Stirring Attraction (10 page)

Her gaze swept down his front and lingered on the bulge in his cargo shorts. He didn't move or try to adjust himself. She'd felt his hard-­on when she'd rested her head in his lap last night, and again while they'd kissed. At this point, an erection felt like part of greeting her.

“We'll get to your turn. But right now, I should get back to work. I don't think Noah meant ‘take an hour off and wreck the bathroom' when he offered me a break.”

“If Noah gives you trouble, send him back here. He can help me fix that cabinet.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And how are you going to account for the damage?”

“I wasn't planning on offering him an explanation.”

She laughed as she walked out of the bathroom. The sound faded along with her footsteps. Then the swinging door creaked and she was gone.

He rested his hands on the vanity's edge still warm from her naked skin and stared at the place on the wall where the mirror had hung when they'd first rushed into the room, hoping to hide. The ache in his hand pushed hard against his triumph. He'd asked his damaged hand to do too much and now he was paying for it. But it had been worth it. For a few minutes, he'd given them both a brief reprieve from fear and pain.

But it was just that—­a break. Nothing more. If he wanted to help her, if he loved her, he needed to focus on making Lily feel safe. He needed to help her get her life back—­one that was rooted here and didn't include a fucked-­up former ranger. He needed . . .

“To play bodyguard, not boyfriend.”

 

Chapter Ten

“E
VERYTHING
OK
,
L
ILY?”

Noah tossed out the question as he held up the ser­vice side to the bar. The room had filled since she'd left for her “break.” After the first week at Big Buck's, she'd learned that the university crowd viewed four to five on Sunday afternoon as Bloody Mary and mimosa time. And they were halfway through that magical hour.

She'd heard that question over and over since the attack. But this time, her friend turned boss wasn't referencing her recent trauma.

“How much did you overhear?” she asked.

“Enough to know I should send Caroline out to take drink orders and have Josie leave through the front with the baby.” He glanced at the back door. “Dominic still ‘reviewing the case file' back there? Or is it safe to send the dishwasher to her station to keep up with this rush?”

“It's safe. Though she might need to bring a broom. The mirror in the bathroom broke.”

“That must be some case file. But I'm glad he's helping you.” Noah smiled as he handed her a printed list of drink orders. “I'll tackle the Bloody Marys”—­which she didn't have a clue how to mix—­“if you handle the mimosas.”

She turned and reached for three white-­wine glasses.

“Lily.”

The first glass slipped through her fingers, but she caught it before it shattered on the floor. Then she turned to her new customer. “Ted. What a surprise.”

The man, who'd dumped her before their relationship fully launched into boyfriend/girlfriend territory, claimed a barstool across from her. His long, narrow face offered a concerned expression. She had a feeling he used the same carefully planned look at parent-­teacher conferences.

“How are you, Lily?” he asked. “Are you OK?”

She'd received the same question minutes ago. But Ted delivered his with a boatload of pity versus sarcasm. Of course, the man sitting across the bar hadn't heard her scream “Yes! Yes! Yes!” through the walls. She'd caught a few of the customers looking at her with a question in their eyes—­what's in the back room? And can I visit?—­when she'd first walked out, but not Ted.

“I'm fine,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”

Please say no. Please leave and stop raining on my orgasm parade.

Not that one climax constituted a parade. But she had hope for later tonight, after Dominic searched her home for potential threats . . .

Wow, her idea of foreplay needed work. After they caught this guy, after things returned to normal in her life, then . . . but no, Dominic would be gone again by then.

“A cup of coffee if you have it,” Ted said, and she could practically feel the rain clouds moving in. “I might have a beer later. I thought I would stick around and keep you company.”

But you broke up with me and my “fears.”

“Sure, but I have to keep up with the drink orders.” She turned her back to him and reached for mimosa glasses. Ted could wait for his coffee.

“If you're pouring coffee, I'll have a cup too.” She glanced over her shoulder and saw Dominic sliding onto the stool beside Ted. He held out his left hand. “Dominic. I don't think we've met before. I've been away for a while and you're new to the area.”

“Nice to meet you.” Ted gave his hand an awkward shake.

She turned her focus back to pouring not-­so-­equal parts champagne and orange juice into glasses. After keeping these customers waiting, they deserved a little extra booze.

“Sorry, I'd offer my right hand, but it's not a pretty sight right now,” Dominic said.

Her brow furrowed as she added the OJ. She'd seen his hand up close. The skin was damaged from where the bullet had gone through, but she'd been under the impression that he was more concerned with the loss of his fine motor skills.

“I cut it on a broken piece of mirror,” Dominic continued.

Her grip tightened on the juice bottle. And she waited for him to add
the mirror our mutual friend over there broke while she came against my hand. . .

