Out of Control (21 page)

“I think you're the amazing part of this particular equation,” she murmured, laughter in her voice.

She rode him, first slow and deep, massaging his shaft with all the tight, greedy little muscles inside her, and slowly picking up speed. She incited him with her hands and her eyes and her desperate, jerking hips. He bucked and surged beneath her, giving her everything she needed. Her conquest, her pleasure, her victory, whatever. Anything.

He surrendered to the moonlight, to Margot's passionate ardor. She had him stretched out helpless and writhing on the floor. At her service, and content to be there. A sweating, whimpering sex slave.

She danced over him, her body contoured with moonlight and shadows as it rose and fell over him. Only by sheer luck did he manage to wait for her. He felt her climax building, and pulled her down on top of him as his own floodgates opened.

He flung his head back, crying out in a ragged voice he could barely hear inside the storm in his head. He was torn open. Light poured into his body. Violent pleasure wrenched through him

Annihilating him.

When he opened his eyes, Margot's soft hair was tickling his face. She kissed his cheeks, his eyes. That was when he felt it. The hot moisture. Oh, Jesus. Not him. This was not him. He stiffened, almost panicked, holding very still as she kissed all his tears away.

She pressed her damp, salty lips to his. Kissed him, over and over with a sweet tenderness that threatened to unravel him all over again.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He shook his head, swallowed hard. “I've got to get rid of this—”

“I'll do it,” she whispered. “You stay right there. You just stay mellow.” She slid the condom off him, and got up. Her naked silhouette appeared briefly in the door against the living room light.

He lay there, immobile, too weak and astonished to move. He had no words for what had just happened, no precedents. She came back quickly, and lay down next to him, cuddling herself into the crook of his shoulder. She pulled the bathrobe up, tucking it around his chest.

“Sleep now,” she crooned, as if he were a baby.

He stared down at her slender hand on his chest, her soft lips against his shoulder. He wanted to tell her that he didn't need to be soothed like a scared little kid, that he was perfectly fine, but the words wouldn't form. Her hands, her lips, her soft voice, were a balm for an ancient ache he was unwilling even to name.

He loved it. Couldn't get enough of it.

He stared up mutely at the moon and gave into her tenderness, letting the moon swim and swirl into a shapeless, watery blaze of light.

S
he was galloping across a grassy mesa on a wild stallion, flying through the air, too exhilarated to be afraid. The mesa was broken by vast rocky canyons that fell abruptly away from jewel-green grass—chasms of untold depths, full of rolling banks of mist. The huge sky was full of brilliant white and ominous gray thunderheads, glimpses of electric blue sky showing between them. Bolts of sunlight slanted through ragged glory holes, so bright they made her eyes water and swim…

She blinked, squinted. Sunlight was streaming in the windows, pressing against her eyelids. She was hot, everywhere. Sweating.

And there was a big, solid male body beneath her own, his heart beat slow and strong against her ear. She was sprawled on top of Davy. His eyes were somber and thoughtful as he gazed into her face.

“Good morning,” he said.

She smiled at him, blushing as the memories of last night's intense intimacy flooded into her mind, in vivid detail.

“Hi,” she whispered. “How long have you been awake?”

“A few hours,” he said. “I've been watching you sleep.”

She jolted up off his body. “What? You've been lying there with me on top of you for hours? You're nuts!”

“You needed to rest,” he said quietly. “You were tired.”

“What time is it?”

“Late, I imagine,” he said. “Noon, maybe. The sun is pretty high.”

She rubbed her eyes and pressed her thighs tightly around the ache that came from having scads of fabulous, unaccustomed sex. She'd pulled the bathrobe off his body when she slid off him, and his erection stood high and thick and flushed against his belly.

His eyes followed her gaze, and a grin lit up his face.” Did you put two condoms in the pocket of that robe last night?” he asked.

“No,” she admitted. “Only one. I was thinking in the moment.”

“Huh. I guess we don't have time, anyhow.” His voice was businesslike. “Have a shower while I put some breakfast on.”

He rolled to his feet with sinuous grace. It dazzled her. Davy's naked, aroused body lit up by sunlight was too much stimulation for her poor nerves. She was going to short out. Emit smoke from her ears.

She flung the bathrobe at him. “Cover yourself, for God's sake.”

He yanked on his sweatpants, grinning. “Can't handle it, huh?”

He disappeared into the living room, leaving her alone and bemused in the middle of the beautiful, empty room.

