Too Sexy for his Stetson (21 page)

Wisps of smoke seeped through the open patio door.

With no sign that dinner was more than a mirage, he reached into a bin on the deck. “How about it, buddy? You game for a little tug of war?”

Rambo perked his ears and yipped, latching onto one end of the rubber toy Blade had found. They passed twenty minutes, Rambo in his glory, challenging Blade’s strength.

After another twenty minutes of nursing his beer, Blade looked up as Brandy stepped onto the deck, barefoot, wearing a sundress with spaghetti straps, looking cool and fresh.
A sexy dress,
revealing sun–tanned shoulders, cinching her waist, and hugging her delectable breasts. No bra. The damn thing spoke to Blade’ latent juvenile delinquent.

“Dinner is served.” Golden curls framed her face and neck.
A beautiful neck that Morrisey had held a knife to.
The low–life creep.

Blade tried to swallow away his anxiety. “Great, I’m starved. Let me take Rambo to his pen. Be back in sixty seconds flat.”

Fifty–nine seconds later, he stepped onto the deck and sidled next to Brandy. He took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet, sensual blend of shampoo, Tendre Amour, and woman. French Voodoo.

For a second, the fragrance took him back to the accident. The Tahoe teetering on the edge of a cliff with Brandy inside. Sweat beaded his forehead. Wiping it away, he heaved in a quick breath.

“What’s wrong, Blade?”

“Nothing.” But hell, there were reasons the LCCSD frowned on deputies becoming involved with each other.

“So when is the sheriff’s department going to check out the compound?” she asked. “That’s got to be where Morrisey’s hiding.”.

“Homeland Security is sending someone to meet with us tomorrow. Because of our proximity to the dam, everything connected to the Neo Nazis and their encampment is a point of interest to the Feds. That includes Morrisey.”

He followed Brandy inside and discovered the kitchen had been miraculously transformed. Clean and neat. No dirty dishes in sight. No clouds of smoke. No residue of “oops” anywhere. The table sat ready with one of those little glass holders sporting a flickering, fat candle. Down and dirty jazz licks rose from the CD player. Blade’s chest fluttered. After washing up at the kitchen sink, he sat and faced a plate of food that looked… interesting.

“Citrus soy chicken and risotto,” Brandy said.

“Guess you are Rachael Ray after all.”

Seated opposite him, the chef watched as he sampled her creation, cheese stretching and forming a string between his plate and fork. He smiled and took a bite.

“Best thing I’ve had all day.” Never mind that it was the only thing he’d had all day. And by God, if she’d gone to all the work of making dinner for him, he was going to eat every last bite of it. “Chicken you said? Right?”

She nodded.

“It’s great. The texture… I can’t explain it.” Pictures of the insides of golf balls came to mind.

“And the rice?” she asked.

“What can I say?” Certainly not that it stuck to the roof of his mouth like wallpaper paste. “Interesting smoky aroma.”

She frowned.

“Like barbequed…”
Golf balls.

“Oh.” She beamed.

He could do this. She’d poured her heart and soul into making dinner for him. He couldn’t discourage her.

“I got the recipe off a gourmet cooking show on TV.”

“Great stuff.” He winked and shoved another forkful of “gourmet” into his mouth.
Cheese rope alert.
Smiling, he took up the slack in the elastic–like rope, twirling it around his fork until it snapped like an overstretched industrial–strength rubber band.

“I think I’ll have another beer. You want anything to drink?”

“A glass of water would be nice.”

“You got it.”

“I may have gone a little overboard with the parmesan. What do you think?”

“Cheese is good. You can never have too much of a good thing.” He retrieved a glass of water and a beer from the fridge. “So, about Morrisey and the attack… From now on, we stick together. No wandering around town on your own, okay?”

Her shoulders tensed. “That go for you too?”

“Goes for all deputies. We’re working in pairs.”

She relaxed and nodded her approval.

Once he finished eating, he studied his dinner companion/trainee, trying not to enjoy the neckline of said trainee’s sundress and the cleavage exposed every time she leaned over to wrestle with a ribbon of cheese.

She glanced up. “Would you like more?”

“Whew, no, thank you. I’m stuffed.” He pushed his plate away. “I’ve never had anything like that before… um… the candle’s a really nice touch.”

