Sinful Southern Hero: 2 (9 page)

She stood too quickly, trying to yank the panties into
position and cover herself. The motion made her head spin and Dalton had to
clasp her hips to keep her from toppling over. “Why are you helping me dress?
I’m freaking naked. In front of you. Are you sure the doctor said I don’t have
any brain damage? ’Cause that’s the only legitimate excuse for why I haven’t
kicked you out yet.”

He snorted, his gaze roaming over her body and landing on
her bare breasts. “You could try kicking me out, but you can’t even pull on
your own panties without falling over. I don’t think you’ll be kicking anyone’s
ass today.”

“Jerk.”

“Stubborn.”

“I don’t know how… No one’s ever…”

“No one has ever taken care of you? Doted on you, loved you,
just because they wanted to see you well and make you happy?”

Dalton slipped a matching pink lace bra up her arms and slid
his arms around her to fasten the clasp in the back. It only took him one
attempt to engage the hooks and Lucy wanted ask how many women he’d helped with
their bras in the past. Jealousy had her lips drawing down in a frown.

“I’ve always taken care of myself.”

“What about your parents? I know you said they didn’t listen
when you tried to tell them about your ex, but what about when you were young?”
He slipped a loose-fitting tank top over her head before helping her step into
a pair of running shorts.

Lucy thought back, trying to remember a time when her
parents had treated her with anything close to the kind of warmth she felt in
Dalton’s care. “I had my wisdom teeth removed in high school. I was sick and
completely out of it from the pain killers and anesthesia. My mom had gone to
the appointment with me and drove me home. I remember her fluttering around,
straightening the throw pillows on the couch as soon as we walked in the door
of our house. I was trying to act like I was okay because she never handled it
well when someone was sick or needy. I steadied myself on the wall and a side
table, making my way to the couch. She didn’t help me and I knew better than to
ask because she already had that look on her face like she was close to a panic
attack.

“I finally made it to the couch and felt like I was going to
be sick. I must have said something out loud because she ran into the kitchen
and grabbed a big cup, rushed over to the couch and practically threw the cup
at me. ‘Here. If you’re going to be sick. I’ve got some errands to run. Call
your father if you need something.’ Then she left, ran out the door like she
was being chased by a monster in a movie.”

Lucy looked up to find herself encased in Dalton’s arms. He
leaned down, pressed a kiss to her forehead with a gentle, caring touch she’d
rarely—if ever—experienced before.

“Darlin’, that woman is no mother. No real mama would have
left their child alone and sick after just having surgery. And I’m gonna bet
you didn’t call your daddy neither.”

Lucy shook her head, a strange feeling of warmth coursing
through her body all the way to her soul.

“Bet he would have been less help than your mama. People
like that look out for themselves and no one else. You’ve just been stuck with
the wrong kind of people in your life, Lucy. Time to put that aside and let the
right kind of people in.” He tightened his arms around her in a soft hug.

“Are you the right kind of people, Dalton?” Her voice
sounded small and muffled against his chest. She felt his sigh.

“I don’t know, babe. But I want to be.”

Lucy leaned into him, leaning on his strength and courage
and selflessness. She finally realized she could push this man away all she
wanted, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she didn’t let him into her
heart, he’d stay in her life like a bodyguard if he had to, just to keep her
safe. There wouldn’t be any convincing him to let her go, to keep himself out
of a fight that wasn’t really his. Still…

“Dalton,” she pressed against him as close as she could get,
“please. I don’t want you hurt. Ross is dangerous, more than you can imagine. I
wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you got hurt because of me.”

His work-roughened hands slid from her back to rest on
either side of her face. He pulled back enough to catch her gaze, his eyes
steely with determination. “Trust me not to underestimate this man. I know he’s
dangerous. The proof is written on your stomach and etched in your skin by
scars. But baby?
I
wouldn’t be able to live with myself if he hurt
you
and I could have prevented it. I don’t want you hurt or killed and your chances
of beating this asshole are a lot better with me than without me. Let me help
you. Trust me, just a little, to start. Take my hand and walk out of here.
We’ll come up with a plan at my house where he won’t think to look for you.”

Lucy’s gaze skirted to the duffel bag stuffed and sitting
next to the door. She hadn’t noticed it before but she recognized it as her
own. That’s how Dalton knew where her clothes were when he picked an outfit for
her to wear. He’d already gone through her things when he’d packed her bag, the
invasive, overbearing redneck.

