Out of Control (13 page)

She scooped up Mikey, who whimpered in protest at being woken from his nap. “Sorry. I already explained. Don't make it harder for me.”

He slammed his hand hard on the table. The plates and serving dishes jumped and rattled. “Why do women have to be so fucking complicated?” he roared. “Things could be so simple, and women deliberately make them complicated! I do not get it! I will never get it!”

Davy McCloud angry was scarier than she'd bargained for. The controlled volcanic heat seething in his eyes backed her up till she hit the screen door. She fumbled behind her for the latch. “I can't really help you with that one,” she babbled. “Have a good night. Try to chill.” She grabbed her purse as she scurried through the house, and sniffed back a wave of wistful, nervous tears as she got into her car.

Making Davy lose his temper was by no means as satisfying as she'd thought. Aside from being unnerving, it was a whole lot more fun to make him smile. It would have been fabulous to make him laugh.

Her throat tightened dangerously at the thought.

This wasn't how she'd wanted to say goodbye to him. Not after he'd been so sweet and protective. She'd hoped for a poignant, tender moment that she could take out and mull over for comfort in the tough times to come. Hah. Not. Her life never followed the script.

A farewell kiss would have been nice, too, but the way she was feeling right now, a kiss would've sealed her fate in a heartbeat. She would have ended up sweaty and naked with him in nothing flat.

Her car was finally coughing reluctantly to life when Davy marched out, slamming the front door closed. He strode over and rapped on her window. She rolled it down, stomach fluttering.

“I'm escorting you home to make sure your place is secure.”

The stony tone in his voice allowed no room for argument. She gazed at him in blank dismay. Going back to the house was a waste both of her time and her precious gas, and besides, Snakey might be lying in wait for her there. “Davy, please,” she began. “You can't—”

“Don't even bother,” he growled. “I'm in a shitty mood.”

She let out a sigh and waited for him to start up his truck.

She sped through the dark streets, conscious of Davy's headlights behind her. She could feel his anger and frustration pressing against her from behind, like a gale force wind. There was a knock under the hood now, too. Lovely. Car trouble would be the finishing touch.

She had no idea what she was going to do if Davy insisted on coming into her house. If he saw that her stuff was gone, the cat would be out of the bag. She didn't want to have that conversation with him.

She just didn't have the strength.

She forced herself to concentrate on her driving. Mikey stuck his head out the half-open window, tongue flapping in the breeze, not a care in the world. Lucky him. A full belly, a nap, and his cup was full.

What a drag. All the problems of having a bossy, possessive boyfriend, but none of the perks. She almost wished he had put the pressure on her. It would have been the perfect excuse to tumble into his bed—oopsy daisy, he was just so strong and masterful, and she was swept away by his studly mojo, twitter tweet and what's a girl to
do?

No such luck. He had to be noble and righteous about it. Gah.

She parked on the street, the better for a quick getaway. Davy pulled into her driveway, deep in the pool of shadows formed by the overgrown bushes. He got out and waited in the pool of light from the streetlamp, muscular arms folded pugnaciously over his chest, jaw set in that stubborn way that she was already wary of. Poised to give her a hard time. She left Mikey in the car and got out. Showdown time.

It had started to rain. Her eyes locked with his, and behind the anger and frustration, she saw something indefinable in their depths, something that made her ache with longing. “It's, uh, raining,” she said inanely. “I should go inside. You go on home. Good night, Davy.”

Light and shadow shifted on the sculpted planes of his face as he nodded. “Just let me come in and check the place out.”

“No. I can't let you come in,” she said. “I…you're too intense.”

“I can't help it,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

They stared at each other, neither one willing to let the moment go. It occurred to her that Snakey could be watching the whole tableau, just biding his time. She shivered. “You have to go,” she repeated.

“I'll just camp out here,” he said. “Stake out your house.”

She shook her head frantically. “No. You can't.”

“Yeah?” His eyes gleamed with irony. “How do you propose to stop me? Gonna call the cops? Be my guest. Use my cell phone.”

