Aussie Rules (16 page)

She'd attribute them to spam, but her spam was usually along the lines of “lengthen your penis” or “grow your hair back”…not
leave it alone
, or
back off or else
…

She tightened her grip on her towel. Wracked her brain for a good reason to turn him away when everything inside her knew she had to face this.

Him.

“You going to let me in, Mel?”

Funny thing was, she'd already let him inside her heart, at least a foot, or two. He just didn't know it. So in the end, she let him all the way in, stepping aside to once again let the big bad wolf into her house of straw.

W
ith difficulty, Bo tore his gaze off Mel's extremely hot, extremely wet body and closed his mouth so he didn't start noticeably drooling. He stepped over the threshold of her cottage and looked around to distract himself.

Her place was tiny, but well cared for. An overstuffed loveseat faced the small woodstove with a potted fern on either side. There were pictures on the walls, Al's no doubt; some prints, some actual photographs, all of airplanes except the personal photos, though there were few of those. She had one of herself and Dimi mugging for the camera inside a biplane. Another of Charlene and Al painting Sunshine Café, both covered in yellow paint. And yet another of the woman who'd changed Bo's life forever.

Sally. Dark-haired, blue-eyed, smiling, gorgeous, vivacious, suck-'em-in-and-kill-'em Sally. With a tic in his jaw, he turned away. If he was being fair, he could understand that Mel didn't know the real Sally. And in that same fairness, he also understood that once he gave her the proof of the real Sally, she wasn't going to be happy with him for showing her that the only woman who'd ever been there for her, the only positive adult influence she'd had as a child, was a criminal.

Throw rugs dotted the scarred wood floor. There was lace at the windows, which surprised him. She'd made herself a home here away from the airport, probably her first. “Look at that,” he murmured. “You have a secret Martha Stewart thing going on.”

She rolled her eyes, but it didn't hide her blush.

God, she was sweet. In a sort of porcupine way. And she was also so damned sexy scowling at him, he could hardly stand it.

“Any idiot can go to Target or Wal-Mart,” she muttered.

“Don't ruin it for me.” He smiled, which was almost unbelievable considering why he'd come. “I like picturing you as a homebody. You pining away for a hubby and kids, Warrior Mel?”

“Shut up.” She tightened her towel and stalked toward the bathroom, from which wafted steam and the scent of bubble bath. “I'll be right—Hey!” she squeaked as he snagged her by the back of her towel and slowly but inexorably pulled her back against him.

“Hey yourself,” he said softly, enjoying very much the feel of her backside as she wriggled, which had the predictable effect, and when she felt it, she went still as stone.

Oh, yeah, darlin', he thought. That's
exactly
what you think it is. He tossed the file down to the couch to wrap both arms around her, holding her stiff spine to his chest as he put his mouth to the sweet spot on the back of her neck and nuzzled. “You smell good.”

“I—” This broke off with a low, sexy moan that escaped her lips when he gently sank his teeth into the side of her throat. “Stop that.”

“Okay, I'll stop that.” He turned her around and tugged off the ridiculous shower cap, ignoring the shaving gel soaking into the legs of his pants as he ran a finger down between her breasts to loosen her towel.

She slapped at his hand, but weakly, he noted. “Don't look at me. I have conditioner in my hair and I need to shave.”

“Call the fashion police,” he said. “What's the punishment, do you think? The rest of the night in bed without dinner?” Christ, what was he doing? He'd come for something else entirely but now this was all he wanted. She was all he wanted.

“Bo, stop. I mean, look at me, I'm a mess—”

“I'm looking. I don't see a mess.” She was gorgeous. He captured her fingers in his and brought them up to his mouth.

“This is ridiculous,” she whispered, then staring at his mouth as he sucked on one of her fingers.

“You didn't think it was stupid the other night.”

“It's just some sort of physical thing.”

“No kidding, it's physical.” He was currently hard enough to pound nails, and she hadn't even touched him. And she smelled like heaven. To get more of it, he bent his head and sniffed at her like a puppy. He dragged his mouth over her bare shoulder, touching her skin with his tongue.

Her fingers dug into his arms as a low but undeniable moan escaped her. Thrilling to the sound, he sank his teeth into her.

“Bo,”
she hissed.

“Right here.”

She lifted her head and for one beat they stared at each other. “Bo,” she said again, and moved toward him at the same time that he caught her up, their mouths connecting as if they could inhale each other. Bo certainly meant to inhale her. He freed her towel, leaving her just as he wanted her—nude. Yanking her up and against him, he had one hand in the center of her back, one palming her extremely palmable ass, spreading his fingers to touch as much of her as he could. “Christ. Christ, you're so hot. Why am I still dressed?”

“I don't know.” She had both hands fisted in his hair now, once again doing her damnedest to make him bald, but it only turned him on all the more because she was already out of control, panting, writhing against him as if he was the best thing since sliced bread.

And in that moment, here with her, he felt like it. She transcended him, made him feel like Superman, and goddamn if that wasn't the most arousing thing ever.

“Bo.”
She fastened her mouth on his throat, not exactly gentle, and in return he tugged on her dripping hair until her head fell back enough that he could kiss her again; hard, wet, deep, while his fingers slid between her legs and dipped into her creamy heat, making him stagger, groan, then stagger again, until he fell back with her onto the couch.

Thank God for Target, he thought dimly, sinking into the soft, giving cushions with this unbelievably hot, wet, naked gorgeous woman straddling him.

She was trying to strip him, making little frustrated sounds as she tore at his clothes. Lending his own hands to the cause, together they pulled his shirt over his head. She let out a little hum of pleasure at the sight of his bared torso, then leaned forward and kissed a pec. “I can't even remember why you're here,” she whispered, and for a moment, the words brought him out.

