Stirring Attraction (12 page)

“Noted.” Dominic released her and fixed his pants.

Josh rocked back and forth on his boots, his smile still firmly in place. “Or you could give the college kid peering in the window, hoping for a beer after class, one helluva view.”

“Shouldn't you be helping the dishwasher?” Dominic shot back.

“Consider this my good deed of the day,” Josh said, his smile broadening. “Though I'm guessing you might feel differently right about now.”

“Josh,” Dominic growled.

“Before you threaten to ‘shut me up' or something,” Josh said, “remember I have three older brothers. I can take anything you throw at me. Plus, I slept last night. You look like you haven't had a solid eight hours in weeks.”

Try months.

Josh Summers had a point. She patted Dominic's chest. “Go home, Dominic, and get some sleep,” she said. “You're going to need it. Because you're not staying on the couch tonight.” She leaned up and added in a whisper: “And we won't be sleeping either.”

She felt the tension ripple through his body. And behind them Josh Summers laughed.

“Lily,” Dominic murmured, looking down at her. He placed his hand over hers. “I'm staying either way. You don't have to—­”

“I know. I want to.” She pressed her lips to scar on the back of his right hand, still resting on top of hers, covering his heart. Her lips still touching his skin, she added, “I want you.”

Even though I know you'll leave again.

 

Chapter Thirteen

I
'M AN IDIOT.

Dominic accelerated, pushing the rental car past fifty, fifty-­five, sixty . . . He hit sixty-­five and held steady. He was willing to risk a speeding ticket. Hell, he knew most of the guys on the force. They'd probably let him off with a warning. But he wasn't going to crash the car because he'd gone and fallen asleep at his dad's place.

An hour or two, he told himself, just until Noah returned to the bar and took over for Lily. But he'd gone and slept past sunset. It was eight o'clock. Lily had been home for hours, probably wondering where he'd gone, if he'd left . . .

No, she had to know he'd say goodbye. He wouldn't slip away in the middle of her shift. And he would never leave her afraid.

He stole a glance at the file folder riding shotgun. It held the Salem arrest report and mug shot of the guy who'd attacked the woman in Salem. A detailed report they could review in the morning, after he calmed her down. She had to be terrified by now, alone in her house, after dark.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He slapped his palm against the steering wheel as he turned onto her cul-­de-­sac. Everything was calm, quiet. Lights shone through the windows of the neighboring houses, but Lily's looked as if she wished to illuminate the whole damn block.

He docked his car in front of her house, the right front wheel riding up onto the curb. Hell, he'd fix it later. Tomorrow. He opened the door and sprinted up the steps. He raised his fist and pounded on the door. And . . . nothing.

“Lily!” he called. “Come to the front, honey.”

He stood under the front porch lights, the side of his fist still resting on the door. He could walk the perimeter of the house, peering in the windows. He had a feeling he'd find her huddled in a corner, trapped by her own damn fears. She needed him. In there. With her. Holding her. Loving her . . .

He stepped back and examined the door. Then he called one more time, “Lily!”

Nothing.

He eyed the keyhole. The door opened in. It wouldn't take much. Just a well-­placed kick. He raised his right leg and aimed his boot. The door gave a little, but the deadbolt refused to break apart and grant him access. He kicked again.

“Dominic?” He heard her voice on the other side, followed by footsteps.

“I'm right here, Lily,” he called back.

The locks turned. The chain released. And she pulled open the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked. Her eyes were wide. He studied her face, searching for signs of the terror he'd witnessed after her nightmare. But she wasn't pale-­faced and ready to fling herself into his arms. Her long hair spiraled down over her shoulders. The ringlets teased the top of her white bath towel.

Her right hand rested on the door and her left held the towel's closure, nestled between her breasts. The faded scars, the healed wounds from where he'd sliced her forearms, stared back at him. Dozens of small cuts intended for her beautiful face. His anger welled. And he wanted to tear apart the man sitting in a Salem jail cell. How could anyone hurt her? His Lily? So beautiful, so sweet . . .

“Dominic?”

He lifted his gaze and met her blue eyes. “I'm sorry. You didn't answer. I thought you might”—­
need me
—­“be waiting for me somewhere in the back.”
Afraid.

“I was getting ready.”

He stole a glance at her toes. Bright pink polish caught the light. Knowing that she'd painted her nails for him . . . yeah, his need to get inside had nothing to do with worrying if she was having a panic attack.

