Unravel Me (13 page)

“Maybe that’s all the better,” Cassandra responded. “Because there is that way you two look at each other. If he’s leaving soon, nobody gets hurt, but you still get—”

“Laid.” Nikki interjected, an unholy grin taking over her face. “Perfect. I think you should let that gorgeous guy strip you right out of those beige clothes you’re wearing tonight and bring you back to life.”

“Nikki!” Cassandra laughed. “I said it before, I’ll say it again. You
are
bad.”

“And I like it,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Bet Juliet will, too. We’re sisters, after all.”

God, the women were crazy. Juliet Weston—rule-following, instruction-adhering widow Juliet Weston—couldn’t just hop into a brief affair with the guy across the pool . . . could she?

Wouldn’t it be a betrayal? She’d loved Wayne with all her heart.

But . . . this wasn’t about her heart.

It was about her body, her tingly, womanly, okay,
aroused
body that was put in that state just thinking about . . . about . . .

Shagging Noah.

But she’d come here tonight to figure out something to give him. How could she walk out thinking about possibly giving
herself
such a present?

And now that Nikki and Cassandra had put it into her head . . . how could she not think about it?

 

Noah jolted awake, just in time to catch the glass in his hand from tipping over and dumping the two inches of whisky it held onto the flagstone deck.

Behind him, he could hear the rhythm of one of their old Iraq anthems, Metallica’s “Seek and Destroy,” beating like a headache from inside the guesthouse. After some Mexican takeout, he and Dean had cranked up the volume coming through the speakers and toasted old times with a full bottle of booze. They’d siphoned off more than half when Noah’s old Army buddy had leaned back in the recliner and z’d off for a little rack time.

Considering that half-bottle gone, Dean had just as likely passed out.
Hooah.

Noah was slightly better off, because he’d left the guesthouse to head outside, and because he’d semi-controlled his intake so he’d be coherent when Juliet came home.

His head snapped around and then he figured what must have woken him. When last he’d looked, the place across the pool had been dark except for the security lights. Now the kitchen was lit and he could see her moving about. Apparently she’d returned from Malibu & Ewe. Standing, he shook his head and took a minute to let the liquor settle in the lower half of his brain. Then it took only seconds for him to reach the French door leading into the kitchen.

She jumped at his rattling knock on the glass. Then she crossed to the door and through the double panes he could see she was wearing boxy, man-cut pajamas in some satiny fabric. They hid everything from below her throat all the way to her ankles, but he’d already conceded the singular sexiness of her elegant, gold-tipped toes.

“Noah?” she said, as she opened the door to let him inside. “What’s up?”

Yeah, there was a dangerous question. With that classy scent of hers in the air and now in his head, he was forced to shove his hands in his front pockets, working on the good ol’ denim stretch. It took so little of her to get to him. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with Dean bunking with me across the way.”

“I told you so when you asked after he called the other night. That’s your place, your decision.” Despite the speech, there was a new pink flush across her cheekbones and her gaze kept sliding away from his.

Frowning, he tucked his forefinger under her chin. “Juliet? What’s wrong?”

She gave a wry smile and then lifted her hands to pluck at the lapels of her pajama top. “I realize I’m in beige again.”

His glance flicked down. Beige? On her, to him, everything looked golden. Out of reach. He let his finger drop and he stepped back. “Uh, I guess I should go then.”

She was grasping those silky-looking lapels with white knuckles. “So soon?”

He frowned. “Well, I . . .” His throat closed down as he looked into her eyes, their unmatched color making him unsteady on his feet.

Of course he remembered her confessing to Gabe that she craved contact, but since then he hadn’t been able to convince himself it was true. Except now, now there was something in her eyes, or maybe just something he wanted to believe he could see . . . In any case, that damn weather vane in his pants was suddenly declaring clear skies and hot nights ahead.

