Sinful Southern Hero: 2 (2 page)

Lucy slammed her cell down on the worn coffee table in her
living room and ran a shaking hand through her hair.
Calm down. Just because
you get a hang-up doesn’t mean Ross has found your number and it’s him calling.

“Wrong number,” she whispered. “That’s all, Lucy. Just a
wrong number.”

She closed her eyes and took a cleansing breath, let it out
in a slow exhalation then pushed to her feet. Abigail Hart had called the
evening before to tell Lucy the repairs were close to being finished and she
could start setting up her office space today.

As she gathered her purse and keys in preparation for the
walk to her new office she was grateful to have something to focus on other
than the sick knot of worry twisting her stomach.

The conversation she’d had with Abigail the night before ran
through her mind. It caught on Abigail’s statement that Dalton had been putting
in extra hours and working his ass off to get the space ready. An unwanted
image of deep-blue eyes under thick, dark lashes popped into her mind.
Following closely was a picture of a sinfully muscled chest covered in drywall
dust and dappled with droplets of sweat.

She paused after stepping through her front door and
squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would destroy the plague of arousing
imagery. Of course, it didn’t help. Nothing was going to erase the memory of
her brief encounter with the hot contractor with his damn tattoos and
work-toughened body.

The soft sound of her tennis shoes on the sidewalk rapped a
staccato rhythm as she moved down the sidewalk toward Hart’s Ink a few blocks
over. She’d decided to go see the state of the room for herself before taking
her supplies over. A summer breeze swept over her heated skin and loosened an
unruly curl from her sloppy ponytail.

Lucy tucked the escaped curl behind her ear and stumbled a
step as her finger grazed the raised the scar there. The most recent of many
scars and a great reminder she had no business fantasizing about or flirting
with a man. Any man. Besides the fact she wasn’t sure she could even stand
being touched after what Ross had put her through, she needed to keep a low
profile so her ex would be less likely to track her down.

Dating a dangerous-looking contractor did not equal low
profile.

Lucy had no intention of being seen anywhere but her
apartment and her office with the occasional mandatory grocery shopping
expedition thrown in. Making friends would be a mistake she couldn’t afford, no
matter how lonely she became. The more people who knew her, knew her name and
where she lived, the easier it would be for Ross to find her.

Though the temperature was nearing ninety, a shudder stole
through her, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake. Screw air
conditioning, all Lucy had to do was think of being in the same room with her
ex-husband and her core temperature dropped to freezing.

As she entered the building she’d be sharing with Hart’s
Ink, the first thing she noticed was the quiet. No banging of hammers or other
sounds of construction. Cautious, she stopped, cocking her head to the side to
listen for voices. The only indication she wasn’t alone was the low hum of what
she assumed to be a tattoo machine and a faint murmur of voices coming from
behind the closed door to Abigail’s studio.

Satisfied she wouldn’t be running into anyone, she blew out
a relieved breath and moved down the hall.

Lucy pushed open the door to her new office and froze, her
grip on the doorknob white-knuckled. Her heart kicked in her chest and she must
have forgotten how to breathe because she suddenly felt lightheaded.

Dalton—shirtless again, the bastard—knelt in a pose that
reminded her of that old French statue
The Thinker
. Except he wasn’t
thinking, he was flexing, his biceps swelling and receding with each pass of
the rag he scrubbed over the baseboard in front of him.

She blinked, giving her head a shake to clear the fog that’d
settled in upon seeing Dalton’s bare upper body. She cleared her throat.

When Dalton spun to face the door, sharp blue eyes pierced
her. She watched the lines around his eyes soften as he realized who had
interrupted his work.

“Hey, Red. I’m about finished here. Just cleaning up the
rest of the dust.”

Taking in the room, now cleared of all debris and looking
remarkably unlike the disaster she’d entered only a few days ago, she realized
how much work Dalton had done in such a short amount of time. Because of her.

Swallowing to wet her suddenly dry mouth, she took a
hesitant step into the room. “Did you do all this yourself?”