“For you,” she added, drawing his attention up her towel-­clad body to her mouth. A smile teased her lips. “But thank you.”

“For trying to break into your house?”

“For coming back to me.”

“I'm not running away from you.” He moved closer and raised his arm. He placed his hand above hers on the door.

“Not tonight you aren't.” She stepped back and tugged on the top of the white towel, pulling it free. It fell, forming a pool at her feet. “Would you like to come in, Dominic?”

Desire roared through him. But he held on to the damn door. When he let it go, when he unleashed his need to take her, claim her, make her
his
again, hell, he hoped this house could take it.

He let himself look at her, really look, now before he pulled her close. He remembered her soft curves, the feel of her skin. The four-­inch line on her right side—­that was new. And while it was healing like the others, it had cut deeper.

He moved on, taking in the swell of her hips, the blond curls he'd explored earlier, her thighs—­

“Dominic?” she asked softly as she shifted her weight and raised her arms, crossing them in front of her naked chest. “I know I'm not the same—­”

“I love how every inch of you looks and I always have.” He walked in, slamming the door behind him. He placed his hands on her hips and kept moving, backing her up against the wall. The archway leading to the living room stood to his left. The couch. The coffee table. But he couldn't wait. He wanted her here. Now.

He ran his hand down over her hips. “I'm crazy about your curves. Always have been.”

His palms glided over her ass to her thighs. He lifted her up and her limbs obeyed, wrapping around him like they belonged right there clinging to him. He pressed her back against the bare surface, pinning her there as he slipped one hand down and withdrew the condom he'd slipped into his pocket earlier. He tore the packet open with his teeth. Then he reached down between them, freed his aching dick from his shorts, and covered himself.

“I love you just like this.” He ran his thumb over her clit, down lower. One swift stroke. And then he thrust into her. He gave her a second to adjust. But he couldn't wait. Her legs tightened around him and he began to thrust.

“Just.” He pressed deeper. “Like.” He withdrew an inch and then another. “This.” And he flexed his hips. “Lily.”

H
E CAME BACK.

Lily squeezed her thighs and dug her heels into the back of his shorts, still covering his ass. Her hand clawed at his T-­shirt. If she'd known, if she'd suspected they'd end up here, she would have demanded that he strip on the porch. She didn't care if the neighbors saw. They probably already hated her for leaving the floodlights on.

But she'd started to wonder if he'd left already. It was only a matter of time . . .

He thrust harder, faster, and the wall at her back trembled. She tried to focus on the slide of his cock, the feel of his hands holding her legs as if it was nothing. Head back, eyes closed, she tried to hold tight to the moment.

But his desire roared like a beast that had burst in determined to awaken her own need.

“Do me a favor,” he growled. “Hold your breasts.”

He drew back and watched as she raised her hands to her chest and cupped the bouncing flesh. Her palms brushed her nipples as he pressed his cock home.

If only he considered this home, the place he belonged. . .

“That's it,” he murmured as he reached between them.

His other hand still supported her bottom. And his body pinned her to the wall, rocking back and forth, but never leaving her room to fall. She heard a wine bottle tumble off the rack that shared this stretch of wall in the living room.

“We're making a mess,” she whispered.

“Honey, in a second you won't give a damn,” he promised. His fingers found her clit, rubbing back and forth. “I can't hold out much longer. It's been . . . too . . . long.”

He groaned as he pushed harder, taking more from her, sinking deeper.

“Oh wow.” Her fingers pressed into her breasts. The sensations—­from her chest, to the thumb dancing over her clit, to his cock pulsing inside her—­spiraled together, pushing her closer. “Oh, Dominic!”

Her head thumped against the wall and she let go, trusting him to hold her, to keep her safe, while she drifted away into a place where pleasure dominated. Each moment tried to surpass the last, offering more, more, more . . .

And then she felt the descent take hold, drawing her back to the panting man holding her against the wall. She opened her eyes and met his gaze.

“I'm going to let you down,” he said. “But don't for a second think that I'm done with you.”

He gently lowered her legs and stepped back. And she obeyed. She remained rooted to the floor, her back leaning against the wall. “I need you to . . .” she began, panting through words.

“Anything,” he said as he disposed of the condom.

“I need you to take off your clothes.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fair is fair and all that?”