God, he probably was an idiot. He probably was an idiot who had sucked down too much booze, yet he still couldn’t stop himself from taking a step closer to her. Then another, telling himself that when she backed up he’d take the hint and leave. Surely that would happen any second. Yet her pretty bare feet stayed stuck to the floor.

His head lowered toward hers and her breath rushed out, warm, and he detected the slightest scent of chocolate.

A song he remembered from the sandbox floated through his head. Not the boost-your-shit-kicking-attitude heavy metal music he’d been reminiscing to with Dean back at the guesthouse. What he heard now was one of those oozing, aching, gotta-get-me-a-girl songs that could have all the guys groaning and heading off for the showers or off for some private time with a pinup or just their personal prurient fantasies.

The words of the song slithered like seduction through his head. They reached into his pants like a slim, warm hand. “I smell sex and candy,” he heard a voice croon in his brain, and then he had to taste it. Taste sex and candy, and the most dangerous taste of them all.

Hers.

Without more thought, his mouth found Juliet’s lips and they parted on another little whoosh of sweet, decadent breath. His belly clenched, hard, harder, because this kiss was no damn accident. He couldn’t tell himself this time that it was just a harmless, unintentional tail end to her friendly hug.

This wasn’t friendly. And when his hands slid down over that slinky fabric to find her elegant ass and draw her hips against his, well, that wasn’t any hug.

That was hell-o, hail Mary, thank Jesus for being born a man so he could press the stiff weight of his cock into the softness of her female mound.

He didn’t hesitate sliding his tongue into her mouth. It was wet and hot inside, more than he remembered, and it had him thinking of the other wet, hot place of her body he could explore. But he might not get that far, he might not have that long, so he hauled her even closer against him and pressed his hip bones into her belly and damned the consequences.

She opened to him, she softened to him, and heat flashed like fire down his spine and rushed around to his groin. Though his head was buzzing with sexual glee, he recognized the yielding give of her breasts against his chest and his hand slid upward to cup one’s supple weight. Her nipple stabbed his palm and they both groaned.

His fingers tightened and she did that signature Juliet move on him again—sucking on his tongue and shattering his sense so that he was only about
sensation
, the stiff nub of her nipple under the brush of his thumb, the sweet taste of her chocolate-Julietness on his taste buds, the velvety smoothness of her belly skin beneath his fingertips.

Yeah. He was going for the gold.

Oh, Christ. But he couldn’t stop himself, even as he wrenched his mouth from hers to press kisses to the corner of her lips, the edge of her jaw, the sleek velvet column of her neck.

She was holding her breath, he thought. He could feel the trembling tension in her body as his forefinger flirted with her belly button. “Relax,” he said, though his voice was rough and tight and he couldn’t command his own muscles to let go. “Relax.”

Of course she didn’t. And of course he was at the whim of his lust, so far gone that as his fingers found no obstacle on the way to the curls at the apex of her thighs, he couldn’t stop himself from testing his teeth against the edge of her elegant chin. She jerked into both touches, and then his mouth found her wet mouth again and his fingers—

Also found wet. Heat.

Her outside flesh seemed to flutter around his fingers, and against his other hand, her nipple tightened further. In another second he was going to explode. For the first time in all these damn months of half-guilty fantasies, he had Juliet as he’d imagined.

At the mercy of his lust, of his l—

He halted the thought by moving his middle finger lower, deeper. Her breath hitched. More heat, more wetness flowed into his hand, and then he was inside her.

His tongue thrust into her mouth and she held him there . . . and
there
. Sucking, tightening, taking. They had each other. It was sweet and carnal and more than he’d ever expected out of life.

I smell sex and candy
. . . Then that croon made way for another voice.

And like that, he was in Iraq. In the Stryker, with that calm, yet urgent female voice that automatically sounded when an opposition force was within the armored vehicle’s battle space.
Warning! Enemy in area!

Noah wrenched himself away from Juliet.

Juliet, the general’s wife.

Widow.

Whatever.