“That's not fair!” She shoved at his chest. “Don't jerk me around!”

His body didn't yield an inch. It was as if he were rooted to the ground. “You're the one who's not being fair,” he said. “You're putting me in an impossible position, you know that?”

The scant drops of rain got heavier, pattering down on her bare shoulders. “You put yourself into this position with no help from me.”

He closed his eyes. The muscles in his jaw were rigid. “Christ, what a mess,” he muttered. “Come sit in my truck for a few minutes, Margot. Just talk to me. I hate leaving you alone here with Snakey running around loose. Just fucking
hate
it.”

It was a bad idea, in every way, but she couldn't resist another shot at a tender moment with him to suit her fantasy farewell script.

Just a few more minutes of basking in his warmth, and she would be ready for her mad, empty dash into the unknown.

“OK,” she whispered.

D
avy opened the door for her and boosted her up into the cab of his truck. He'd tried being a charming gentleman, he'd tried humor and reason and gallantry, he'd tried coercion, bullying, intimidation.

It was time to try sex.

He got in the driver's side and folded up the console. She sat there in the dark, tongue-tied and nervous. As well she should be. She wasn't stupid. Stubborn, contrary and irrational, but not stupid.

He wanted to just start up the truck and take her home, but that kind of high-handed move never worked. Fleur had taught him that it was impossible to force a person to accept help, no matter how good one's intentions. Everybody had to go to hell in her own special way. The trick was to detach, not get caught up in the drama.

He couldn't do it this time. Just couldn't swallow it. It wouldn't go down. He reached out across the seat and took her hand. “Go get Mikey and your toothbrush and nightie, and come on home with me. Please.”

She tugged her hand, but he refused to release it. “It's not so simple,” she murmured.

“It's exactly that simple. I would never hurt you.”

“It's not what you do, it's the way you make me feel that's the problem. And besides, you're not thinking this through. Moving a woman into your house is no way to protect your personal space. Particularly not a woman like me. I'm not the meek, quiet mouse type, in case you haven't noticed. I get in the way. I take up space.”

“Yes, I have noticed that,” he admitted.

“So? If you want to keep your life uncomplicated, this isn't the way to do it.”

“That's not important right now,” he protested. “You're in danger, Margot. These are emergency measures.”

She didn't reply for a long moment. “I don't want to be some guy's emergency measure,” she said, her voice full of soft bitterness.

Great. His first fuck-up. Already he had to work his way back up to zero. He reached to touch her cheek. She jerked her face away, but not before he felt hot moisture trickling over her soft skin.

He stifled a groan. “Oh, Christ, no,” he muttered. “Margot, please. Comforting crying women is not my specialty.”

She yanked her hand out of his grip. “I didn't ask for your goddamn comfort, so get that freaked-out look off your face. Jerk.”

“It's pitch dark. How do you know what look is on my face?”

“Just don't get smart with me,” she said huffily.

Whatever he said came out wrong. Time to shut his big mouth and use his God-given talents. He reached out for her.

“Huh? Hey! What do you think you're doing?” She struggled frantically as he scooped her up and pulled her onto his lap.

“Holding you.” His voice was grim and determined.

“You can't!” She flailed in his arms. “Your motives aren't pure!”

“Fuck my motives.” He settled her head under his chin and hung on. “Just shut up for a minute and see if you can remember what it feels like to trust someone. Just try it.”

His words startled her into silence. She hid her face against his shoulder. Her hot, damp tears soaked through his thin linen shirt.

He tightened his arms around her and buried his nose in her hair. Flowers and fruit, warmed by the sensual heat of her skin, the salt of her sweat. He slid his hand down her spine. The pressure of her luscious ass against his crotch made his erection tingle and throb. He forced his attention away from it. He was good at delaying gratification.

At least, he'd been good at it until he met Margot.

She pried herself away from his chest and braced her hands against his shoulders, looking down into his face like she was trying to read him in the dark. Something had softened inside her.

