Divorced, Desperate and Dead (Divorced and Desperate Book 5) (25 page)

It wasn’t even out of concern that she’d had a gang of thugs trying to kill her. It was Cary’s kisses. Even that last one that wasn’t even completely on her lips. She could still feel his mouth brushing against her cheek.

Then there were the touches—his fingers, brushing a strand of hair off her cheek. Oh, and when his palm had gone low on her back and brought her pelvis against his. She’d felt his hardness.

Remembering had an ache starting between her legs.

She pulled the phone up and looked at it. “Call him. He said you could.” But what would she say?

She could always pretend she was nervous. Ask him to come back over. And then what? Meet him at the door wearing something sexy?

She glanced down at the plaid flannel gown she’d found in her mom’s drawer . Oh, yeah, this was sexy. She could always just wear her red underwear. She put her finger on the first number, and was about to dial when she heard a thud as if someone had thrown something at the house.

Following that thud, came another.

She sat up.

Voices echoed outside. Voices right outside her window.

Now she could call Cary and tell him honestly that she was afraid.

She started to dial. The voices grew louder. Her gaze shot to the window.

She recalled how her bakery windows had been shot out.

She lunged out of bed, cell phone in her hand, not even sure where she was going, except away from the window.

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chloe got to the living room, her heart jumping around in her chest like a Mexican jumping bean. And that’s when her mom’s home phone rang.

Panicked, she snatched up the phone.

“Frances?” the voice came at the same time another loud thud came.

Chloe recognized Evelyn’s voice, one of the twins. “No, mom’s on a cruise, it’s Chloe. It’s me. It’s me. And I think someone is trying to break in! Call the police!” She dropped the phone and ran to the kitchen to get a knife.

But before she got there, her cell rang.

Breathing hard, she grabbed the biggest knife she could, and answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Chloe?”

“Yes.” She didn’t recognize the voice.

“It’s Cary. Can you open your front door?”

“No!  I think someone’s out there. Can you come back? Now! And fast? I think some is trying to break in. Damn! Damn!”

“Chloe. I am back. I’m out here now. And . . . your mother’s neighbor, make that neighbors, are holding me hostage. They think I’m trying to break in. Can you please come tell them you know me and that I’m not a burglar?”

Chloe stood there for several seconds before it all made sense. Phone in one hand, knife in the other, she went to the front door. She put the knife down to open the door. And there in her front yard was Cary Stevens, flanked by Elsie and Evelyn. Evelyn held a mop, Elsie had something in her hand, but Chloe couldn’t identify it.

“I got up for a bladder run and saw this guy lurking outside the house. Do you know this young man?” Evelyn asked.

Chloe nodded. “Yes, he’s a friend.”

“Why was he sneaking around your mom’s house?” Elsie nudged Cary with her mop again.

“I told you. I was making sure the house was secure,” Cary said. “And please, enough with the mop,” he said to her mom’s ninety-year-old neighbor.

Chloe couldn’t help it. She giggled.

He glanced up at her and frowned. Chloe took another step outside. “Seriously, it’s fine. You two can go on home. He’s coming inside now.” She waved Cary in.

He glanced back at the mop.

“Where’s Frances?” Evelyn asked.

“She’s on a cruise,” Chloe told her again. “Put the mop down,” Chloe said. Right then, she recognized what Elsie held in her hand. Another giggle rose up in her throat. She’d bet this was a first for Cary.

He moved up the steps, and Chloe waved the twins off as she and Cary came inside. She shut the door then faced him. He didn’t look happy, but she couldn’t help it. She laughed.

“You think it’s funny?” he asked.

“Well, I think . . .” Another giggle escaped, and she put her hand over her lips. “I’ll bet this is the first time you’ve been held up with a potato peeler and a mop.”

He shook his head. Then a smile spread across his lips. “The potato peeler could have done some damage. And I thought I was going to have to confiscate that mop.”

Chloe giggled again.

“Go ahead and laugh.” He gave her a good hard stare. “I always heard there wasn’t anything sexy about flannel.”

“Really?” she asked.

“Yup, and now . . .” He gave her another slow up and down. “Now, I know how right that is.”