Blessing that mean, fucked-up little flashback, he backed away from the beautiful woman who stared at him, her chest heaving. Despite how he’d touched her, all her secrets remained still covered by gold satin.

Shit, and all his secrets still remained damn good reason to retreat now and forever keep his distance. While he’d imagined this, fantasized about it, the reality of getting this close would create a tangle he couldn’t fight free of. He shouldn’t have forgotten that. Cursing himself, he took another step back.

The classy woman didn’t utter a single sound as he left.

Eight

The quickest way of ending a war is to lose it.

—GEORGE ORWELL

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Juliet’s house looked quiet and no one answered Marlys’s ring. Congratulating herself that the world was going her way for once, she pushed through the side gate and ventured around the pool to the guesthouse. Its door swung open following her knock.

She gazed coolly at the dark-haired, silver-eyed biker standing on the other side. Dean Long. “Trick-or-treat.”

He leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and returned her same unruffled stare. Then he reached out a big hand to tap the wire and white gauze that made up the wings of her Halloween costume. “So, you decided you’re a fairy after all.”

“Nope.” From behind her back, she drew out a sequined halo and popped it on top of her head. “I’m an angel.”

“Now why do I find that hard to believe?”

She shrugged, her wings shifting on her shoulders. The truth was, she’d never angled for sainthood. Mom didn’t care and Dad hadn’t been around to appreciate the achievement. “Are you going to pony up a Snickers or a Tootsie Pop, or am I going to have to pull out the eggs and shaving cream?”

He mocked a shudder. “Scary. You better come in while I scrounge up something from Noah’s cupboards.”

She grinned. “Fab. I’ve never been inside the private’s private quarters.”

Dean sent her a look over his shoulder as she followed him in, but he didn’t comment on the nickname. “You’ve known him awhile.”

“Mmm.” Marlys didn’t want to talk about Noah, though, except to find out how long she had before he returned. “Where is the big guy?”

“He went to some charity Halloween thing. Same party Juliet’s attending, I think.”

Marlys frowned, distracted. “Juliet went to a party? With who? The Evil Stepmother doesn’t socialize.”

This time when Dean gave her a look her neck went hot and she had to shift her gaze. He continued on to the narrow galley kitchen and she perched on one of the stools drawn up to the short breakfast bar that separated it from the living area. Her white and sequined tutu poofed up in front, exposing even more of her legs in their matching white tights. She tried pushing the layers of tulle down, but gave up when Dean handed her a beefstick.

Frowning, she inspected the plastic-wrapped tube of meat-colored preservatives. “Ick.”

“It’s the best I can do.” He didn’t look sorry about it.

“Guy candy,” she said with disgust.

“Wrong.” His gaze ran over the old dance costume she’d found in the attic, from its little satin bodice to the white ballet slippers she wore. “You in that skimpy outfit—now
that’s
guy candy.”

She pretended to be displeased. “Again with the biker-bar come-ons.”

“If we were in a biker bar and you were dressed like that, I wouldn’t come on, I’d come over and get you out of there before the fights broke out over who got to bend your halo.”

“I never need rescuing.”

“I was talking about saving the guy who got first dibs.”

She had to laugh. That was the thing about this Dean Long. She knew men. She knew their approaches. But he was different, disarming her just when she thought she had all her armor in place. “So despite all the soft trimmings”—she reached up to flick a wing tip—“you think you see all my sharp edges.”

He came around the end of the bar to take the other stool, at the same time twisting hers so they ended up facing each other, knees to knees. “Maybe.” With humor warming up his silver eyes, he considered for a short moment. “Yes.”

“Must be hard to sleep at night, you and your arrogance all crowded together in one bed.”

Another speculative gleam entered his silver gaze.

Oh, hell. She had to mention beds and sleeping, which led to her thinking of sleeping—with him—and damn if he wasn’t looking at her again as if he could see right through her skin. Right through her skin and to her cardiovascular system that had suddenly become a supersonic speedway.