Had to Be You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (12 page)

By the time he pulled up to the garage he thought he had himself under control—Rocki was a whole other matter. The woman had her seat belt off and the door open before he put the car in park.

He slid his hand off the shifter and onto her leg. “Let’s go and find what Grace left us for dinner.” There. That should buy him some time.

Her head whipped back toward him and she blew out a breath wrought with frustration. “You’re kidding, right?”

Damn. Rocki made him want to forget that, for the most part, he was a gentleman. “Where’s the fire, sweetheart?”

Her gaze went from his eyes to his crotch and his dick jumped. “I thought the fire was in your pants. Maybe I was mistaken.”

He let out a laugh, hoping to relieve the pressure. “Rocki, I’m a big boy. You don’t have to worry about what’s going on in my pants.” That was his job.

“I wasn’t worried. Interested, yes. Worried, not so much.”

He swallowed hard and fought to keep his touch light. “We have all night.” He strung out the word, hoping she’d give him a break. “And believe me, that’s how long it’s going to take, but you’ll be dead on your feet before round two if we don’t get some food into you.” He leaned in and kissed her, doing his best to keep the kiss on the sweet side, and followed it up with an affectionate leg squeeze. “But thanks all the same for your concern.”

The look she gave him told him in no uncertain terms she didn’t want sweet and affectionate. No, she wanted hot and sweaty and possibly a little dirty. Sweet was definitely not cutting it. He wondered if she had any idea how transparent she was.

He stepped out of the car trying his damnedest to look as if he had nothing on his mind except her nutritional needs.

Unfortunately, she went from hot and horny to pissed in less time than it took to get out of the car. She humphed all the way to the door and practically kicked the darn thing open. She let her shoes fly and they both hit the wall of the mudroom.

Damn. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Not trusting himself around her, he kept a wide berth and went straight to the refrigerator, stuck his head in, and wished it were a deep freeze. “Grace said she made lobster salad. She also said there were killer rolls in the breadbox. Whatever the hell that is.”

Rocki gave him a
you’ve-got-to-be-kidding
look and pointed to the stainless steel box on the counter. “That’s the breadbox. Grace must have gone to the market after we left this morning.” She opened the thing up and pulled out what looked like oversized hot dog buns while he emptied the refrigerator of all the food he thought she might eat. Lobster salad, green salad, and some scalloped potatoes Grace said just needed to be nuked. He watched Rocki put the buns under the commercial-sized broiler. “It’s good to see you’ve finally found your appetite.”

“For something anyway,” she mumbled and cast him a sideways glance.

Rocki was not taking this well at all, although he had to admit that a pissed-off Rocki was hot, and a vast improvement over the depressed one he’d spent the day with.

He didn’t know what the hell she had to complain about. She wasn’t the one left hanging and walking around with a hard-on. You’d think that wanting to make sure she ate a little something before getting to the good stuff was a capital offense. “You’re pouting?”

“I don’t pout.” She brushed up beside him, stepped between him and the counter, her sweet ass brushing his fly, and then leaned way over in the guise of checking out the food.

The woman was pure evil and damned if he didn’t like it. A lot.

He held his breath and did his best to keep the mask of disinterest on his face. It was the only way he knew to get through this. “You’d better check the broiler. You wouldn’t want to burn your buns.”

She blew her bangs out of her eyes and slid away, tossed a hunk of butter in a little glass cup, set it in the microwave and slammed the door.

Shit. He was in some real trouble now.

She set the timer, hit start, and then proceeded to lick the butter off her fingers.

Slater held back a groan, turned his attention to the counter, and grabbed the closest thing he could—the salad. “Why don’t you toss this?” Maybe if she took her frustration out on the salad she’d leave him alone until after she ate.

She slammed the bowl on the counter—it was a good thing it was wooden and not glass—then retrieved the rolls and brushed them with melted butter while she sang a sexy little tune to herself and shimmied that ass of hers. She was trying to kill him. He was sure of it.

Slater tried to be a good guy. After all he was there for Rocki—and he had a strong feeling that when Pop asked him to take care of her, he hadn’t meant in the biblical sense. The woman was driving him mad. Singing that suggestive song— “Beer?”

