Johnny (Connelly Cousins #2) (8 page)

Stacey made up her mind to relocate to a different room. His presence permeated this one, in the deep, rich brown and green color scheme and the golden oak wood furniture. And it was definitely his scent she’d smelled on the clothes in the closet and on the pillows.

Too make matters worse, now she smelled like him, too. It was unfortunate that she hadn’t thought to take her own personal care products into the bathroom with her earlier; she’d been in such a rush to get out of there before she did something really stupid, like cry in front of him.

Crying was something she rarely did, so her earlier impromptu jag surprised her a little. Like the impulsive epic sex with a guy she’d just met, she was going to blame it on a moment of weakness and an overabundance of rampant female hormones, and move on. What had happened had happened. It was unexpected. It was awesome.

And it was now officially
over
.

Stacey rummaged in her suitcase for deodorant, then sprayed herself with a bit more than usual. She followed that up with a generous application of her favorite body butter along her arms and legs. It didn’t completely eradicate the smell of his manly scent, but it did manage to mask it enough for her brain to function again. It was a common cliché that men often bypassed intelligent reasoning and thought with their dicks, but she’d just proven that women were just as fallible when it came right down to it. She let her lust override her common sense, and now she had to face the music.

Almost as an afterthought, Stacey squeezed one more drop of the thick lotion onto her finger, then swiped it directly above her lip until all she could smell was the crisp, clean scent of cherry blossoms.

Wearing her own clothes and her favorite fragrance, she felt better equipped to deal with whatever awaited her beyond the bedroom door. He was still around; she could hear the occasional sounds of someone moving around the kitchen, and the footfalls were too heavy to be Lina’s. With a deep breath, Stacey pulled up her metaphorical big girl panties and gathered what remained of her self-respect. She hoped she wouldn’t see regret in his eyes when she faced him, but if she did, she’d deal with it.

It was pity she couldn’t abide.

She gathered up her few belongings and placed them in her lap. Too bad this was the only bedroom that didn’t require the use of stairs to get to. She’d figure something out. She’d sleep under the goddamned stars if she had to, but she would
not
spend another night in his room.

That U-shaped sofa in the living room was pretty comfortable, and was placed near enough to the floor-to-ceiling windows that it would afford a spectacular view in the evening. That would do. There were only one or two steps into the sunken area where it sat, and Kyle had already rigged up a makeshift ramp for her.

Opening the door to begin her roll of shame, her senses were assaulted by the heavenly scent of bacon, eggs, toast, and that nectar of the gods, fresh coffee. Her stomach grumbled loudly, reminding her that her physical exploits had long since burned off last night’s sandwich.

Oh sweet Mary, Mother of God, help me
. It just wasn’t fair. A gorgeous man who knew exactly how to pleasure a woman
and
knew how to cook? 

He was in the kitchen, preparing enough food to feed a small army. His hair was damp, fresh from the shower, and he was bare-chested. He wore a thin pair of work-out pants that hugged him in all the right places, and let her know for a fact that he was totally commando beneath them.

Why was he still here? And why was he making her breakfast?

His eyes flicked to the suitcase in her lap, then to her face. That neutral, impassive expression was gone, and he was back to looking like smug sex-on-a-stick. She told herself it didn’t matter.

“Thought you might be hungry,” he said, flashing her one of the devastating grins that would have made her knees weaken had she been standing. “Hellcats do eat, don’t they?”

“Not necessary.” With supreme effort, she turned away from him and navigated her chair over toward the window, setting her suitcase on the floor along the way. The weather outside was overcast, the sky filled with heavy blackening clouds threatening to open up at any minute. Perfect. It fit her mood. Even as the thought flitted through her mind, a distant rumble of thunder echoed around her.

“Big front moving in,” he said casually, fixing two plates. “We’ll probably lose electricity. This may be your last chance to grab a hot meal for a while.”

His words gave her pause. She didn’t like storms, not anymore. If one hit, she sure as hell didn’t want him around. Hopefully he’d leave before that happened, and the stack of candles, flashlight, and box of wooden matches on the table were solely for her benefit.

