Baddest Bad Boys (22 page)

“Sex?”

She nodded.

“Very good.” He drew a line with his index finger between her breasts, then circled one hard nipple before gently rotating it. “And when the prize is as good as this”—he bent to blow on her damp nipple, watched her breathing stall—“I do my best work.”

Instead of giving him a shot about his boast, as he expected, she flattened her palms against his chest and gave a slight push. “I think we should go back.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not going to have sex with you until I think about it.”

He kissed her again, this time without pressure. “You’re afraid.”

“Not of you.” She ran a hand under the water, cupped him, took the weight of his balls, ran a finger up his straining erection. “And definitely not of this”—she squeezed him—“this I like. It’s that emotional vacuum I mentioned.” She took her hand away. “If I’m going to let you…use me, I need to be ready for the lack of follow-up.”

She squeezed again, then let him go. Hell of an object lesson.

Mac concentrated on dragging in some oxygen and bringing moisture back to his dry mouth. Hell, he’d damn near come in her hand. Tommi wasn’t the only one who needed to think. He liked sex—what red-blooded American male didn’t?—but so far, he’d managed not to lose himself in it, stay one step removed. Until now it hadn’t been all that difficult.

But imagining Tommi thrashing under him, hot and wild, he wondered if holding the line would be possible.

Wondered if he’d want to.

He shifted back, let her get up and out of the pool, then followed. The rain amped up to torrential by the time they’d donned their soggy clothes. He threw his slicker over her shoulders and pulled her face to within an inch or two of his own, kissed her again. “It may be just sex between us, but it will be damn good sex.”

She kissed him back, then stepped away. “I’ve had lots of good sex.” She cocked her head, gave him a challenging stare. “If I decide to do this, I’ll expect better than good.”

“Ah, a woman who raises the bar.” He ran a knuckle along her chin. “Then I guess I’d better make sure your time in my bed is as good as it gets.”

“Promises, promises.” She pointed to the hot spring. “And the way I see it, you’ve already broken one.”

He frowned.

“The touching?” she reminded.

“I was provoked.”

“You were randy.”

He laughed. “Still am.” He raised his face to the rain, let it sluice over him and cool his skin. “But we’d better get going. Mother Nature’s getting mean. And it’s going to get worse.”

They headed for the trail, neither of them certain what was at the end of it.

 

Tommi didn’t let go of Mac’s hand until they reached the porch, and he needed it to open the door. On the trail the wind had come up, and even within the safety of the trees, it shoved at their backs, chilled their wet clothes.

If sex was on her mind when they left the pools, thoughts of pneumonia now replaced it. She was an icicle.

“Go take a warm shower, get into some dry clothes,” Mac said. “I’ll stoke up the fire, get us something hot to drink.”

Tommi didn’t need persuading. She bolted for the stairs and in under five minutes was thawing under a cascade of hot water. When the heat of it finally reached her bones, her thoughts turned back to Mac and the sizzle between them…the weight of his sex pressing against her in the hot springs.

Get a grip, Smith. You’re salivating.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a navy blue bath sheet, determined to get dressed and go downstairs with her cool—what there was left of it—intact.

A car backfired! The sound was unmistakable.

Her throat knotted with her own breath, and she ran to the window. Peering through a thick veil of rain, she couldn’t see anything except masses of dripping evergreens and above them a dark, ominous sky.

Another backfire.

She flew out of the room, called to Mac over the railing. “Did you hear that?”

He was kneeling, prodding the fire to a full blaze. “Hear what?” He looked up at her, and it registered he hadn’t changed yet.

“A car backfire. There’s someone out there.” She kept the panic from her voice—barely. “I’m sure of it.”

She expected him to argue, tell her she was hearing things, overreacting; instead, he shot to his feet. “I’ll check it out.” He put his yellow slicker over his wet clothes. “Stay here.” With that he headed out the door.

 

Outside it was midstorm dismal, the mist between the trees now a deep gray, half steam, half fog. Mac ignored the rain and shoved the hood back off his head to look around. Nothing but the usual wall of soaring cedars, bush, and endless ocean. The only sound was the flapping of branches beating at the wind and the roar of the surf.

He headed toward the road, which under the onslaught of sky water was now a series of muddy pools, some of them damn near knee-deep—even his four-wheel wouldn’t guarantee getting through the sludge. He skirted the worst of the pools and checked through the dense bush on either side of the road. Still nothing.

Then he saw them. About a half-mile out.

Fresh tire marks, on the road and up the bank. Whoever it was had obviously stalled on their way out and had a bitch of a time getting out of the mud.

Maybe that asshole Reid was after Tommi.

His gut tightened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He stared up the road into the deepening gloom and worked to level off his breathing, temper the blasts of raw anger.

One thing was certain: if Reid was stupid enough to try again, he’d be waiting for him—with a loaded shotgun.

In the meantime, he’d keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.

What he wasn’t going to do was tell Tommi what he’d found. There was always the chance it was some schmuck who’d taken a wrong road, and he’d upset her for nothing.

He stared at the gouged-out mud the tires had thrown up to get free, then looked at the black sky. If the second storm came as predicted, they’d be safe enough. Another few inches of water and you’d need a tank to get through on this road.

Had to be the first time Mac, now a Pacific Northwesterner to his bones, prayed for rain—and plenty of it.

6

When he got back to the lodge, Tommi was waiting, her eyes too bright, her movements agitated. “I made some hot chocolate,” she said. “And some sandwiches.”