Rocki didn’t even bother to look at him. “Sure. Whatever.”

Slater’s jaw throbbed in time with his dick. She didn’t just pull the
whatever
card, did she? He might not know much about women, but shit, he read his e-mails, and every man with a pulse knew that in woman-speak the word
whatever
means “fuck you.”

“That did it.” He turned, grabbed her, and tossed her right over his shoulder.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just what you want. I’m taking you to bed unless you want to do it right here on the damn table.”

“No, bed is good.”

“I thought so.” He stomped out of the kitchen and when she wiggled too much, he let his hand come down on the ass she’d been teasing him with. He expected a squeak, maybe a squeal, but the deep, throaty groan she let out made his balls draw up. He blew out a breath. “Here I was, trying to be a nice guy, trying to take care of you and what do you do?”

“I—”

“That was a rhetorical question.” He took the steps two at a time. “I’ll tell you what you did. You pushed me too damn far. You want sex?”

“Of—”

“Another rhetorical question, sweetheart. I’ll make you a deal.” He threw open the door to her bedroom, tossed her on the bed, followed her down, and landed on top of her, making sure not to crush her.

Rocki looked like a cat that had gotten her tail stuck in an electrical outlet. Her eyes shot fire, her hair stuck straight up, and her back arched trying to toss him off. If he hadn’t been holding her hands on either side of her head, he was sure she’d have drawn blood. Rocki obviously wasn’t used to not being in control. It looked as if anger warred with excitement with just a hint of that naughty tease-him-till-he-comes-in-his-shorts part of her he was beginning to really like.

“We’ll make love one time. But then you have to promise to eat.”

Rocki tried to get out of his grip and failed. She blew out a breath, and her eyes bore into his. Man was she pissed. “I can’t believe you’re bribing me with sex.”

“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it. If you want to go two or more rounds, you’re going to eat. Got it?”

“Two or more?” Her eyes sparkled and her mouth turned up into a smile. “You’re not a one-shot wonder?”

“Sweetheart, I figure the first half dozen times will just take the edge off.”

She didn’t look as if she believed him. It was going to be his pleasure to prove her and her cute little ass wrong. Right after she ate something.

He straddled her hips, and pulled her sweater off, tossing it over his shoulder. With one flick of his fingers, her breasts spilled out of the lacy bra he’d refastened less than half an hour ago—the longest half hour of his life. He looked his fill, damn she was gorgeous, but he didn’t allow himself to touch.

Her nipples puckered under his gaze and a blush ran from her chest to her face—excitement? Embarrassment? He didn’t know; all he knew was the woman didn’t have a damn thing to be embarrassed about.

“Is it a deal?” he straddled her, making sure he applied pressure at just the right spot and watched her stomach muscles tense.

Her gaze slammed into his, her eyes dark as she chewed on her bottom lip. “What?”

“You’ll eat after round one?” His face hovered above hers, close but not touching. He wanted to suck on that lip she just chewed and soothe it, then nip it again.

Rocki lifted her head, her mouth moved toward his.

That pretty mouth of hers was too tempting. One more taste and he’d forget all about the deal. “Say it.”

“Fine, I’ll eat. Now will you kiss me?”

“Oh yeah.” He brushed a kiss over the tip of her nose, and both eyelids.

“You’re such a tease.”

He didn’t bother hiding his laugh. “Me a tease? You’re one to talk.” He nibbled her earlobe. “This is just payback, but don’t worry.” His lips slid down the side of her neck, teeth nipping, tongue soothing. “You’ll enjoy it, I promise.”

•   •   •

Damn. Rocki had heard paybacks were a bitch, but this was ridiculous. Her breath came out in bursts, every kiss, every lick, every touch of Slater’s lips to her skin made her squirm beneath him.

She couldn’t even move, but he had free rein of her body. He tempted and teased and tortured her with his mouth.

She held back a groan, not sure if it was because whatever he was doing felt amazing or if it was just pure unadulterated frustration. Okay, it was both. “Slater, let me touch you.”

“Not yet. Be patient.”

Patient? “Kiss me.”

“I am kissing you.” He kissed her shoulder, shooting tingles to her breasts, looked his fill, and then moved on without so much as a touch.