She shook her head from side to side as he reached back and pulled off his T-­shirt. “I love your curves too. The shape of your biceps, the way your waistline tapers down. The lines of your muscles disappearing beneath your pants.”

“Careful, you'll make me blush.”

“Turn around and let me admire your backside,” she said. He obeyed, planting his feet hip-­width apart and letting her look her fill. Her gaze touched on the place where a bullet had slipped out after nicking one of his major arteries. But she didn't linger there. As far as she was concerned, the proof that he'd risked his life for his country only added to the perfection of his muscular back. And his ass . . . she could stare at his butt forever.

“Looked your fill?” he asked without moving one perfect muscle.

“Are you blushing yet?” she teased.

“Yeah, but I know a good place to hide my face until I recover.”

He turned around and walked over to her. Then he sank to his knees. She gasped as his hand touched the back of her thigh, her nerves still clinging to her last orgasm, unwilling to part with the pleasure just yet.

“Lift your leg, Lily. Rest it on my shoulder.”

“Dominic—­”

“Shh.” His lips brushed the place he had teased earlier as his hands explored her backside. “It's my turn to make your cheeks turn pink.”

W
RAPPED AGAIN IN
her towel, Lily sank down onto the couch, holding a glass of red wine from the bottle they'd knocked to the floor earlier. Her partner in orgasms and destruction had retrieved his boxer briefs but left the rest of his clothes in the hallway. While she'd opened the wine, he'd grabbed the cocktail shaker she'd sent flying off the top shelf of the bar when he'd tried his best to make her blush, and mixed a drink.

“No coffee tonight?” she asked.

“No. I caught enough sleep earlier to skip the caffeine for a few hours.” He raised the martini to his lips.

“May I have a sip?” she asked and he obliged. One taste was enough to confirm her suspicions. “You make a much better martini. The customers at Big Buck's would love this. And I bet you know how to pour a beer and change a keg.”

“Trying to talk me into a job at Noah's?” he asked mildly. “I thought he'd already taken in his share of strays.”

“With the baby, I'm sure he could use another bartender.” She ran her finger over the rim of her wine glass and tried not to build a fantasy future in her head. “I'm only filling in. But even when she's in town April is only part-­time.”

“He could always train my sister to bartend. She's been waiting tables there long enough.”

She shook her head. “Josie wants to focus on her assistant manager role when she's not with Isabelle.”

“Lily, are you trying to talk me into a job working for my sister?”

“Just while you're in town,” she said. “I know you're still planning to go back.”

He nodded.

“Why?” she blurted out.

She'd held this question back since he had first walked into the bar. She'd asked others. Would he stay? Why had he come back? But she'd been too afraid to hear the answer to this one. When he'd first come home, she'd told herself that she'd moved on—­with Ted. But even before Mr. Good Guy had handed her flowers and an apology, she'd known she was lying to herself. She didn't love Ted and she probably never would, not the way she'd once loved the man sipping a martini on her couch.

So she needed to summon her courage. “If there someone waiting for you? Back in Georgia? After I walked away, after you got out of hospital—­”

“No.” His eyes widened. “After what we just did? In your hall? And you think . . . Jesus, Lily. No, there's no one waiting for me.”

But she kept going, spelling out her fears that had nothing to do with dark corners. “After I left, did you fall in love with someone else? Is that why you didn't come back even after you'd healed? After you received an honorable discharged. Did you finally find someone worth staying for?”

“I swear there's no one else, Lily. There never was.” He let out a low, bitter bark of laughter as he raised his good hand to his hair. “I tried once. I picked up a woman in a bar a few months ago. But I couldn't . . . she wasn't you.”

“One woman in all those years?” she asked, allowing her disbelief to slip into her tone. “All those deployments?”

She'd remained faithful to him. Even when he broke up with her after Ranger School, claiming the long distance wouldn't work due to his deployments and her mother's constant need for care. But she'd always wondered if he'd taken advantage of their time apart. But to wait until after he'd sent her away for the last time? After he'd been discharged and her mother had succumbed to her illness?

“One,” he said. “All it took was a single kiss and I sent her home.”

“You never slept with anyone else?”

“Only you.”

She wanted to believe him. But she'd felt his hunger for pleasure. Tonight, against the entryway wall, he'd made love to her as if his desire ruled him, not the other way around. How could he have pushed all that need aside for so long, not knowing if they would ever find a way to make it work?