Sinful Southern Hero: 2 (4 page)

He climbed out of his truck, deciding to try the apartment
on the first floor. If it wasn’t hers, the person could tell him which one
belonged to Lucy. As he neared the door, fist raised to knock, a sound had him
glancing up. The door to the second story apartment, the one glowing with what
must be every light in the place turned on, was thrown open. He stepped back
out from under the narrow overhang to see who had opened the door.

Dalton had barely cleared the overhang when a hard, black
projectile came flying at his head.

“Bastard!” A feminine voice screeched.

He registered the voice as belonging to Lucy a second before
he was hit smack dab in the middle of his forehead with a thin cell phone. He
stumbled back a step, cursing and wishing he’d tried harder to avoid the damn
thing instead of trying to see who had thrown it.

He heard a thump and then muffled words ending on a sob.

“I’ll never get away from him. He won’t stop until I’m dead.”

Forgetting his bruised face and the cracked cell phone lying
at his feet, Dalton raced for the stairs leading to the apartment above him.
When he reached the top, he spotted Lucy sitting in the doorway, a silhouette
of vulnerability against the backdrop of bright lights from within her
apartment. Her back was pressed against the door jamb, her knees drawn up to
her chest and arms wrapped tightly around them.

Another sob escaped her and before he could stop himself,
Dalton was scooping her into his arms and carrying her inside. “It’ll be all right,
Lucy. Whatever is happening, I’ll help you.”

She shook her head against his chest, his shirt growing damp
from her tears. “You can’t help me. No one can help me. He won’t stop hurting
me until he’s killed me. He told me a hundred times but I thought…”

Rage welled in Dalton’s blood. Someone had hurt this soft,
sweet woman? “Who?” he growled. “Who hurt you, Lucy?”

After swallowing hard a couple of times and seeming to
debate whether she would answer or not, Lucy whispered, “Ross.”

“Who is Ross?”

“My ex-husband.”

“How did he hurt you? Why are you so upset?” Dalton ran a
comforting hand over her mass of fiery-red curls.

A heart-wrenching laugh devoid of all humor escaped Lucy. “Hurt
me? According to me, my scars and a file full of hospital records? Or according
to Ross, the cop and my loving parents who tried to have me committed when I
went to them for help?”

Dalton ground his teeth together, trying to keep his body
language calm though he felt anything but calm on the inside. “Why did you
launch your phone out the door? Did he call you?”

She nodded. “I don’t understand how. I’ve changed my number,
I moved without leaving a forwarding address except to a post office box twenty
miles away, I told no one where I was going. How did he find me?”

She trembled against him and Dalton instinctively held her
closer. “Stop crying, sweetheart. I won’t let him hurt you anymore. Whatever I
have to do to keep you safe, I’ll do it.”

Lucy looked up at him, blinking tears out of her sad gray
eyes, eyes which seemed to change along with her emotions. “Why would you help
me?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” He brushed his thumb over
her flushed cheek. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have it figured out.”

Lucy stiffened, her fear of Ross doused by the realization
she was cradled in the lap of man she’d recently caught doing something very
rough and sexual with another woman.

She tried to calm her racing heart by drawing a deep breath
but all she got for her effort was an intoxicating dose of Dalton’s scent.
Leather and sawdust and soap. Her nipples hardened and she squirmed against
him, unsure if she was trying to escape or pull closer. He wrapped his arms
more snugly around her and she caught another scent, one which didn’t belong on
him. A decidedly feminine scent. Strawberries.

The lingering perfume of the bondage-loving blonde she’d seen
bent over Dalton’s kitchen table brought Lucy back down to earth like a sharp
slap to the face. In her bid to get far, far away from the man and her
conflicted feelings, she pushed herself out of his arms and onto her feet so
quickly she almost landed on her ass.

Smoothing her palms down the front of her shirt, as if
removing the wrinkles would wipe away her confusion and embarrassment, she peeked
at Dalton from under her lashes. A frown marred his handsome face and his brows
were drawn together, making him look angry.

Lucy took a step back, an immediate reaction to the
perceived danger. He watched her retreat, his blue eyes narrowed. Coming to
some conclusion, Dalton relaxed back onto the couch, stretching his legs out in
front of him and throwing one ankle over the other.

She was grateful he understood the problem so quickly and
was now trying to make himself look like any normal, relaxed, harmless man.
While she appreciated his thoughtfulness, she also felt a suffocating wave of
disgust at the way she automatically treated everyone like a potential
attacker. For Christ’s sake, she skittered away like a frightened rabbit at the
sight of a damn frown.

Clenching her fists at her sides and forcing herself to
regain the step she’d lost, she met his eyes and tried to force a confidence
into her expression she didn’t feel. “I’m sorry I interrupted your
date
.
I just wanted to thank you for the work you did on my office. Please apologize
to your girlfriend for me. I never would have come around to the back door but
I heard sounds and thought… Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

Before he could respond, she spun on her heel and marched
into the kitchen. After grabbing one of the ice packs she kept in the freezer,
she returned to where he still sat sprawled on her couch. “Here.” She thrust
the ice pack toward him. “I’m sorry about nailing you in the head with my cell
phone.”