She felt his lips turn up against the hollow of her collarbone before his teeth raked against the throbbing pulse in her neck. “You’re pissing me off.” Who knew her neck was so sensitive and had the ability to get her all sorts of hot and bothered? He hadn’t even laid a finger on her, and she was primed and ready and wanting. Her inner muscles vibrated with need so she arched her back, just wanting to increase the pressure.

“I’m not pissing you off. I’m driving you crazy—it’s not the same thing.” He slid her hands over her head, clasped one paw around both her wrists, and drew her breast into his mouth.

Finally! She tried to rear up again but then he rolled off her. God, was he trying to kill her?

Slater’s mouth should be classified as a torture device. He sucked and nibbled and bit—pleasure mixed with pain—and left her wanting. A hand skittered down the length of her arm, thrummed over her ribs, which probably resembled bellows, her breathing was so rapid and choppy, and the next thing she knew he had the button and fly of her jeans undone.

Slater released her breast with a satisfied pop, raised his head, and tugged on her jeans.

She hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of her hands until he pulled off her jeans and panties and sat beside her. His eyes raked her body, sending sparks of need through her every pore.

She rose up on her elbows. “Lose the clothes.”

He dragged the shirt over his head.

The man had an amazing chest—strong, lean, sculpted but not overblown. God, just the sight made her mouth water. She’d always had a thing for tattoos and Slater had a nice one she hadn’t really noticed the night before—an intricate Celtic band encircled his biceps. She took a deep breath, wanting to drink him in, wanting to trace that tat with her tongue and then explore the rest of the playground that was Slater Shaw with her mouth. “Now your jeans.”

He shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

She sat up, smiled, and scooted closer; steam sizzled off him like an overheated radiator on a ’57 Chevy. “I think it’s a great idea.” She’d wanted to kiss him for what felt like forever so she anchored her hands in his hair, and slid her mouth over his. Slater tasted like beer with a splash of hot, spicy man. She wanted to drink him in. God, she could get lost in his kiss.

It only took a second for him to wrestle control from her, but he was such a wicked good kisser, she couldn’t really complain. He didn’t so much kiss, as possess—he tamed, tempted, teased, and tortured.

Before she knew it, he had her flat on her back, and his hands and his mouth were on the move. When his tongue slid into the dent of her navel, his fingers slid between her inner thighs. Her legs fell open and then his mouth joined his fingers and manual dexterity took on a whole new meaning.

Rocki had had sex before. She’d even had a few boyfriends who enjoyed oral sex, but nothing had ever felt like this.

No one had ever shot her up so quickly and then made her hang on to the edge of the cliff for so long, she wondered if she’d survive. Her heart pounded so hard, she could hardly hear her own cries over the blood rushing through her ears. She didn’t know whether to thank him or kill him.

He played her body like a master, controlling her, pushing her up, then letting her drop back, just to push her higher each time. “God, Slater, please.”

One minute she was almost there, and the next she felt the bed dip and nothing but cool air. She heard a curse, the rip of a condom wrapper, and before she could yell at him to hurry up, his mouth was on hers. He took it with the same intensity as he took her body. He gripped her hips and slid home in one long, slow thrust that still knocked the wind out of her. She finally had her hands on him and she didn’t know what the hell to do first. She felt stretched to the limit—pleasure mixed with pain, pushing her even closer to the edge.

As if he could read her mind, Slater dragged his mouth from hers. “God, whatever you do, don’t move.”

He had to be kidding. He’d held her on the edge, and now, now that she was able to actually do something, she was supposed to stay still?

She focused on his face, which looked as if it had been carved in stone. Every muscle she was ab
le to touch vibrated beneath her fingers. His jaw ticked and the veins in his neck throbbed.

A moment later he blew out a breath and slid out, with torturous slowness.

Slater held on to his control by a quickly unraveling thread. He’d known this was a mistake; not the making love part, no that was anything but wrong. The timing, however, couldn’t have been worse.

When Rocki wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles, urging him forward, digging her heels into his lower back, every muscle in his body strained with such force he thought he might have cracked a few teeth. She obviously didn’t know the meaning of the words
don’t move
.