“Hey, Noah,” Dominic called. “Do you have a Band-­Aid?”

“First-­aid kit is in the back by the dishwasher,” Noah shot back. A side glance at her boss and fellow bartender for the night told her that Noah was moving fast to pick up her slack.

She turned her attention back to the drink ticket. Three mimosas—­check. Two bottles of light beer—­

“You know, I'm not sure a Band-­Aid will work,” Dominic said. “Would you look at how much blood has already seeped through this rag?”

She whirled around in time to see Ted's face pale as he stared at Dominic's right hand, wrapped in a red-­stained bar towel.

“Oh God,” Ted murmured, swaying on his barstool.

“Dominic,” she said. “Don't do that. He can't—­”

Ted swayed back on his stool and Dominic extended his right arm to catch him.

“Handle the sight of blood?” Dominic supplied.

“You knew,” she said, her eyes widening. Because she'd told him, after her failed date with Ted.

She saw Noah leap over the front of the bar and rush to the unconscious customer in Dominic's arms.

“Let's lay him down and elevate his legs.” Noah barked the orders as he reached for Ted. Then he glanced up at her. “How much has he had to drink?”

“Nothing yet,” she said. “And that's not why he fainted.”

“It's my fault,” Dominic replied. “Good Guy Ted can't take the sight of blood. And I showed him this.” He held up his right hand.

Noah glanced up, shook his head, and continued to run his hand over Ted's neckline as if the short-­sleeve button-­down might be constricting. Dominic reached over and tapped Ted's shoulder.

“Hey, Ted,” he called. And the man lying on the floor stirred. As soon as the other patrons realized Ted would survive, they returned to their drinks.

“Damn,” Dominic said. “And here I thought I was one down with one to go.”

Noah glanced at him as he drew Ted into an upright position. “Planning to make another customer faint tonight?”

“Nah.” He removed the rag and revealed a cut-­free hand. “I borrowed some ketchup from your supplies in the back. Probably left over from when your dad served food in this place.”

“Yeah,” Noah said. “Why the hell did you pretend it was blood?”

Dominic shrugged and his broad shoulders brushed the tips of his long hair. “I saw Ted when I poked my head out and thought I could get a jump start on the list of guys I'm supposed to knock off for Lily. That's why you brought me back here, right?”

“That was Josie's idea,” Noah said, cradling a semi-­alert Ted to his side.

“You didn't think to ask Lily first?” Dominic said.

Noah glanced up at her. “Sorry, Lil. Josie thought it would help.”

“And what? She has you by the balls? You can't make your own call?” Dominic demanded.

Noah raised his eyebrows. “You want to talk about your little sister's relationship with my balls?”

“I don't think that conversation would end well,” Dominic said as Ted started to open his eyes.

“Maybe if you'd come back sooner,” Noah said, “you'd be use to the idea by now.”

“Doubt that.” Dominic stood. “I'm going to finish cleaning up in the back and leave Sleeping Beauty in your capable hands.” He turned to her. “Your friend Ted could probably use a glass of fruit juice. The sugar will help when he comes to.”

She nodded.

“Let me know if you need anything else, Lily.”

“Thank you,” she called after him. But he was already walking away. “I'll give you a proper thank you later,” she added, reaching for a pint glass and the orange juice.

“Not in my bar you won't,” Noah said as he drew Ted up and guided him into a chair. “I don't think this place could sustain the damage.”

 

Chapter Eleven

“I
KNOW WHAT
you're doing,” Lily said as she raised her mug to her lips.

Fresh coffee first thing in the morning was one of the perks of having a caffeine junkie awake on the couch all night. But after living for two days with the memory of the way he'd touched her, she'd debated taking the coffeepot hostage in an attempt to catch him asleep. Then she could join him on the couch and wake him with a kiss that might lead to more. More kissing. More touching.

He'd always touched her with an intensity that bordered on rough. He made demands of her body as if he'd mapped out his moves beforehand. But at some point, his control would slip. It wouldn't make room for hers. Instead, the fierce need to reach the climax would overtake them—­and take out everything that stood in the way.

She smiled as she lowered the mug. Maybe they'd even manage to break the furniture.

“What?” he called down.

“I said I know what you're doing.”

Dominic raised his hand to block the morning sun as he gazed down at her from the top of the ladder. “Installing floodlights behind your house?”

“You're trying to earn a superspecial oral surprise.”

He set the bulb on the top rung and started down the ladder.

“Or maybe sex in your new favorite position. Something wild and kinky you learned while you were away,” she continued.

He reached the bottom rung and stepped down, turning to face her. “I must have been deployed the day the rangers offered the ‘kinky' sex class.”