Huh. So he was in a playful mood. Sex had smoothed out all his jagged edges. She wished she could say the same for herself. She felt so fuddled and soft. The glitter of sunlight on the surface of the lake outside was so beautiful, it brought tears to her eyes.

She wandered out of the bathroom twenty minutes later, hair still dripping, and stared at the table in awe. The man went all out, every meal he ate. No cornflakes, pop tarts, bagels or shortcuts of any kind. It was a starving lumberjack's breakfast of pancakes dripping with maple syrup, scrambled eggs, grilled bacon, sliced strawberries, orange juice, toast, strong French roast coffee with cream. Outrageous.

She didn't slow down until she was halfway through the second fluffy stack of hotcakes. “Don't we have a wedding to go to? Shouldn't we be saving our appetites? Is this a sit down lunch, or a buffet?”

“Both, I think. Don't worry,” he said. “That's the thing about an appetite. It never goes away for very long.”

Margot's eyes lingered over Davy's torso. “With your muscle mass and metabolism, you can reason like that. If I ate like this all the time, I'd be the size of a humpbacked whale.”

His eyes slid appreciatively over her body, swathed in one of his big towels. “We've come up with some great ways to burn calories.”

She coughed on her coffee. “Um…speaking of which.”

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “Yeah?”

“Maybe we should talk about, uh, what happened.”

“Let's not, and say we did,” he replied. “We just crash and burn whenever we talk about us. Let's just relax and go with it.”

“You mean, stick with the wild monkey sex, and conveniently not think about anything else?”

He shrugged. “Sounds like a great plan to me.”

She almost laughed at his simplistic male reasoning, but she didn't want to start out the day by making him mad. It was too stressful in her current vulnerable state. “I wish it were so easy,” she said.

“Why can't it be?” His eyes challenged her over the rim of his cup.

“I told you,” she said. “I can't take ambiguity.”

He set down his cup. “I haven't been ambiguous with you,” he said. “I've gone to great lengths to be honest with you. Every time, I've gotten punished for it. I don't feel like getting punished this morning. I don't feel like trying to say whatever you want to hear, either.”

“I never said I wanted you to—”

“What I want is to have breakfast with a gorgeous, fascinating woman who drove me crazy all night long. That's all I'm aiming for. No more, no less. Let's keep things simple. Please.”

She covered her face with her hands, unsure whether she wanted to laugh or cry. “I'm trying. Really. The truth is, with a guy like you, an arrangement like what you proposed to me yesterday isn't really—”

“What kind of a guy am I?” he demanded suddenly.

She floundered. “Uh, gee. Let's see. Gorgeous? Smart? Financially solvent? Fabulous in bed? Is that enough for you, or shall I go on?”

He looked bemused. “Thanks.”

“I'm not flattering you. Don't be vain. I'm trying to make a point, but if you keep fishing for compliments—”

“Sorry,” he said meekly. “Make your point.”

“As I was saying,” she grumbled. “Even without commitment and flowers and love and yada yada, just plain old straight sex for the sake of sex with a guy like you is not a bad bargain. Considering.”

“Considering what?” He looked suspicious.

“That is, it wouldn't be if I could separate sex from emotion,” she pressed on. “I truly wish I could. I would have a lot more fun. But I can't. Particularly not…sex like that.”

“Sex like what?” he nudged.

She scowled at him. “You're fishing again. It's bugging me.”

His slow grin began to spread. “So it was good for you, too, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. Don't even start. You know exactly how good it was for me. I may never recover.”

“I've barely even started,” he said softly. “You have no idea.”

Heat raced over the surface of her skin.

Davy shoved a strawberry around on his plate with his knife. “Try not to think about it so hard,” he suggested. “I can't leave you alone when you're in danger. The sex is a separate issue. I told you last night. I don't expect anything from you. If you want sex from me, you've got it. If not, no problem. I'm not going to bully you into being my love slave.”

She pressed her thighs together over the shivery rush that went through her at the very thought. Davy McCloud's love slave. Ooh, lordy.

“What if I bully you into being my love slave?” she demanded.

“Bully away. I'm ready to serve,” he said promptly. “Anytime.”

Her eyes slid down to the sweatpants that showed off the length and urgency of his erection. “Wow. Are you always at the ready?”

“Only one way to find out,” Davy said. “Consider it a challenge, Margot. Wear me out. Blow my mind. Let's see who crumbles first.”

She knew it was a bad idea even before she said it, but she couldn't stop herself. “What if all this hot sex turns my brains to mush and I fall madly in love with you? What'll you do then?”