Stacey flicked a nervous glance toward the windows. The skies were dark, but they didn’t look
that
threatening. As long as the forecast didn’t call for lots of lightning, she’d be fine.

Hmmm.
That gave her a great story idea. A heroine, trapped in a remote mountain location in a candlelit cabin with a sexy male god in human form. The woman could be injured in some way, and the hero could have magical healing powers. It was a perfect set-up for her next novel. Normally she shied away from paranormals, but this one felt too right to ignore. And really, it was no more fantastical than the once-in-a-lifetime loves she wrote about.

Try as she might, it was impossible to ignore the mouthwatering aromas now filling the cabin. Why did it have to be such an open floor plan? Why was the kitchen visible from the living room, so she could not only smell all that delicious food, but she could see him preparing it, too? Who did that?

With a shake of her head, Stacey resisted the urge to speed across the room and inhale everything on the table. It smelled so good. What really broke her will, though, was the aroma of freshly brewed coffee, strong and potent.

Just like him
, she noted. And he
was
potent. Good Lord, the man literally oozed virility.

His lips twitched ever so slightly as he tilted the carafe over two huge mugs, studying her surreptitiously from beneath half-lidded eyes. He thought he was so clever, trying to lure her over there with his god-like body and freshly brewed magic beans....

Ah, shit.

With a sigh, she cursed her own weakness and made a beeline for the table. She was careful to stay away from him and his virile pheromones, though she caught his triumphant smile when she practically lunged for the mug.

* * *

H
is hellcat was back, looking just as fierce and sexy as ever, whipping around with speed, skill, and precision. Her fresh, cherry scent settled around him. Johnny closed his eyes and inhaled, his mouth watering in remembrance, because that’s what she’d tasted like, too. Fresh. Clean. Rich. Sweet.

Delicious
.

She powered the chair past him, pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. She was wearing a dark red tank top that showed off her smooth skin and toned upper body to perfection. A white skirt with dark red flowers flowed over her legs, hiding them from his curious eyes. Not for the first time that morning, he wondered why she was confined to a wheelchair. Had she been in an accident? Or was she born that way?

Not that it mattered. With or without the chair, she was the most vibrant, intoxicating woman he’d ever met. Sexy body, sassy mouth, a passion that rivalled his own. Hopefully, she’d see past his initial shock and subsequent unfortunate inability to speak and give him another chance, maybe even trust him with a confidence or two.

Her face was an unreadable mask as she poured something thick and white from a small carton into her coffee.
Soy milk.
Then she added the contents of a small yellow packet.
Organic sugar substitute.
Johnny made mental notes, so tomorrow morning, he could bring her coffee in bed.

The thought gave him pause. Was he planning to be here tomorrow morning?

Hell yes, he was.

Stacey lifted the mug to her lips he witnessed something close to rapture pass over her face. He’d seen that look on her before, when he ...

His cock jerked again, reminding him that he’d neglected to grab a pair of briefs before he’d run up to the upstairs shower earlier. It was one thing to borrow a pair of Michael’s sweats, but there was no way in hell he was going to wear his brother’s underwear.

“Coffee okay?” he asked innocently, studying her face. Her eyes snapped open, as if she suddenly remembered he was there.

“It’s okay,” she mumbled, and he fought hard to contain the grin that lurked just beneath his blank expression.

“Just okay?”

“Oh, who the hell am I kidding?” she breathed out in a whoosh. “This is a damn good cup of coffee.” Johnny’s grin broke through full-force. “But don’t let it go to your head,” she grumbled, taking another sip.

It was a start. Johnny sat down at the table and focused on his food, giving her some personal space. “So...,” he said, between mouthfuls. He had to be careful how he approached this. He didn’t want her bolting on him again. Or crying.

“So,” she echoed. Her eyes were closed, and she was holding the mug of coffee in both hands as if it was a precious child.

“I’m sorry.”

