Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (32 page)

As the window slid lower, he decided not to shut it all the way. He needed the air and didn’t want to run up his electric bill by flipping on the window air conditioning. He heard the trill of a girl’s laughter and stopped. He’d know that sound anywhere. Rhiann Wilde.

Quickly turning off the overhead light and plunging the room into darkness so he could see better without giving himself away, Liam peered from the window and searched for the source of the laughter.

Holy fucking crap. There she was. Waltzing along the sidewalk with her usual troop of girlfriends, making their way into what he knew was a frat house shit show.

They’d met for the first time almost two months ago, during the hottest summer he could remember, when he’d gone to the residence of his grad mentor’s home to deliver some paperwork. And he’d been barely able to think about anything else since.

Cute, like girl-next-door cute, with an adorable laugh and a mouth that surprised him with how wicked she was with her language, Rhiann Wilde was one of those girls who made a guy think all sorts of dirty shit.

Of course, it didn’t help that he had to run into her all the time. Nor did it help that he was pretty damn sure the popular coed was hot for him. Keeping a respectful distance turned out to be a complete joke—helped along entirely by the fact that he kept finding excuses to see her, and she all but glued herself to him at every opportunity.

But he knew that girls like her didn’t end up with guys like him. She was going places—her natural curiosity and joy of life practically assured that, and while Liam knew he was going places, too—there was a dark tunnel detour and some shit-kicking paybacks he intended to mete out along the way. Stuff that would end up souring her sweetness should he let her get too close. He had a lot to do and a good deal of getting his hands dirty before he was done, which essentially made the girl off-limits.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested. Or more than just a little turned on each time they met. Liam didn’t even want to think about the number of times he woke up with a throbbing hard-on following a particularly erotic dream starring the feisty brunette.

“Adams Lane. Reports of a disturbance. Sounds like the usual,” squawked the police scanner.

Fuck. Adams Lane? The call was probably about the keg and pot rager gearing up across the street. Great.

Dammit to hell. Rhiann. He couldn’t let her get caught up in a police dragnet. Her father would blow his cork, especially since he was a respected professor at the college.

Bolting from his apartment, Liam all but jumped down the stairs and out into the September evening with one aim in mind. White knighting the girl of his dreams and rescuing her silly ass.

Didn’t take long once he was across the street to find her. His dick was acting like a tracking device, steering him through the crowd of inebriated dumbfucks and straight at her . . . and Jesus, what the fuck was she wearing? Aaarrgh.

“Rhiann,” he ground out when he came upon her. Not waiting for her to answer, he silently clasped her hand when she turned toward him and began yanking her as fast as he could toward the door.

Stumbling beside him, she clutched his hand and yelped. “Liam! What the hell?”

“Come with me and hurry,” he told her—not missing the way her eyes turned emerald in color at his command.

Pulling her along like a naughty child found outside the schoolyard, he gritted his teeth and willed his overactive libido to settle the hell down considering that, dressed as she was in a Catholic schoolgirl costume, she very much fit the description of naughty.

Providence must have been smiling on them because he managed to drag her safely away and was almost at the door to his building when four campus police cars pulled up. Thank fucking god.

Dragging her rather unceremoniously up the two flights of stairs to his hidey-hole at the end of the hallway, he made quick work of unlocking his door and shoving her inside.

The minute he had her alone, Liam got right up in her face and snarled, “Rhiann—what the fuck are you wearing? Are you insane going out dressed like that?”

“Whaaat?” she squealed. “What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought it looked pretty cute.”

To make her point she did a little hip shake and spun around just enough that the tiny skirt flared out revealing even more of her naked thighs. More than he was comfortable seeing.

If this wasn’t Rhiann, he might have dropped her to the floor where she stood and fucked the ever-loving shit out of her—‘cause wasn’t that what her outfit suggest he did?

Groaning, he shook his head at her and scowled. “Does your father know you prance around town looking like a cheap hooker?”

Her gasp at his cruel taunt and the quick sheen of tears in her eyes stopped him from continuing. Shit. He was being a dick.

“For your information, Liam, I’m way more covered up than half the girls at that party and besides . . . it’s not like this is normal,” she whined with her hands pressed to her hips. “It was a Pimps and Hos party. How was I supposed to dress? Like a nun?”

Sadly, he would have wanted to screw the holiness out of her even dressed in a head-to-toe habit. The thought was unsettling.

The sound of the police using a bullhorn drew his attention away from her. Going to the window, he looked out at the scene unfolding across the street and sighed. They’d had one hell of a close call, but luckily, he got her out of there before the shit hit the fan.

Peering over his shoulder at the commotion, he felt her warm breath on his neck when she gasped and muttered, “Oh, my god.”

Swiveling his head to look at her, he was stunned into silence by how lovely she was. When she crowded closer to him from behind to get a better look at what was going down, he felt her breasts press against his arm and had to count to ten. Nun, schoolgirl . . . didn’t matter. He wanted her. She could be made up like the bride of Frankenstein and his cock would still be hard and heavy with wanting.

“Oh no!” she cried softly. “Look,” she pointed to a group of coeds being rounded together by the cops. “There are Shelby and Freya, but I don’t see Nic. I hope she got away.”

“You’re welcome,” he growled.

She looked at him a second and blinked once or twice then her whole face lit up. “You rescued me,” she whispered.

“Yeah, well . . . didn’t have much choice. Your dad would have shit a brick if you’d managed to get caught up in that mess.”