She needed comfort. Great. He was ready with it, and ready to plunder all that sexy female sweetness for himself in return. Not just her body, either. The unformed, unfamiliar thought was hard to pin down; just an incoherent longing to get inside her head and wander around the alien landscape of her female world. Full of beauties and mysterious dangers and hidden mysteries. The great unknown.

He wanted to know her. Not just circle around her perimeter, baffled and cautious, using blind guesswork, hoping not to fuck it up. And in the end, always wondering why he'd bothered in the first place.

Being good in bed was one thing. That had never been a problem. Understanding what was in a woman's head was another thing entirely. Women were incomprehensible, for the most part.

He'd never been so intensely motivated to comprehend one before.

Margot put her hands on either side of his face and touched him gently, the bones of his jaw, the lines around his mouth, his forehead, his lips. She rubbed the back of her hand over his beard stubble. He wished he'd thought to shave this afternoon.

“How am I supposed to trust you, Davy?” Her quiet, whispered words sounded almost like she was talking to herself.

He slid his hands into her tangled hair. “Why shouldn't you?”

“You want into my pants,” she said simply. “Everything a man says or does under those circumstances is suspect.”

He ran his fingertips over her face, trying to feel her expression in the dark. “What does me wanting sex with you have to do with trust?”

She laughed, and leaned her forehead lightly against his. Her hair tickled his cheekbones. “Your world is so simple, Davy. So reductive. Nothing is connected to anything else.”

“I don't see why having a hard-on makes me untrustworthy,” he protested. “We're talking about an involuntary physical response to a very beautiful woman. That's pretty harsh, if you think about it.”

She shook with silent laughter again. “Yeah. Harsh. That's me, Davy. Never say I didn't warn you.” She leaned down and touched her lips to his, a featherlight question mark of a kiss.

It made his whole face tingle. He jerked her closer, wound his fingers into her hair and kissed her back, like he'd been burning to do since this morning. Her mouth opened to him, ardent and yielding.

He slid his hand under her tank top, trailing his fingers across her warm, silky belly as he delicately explored her mouth.

She pulled away from his kiss, and yanked her shirt up over her bra. “Oh, go for it. Knock yourself out,” she said. “I know you want to.”'

He gaped at her. “Huh? I just—”

“Don't even try to be sneaky with me, buddy. You think I'm not going to notice if you try to cop a feel? Hah!”

Her attempt at bravado made him laugh, but the laughter came from a shaky place that made him feel almost as if he were going to cry.

He hadn't done that since Kevin died. Didn't want to do it tonight.

“Would you rather I just pounce?” he asked. “No slick lead-in?”

“This twisted push-me-pull-you seduction routine you've been running on me for the last two days is as much lead-in as I can take.”

“OK,” he said meekly. “Anything you want.” He punctuated his statement by snapping open the front clasp of her bra.

When the garment fell away, her mood shifted. Her prickly, in-your-face attitude sharpened into caution. She wasn't as brash as she tried to appear. He had to be careful. Go slow, and delicately.

He stared down at the gleaming contours of her beautiful breasts, barely visible in the glow of city light that sifted through the bushes, and touched her reverently with his fingertips. She shivered, but she didn't pull away, despite the tension that made her breath go short and shallow. His fingers stroked, explored, worshipped the full, plump curves, the tight nipples. “It's true,” he told her.

“What's true?” Her voice vibrated with tension and uncertainty.

“God exists,” he said. “I was withholding judgment. But as of this moment, my doubts have been permanently laid to rest.”

She dissolved into nervous giggles. “Oh, please. A pair of bare naked ta-tas is all it takes to convince you? There's three billion women on this planet, so let's call that six billion ta-tas bouncing around, and a lot of them are more memorable than mine. So don't go basing your personal theology on my bra size. It's too much responsibility for my poor boobs. What'll you do when they start to sag? Change religion?”

“Time has no meaning in the face of divine perfection,” he said.

She giggled harder. “You're nuts.”

Her laughter encouraged him. “But these aren't just any ta-tas,” he protested. He slid down and maneuvered her so his face was at her chest level. “I'm talking about Margot Vetter's gorgeous, luscious ta-tas.”