She laughed. “Well, if someone would have let me go home, I wouldn’t be in flannel.”

“What would you be in? The angel night shirt?” His voice deepened just a bit and her body responded.

“Maybe.” She put a hand on her hip. “What are you doing here?”

“I Googled you and was able to find your mom’s address. If I could, so could anyone. So I came over. When the lights were out, I didn’t want to wake you, but I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t any sign of a break-in. And I was caught walking around your house.”

“I told you they’re crime patrol,” she said.

“Yeah, you did.” He inhaled. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“I wasn’t asleep,” she said. Was he trying to leave again? She bit down on her lip. “Actually, I was just about to call you.”

“You were?”

She nodded. “You said to if I couldn’t sleep.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“You want something to drink?” she asked.

“What are you offering?”

“Probably hot tea and decaf coffee,” she said. “Wait, Mom usually keeps scotch for special occasions.” She went over to the bar cabinet in the dining room that was just past the living room, and pulled out a bottle. “Does scotch go bad?” She looked back at him.

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“Good.” She knelt down at the built-in bar and pulled out two glasses. She poured a good two inches of amber liquid into both glasses.

“The sofa?” she asked and pointed back to the living room.

“Sounds good.”

She walked past him and he followed. Her mother’s brown leather sofa sighed as they positioned themselves. She handed him a glass. When their fingers touched, Chloe felt it. That spark.

They both sipped from their glasses at the same time. The liquid burned going down. She coughed. “Is it bad? Are we going to die from drinking this?”

He grinned. “No, it’s fine.” He took another sip, watching her over the rim. “It’s actually good scotch. You’re not a drinker?”

“Wine and fruity drinks. Not the hard stuff too often.” She took another sip. She didn’t cough this time. It felt warm sliding down her throat.  And she felt warm sitting beside him. A natural scent that reminded her of the outdoors, filled her senses. She wanted to lean over and take a deep breath of just him.

“Why did you come back?” she asked.

“Because I was worried. Because I can’t seem to stay away. You’re addicting, Chloe Sanders.”

“Really?”

“Really.” He touched her cheek. “Why were you calling me?”

“Because. . .” She met his eyes and decided to just be honest. “Because I didn’t want you to leave the first time.”

He set the glass down on the coffee table. “I thought . . . when you didn’t want to stay at my place, you were saying—”

“A girl has the right to change her mind, doesn’t she?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m an advocate for that.” His grin grew sexy.

Now came the difficult part. But she wasn’t a fool, and it had to be done. “Do you have . . . protection?”

“In my wallet.” He downed the last of his scotch. She looked at her glass and did the same.

She made a face as the strong, hot liquid went down her throat. “Liquid courage,” she said, her voice squeaky.

“What do you need courage for?” he asked.

“I guess I’m nervous about the whole getting naked thing.” Of course, this wasn’t her first rodeo.

“That’s not what that shelf of pictures over there implies,” he said, grinning.

She rolled her eyes. “I was two then. Clothes were optional.”

“In my book, they still are.”

She grinned.

“Would it make you feel better if I got naked first?” He set his glass down and tugged up his shirt, exposing his flat belly and lower chest. He brought it up, and then down, grinning as she watched.

She laughed at his playful strip-tease imitation. “Men have no modesty.”

“None.” He kicked off his tennis shoes, then removed his socks. Standing up, looking at her with a hooded, sexy gaze, he slid his palm across his chest then down to the hem of his shirt. Swaying just a touch to make it look a little sexier, he pulled his shirt up a little higher. She’d seen his bare chest before, seen it all before, but her breath still caught.

His skin, a light golden brown, looked warm and so touchable. The leisurely tug of his shirt up even higher showcased the muscles in his arms. Once the shirt slipped off his head, mussing his hair into a sexy touch-me style, he gave the soft navy cotton material a swirl in the air then tossed it onto a chair.

She swallowed and giggled—only slightly embarrassed to have enjoyed the little show as much as she did. “I’m afraid I’m out of dollar bills.”

He grinned. “That’s okay. We’ll work something out.” He looked around.  “Do you have a shower in this place?”