“Great.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she added, “Did you see anything?”

“About a million soggy trees.”

“I heard something, Mac. I did.” She looked desperate to have him believe her.

“Probably a branch or two snapping off a tree. Distant lightning, maybe. Could have been anything.”

She frowned.

“There’s nothing out there.” The lie rested easy on his conscience. He peeled off his wet shirt, then headed for the stairs—and his rifle. From here on he wanted it ready, willing, and able—and close at hand. “Put a hold on the hot chocolate, will you? I’m going to get out of these clothes.” He forced a smile. “Want to help?”

She hesitated, then smiled back. “Tempting. But I think I’ll stay here and keep the chocolate warm.”

“Chicken.”

“Absolutely.”

“It’s going to happen.”

“The ‘it’ being?” She slanted him a gaze.

“You. Me. Sex.”

“You’re awfully sure of yourself, Mac Fleming.”

He went back to where she stood by the door and lifted her face to his. “Part of me is. Damn sure.” He was caught by her eyes, the edge of melancholy in them. His stomach knotted. “Or maybe I want you so bad I can’t imagine you don’t feel the same.” He drew her to him, kissed her with all the restraint he could muster. When neither of them could draw an even breath, he released her.

They looked at each other for what seemed an hour.

Finally, Tommi, her face unreadable, her skin flushed, said, “Can we—” she stopped.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Slow down.”

He heard the catch in her breath, but couldn’t figure out why the air between them now filled his lungs like glue.

She touched her fingers to his lips, looked directly into his eyes. “I’m scared, Mac.”

“There’s nothing out there,” he lied again.

“Not that. I can handle that!” She looked all tensed up again. “It’s this thing between us…I don’t want to make another mistake.”

“Sex is never a mistake.”

“Spoken like a true male.” She touched his jaw, ran a finger over the seal of his mouth. “For me, sex has been a mistake most of my life. The best decision I ever made was not to sleep with your brother. I got a valuable friend out of that.” She looked up at him, her expression thoughtful, remote. “What will I have after I sleep with you, Mac?”

Mac sensed the question was meant more for herself than him—and impossible to answer either way. But he sure as hell liked the positive sound of it. He forked his hands deep into her blond hair, made her look at him. “You think too much.” He kissed her deeply, let her go while he still could, and headed for some dry clothes.

When he looked back from the top of the stairs, she was still looking at him. He’d have given his first million to know what she was thinking.

 

The night closed in on the lodge with a tight fist, windy, black, and wet. If there was a threatening world beyond the walls they were enclosed in, it was safely distant. Mac had built the fire to a hectic, crackling roar, and Tommi, curled in one of his big chairs, tried hard to concentrate on the book she’d taken from his shelves.

Tried even harder to ignore the quiet man in the chair across from hers. A man who didn’t seem to be having any trouble at all concentrating on the file he’d opened, while leaving another pile neatly stacked at his feet.

The only light in the room came from the fire and the lamps they were reading by, the only sound the hiss and crackle of the flames and the night wind rapping for entry at the windows.

When Tommi lifted her gaze to look at Mac—for the thousandth time—she gave up her attempts to read and rested the book in her lap.

Since Mac came back down from his bedroom, hours ago now, his hair damp and curling around his ears, his athletic body clad casually in fresh jeans and an olive-colored cashmere sweater, she’d been mesmerized, rapt in every detail, down to his long feet and white sport socks.

Her mind went to those white cotton briefs he’d worn in the pool this morning, and what she knew was under them—all for her.

If she wanted it.

Oh, yes, she wanted it, wanted Mac. Her body reminded her of that wanting with every stolen glance.

Her imagination set his hands on her breasts, his mouth at suckle…

At the graphic images, her breathing shallowed. Heat suffused her, made her limbs and torso limp with want of him. Burn with need for him. Her heart, a stone these past few weeks, lightened in her chest.

She stared into the fire. Maybe she had grown too cautious. Maybe she did, as Mac said, “think too much.” Even Hugh told her she’d “elevated picky to an art form.”

She shot another glance at Mac. She wanted him. Here in a time out of time, in a place at the back of nowhere.

And she could have him. All she had to do was put aside unreasonable expectations and go for it. Sex for sex’s sake, then let it go. Mac was definitely worth it.

She wondered what Hugh would think of his baby brother passing her picky test and smiled at the thought.

“What’s funny?” Mac’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Nothing. Just something I read.” She nodded at the abandoned book.

He craned his neck, strained to look. “Renaissance Theology,” he read aloud. “Unless they’ve put in a foreword by Dave Barry, I must have missed something.” He got to his feet, walked over, and picked up her wineglass. He raised it and lifted his eyebrows in silent question.

“Sure, although I think I’ve already had one too many.”

“You’ve had one, period.” He filled her glass, handed it back to her, and went to stoke the fire.

“I don’t drink much. Too, uh, susceptible.” Tommi held the glass up to the dancing flames, then took a drink—not a sip, a drink. It never hurt a girl to have a shot of extra courage. “I’ve been watching you, you know,” she said. “Sneaking peeks at you over the top of my riveting reading.” She took another swallow and put the glass on the table beside her chair. Empty.

“I know.” His shadowed eyes concentrated on her face. “I’ve been watching you, too.”

“And waiting patiently?”

“Waiting, yes. Patiently? No.” The look he gave her had more heat than the roaring fire.