He smiled, those addictive dimples making an appearance. “Yes,
ma’am.”

Dalton winked and Lucy couldn’t stop the way her body
reacted, her nipples going taut to press against the thin fabric of her shirt.
She crossed her arms over her chest, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

“The air conditioning should be fixed this afternoon. Do you
have furniture to move in? I need to get back to my other job site but I could
help out after my crew finishes up for the day.”

No one’s ever that nice without a reason. What does he
want?
she wondered, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

Dalton pushed to his feet, groaning as he stretched his back
then rolled his shoulders. Suspicion turned to guilt when Lucy realized how
hard he’d been working. Maybe he was just being nice by offering his help. She
chided herself for immediately thinking everyone was out to get her.

“I don’t have much right now, and nothing too heavy. Thanks
for the offer though.”

He mopped the sweat from his brow with his discarded t-shirt
before tucking the tail end into his back pocket and reaching for the dented
red toolbox sitting at his feet. “I’ll be heading out then. Let me know if
there’s anything I can do for you.”

He swaggered forward and stopped close at her side, too
close. With the height difference, he towered over her and she had to crane her
neck to see his face. The scent of clean male sweat, leather and sawdust had her
licking her lips.

“And Lucy?” Dalton’s heated gaze followed the path of her
tongue as she wet her lips. “I can think of quite a few things I could do for
you.”

With that, he brushed past her, leaving her standing alone
in the empty room. His intoxicating scent lingered long after he’d left and
Lucy found herself touching the shoulder where his bare skin had pressed up
against her for those brief moments.

Damn, that man is trouble.

* * * * *

Dalton shook his head as he climbed into his truck,
wondering what the hell his fascination was with the tiny redhead. The woman
was skittish as a barn mouse and had a fragile quality about her that called
all of his protective instincts.

A humorless chuckle rumbled through his chest as he cranked
the ignition and forced himself to drive out of the parking lot and away from
Lucy.

She was not the woman for Dalton.

His desires ran far too dark to ever entertain the idea of
bringing someone so…
breakable
…into his bed. For one brief moment he
considered closeting his unusual sexual style for something more vanilla,
something he and Lucy could enjoy together.

“Shit.” He wiped a shaking hand down his face, his other
hand clenched about the wheel as he steered the oversized Dodge toward the work
site where he’d left his crew.

No. Refusing your true self is never a good option.

Dalton was a Dominant male—had been since he first realized
his dick was good for something other than taking a piss. There’d be no
changing in that department now, not even for the sweet, fragile beauty he’d
skipped his lunch break for.

Maybe…

No.

Dalton’s dark passions, his instincts, would not be denied.
The outcome wouldn’t be good for him or Lucy.

He pulled his truck into a spot and parked at the jobsite.

His stomach clenched and he convinced himself it was due to
missing lunch again rather than the thought of never laying Lucy upon his bed,
never watching those bouncy red curls spread across his sheets.

I’d stay on my knees, lay her down and get a firm grip on
her softly curved hips. Her legs wrapped around my waist. All that smooth, pale
skin, it’d feel like being twisted up in a silk sheet.

Dalton adjusted his position where he sat inside the cab of
his truck, trying to relieve some of the pressure his zipper was putting on his
now-hard cock. Just thinking about Lucy… His grip on the steering wheel
tightened until his knuckles went white.

I’d lean back, pull her ass up onto my lap until my cock
met her wet heat. With Lucy reclined, every sweet inch of her would be on
display. I’d enter her in one smooth stroke, watch her breasts sway with the
movement. She’d groan…

“Shit.”

Dalton released his grip on the steering wheel and let out a
shaky breath. He’d been the one to groan, not the imaginary Lucy. He was a
grown man sitting in his damn truck getting hard over a freakin’ fantasy.

“Fuck this.”