She nodded and her breath caught when she noticed the bulge in his sweats.

He held out his hand. “Good. How about a shower?”

“I thought you were going to get naked first?” she teased and felt her face heat. But, heaven help her, she had kind of enjoyed it. There was just something a little naughty about sitting on her mother’s sofa, wearing her mother’s flannel gown, watching this guy strip.

Okay, not a little naughty, but a lot naughty. And she didn’t do naughty very often.

“Ahh, so you like this, huh?” He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his sweats and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Perhaps,” she said, trying not to blush.

He slowly lowered the elastic band down, showing that thin strip of dark hair that went from his belly button to his . . .

Oh, my! He slid them down, underwear and all, and his already hard sex bounced up against his treasure trail.

She giggled and covered her eyes, now really embarrassed.

Eyes still closed, he caught her hand, set her glass down, and pulled her up against him. She opened her eyes, met his dark brown gaze, and felt completely lost in desire, lust, and needs she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She put her hands on his naked waist. He pulled her against him. Leaning down, he kissed her—soft, sweet, and so seductive. His hands went around her back and then up, as if feeling for a zipper or buttons. “How do you get out of this thing?”

“Up and over,” she said, letting her hands move around his bare waist.

“Can I help you with it?” he asked.

“I suppose,” she said, restarting the slight case of butterflies.

He took a small step back. Her gaze lowered—past his sex, to the Band-Aid on his thigh.

“I forgot about your leg,” she said. “Should you . . .?”

“I’m fine.” He knelt down. All the way down. His hands moved under the hem of the gown. Warm fingers came against the outside of her ankles, and with an unhurried pace, he brushed his hand up and up. When the red lacy panties were exposed, she heard him exhale.

She looked down at him, and he glanced up at her. “You are beautiful.” He leaned in and kissed the top of her thigh. The feel of his lips sent a sweet ache between her legs. Then he slipped the panties down her legs, and continued upward with the gown.

When he cleared her breasts, the back of his hand brushed over her nipples, and Chloe’s breath jerked at the sweet tingles his touch brought on.

“You are perfect,” he said. She wasn’t, of course. She’d always thought she could use a little more up top and a little less on the bottom. She also still carried a bruise across the left side of her rib cage.

But she felt almost perfect right now. Maybe it was the scotch, liquid courage, or maybe it was just him, but she felt sexy and bold. She reached up and placed a hand over his chest and slowly followed his treasure trail down.

The back of her hand brushed against his hot shaft.

He moaned. Her exploration stopped when he brought the gown up and over her head, lifting her arms in the air.

He tossed the piece of flannel and her panties over to the chair with his clothes, and they stood there, completely naked in front of each other. And it no longer felt awkward. It felt right.

Him.

Her.

Together.

Naked.

She couldn’t ever remember anything feeling this right. As if she’d just stepped onto part of fate’s plan. But right then, she pushed that feeling back. She’d told him she wasn’t asking for promises. And she wouldn’t ruin this by expecting them.

He reached back and got his wallet out of his sweatpants and pulled something out. The condom, she supposed.

Then he faced her again. He threaded his fingers with hers and dipped his head down. She felt the roughness of his five o’clock shadow against her cheek. While she’d always preferred a clean-shaven man, this somehow felt erotic.

“Lead the way to the bathroom,” he whispered in her ear as he kissed the side of her neck.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Cary felt Chloe squeeze his hand, and somehow that tightening went straight to other places. And not just to his southern regions. But to his heart. Warning bells started ringing. But those bells could ring until the cows came home.  He’d be damned if he’d listen to them right now.

Later, he’d evaluate.

Later, he’d reign himself in.

Not now.

She led him into a bathroom. He lagged behind a half a step to sneak a backside view. Amazingly, her rounded ass was as breathtaking as the treasures on the other side. Once they stepped into the tiny bathroom, he took the lead. He reached behind the shower curtain and turned on the water, setting it to spray warm.

Hand behind the curtain, he leaned down and kissed her while he waited for the temperature to reach perfection. When it felt right, he used his wet hand to brush a strand of hair from her cheek. He tried not to let his eyes wander to the point she’d feel uncomfortable. Not an easy task.