She avoided looking him in the eye. “About what?”

“About this morning. You kind of caught me by surprise.”

She shrugged. “Like I said, no biggie.”

She was a horrible liar, but he wasn’t about to call her out. Doing so would raise her hackles again and put her on the defensive, and as much as he loved her fiery spirit, he preferred to see it manifested in other ways.

She took another sip of coffee, then flashed those silvery gray eyes his way. He was glad to see they had softened a bit. “I’m sorry about using your room. Yours was the only bedroom that didn’t require steps to get to.”

“No problem. I don’t mind sharing.”

Her big eyes widened and flashed his way. “You’re – you’re staying?” she asked hesitantly. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased or displeased by the idea, but either way, he wasn’t ready to walk away.

“Yeah, I have some vacation built up, thought I’d crash here. You know, leave the rat race behind and all that.” That might not have been his original plan, but he was liking the idea more and more. He
could
use a break; he’d been busting his ass, working as much if not more than his crews. Besides, barring this morning’s misunderstanding, he felt better than he had in weeks. Another few nights like last night, and he’d be set for a while.

Stacey was biting her lower lip. He could see the whirlwind of thoughts in those stormy gray eyes. He’d once heard the saying that “eyes were the windows of the soul”. He’d never really understood what that meant, but it was starting to make sense when he looked in hers.

“Will that be a problem?” he asked, tossing back her earlier words.

* * *

H
e spoke casually, as if this sort of thing happened to him all the time. As if strange women just appeared in his hot tub every weekend and were gifted with an incredible night of passion. After the exemplary experience he’d given her, it was a distinct possibility.

But why did that bother her so much, she thought as the sharp pang of jealousy stabbed at her insides?  She had no claim on him. They were both mature, consenting adults who’d found themselves in a perfect storm of hot tubbing, horniness, and opportunity.

Did that make her a slut? Probably not, since he was the first guy she’d been with in over five years. It did, however, force her to seriously question her own intelligence.

It wasn’t your brain doing the thinking
, a snarky, yet sultry voice piped up. Yeah, that was the problem. She couldn’t summon any regret, though. He had been a fabulous lover, and missing out on that would have been a damn shame, even if it had been a one-time thing.

He was watching her expectantly, waiting for her to respond. It took her a few seconds to rewind and remember what it was he had asked. Something about him staying and causing her a problem.

“Um, no. No problem. I can make other arrangements.”

It was disappointing, though. This was the perfect setting for spinning tales of erotic romance. And, bruised ego aside, he
was
the perfect muse. Even if she hadn’t mapped out all those ripples and dips with her fingers and tongue, her creative juices would be flowing just by looking at him.

“Why would you do that?” he asked.

Her eyes met his briefly, turning away against the intensity of his gaze. He wasn’t serious, was he? Clearly, he didn’t find this morning-after scenario nearly as awkward as she did. To his credit, though, the sight of her chair no longer seemed to bother him. If anything, he seemed curious. His eyes kept flicking over her legs, as if he was trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She was half-tempted to lift her skirt and show him, but decided against it.

“I thought, well, ...” she cleared her throat.
Just say it, Mallory.
“To be honest, I came here to get away myself, to get some work done.”

That was true, at least. She did have an unhappy agent and a looming deadline, and this week was supposed to be all about writing. She’d gotten a lot done yesterday, but still had a long way to go before it could be considered complete. And thanks to him, she was ready to start on the next one.

Of course
, said that wicked, trouble-making voice as a series of muscles flexed and bunched with every lift of the fork to those firm, male lips,
hands-on research totally counts as work
.

Shut the eff up
, she told it, and squeezed her thighs stubbornly together.

Warring emotions churned within her. Was he really considering sticking around? And if he was, would she be able to handle it? Just the two of them, in a remote cabin, tucked away from the rest of the world in a scenic mountain paradise. Even now, his presence swirled around her like some kind of invisible aphrodisiac, crafting wicked, steamy scenes in her mind’s eye.