His smile vanished. The teasing warmth in his eyes transformed itself to glacial ice. “I really, really wish you wouldn't,” he said finally.

It was what she deserved, for asking such a dumb question. So last night's sweet, lovely meltdown in the kung fu room hadn't made a dent in his armor. There was zero possibility of something deeper between them. It was a silly, wishful fantasy, fueled by moonlight.

Gah. What an idiot she was.

“You know how it is.” She tried to make her tone light. “You play with fire, you're gonna get burned.”

He took a final swallow of his coffee. “We're late,” he said coolly. “We should leave in fifteen minutes. Get yourself ready, please.”

So much for the wild, crazy strawberry and maple syrup sex on the breakfast table. The L word trashed his mood. Predictable, but it still made her feel sad. Stupid, too, for setting herself up for rejection.

“We have to drop by my place to get my dressy clothes,” she said. “And then we have to take Mikey to the pet hotel.”

He frowned. “I thought we were bringing him along.”

She shook her head. “I'll feel conspicuous enough at a fancy wedding without being that girl with the dog. I hate to leave him there overnight, and he'll hate it too, but he'll live.”

A curt nod was her reply. Davy stalked off in the direction of the bedroom. Margot got dressed and was just finishing up the dishes when Davy came into the kitchen in jeans and a black T-shirt, smelling of soap and aftershave, looking gorgeous. A garment bag hung over his arm. He scowled at her. “You didn't have to do dishes.”

She shrugged. “Breakfast was fabulous. It's only fair.”

The stop at her place was just a brief moment of rummaging through plastic shopping bags in the trunk of the car, gathering up her makeup, hairpins, underpants, toiletries, and her one pretty outfit. Thank goodness she had one. She was compromised enough already without letting Davy McCloud buy her clothes.

Next stop, the pet hotel. Davy followed her in, glowering to the right and left as if someone might jump her in the parking lot. Mikey carried on with his usual histrionics, trembling and whimpering.

“Stop torturing me, you little twerp,” she hissed at him as she smiled at the chubby girl behind the front desk. “This isn't my fault, and I'll fix it as soon as I can. Hi, Amy, how's it going?”

Amy grinned back. “Oh, hey, there. Happy late birthday, by the way. Did you have a good time at the party?”

Margot blinked. “Party? What party?”

“Your niece said…uh…” Amy backpedaled, confused. “Wait a sec.” She stared at Mikey, then at Margot. “You're Mikey's person?”

“Yeah. Of course. Why? What's this about a party?”

Amy looked nervous. “Well, your niece came by yesterday to pick up Mikey for your surprise party, and we told her we couldn't—”

“I don't have a niece,” Margot said. “I have no family here. And my birthday's in December.”

“Oh. I'm sorry. Maybe I got it mixed up,” the girl said miserably. “I don't know. She said she was your niece, I swear. I would have said something last night, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise.”

Margot's stomach had tightened to a queasy, heaving mass.

Davy stepped forward. “Would you describe this girl for me?”

“She was about my age,” Amy said. “Platinum blond dye job. Dressed in Goth stuff, lots of piercing. Black leather. She had a tattoo on the side of her neck. A scorpion, I think. We didn't let her take Mikey, of course, 'cause you'd marked your preference against it on the form.”

“Thank God.” Margot cuddled the dog closer. “I've changed my mind. Mikey's staying with me today after all.”

 

Davy dialed Raul Gomez as they walked out to the truck. Gomez was a homicide detective in the SPD, an army buddy dating back to the days of Desert Storm. They'd worked together over the years on several successfully resolved cases. Gomez also owed him for having unmasked a predator who had targeted Gomez's vulnerable widowed sister some years back. Between Davy and Gomez, the guy had ended up with good cause to regret his choice of prey.

“Gomez here,” came Raul's deep voice over the phone.

“It's McCloud,” Davy said.

“Hey. I was about to call you. About the dead guy you called in?”

“What about him?” Davy felt his neck begin to prickle.

“The autopsy's still pending, but I just heard a weird fun fact from the morgue. The guy doesn't have a mark on him. Not a cut, not a bruise. And yet he bled to death internally. From both ends.”

“Poor bastard,” Davy said. “It looked bad.”

Gomez grunted. “Maybe he was sick and didn't know it, but we contacted his sister, and she said as far as she knew, he'd been fine.”

Davy waited, patient with Raul Gomez's meandering way of getting to the real point. “What are you thinking, Raul?”

“Weird, creepy stuff. Remember that night in Baghdad years ago when you told me all those legends about Dim Mak?”