading for the bed, she walked straight past him to plant her hands on the dresser, cocked her hips out, then widened her stance in invitation. Then she looked back over her shoulder and gave him a come-and-get-it smile.

Obviously a man of action, Hunter was right there with her, staring into her eyes in the mirror. The predatory hunger in his eyes would've been unnerving if his touch hadn't been so gentle. His hand settled heavily on the center of her back and then slowly glided down over the curve of her bottom to gently probe between her legs.

Her body softened, dampening, preparing for him. She closed her eyes as he slowly parted her, testing her readiness with one finger, then two. As they continued a gentle rhythm of thrusts, he arched over her, letting her feel his weight as he trailed kisses down her spine and then her bottom.

His mouth, hot and demanding, sought out the center of her desire, his tongue lashing out with quick licks
that had her biting her lip to keep from screaming with the sweet beauty of it.

“Hunter!”

His name became a prayer as she begged for more, for him to end the torment, to release the storm that was building deep inside of her. Then he stopped and rose up.

He was leaning over her again. She arched back and up, helping him to find her center, bracing herself as he thrust deep into her core. Her breath left her in a rush and then came in short pants as he worked his cock in and out, driving them both closer and closer to the edge. He gripped her hips, and the slap of his belly against her bottom almost drowned out the pounding of her heart.

Her head was resting on her arms, but then she raised up enough to watch her lover in the mirror. Hunter's expression was fierce, his eyes half-closed as his thrusts became relentless. She'd never experienced anything so wonderful or intense.

As the first ripple of her orgasm started deep inside, milking the silken hard length of him, he increased the pace, driving both of them harder and harder, until there was nothing left of her world except the sound and the feel and the scent of Hunter Fitzsimon.

He shouted. She screamed. Then the universe dissolved as Hunter shuddered deep within the heart of her. Afterward, everything shifted and settled into a whole new reality.

He was pretty sure he almost just died again. That's how good it was with Tate. But if he didn't get horizontal
soon, there was a good chance he would spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the floor. As long as Tate was there beside him, that would be fine, but the bed would be a lot more comfortable.

He carefully moved away from the warm sanctuary of her body and offered her a helping hand to straighten up. When she wobbled a bit, he swept her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, ignoring the screaming pain in his leg, determined to make it that far without dropping her.

Success! He settled her in the center. “I'll be right back.”

After a quick trip to the bathroom to get a handful of condoms, he joined her under the covers.

He turned on his side and propped himself up to look down at her. “I've been remiss, I think.”