He slid away from her and went to stand on the other side of the only table in the room, far away from the temptation of her sweet little body.

“Oh! So, what? You rode in on your trusty steed and dragged me away from certain doom because it’s part of your job?”

She made the job sound like a swear word. Somehow, he’d managed to hurt her feelings.

“How’d you know?” she asked. “That the police were coming, I mean.”

“Scanner,” he muttered with a nod toward the small device.

“You have a police scanner?”

He shrugged and picked up one of the model pieces he’d been assembling because suddenly he knew if his hands didn’t have something to do, they’d be reaching for her.

“Thanks.”

Was he surprised that she went from defiantly snapping at him to charming passivity in the space of a heartbeat? Absolutely not. The move was so Rhiann. That mouth of hers was going to get the girl in trouble someday.

Her eyes swept the table between them and she smiled. “Ooooh. A model? I loooove models. What is it? Is there a picture? Let me see.”

He almost smiled. The quick way she asked questions showed what an astute and clever mind she had. And nothing could have turned him on more right then except maybe her mouth on his cock. Or his face between her legs. Either would do just fine.

Tilting his head toward the instructions on the wall next to the table, he told her, “It’s a Shelby. A Cobra, to be exact. Know what that is?”

“Of course, I do,” she replied. “Dad’s got a classic Thunderbird stashed away in the garage. I’ll show it to you sometime, if you’d like. My mom says it’s his other wife because of how much time he spends with it.”

“Are you serious?”

“About which? Showing you or that Dad’s a car freak?”

“Uh, well . . . both, I guess.”

She chuckled. “Let me see . . . I know this by heart.”

She coughed dramatically and cleared her throat like she was about to launch into the Gettysburg Address.

“Partially restored 1957 Thunderbird with a manual three-speed transmission. Original 312/245 horsepower engine, wire wheels, and a trunk mount antenna. White with the classic black-white interior, it has a soft top and runs as good as it looks.”

“Wow.”

Reaching for the model’s box with the full-color picture on the front, she bent over just enough to give Liam a quick glimpse of her underwear. Where he might have expected to find something as risqué as the rest of her naughty outfit, instead he saw a demure pair of white panties—the full coverage kind—and wondered just what the hell he’d done to earn such ball-busting temptation.

Muttering darkly, he went and grabbed a pair of his sweatpants and tossed them at her head.

“Jesus H. Christ, Rhiann. Put some damn clothes on before I forget who you are.”

The look she gave him was equal parts Virgin Mary, a vampy Marilyn Monroe, and that chick from the diner he favored who always looked at him like he was the day’s special.

“Damn, but you’re bossy,” she sassed. “You’re not my father, Liam.”

“Thank fuck for that,” he ground out.

“Meaning?”

Common sense took a holiday and left the door open on the way out for a testosterone surge that drove him to step over the line.

“Meaning . . . that if you take even one step closer, I’m going to show you what happens to naughty little schoolgirls who flash their panties at a grown man.”

Her look of outrage fueled his desire.

“Excuse me? I did NOT flash my panties at you.”

Did she even realize she was playing with fire?

“Really?” Liam moved in close enough to run his hand up her thigh and under her skirt while they stared at each other; he with an openly lustful expression and her with a sort of blushing naïveté that gripped him by the throat.

Without looking away, he growled, “White. Cotton,” as his hand caressed her sweet ass.

Well, that certainly shut her up because, at his words, she went absolutely still with her eyes the size of golf balls.

He’d be goddamned if he was going to remove his hand or stop what he was doing. It was already too late for that. If she slapped him up the side of the head and told him, ‘No’ . . . well, he’d back off, of course. But right now? Months of wanting converged inside him, conveniently situated in his groin. He. Wanted. Her. Period.

When her mouth opened on a breathy gasp, and he felt a fine shudder skate across her skin, Liam knew he was doomed for all time. At that moment, he needed her more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. Need. Want. Different sides of the same coin.

“Liam?” she whispered in a small, husky whisper.

When she actually moved closer to him, his brain exploded. Hadn’t he told her not to do that?

“Goddammit, Rhiann,” he groaned and gathered her roughly to him, pressing her against his hard body, his hand possessively gripping her ass.

She didn’t put up any resistance whatsoever when his mouth crashed down on hers. Her taste was the sweetest thing he’d ever known and as she shyly opened to him and kissed back, he was pretty sure that heaven was within his reach for the first and only time in his life.

L
IAM’S EYES SHOT OPEN JUST as his dream was getting good. This memory—the one with Rhiann and that fateful night all those years ago—was haunting him full time these days.

Groaning as he rolled over to give his fearsome erection room to break free, he struggled to find his breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Why the fuck won’t this need leave him? Why?

Rhiann
. . .

He’d been in London for six weeks and basically ran himself ragged every day hoping to keep his mind off her.

Fat lot of good that’d done him when she’d filled every fucking silent moment between the loud ones. The way she smelled. Her beautiful smile. That wicked mouth and all the things she could do with it. And especially her husky laugh—the one that shot straight into his groin. The same groin currently pulsing like a motherfucker.

Sadness and regret grabbed him by the throat and squeezed hard. God, he missed her so damn much.

Throwing back the covers, Liam inhaled deeply as the cool air hit his sweat-dampened skin.
This is getting old,
he thought. Try as he might to fight the need clawing its way out of him, every night he failed miserably and every morning he woke up drenched, hard, and in need.