He’d spent every free minute available, including lunch
breaks, for the past few days over at Hart’s Ink preparing the office space for
Lucy. Abigail and Jed thought he’d worked so relentlessly out of the kindness of
his heart but that wasn’t entirely accurate. If he were honest, he’d admit all
the overtime and missed meals were because he wanted the room perfect for Lucy,
maybe even wanted to impress the city girl with his hard work.

Stupid, considering nothing could develop between them
beyond friendship.

He unbuckled the seat belt and twisted to retrieve his cell
phone from the pocket of his jeans. Dalton needed to remind himself of exactly
why Miss Artsy Big City and her haunted eyes were off limits. No better way to
do that than an evening with Rachel.

He thumbed a text message to Rachel asking her to meet him
at his place later that evening. She’d be there, he knew.

His and Rachel’s relationship didn’t go beyond sex, they
gave each other something they both needed—craved. Dalton gave her the
permission to give up control and she gave him the exotic gift of her
submission. He needed that more than he wanted to admit. Needed a woman
stretched out before him, offering her trust, willingly putting her body—her
pleasure—in his hands.

Six hours later he stepped out of the shower, toweled off
and gave himself a hard look in the steam-covered mirror.
An evening of
fucking should not require a pep talk.
He watched his jaw clench and blew
out an irritated breath.

What the hell was the matter with him? Rachel was tall,
blonde and had the body of a stripper. She was also going to be on his doorstep
in five minutes, wet and ready to do anything he wanted.

Dalton strode into his bedroom and jerked a pair of jeans
from his closet, annoyed with himself for dwelling on a woman he had no chance
with. He pulled on the jeans, raising the zipper but leaving the button
unhooked. No need to dress further, not tonight. His head snapped up at the
sound of a knock on the front door, his eyes narrowed in determination. He was
going to do this.

And I’m going to enjoy it, damn it.

As Dalton walked toward the front door, he felt a change
come over him. A slight shift inside, as if a black leather mask had been
dropped over his mind, hiding some but revealing more. When he opened the door
to study Rachel standing patiently on his porch, he forced the last lingering
thought of Lucy to leave his mind and let the Dom in him take control.

“Hello, Dalton.” Rachel drawled the greeting in a purposely
husky voice.

Without preliminaries, he responded, “Go into the kitchen.”
He studied the lacy sundress draped over Rachel’s flawless body and the tan,
spiky stiletto heels on her dainty feet. “Take off the dress. Leave the shoes
and your bra and panties.”

A noticeable shiver worked over her slim frame as she
brushed past him, heeding his directions without question like the perfect
submissive she was. His dick kicked against the zipper of his jeans as he
caught her scent. Rachel always smelled like strawberries and fresh-cut grass.

He closed the door and leaned his back against it to wait
the few minutes it’d take Rachel to prepare herself in the kitchen. Rubbing the
heel of his hand over his aching erection, he was thankful at least one part of
his body was working correctly. His mind might be trying to stray toward a
woman he barely knew instead of the woman preparing to be fucked on his kitchen
table, but at least his dick was on board.

Deciding he’d given her enough time, he made his way through
the living room and into the kitchen. His cock grew harder at the sight that
greeted him. Normally he preferred to direct his sexual encounters entirely,
his submissive awaiting direction in all things. The visual impact of Rachel
bent over the sturdy oak table, legs a mile long in those heels and spread
shoulder-width apart, made him think perhaps a bit of initiative on the
submissive’s part was a good thing.

Her long blonde hair had been pulled into a sleek ponytail
that pooled on the dark wood of the table. Her face was turned toward him, one
pale cheek pressed against the cool tabletop. She held her hands behind her at
the small of her back as if already bound, a flesh-andblood bow to top off the
exquisite picture of the tiny black thong hugging the curves of her rounded,
firm ass.

Dalton moved to stand directly behind her, close but not
touching. He stood there, silent, letting the tension build. Finally, when he
sensed she’d waited long enough, he leaned over her, covering her from thigh to
shoulder, and whispered in her ear.

“I’m going to fuck you like this, Rachel. Right here, on my
kitchen table. Is that what you want?”

“Are you going to leave the door open?”