“Atmosphere counts for ninety percent of one’s culinary enjoyment. I read that somewhere,” she said, blotting her chin with a napkin. Her smile was amazing.

“Atmosphere.” Yeah, then he guessed his culinary enjoyment ranked close to a hundred percent. As a matter of fact, as he feasted his eyes on Brandy and gazed into big violet gemstones, his gratification level rose to somewhere between awesome and needing a cold shower.

A tiny morsel of cheese clung to her upper lip, begging to be licked off.

Atmosphere—oh, yeah, the damn stuff was closing in on him. The lucky tidbit of parmesan that was bonded to her lip beckoned. Her gaze fell to the open neckline of his shirt. Although she was no longer eating, unless devouring him with her eyes counted, she swallowed. Blade couldn’t resist touching her. He reached across the table and let his hand settle atop hers.

“Brandy…” His voice grew husky.

“Yes?” Fire sparked in her eyes, and the outlines of her nipples pressed clearly visible through the fabric of her dress.

A particularly sexy lick of smooth jazz sent testosterone thrumming through his bloodstream.

“Um…” His brain shortwired.

The next instant they were on their feet and in each other’s arms. Had she attacked him? Or had he hauled her into his embrace? All he knew was how good her generous curves felt pressed against his chest and how right the pounding of her heart felt against his.

And thank God, she was safe and in one piece.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

H
is arms filled with trouble, Blade felt the zone south of his belt spring to life. His common sense suddenly hopped a fast train to disaster. It seemed like forever since he’d tasted her. Eons since they’d shared
the
explosive kiss the night of Skip’s banquet.

Shit. Skip Coogan.

Who invited him?

But nagging as the thought was, it reminded Blade about the discussion he’d intended to have. About Skip. Tonight.

Brandy shifted in his arms.

“Ummm… Blade…”

Through the thin fabric of her dress, her nipples hardened against his chest. The train went rogue, turned runaway.

The hell with conversation
. The front, side, and middle of his brain, as well as every inch of his body, instantly became fully engaged with the woman murmuring in his ear. Her tongue danced with his. Her hands slid along his biceps, reached up, played across the back of his neck. Tangled in his hair. God help him.

His fingers roamed across the sweet curve of her butt. When she lifted on tiptoe, he cupped her ass and boosted her up until her legs wound around his waist.

“That’s better,” he whispered, mentally cursing the maddening barrier of clothes that separated his skin from hers. “But what about your bruised ribs? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry. I took meds before dinner, and I can assure you I’m feeling no pain.” She kissed his neck.

Getting horizontal rose to the top of his priority list. There was a big old soft bed just up the stairs, the stairs that seemed a million miles away. Seemed like two million miles when she slicked her hands down his pecs and ripped open the buttons of his shirt.

“Better.” She grinned and ran her tongue across his upper lip.

With her legs still clamped around his waist, she leaned into him and licked a slow, wet path down the center of his now exposed chest, zapping any remote prospect of reaching the bedroom.

Blade dropped to his knees on floor.

One of the straps on her sassy sundress spilled over her shoulder. He took the narrow band between his teeth and tugged until one tantalizing, budded nipple peeked out from her dress. He admired it with the tip of his tongue while guiding her backward, following her onto the floor.

Positioning her between his knees, he gently locked her hands above her head and went back to tasting, running his tongue across the tight bud. Then, using his teeth again, he tugged at the top edge of her dress.

“Zipper,” she breathed on a moan and raised her torso a few inches so he could reach around and find the tab.

He released her hands and worked his fingers along her spine, unzipping, one vertebra at a time. Sliding the dress to her waist, he feasted his eyes on her breasts. Desire, hot and molten, surged through him. “God, you are so beautiful.”

“Said the Greek god to the peasant girl.” She raked her gaze across his chest. Her hands moved to his head and threaded through his hair. She pulled him closer.

He dipped his head and explored the perfection of her breasts with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He quivered. How could he possibly be suffering from icy shivers when he was so hot?

“Yes.” Her whisper lingered in his head. She tugged him closer still, molding their torsos together.

“You’re asking for trouble, darlin’,” he mumbled against the silky smooth skin of her cheek.

“Looks like I came to the right place.”