His lips pressed against hers, drawing her attention back to
him. His tongue swept across the seam of her lips, seeking. She opened to him
and he rewarded her with a teasing touch of his tongue before he withdrew and
pinned her with those sexy blue eyes of his. She fought a smile and lost.

“All right. No need to bust out your hillbilly magic on me.
I’ll go with you. For a few days, until I figure something else out.”

Dalton stepped back, one hand on her elbow keeping her
steady while he tossed the duffel over his shoulder. “Hillbilly magic, huh?
What’s that?”

He swept her into his arms. Apparently she wasn’t going to
be allowed to walk anywhere today. Just as well, she didn’t think she could
manage the flight of stairs down from her apartment. She murmured her response
against his neck. “I don’t know, but you’ve got it. Oh boy, do you have it.”

After carrying a reluctant but grateful Lucy down the steep
steps from her second-story apartment, Dalton sat her on the last step. He
adjusted the stuffed duffel bag slung over his shoulder and fished his truck
keys from his front pocket.

“You don’t need to pull your truck over here. I can walk the
extra ten feet, Dalton.”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman sitting at his feet,
liking her in the position, but not under these circumstances.

“Well, I could walk with your help, at least,” she qualified
with a grumpy little pout.

“It’s more like fifty feet, darlin’. Now, be a good girl and
stay where I put you.” He winked at her as a spark of outrage flushed her
otherwise pale cheeks and strode toward his truck.

As Dalton twisted the key in the ignition, he caught
movement from the corner of his eye and turned to make sure it didn’t mean
danger for Lucy. Seeing the source of the movement, he scowled but shoved the
truck into gear and pulled around the lot, driving as close to the staircase as
possible so Lucy wouldn’t have far to travel.

“Brad.” Dalton knew his voice sounded harsh when he growled
the man’s name. The asswipe gave Dalton a nod of greeting and went back to
focusing on Lucy, as if he cared. Dalton had to shove his hands into his
pockets to keep from snatching the irritating turd away from his woman.

“I’m fine, really. Just a bump on the head.” Lucy’s skittish
gaze hit Dalton then went back to Brad, who was kneeling in front of her. “Dalton
has offered to be my nurse.”

He watched her pouty lips twitch to a smile. What was this
woman doing to him? He alternately wanted to spank her, hug her and fuck her
brains out. Right now…he’d really like to do all three but could do nothing.
Frustration, anticipation and worry swirled in his gut, creating a maelstrom of
unfamiliar emotions.

Brad’s beady dark eyes snaked over Dalton. “How very gallant
of him.” He palmed Lucy’s knee in a gesture of false comfort. She jumped at the
contact but he left his offending appendage where it lay. “There’s no need for
you to leave your apartment, Lucy. I’ll be happy to help you until you’re
feeling better. It’d make more sense for me to watch over you than Dalton, I
live right below you.”

Dalton tensed, formulating arguments against Brad’s offer.
He knew Lucy wanted him out of the picture, if only to keep him safe. She didn’t
know Brad like Dalton did, didn’t understand Brad lied as easily as someone
else might ask for a piece of pie with dinner. The man couldn’t be trusted, but
she wouldn’t know that sorry fact.

“I don’t know…” Her gray eyes shone from under long lashes,
the pleading in them apparent. What was not apparent, however, was if she
pleaded for him to take control and remove Brad from her personal space, or if
she wanted Dalton to back away gracefully and scuttle home without a fight. And
without her.

“It’ll be fun. I’ll order pizza and we can watch movies.”
Brad chuckled. “You don’t want to hang around with him and my sister anyway,
believe me.”

Lucy’s lips thinned and she looked as though she were waging
a war with herself. Dalton crossed his arms, content to wait a bit longer and
see what she decided before he tossed her in his truck and took her home.

She laid a hand over the fresh tattoo on her thigh, exposed
by the jogging shorts, and stroked the abused skin with her fingertips. As if
finding strength in the tattoo, or the pain it caused, her spine straightened
and her expression turned from wary to determined. When she pushed Brad’s hand
off of her knee, Dalton wanted to throw a fist in the air and give a shout of
victory.

“Why do you make it sound like your sister is something more
to Dalton than she actually is? I don’t want to be rude, but I’m aware of their
arrangement and it’s nothing like the relationship you’re suggesting.”

Avoiding conflict was ingrained in Lucy’s character, that
she’d speak up, challenge someone, spoke volumes about the changes taking place
inside of her.