Slowly, Dalton reached out with one large hand, took the ice
pack and pressed it to the goose egg welling on his forehead.

Lucy stared at the small couch, then turned and moved to the
armchair, the only piece of habitable furniture in the room. With Dalton’s
delicious body draped over the couch, even sitting on the opposite end would
bring her temptingly close to him. She started to sit but halted halfway when
he spoke.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

After pausing with her butt hovering in midair and her mouth
hanging open—what an eloquent picture—she forced herself to sit and lean back
in the chair. “Did you just say that woman isn’t your girlfriend?”

A muscle worked in his jaw but his posture remained relaxed,
almost forcibly so.

“If she isn’t your girlfriend, what is she?”

Oh god, don’t let him say hooker.
Lucy had no idea
where one would find a…sexually alternative partner. Probably not in the Yellow
Pages. No doubt there could be a whole seedy underworld of people who were into
all kinds of weird things. It wasn’t out of the question that the blonde may
have been a professional of some sort.

“Rachel is more of an acquaintance. We have a mutual agreement,
I guess you could say.”

Lucy’s brows rose toward her hairline, unsure how to
respond.

Dalton took her expression to mean she hadn’t understood his
meaning. “She’s my fuck buddy, okay? We’re not a couple. We just have sex.” He
scrubbed a hand over his close-shaved hair.

Suddenly Lucy found the entire situation incredibly funny.
She burst out laughing, then laughed harder when Dalton looked at her like
she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. “I know what a fuck buddy is, Dalton. God,
you should see the look on your face.” She wiped at her eyes. “I’ve never had
one, but I do grasp the concept.”

“Why were you so upset when you walked in on us? It seemed
like something more than just being startled to find two barely clothed people.”

With a sigh, she let her shoulders slump. “I thought you
were beating her,” she admitted, studying her toes instead of meeting his gaze.

He was quiet for a moment before asking, “And you were going
to stop me?”

Her eyes snapped to meet his. “I don’t know what I would
have done. All I knew was there was no way I could turn around and walk away.”
Her voice grew stronger. “If you’re aware of someone being abused and you do
nothing to stop it, you’re just as culpable for the crime as the person
committing it.” Looking away, she added in a softer voice, “I know what it’s
like to hope and pray for help that never comes.”

Dalton was on his knees in front of her before she drew her
next breath. He wrapped his strong hands around hers and said nothing until she
reluctantly met his gaze. “You’re a very brave woman, Lucy.”

She huffed a laugh. “Yeah, right. I’m a coward. I’m scared
of everything.”

“Being scared doesn’t make you a coward. Bravery is when
you’re scared to death of something but you do it anyway, because it’s the
right thing to do.”

Uncomfortable and unused to praise, she shifted in her seat.
“I guess you’re right.” She shrugged. “I’ve always been better at protecting
others than protecting myself.”

His blue eyes heated with a fierce light, his grip tightened
on her hands. “If your ex-husband is threatening you, you need to call the
police.”

“It won’t do any good, trust me.”

“Why? You have to report him, Lucy. He’s obviously a
dangerous man. You said he’s put you in the hospital more than once. I
understand there’s some psychology behind battered women not wanting to report
their abusers but—”

She jerked her hands from his grip, furious. “It won’t do
any good because he’s a fucking cop! Don’t you think I wanted to report him?
Who would have taken my statement, huh? One of his buddies down at the
precinct? His damned brother who works there too?” Overtaken by anger at the
accusation she hadn’t tried hard enough to stop the bastard from hurting
her—like she didn’t fight those thoughts inside her head every single day—she
placed her hands on Dalton’s shoulders and leaned close. “Or should I have went
to the police chief, who golfs every Wednesday with Ross and once cornered me
at a police benefit event and told me that Ross is a good man and if I were a
better wife, like the women ‘in his day’, I wouldn’t wind up with so many black
eyes.”

All but snarling the last words, she gave Dalton a shove,
sending him sprawling flat on his ass in her living room, an astonished look on
his face.

Lucy had no idea where the violence had come from. She’d
never gotten physical with anyone, she hadn’t ever done more than try to
protect her face and ribs when Ross had come at her. She certainly hadn’t
pushed him in a fit of anger. Realizing she’d provoked a man twice her size,
she jumped up and made to run, planning to lock herself inside the bedroom.
Getting a door between her and him sounded like a great idea right then.

She made it two steps before an arm curled around her waist
like a steel band. She started to scream, struggling in earnest when a hand
clamped over her mouth. Panic made her vision narrow to a tunnel. Blackness
crept in, blocking out reality and dragging her into the past.

“Lucy. Lucy, listen to me. I’m not going to hurt you. Calm
down.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears rolling down her cheeks
and pooling on the hand pressed across her mouth. Her entire body shook and her
chest felt like it might explode at any second. She couldn’t breathe.
He’ll
kill me this time.