She raised her mug to her lips, but didn't drink. Instead, she ran her tongue over the rim and waited for his gaze to head south. One . . . two . . . three . . . And his green eyes honed in on her mouth.

If she closed the space between them and pressed up against him, she'd bet that she would receive a long, hard welcome. And it would have nothing to do with her floodlights.

But then he would turn around and walk away mumbling something about bad ideas and bodyguards.

Leaving me wet and ready for sex is a bad idea!
It was right up there on her list of Horrible Ideas, next to not coming home after he'd healed, after he'd promised . . .

She'd wanted to hurl the words at him, one after the other. But she also knew he was right. He would leave again. And while she might see that as a reason to fool around without risk, maybe touching her in the Big Buck's bathroom was all he could take. Or his warped sense of duty was getting in the way again. He'd given his all to the army and now he'd do the same to his position as her bodyguard.

Regardless of his reason for keeping his distance, her desire had reached a fever pitch twenty-­four hours after the encounter in the Big Buck's bathroom. But Dominic seemed determined to focus on her safety. He'd sent her off to bed when they got back from the bar each night, promising to keep watch while he followed up on leads. She didn't want to distract him from finding the guy who'd attacked her in the park. But her desire to get into his pants, to explore what was once upon a time very familiar territory tore holes in her need for an answer.

She already felt safe and secure. She had him. Maybe not for long, but that was part of the reason it would be so simple to get naked with him. She could strip off her long-­sleeve shirts without worrying about her injuries. He had them too. And they could determine whether the coffee table could hold them . . .

“I'm putting in the floodlights so that you can see out into the yard at night. You'll sleep better with them on,” he said. “But why don't you go ahead and tell me more about this ‘superspecial oral surprise.' ”

“It might be better if I showed you.”

“I don't know.” He shook his head and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “A few days ago, you threw a wine glass at me. I'm not sure I'm ready to let your teeth near a part of my body I would rather keep intact.”

“You're holding a grudge because I didn't welcome you with open arms?” Before he'd opened his mouth, she'd been tempted to run her tongue over his forearm, tracing the powerful muscles. Now, she wanted to sink her teeth into him. Which proved his point, but still, he'd promised to return home to her.

“No.” He shook his head. “I expected you to kick me out of the bar and call Noah. I got on the plane telling myself I would come out, see that you were all right, then hop the next flight back to Georgia once I knew you were safe.”

“But you didn't expect to find me this messed up?” she said, wishing they could return to the topic of BJs.

“Someone hurt you.” Fury flashed in his eyes, offering a glimpse of the former warrior hiding behind the beard and long hair. “You have every right to be messed up. Hell, I'm screwed up too.” He held up his hand. “I've been hiding in my apartment refusing to face the world. So if there is a prize for most fucked up, I'm betting I win. At least you're out there, trying to put your life back together.”

“And you thought you'd find me barricaded in my house? That's not an option for me. I need to go back to my job in a ­couple of weeks. The one that involves a roomful of kids
under
twenty-­one.”

“I knew you wouldn't hide,” he said.

“Then what kept you from taking that return flight?” she demanded.

“Honestly?”

“Don't you dare lie to me,” she said.

His expression softened. “I didn't expect to take one look at you and
want
you so damn much.” He stepped forward and cupped her jaw. His thumb brushed over the visible reminder of her attack. “And I'm not talking about my desire to keep you safe.”

“No?” she murmured. He'd use the words “want” and “desire.” What she felt when he touched her bore a stronger resemblance to take-­me-­against-­the-­wall lust. Desire could be controlled. But she'd snapped her restraint in the Big Buck's bathroom. The pieces had probably been swept up with the broken mirror and discarded.

He released her chin and ran his hand down her back. Then he gave a little pull, drawing her body up against his. “I look at you,” he murmured, “and I remember every position, every way I made you come, how you felt against my mouth. Honey, I know it all by heart. I don't want to try some new kinky position. I want to revisit where we've been.”

Impossible.

After all these years, after all that had happened, she couldn't go back to the uncertainty. She refused to wait for him again. Her life was too splintered now. She required long-­term. She needed permanence, stability, and trust.

But right now? With her body pressed against the hard muscles that promised protection and pleasure? Safety ­coupled with seduction from a man she trusted not to hurt her . . .

Well, he might walk away with her heart again. But if he did, that was on her this time. She understood the risks. And she knew when he said “I'm leaving,” he meant it.

But she was willing to take a chance to win a brief reprieve from her constant anxiety.

“I think we've reached a compromise.” She lifted her fingers to his lips. “If you don't trust my mouth on you”—­she placed her other hand over the hard ridge beneath his cargo shorts—­“I guess we know who goes first. But don't forget, you had your chance and you tossed it away.”