“But I—oh…” Her words trailed off as he pressed his face to the warm, scented valley between her breasts.

The raw immediacy of every sensation shook him. He had no experience with this kind of feeling, like a filter had been ripped out of his head, and left him naked and trembling at every point of contact with her tender skin. He rubbed her tight, puckered nipples against his hot cheeks, pulled them tenderly into his mouth, grazed them with his teeth. Then swirled in wider circles with his tongue.

Her taste was intoxicating. It drove him out of his mind.

Her arms crept up to circle his neck, cradling him. He was humbled by her trust. He wanted to make up for all the fear she was trying to hide, to lavish her with pleasure.

He wanted to deserve what he would take from her in return.

Every shiver and moan was his reward and his prize. Gone was all his calculating skill, and his bag of sexual tricks. He forgot that they existed and lost himself in her. He wanted more than he'd ever even known there was to want from a woman. Layer after layer of surrender and revelation. A flower unfolding, all her tenderness and trust, all that soft abundance, that power and sinewy strength. His panther woman.

He popped open the buttons of her jeans and slid them down over her ass. Skimpy lace thong panties covered warm, silken flesh.

Her sea and flower-scented female musk made his ears roar. He couldn't tell if the soft sounds she made were approval or protest, and he couldn't stop, in any case. He wanted to make her come. Needed it.

His fingertips circled tenderly over the top of the warm crevice of her labia, and each teasing touch jerked a breathy gasp from her, like shocked surprise. “Davy,” she whispered. “This…this is crazy.”

“Tell me if you want me to stop.” He covered her trembling mouth with his own as he said it, drinking in the broken sounds and making sure they didn't have a chance in hell of becoming coherent words. Her jeans were halfway down her thighs, trapping her legs together. He slid his fingers into her panties, teased his way through the warm, humid nest of soft ringlets that hid her soft cleft until his fingers found slick, tender folds. Hot and wet and yielding. She was ready for him.

She squirmed and whimpered at the slow, insistent invasion, grabbing his hand and pushing it harder against herself. “You bastard,” she whispered. “You planned this all along, didn't you?”

“You should've known better than to get into the truck with me and my untrustworthy hard-on,” he told her.

Reluctant laughter vibrated her body. The muscles in her tight pussy clung to his finger as he thrust it deeper. Her trembling thighs clenched around his hand, and he slid his tongue into her mouth as he circled his thumb around her tight, swollen clit.

He followed every tiny cue she gave him with her jerking hips, her hitching breath, the clutching of her cunt around his hand, and established a slow, tender thrusting rhythm with his hand. With her legs together, he couldn't slide his hand deep enough to catch the hot spot deeper inside. He wanted to spread her wide. Get her on all fours, penetrate her completely. He kissed his way across her face, to her ear. “Will you let me get those jeans off you?”

She tried to respond, but the words broke up, incoherent.

“I want to slide my tongue into you,” he whispered. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, tongued and bit it delicately. “I want to lick up all your sweet juice. Please, Margot. Let me do that.”

“No,” she gasped out. “Not now. Just…harder. Right there. Now, damn it. Yes. Oh God—deeper. Please…oh, Davy…”

She shoved down on his hand, her fingernails digging into his wrists, her sleek body tightening around him. With every slick thrust of his finger, he imagined how it would feel when it was his cock plunging and sliding inside her. Her legs clenched around him, her nails dug into his back. She was so hot, so responsive. Burning with sexual energy.

She cried out, jerking and throbbing around his hand. The torrential rush that went through her body was so strong, she almost pulled him after her.

 

Margot lay in his lap, afraid to move. The slightest shift in her weight sent sweet jolts of sensation through her overstimulated body.

He was so good. It was almost scary, like…mind control, or something, and all he'd done was pet her. She was in bad trouble.

She didn't want just a poignant goodbye kiss. She wanted goodbye sex. Hot, wild, grinding sex that lasted for hours. No way could she drive off into the dark without knowing how it would be to do the wild thing with Davy McCloud. She would never sleep again.