“Shhh. I’m not going to hurt you, I swear it. I just want
you to calm down. When I take my hand away, try not to scream, okay?”

She managed a jerky nod. The hand over her mouth eased away
and she drew in a stuttered breath.

He spun her around to face him, enfolding her in his arms
and pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll never hurt
you, Lucy. If your neighbors had heard you scream, they would have called the
police. I didn’t think you’d want that after what you just told me.” He stroked
a hand up and down her back. “Please talk to me. Why did you bolt like that?”

The fog surrounding Lucy’s mind started to clear. This was
different. Ross had never stopped an assault once he’d gotten his hands on her.
He certainly never tried to soothe her or hold her in his arms like she was
something precious. She drew in another breath.
Leather and sawdust, not
starch and gun oil.
Dalton is not Ross.

“I pushed you.” Her voice was a whisper.

“So? I was being an ass.”

She heard the grin in his voice and was so shocked she had
to lean back and look up at his face to confirm the state of his lips. “You’re
not mad?”

“Ah, darlin’.” He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, then cupped
the back of her neck. “Every man needs knocked on his ass every now and then.”

She studied his face, finding only concern, no trace of
anger. As her fear faded, her body reacted to being pressed so close against
the hard planes of Dalton’s chest and thighs, his muscled arms wrapped around
her. Maybe it was his offer of protection, his good humor when she’d struck
him—first with her cell phone and then when she’d pushed him—or the comfort he
offered instead of condemnation when she’d overreacted. Or maybe she was simply
craving the touch of a man that didn’t result in a bruise. Whatever the reason,
she had an irresistible urge to do something crazy.

Lucy pressed her palms against Dalton’s firm chest and rose
on her toes, her legs shaking slightly from adrenaline. Slowly, deliberately,
she closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his.

* * * * *

Dalton froze, keeping his hands at his sides instead of
reaching for her, not wanting to make a wrong move and scare her off. Her
fingers flexed against his chest and his hips pushed forward before he could
stop the action. The strained length of his erection pressed against her belly,
she sighed, relaxed and leaned into him.

Lucy’s lips tasted of vanilla and he wondered if other
places on her body would taste as sweet. He moved his hands toward her hips in
a slow, cautious movement before resting them against the fabric of her jeans
with a featherlight touch. Her tongue swept against his bottom lip and he
opened for her, drinking her down into his soul. A primal groan rumbled from
somewhere deep inside of him.

Dalton fought the urge to take over, to take charge of the
moment. He wanted to lay her down on the floor, stretch her arms above her head
and tie those teasing hands of hers to a leg of the coffee table. He wanted to
make her body shudder in pleasure instead of fear. Most of all, he wanted to
worship her body, kiss every scar, every spot a bruise had been and gone.

It took every last one of his functioning brain cells to
overpower his desire for dominance. Now was not the time to show that side of
himself. It was clear Lucy didn’t really understand the Dom/sub dynamic and
it’d take a lot of patience to introduce her to Dalton’s darker desires without
igniting her deep-seated fears.

Wanting to get her closer to him but keep her feeling as
though she had control, he took a couple of steps backward, pulling her with
him until his calves pressed against the couch. He paused to pay her mouth
proper attention, teasing and licking, tangling his tongue with hers before
gently nipping her bottom lip. In one smooth motion, he dropped backward to sit
on the couch and pulled her down with him, leaving her astride him, straddling
his lap.

Her breath came in fast pants, drawing attention to her
beaded nipples pressed against the thin fabric of her shirt. He ran a hand up
her side to cup one full breast then rubbed his thumb over her tight nipple. A
tiny moan escaped her and he allowed his other hand to follow the first until
he held both her breasts in the palms of his hands.

Working the tight buds on the tips of her breasts between
his fingers and thumbs, even through the barrier of fabric, felt so good
Dalton’s dick twitched with pleasure. Lucy rolled her hips as if seeking
relief.

He broke the kiss, pressing his cheek to hers while moving
his hands from her breasts to her hips. He pulled her down as his hips thrust
upward, doing his best to not come in his pants like a damn teenager
experiencing his first dry-hump. His hips took on a rhythm of their own and a
craving to taste her skin overcame him.

As Dalton leaned in, intending to swipe his tongue across
the pulse visibly pounding in her neck, he felt her stiffen. Between one breath
and the next, Lucy’s passion and heat disappeared, replaced by apprehension.

Dalton closed his eyes and slumped back against the couch
with a sigh. Lucy tensed, as if prepared to scramble off his lap. This time,
instead of allowing her retreat, he kept his hands clasped over her thighs,
holding her still.

“Let me go.”

The panic in Lucy’s voice brought a pang to his heart, but
she needed this, needed to take at least a small step toward overcoming her
fears. He opened his eyes and met her wide, frightened gaze. “No.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting left then right as if
searching for an escape. “Please. I’m sorry I led you on. Just let me go.” A
tremor started in her knees, moving up her body until her shoulders shook.