Dalton almost laughed at the comical look on Brad’s face.
The man choked over his next words. “I, I don’t know what you mean.”

Lucy tilted her head to the side and studied Brad. “I think
you know exactly what I mean, but maybe you should ask your sister for
clarification. You seem to be confused.”

She reached a hand out toward Dalton and a warm rush of
emotion swept over his heart. This little survivor never failed to amaze him.
And she trusted him, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Her actions proved
it true over and over.

He stepped forward, tempted to hip-check the still kneeling
Brad and send him onto his ass. Somehow, he refrained, only invading Brad’s
space until he stood and backed away, allowing Dalton to wrap his hand around
Lucy’s. Dalton didn’t care for the calculating gleam in Brad’s eyes, but
dismissed it in favor of pulling a soft, willing Lucy into his arms. Catching
her by surprise, he tugged her outstretched hand to his shoulder and slid his
free hand under her knees, scooping her up and cradling her against his chest.

With only a small squeak of surprise, she settled in his
arms. He indulged temptation and nuzzled her soft hair, inhaling her unique
citrus scent. He was rewarded with a contented sigh against his chest. Without
another thought to Rachel’s brother and his intrusive meddling, Dalton settled
Lucy inside his truck and drove toward his house feeling more hope and
happiness than he had felt in years.

* * * * *

By the time they pulled into Dalton’s narrow concrete drive,
Lucy was battling the nausea swirling through her stomach and couldn’t wait to
lie down. She’d never had a bout of carsickness in her life but apparently a
concussion mixed with worry and exhaustion overruled her body’s longstanding
order of not vomiting all over the inside of a seriously handsome man’s truck.

At this point, she wasn’t even nervous about entering
Dalton’s house for the first time after the
first
time she’d been there.
At least this time Dalton would be fully clothed and Lucy would be the only
woman there with him. The sound of the truck being placed in park and the
ignition shutting off had Lucy sighing a slow breath of relief through her
nose. Finally.

Dalton hopped down from the cab and she watched his long
legs as he strode around the front of the truck and over to the passenger door.
She didn’t bother opening the door herself and attempting to climb down,
knowing she’d probably fall on her face. Also, Lucy knew arguing with Dalton
while she was not in top form would be futile.

The door swung open and she realized, being distracted by
watching Dalton and his damned long-legged stride, she hadn’t unclasped her
seatbelt. His arm reached over her lap and clicked the belt free, then he was
lifting her, holding her snug against his hard chest.

“My bag,” she reminded him as he climbed the steps to his
front porch.

“We’ll get you settled, then I’ll grab your bag.”

When they drew close to the front door, for reasons unknown
but Lucy would blame on her head injury, she blurted, “You’re not carrying me
across the threshold.”

Dalton’s steps stuttered, then stopped. His head tilted down
and those dark, dark blue eyes settled on Lucy’s. His lips twitched and she
felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck.

“No, darlin’, I’m not.” His eyes danced with mirth. “Though
that’s a fine idea for another time. Right now, I need to dig my house keys out
of my front pocket. I don’t know if you noticed,” another twitch of his lips, “but
these jeans are kinda tight so I can’t hold you and dig into my pocket and fish
out the keys at the same time.”

“Um…” Well, of course she’d noticed his freakin’ jeans were
tight. She’d noticed because they were tight in all the places they were
supposed to be tight and not in all the places they weren’t.

Dalton bent and placed Lucy on her feet in one smooth
movement, holding onto her elbows until she steadied herself. She stared as he
dug into a front pocket and retrieved his keys. A low, husky chuckle had her
gaze snapping up to his face. Shit. She’d been staring at the man’s crotch. And
he’d caught her.

She opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it.

Turned toward the door, pressing the key into the lock, he
looked over his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I think I will carry you after
all. Through the door and right on up to my bed where you can relax.” He
winked, pushed the door open as he swung around to Lucy and scooped her into
his arms.

Relax? The man wanted her to
relax
in his bed? Lucy
would probably feel all sorts of unwelcome emotions while in his bed—which she
would not be in because she was about to demand to be deposited on the couch
instead—but she would definitely not feel relaxed.

Lucy was prepared to explain this to Dalton and, if he didn’t
then deposit her onto the couch, she was prepared to throw herself out of his
arms and dive for the damned thing. Her nausea had subsided enough to let
reality creep back in and she did not want to curl up in Dalton’s bed and give
herself the idea that she might like to stay there.