When he raised his head slightly to look into her eyes, she sank her teeth playfully into the flesh between his neck and collarbone. The pleasure pumping through his system pooled front and center, and a growl rumbled in his throat.

He covered her mouth with his, drank her in, deepened the kiss, taking possession, losing himself in the taste of her. He soaked in her heat. Breathed the scent of her hair, reveling in the sound of her whimpers of satisfaction. He couldn’t get enough of her.

But he kept trying.

She wriggled, making space between them to slide her hand down his chest. Across his abdomen. To the ridge of heat that swelled against his zipper.

He groaned. He would have, should have, at one point maybe could have, helped her with the clasp on his pants, but presently he was sidetracked with sliding her dress the rest of the way down. Over her hips, her legs. Peachy smooth skin glided beneath his fingers. Seeking out every warm inch he could reach, he stumbled upon lace panties. Slid them away.

He kept on kissing her. Long, soul–deep kisses, the kind he’d dreamt about since that very first moment her determined eyes had pinned him in the sights of her rifle.

The lights flickered.

Outside, Rambo barked once.

Blade groaned. “I think he’s taking the chaperone role way too seriously.”

Brandy smiled. “He’s probably lonesome.”

“He’ll have to wait.”

A couple more yips sounded.

But inside, Brandy continued to drive Blade insane as she worked his zipper down, her warm, inquisitive hands lightly, tentatively skimming his hardness through the fabric of his briefs, fabric that separated her fingertips and his on–fire skin.

Mercifully, she whisked away the last barrier between them and shoved his clothes aside.

“Oh, wow. For me?” she asked, raising on one elbow, blatantly surveying his painfully hard erection.

“All yours.”

With one finger, she touched.

A sharp breath escaped his lips. Studying her face, he got lost in the perfection of her mouth. Pink rose petals glossed by dewdrops. She smiled and coaxed him to the floor beside her, then pressed the petals to his chest. Slid them down his body. Took him in her mouth.

Jaws clenched, Blade spiraled on an ebb of pleasure and fought for control.
Jesus, God.
He gasped and filled his hands with her curls as his heart brimmed with some sweetly wicked, unbearably delicious torture.

Groaning, he nudged her head upward. “Any more of that and it’ll be all over. And no way am I taking this whitewater ride without you.” He tried to steady his racing heart. “I want you, Brandy. So damn bad. I need to be inside you. Now.”

“Then take me… take me with you, Blade.”

“Are you sure I won’t hurt you? Your ribs—”

In one swift move, she sealed her lips over his, pushed him backward, and followed him down. He moved her knees up along his hips and savored her heat as the core of her womanhood nudged against him.

She hummed in his ear. “I’ve been thinking about this since… forever.”

“You’re not the only—”

“Wait!” Her head jerked up.

“Oh God, I’m sorry. Did I—”

“Don’t be sorry unless you haven’t got any condoms.”

“Oh… yeah…” Shoot, he wasn’t that far gone that he would have forgotten to use protection. Was he? “I was getting to that.” Inching his fingers toward his discarded jeans, he maneuvered until he snagged them and dug in the pocket for his wallet.

He retrieved and unwrapped the foil package.

She snatched the condom.

Trying to help, yes, he knew she was trying to help, when she struggled with the latex, but her touch almost brought him to the point of no return.

In the hazy distance, Rambo yelped. Again.

Not now, partner.

Blade lowered Brandy onto her back. He needed to be in control. Yeah, right, he was so much in control. But this was the first time with precious, incredible Brandy. It had to be… everything he could make it be. Perfect. He lowered himself, gently taking her, one delicious, excruciating inch at a time.

Her eyes closed, and she made some kind of a kitten sound.

“Oh, baby, I hope you’re burning for me the way I am for you.”

“If things get any hotter, the fire department’s going to show up.” Her laugh escaped on a sigh.

He would have joined in the laughter, but it would have stolen too much concentration from what he was doing. Making love to the most amazing woman in the world.

Caressing her cheeks, he fell heart–deep into ecstasy. Her mouth opened to him. He slid his tongue inside, then matched the rhythm of her hips with his. He delved deeper. Her inner muscles clenched around him. Still, he couldn’t get enough of her. And
that
scared him. Not enough to stop what he was doing, but enough to give him pause, mentally.