Dominic captured her hand and held her fingers to his mouth. His lips parted and his tongue ran over the tip of her index finger. Anticipation raced from her hand down to her toes.

“You're sure about this?” he murmured.

“It's part of the bodyguard job,” she said before he could remind her that he made a better protector than boyfriend.

He scooped her into his arms and turned to the sliding glass door. “Just remember you asked for this.”

“I have a long list of fears,” she murmured as he lowered her feet to the ground. “Orgasms don't make the cut.”

She stripped off her drawstring shorts and pale pink underwear. Naked from the waist down, she sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Here?” he asked as he lowered down to his knees.

She nodded, her gaze fixed on the man kneeling in her living room. His self-­imposed uniform only told half the story. Beneath his black cargo shorts and the grey T-­shirt that read “ARMY” across the chest, he still possessed the powerhouse body she'd watched on the football field years ago.

But her high school love had always appeared in control. The bearded warrior kneeling at her feet looked as if he'd parted ways with restraint. His hair fell past his chin. And his green eyes held a hint of wicked promise.

“Spread your legs, honey.”

And let me show you how much I love you.

The words floated in on a memory from a time when she'd loved the hero, the high school star determined to join the army, to serve . . . But she quickly pushed it away. Falling in love with that man again? Impossible. He didn't exist. He'd been replaced with the hardened man who seemed to hold his fear close to the heart, just like she did.

But she still lay back and allowed her knees to drift apart.

His hands ran up her inner thighs and she closed her eyes. When his fingers reached their destination, his thumbs stroked down her center, and then spread her further. She waited for his lips to brush over her.

“Dominic?” she said softly.

His hands pressed against her legs in response. But if he didn't lick her soon . . .

“It's been a long time, Lily. Let me look.”

“Dominic,” she growled as she wiggled her hips. It had been a long time for her too. And her body hummed with need. Looking wasn't going to cut it. She needed his hands, his mouth.

He let out a low laugh. “Impatient?”

But he didn't wait for her response. His hand wrapped around her waist and he pulled her bottom off the table's edge.

“What?” she exclaimed as he cupped one cheek in each hand. Then he lowered his mouth, his large body bent over her as if preparing to worship . . . and then he did. He ran his tongue over her, back and forth.

She let everything go. She didn't need to cry out for him to move a little higher, or dip lower at just . . . the right . . . moment. He remembered. She relaxed into the pleasure, completely at his mercy. His fingers teased her backside, offering a thrill that rocketed forward as his tongue pressed against her, then drew back.

“You still like that,” he murmured.

“I like everything,” she whispered, trying to rock her hips. But he held her steady, maintaining control of every touch, every taste . . .

“Do you like this?” he asked.

His tongue lifted and was briefly replaced with a brush of his beard, tickling her folds. She squirmed, but he held her bottom tight.

“Oh . . . my . . .” she moaned.

Then his tongue swept over her, moving back and forth with quick, firm stokes. Her body rose to the edge, and he drew back. His beard brushed over her increasingly sensitive skin. One swift pass over her and then fast strokes reminiscent of a vibrator returned.

“Dominic!”

The pleasure peaked as if it had been waiting for her to call his name. And he continued to lick and stroke, holding her tight, offering another gentle press of his fingers to draw out the . . .

“Oh,” she groaned as the pitch-­perfect feeling faded.

He released her and she lay with her lower body hanging off the edge of her coffee table and her upper half melting into the wood.

“You did it wrong,” she murmured. “The table is still in one piece.”

He laughed. Then she heard movement and sat up, sliding off the coffee table and onto the floor. He looked ready to push off the ground. She reached out, clasping his wrist. “Where are you going? It's your turn.”

He glanced over her shoulder. “What time did my sister need you at the bar for inventory?”

“Ten.”

He nodded to her mother's old clock hung on the living room's far wall. “It's nine forty-­five. You slept in while I was setting up your lights.”

“Slept in?”

“That's what happens when you start sleeping again. You can't stop. Or so I've heard. You'd better get dressed now. I'll drop you off on my way to breakfast. And I'll have my dad cook you up something so you don't go hungry.”

She turned and flashed a wide grin. “That was my breakfast. It was called ‘Oh . . . My . . . Dominic.' ”

He shook his head. “Breakfast of champions.”

“Don't worry,” she called as she raced to her room. “You'll get yours after my shift.”

It wasn't until she'd returned to the front door fully dressed that she realized what she'd done. She'd opened her closet without worrying what might jump out at her. For the first time in six weeks, she felt safe and happy.

And the man responsible was sipping a to-­go cup of coffee while he stared at her coffee table.

“Trying to figure out how we're going to break it tonight?” she asked.

He nodded as if she'd asked him about the position of her new outdoor lights. “I have a few ideas.”