“What. The.
Fuck
.”

Dalton’s angry words and his suddenly stone-hard limbs
wrapped around her brought Lucy’s thoughts back into focus. She tilted her head
back to scan his face before following his line of sight to whatever had made
him go all growly and clench his jaw until the muscle jumped.

Lucy’s breath caught and the nausea she’d ditched on the
porch made a swift comeback.

“I’m at your service, Sir. Here to tend any of your needs
that have been neglected since our last session was cut short.”

The nude woman kneeling inside the entryway kept her head
bowed, her gaze lowered, but the satisfaction and conniving in her voice,
though she attempted to sound simpering, made Lucy think the woman had a smirk
on her lips. Rachel.

Dalton’s chest vibrated against Lucy’s shoulder and he made
that scary-ass rumbling growl again like he had at the hospital. Only this time
he wasn’t furious with an insensitive, nosy cop. He directed the intense fury
at the woman sitting back on her heels, knees spread apart so all of her bits
were on display, hands palms up on her knees.

Lucy didn’t think Dalton would hurt the woman, they’d been
lovers, even though they’d apparently been rough ones. Anyway, he still held
Lucy in his arms and there wasn’t much he could do without setting her down.

Unlike Submissive Barbie, Lucy had curves and padding which
required the dedication of two arms, even on a man built like Dalton. Her
throat got tight the longer her eyes refused the order to move away from
Rachel. Rachel had small, pert, perfect breasts with tiny apricot-colored
nipples the likes of which someone above a size 2 would never have. Lucy’s
breasts were large and she wasn’t nineteen anymore so they weren’t nearly as
perky as Submissive Barbie’s either.

This was a mistake. Lucy had no business being with Dalton.
In his arms. In his truck. In his house. Definitely not in his bed. Men like
Dalton deserved to be with women who looked like Rachel, though her attitude
was too bitchy and she could use a dose of good, old-fashioned modesty. Still,
if judges were scoring the two women and announcing a winner, it was brutally
clear who it would be.

“Why the fuck are you inside my house?”

Rachel peeked up at him from under heavily mascaraed lashes.
“To please you, of course, like always.”

Lucy wondered if she concentrated hard enough on it, if she
could make herself implode in the next two seconds like a collapsing star.

“Like always?” Dalton ground out. “You’ve never been inside
my house when I’m not here. How did you… Never mind, I don’t have time for
this. Get up, get out of my way, put on some damned clothes, then we’ll talk.”

He took a step toward the stairs and Lucy was ready, again,
to object, but Rachel beat her to it.

“Perhaps you should put her on the sofa instead of carrying
her upstairs. I don’t want you to hurt your back. We can talk in your bedroom.”

How could some women say such hateful, manipulative things
while maintaining a tone of voice which suggested they were coaxing a timid
kitten with a bowl of milk? Not having wonderful control over her body and
emotions at the present, Lucy started to shake, though she wasn’t cold. “Please
put me down.” Her voice cracked on the last word.

Dalton stopped glaring at the beautiful, thin, naked woman
waiting to “please” him, and started moving up the stairs.

In a strong voice, Lucy demanded, “Put me down.”

His booted feet kept hitting the steps as he continued
climbing. “No. End of discussion.”

Well… What the hell could she say to that? At the first
doorway they came to at the top of the steps, Dalton used his foot to nudge
open the door. Lucy took in the sight of a huge unmade bed, deep-brown
comforter and tan sheets all twisted up in a knot at the foot like they’d been
in a fight the previous night and lost. Multiple pillows were piled at the
head.

Dalton settled her with her back against a mound of pillows
and straightened, looking down at her from his considerable height. Lucy stared
at the twisted mess on the foot of the bed.

He grabbed the comforter and pulled the twisted heap off the
bed before attempting to straighten it out. “I’m a dude and single so I don’t
worry about making my bed. This ain’t the Ritz so there’s no maid around to do
it, either.”

The sheet settled over Lucy’s lap and Dalton’s clean male,
sawdust-and-leather scent surrounded her. “If this were the Ritz, I think I’d
ask for a refund. My experience here so far has totally sucked.”

The comforter joined the sheet and Dalton tucked them both
around her legs before he swiped a gentle hand across her cheek and over her
jaw. “Don’t worry about her. She’s history. She was history before today, now
she’s the kind of history people burn books about just to make sure no one
remembers it existed.”