Because despite being more turned on than he'd been in a good long time,
he
remembered why he was here. When he told her, when he showed her what he'd brought, she was going to get that cold, distant look in her eyes and not want to see him. Not want to talk to him.

And certainly not want to—oh, God—lick him. He opened his mouth, honesty warring with lust, but then she tugged open his jeans and slipped her hands inside.

And just like that, lust won. He'd been touched plenty but for some reason, her hands felt different, her kisses felt different. Gliding his hands up the backs of her thighs, he urged her closer over him as he kissed her again, and again. His fingers still playing in their wet heaven, he dragged his mouth from hers, making his way down to a full curve of a breast. Her nipple was pebbled up tight, going even tighter when he sucked her against his tongue. Pulling back, he blew out a soft breath on the tip as he sank a finger deep inside her.

She cried out, the sound drenched in pleasure. Her head fell back, her hair falling over her shoulders and breasts, which were still wet from his mouth. She looked gorgeous, like a goddamned goddess, and he could only stare up at her, awed, as he added another finger, slowly grazing his thumb over her clit.

Another gasp, the sexiest sound he'd ever heard.
“Bo.”

Had he ever heard his name uttered like that? Like in that moment he was her air, her sustenance, her very life?

He wanted to hear it some more. Lots more. Leaning forward, he put his mouth back on her breast, not losing the rhythm of his thumb on her center, urged on by her rocking hips and soft cries.

“Bo—”

“Come,” he said against her nipple. “I want you to.”

“I can't—”

“Can.” He watched her intently, taking the cues from her pumping hips to see how hard to press, how fast to take her. With another surprised cry, her head fell back again, her throat a lovely arch, her eyes tightly closed.

Beautiful. She was so goddamned beautiful he could hardly stand it. Her hands came down to hold his in the right spot, as if desperate to make sure he finished her off now that she was so close, as if she was afraid he'd disappoint her. But he had no intention of disappointing her, and he carefully tended to her body, groaning at the sight of her straining against him.

And then, with a darkly erotic sound, she burst. She was still shuddering in pleasure, his fingers still deep inside her, when the doorknob on the front door wriggled.

They both froze.

Still breathing hard, dewy from her orgasm, Mel gripped Bo's arms and yanked, and they both fell off the couch to the floor.

“What the hell—”

Before he could finish that thought, Mel slapped a hand over his mouth, holding him down with shocking strength for a completely naked woman who'd just exploded all over him.

“Shh,” she hissed, and pushed his head farther down and out of sight.

Which is how he found his mouth an inch from a still-erect nipple. He stared at the beautiful sight as the front door opened all the way.

“Mel?” called a female voice, a Southern female voice.

Char.

She was probably bringing dinner, because Char had more mothering genes in her little pinky than Bo had good sense.

“Honey,” she called out. “I brought a plate of chicken enchiladas. Al loved them, so I thought…Mel?”

Out of sight, on the floor in front of the couch, Bo turned his head and met Mel's light brown eyes. In them was a promised retribution if he so much as breathed.

Nope, not going to breathe. Instead he opened his mouth and licked her nipple like she was his favorite flavor of lollipop.

She jerked.

The nipple hardened all the more.

And Bo smiled.

“Mel?” Char called. “Damn it, did you go for your run already?”

Mel shot Bo more daggers. Poisoned daggers, by the looks of them. They still lay tangled on the floor, Mel completely naked, him not so much. Given the heat blazing from the woman's gaze, she'd figured out exactly how vulnerable her situation was. To make sure of it, he slid a finger back inside her.

A strangled sound escaped her. In fact, Bo could have sworn her eyes crossed with lust.

Above and behind them, Char let out a long-suffering sigh, set something down on the kitchen table, and exited.

The moment the front door shut, Mel catapulted into action, shoving Bo away, leaping up to her feet. Grabbing her robe, she shoved her arms into it. When she realized the robe was on inside out, she growled.

Bo laughed, and she rounded on him, pointing to the door. “Get out.”

“Oh, is the fun over?”

“Yes!”

He pointed to the big, fat file he'd brought, the elephant in the room. The thing was still perched on the edge of the couch, the sexual storm somehow having left it utterly untouched.

Mel stared at him, her hair beginning to dry in long, fiery waves around her face. He could tell by her expression she'd completely forgotten, and that she couldn't quite believe it. “Just tell me.”

“I found old accounting records, and—”

“Found?”

“Okay, let's say liberated.”

Her mouth went grim but she said nothing.

“I still haven't located records of the Beechcraft, but this set of books was very interesting.”

“How so?”

“It's clearly a second set of books for North Beach, and I'm betting it doesn't match the first. Want to take that bet?”

Mel hugged her robe tighter to herself, as if she hadn't just been butt-ass naked in his lap, panting his name as she came. “Lots of people keep two sets of books.”

“With huge deposits unaccredited to any source? Deposits that were probably never actually entered into the official set of North Beach's books, or at least into the set the IRS saw? Deposits that add up to a staggering million dollars?”

“What?”

“All dated just before and during the years that my dad was involved with Sally. Which begs the question: if
Sally
is the one who got ripped off in all this, why did all of my father's money vanish, and Sally's bank account swell?”

She frowned, then turned her back to him.

“Oh, no you don't.” He pulled her back around. “We're talking about this.”

Her jaw hardened and so did her eyes. Beneath that robe she might be naked and still quivering, but on the outside she was the strong-headed, strong-willed woman she'd been from too young an age. “I'd like you to leave now.”

“You can't ignore this, it's not going anywhere.
I'm
not going anywhere—”

“Yet.”

“What does that mean?”