Unconditional (16 page)

I studied him. I could feel my eyebrows knitting. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. One attack of the guilts, coming right up.

He grinned. “Shall I take that as a yes?”

“You leave my bodyguard in one piece, Osmond?”

I started at Raph’s question. There was no malice or anger in his voice. In fact, he sounded…amused. Go figure.

Brendon slid his gaze to Raph and waved a hand in a so-so gesture. “His skull is harder than yours. And he swings a mean haymaker.”

At the statement, I noticed the angry red mark on Brendon’s right cheek, just under his eye. I hissed. It looked painful.

Raph grunted. “Glad he landed at least one. I think you damn near broke
my
jaw. I had to talk him out of pressing charges against you for public assault, by the way. You owe me one.”

My head was spinning. Trust guys to be talking about their fight and the ensuing interjection by Mr. Horn in such a casual way.

From his crouch at my feet, Brendon smirked. “Thanks. Think I damn near broke my fist when I landed one on you.”

I couldn’t take any more. This was all too…too…
not
normal. “Wait, wait, wait, wait.” I held up my hands, switching my gaze back and forth between them. “I’m sorry, but how can you be talking to each other like this now? After Brendon…”

Brendon smoothed his hands over my knees again, his laugh relaxed. “Would you like me to finish what I started, Plenty? I’ll do it for you.”

“Try it, Osmond,” Raph growled at my side. There was a chortle in his voice, but also a threat.

I narrowed my eyes, studying them both. My chest clenched. They might be giving the appearance of relaxed humor, but it was a façade. A façade no doubt for my benefit.

Pulling a breath, I shook my head and stood. Brendon’s hands slipped from my knees as I did so. He straightened to his feet, towering over me. So did Raph. And he dwarfed me as well.

Short and shaky, that’s me. And stuck in the middle of two guys who seemed very capable and willing to beat on each other. Over me. Weird. And unsettling, I have to say. And…okay, slightly good for the ego.

I looked up at them, a subtle tremor building deep in my body. “I think I need you both to leave now. It’s not that I’m not enjoying the testosterone oozing from your pores, but I need to be alone for a while.” I arched a brow at Brendon before swinging a direct gaze to Raph. “Parkinson’s disease and all.”

Raph’s jaw bunched. His nostrils flared. He opened his mouth, shoulders stiffening, his stare locked on my face.

“Okay, Plenty,” Brendon said with warm calm. “Jones and I will take off.” He stepped closer to me and dropped a kiss on the top of my head. My heart skipped a beat. Not because he was kissing me—we’d already established the whole Brendon-Maci thing wasn’t a thing—but because he was kissing me in front of Raph. Taunting him?

I heard Raph suck in a breath.

“C’mon, Jones.” Brendon slapped Raph on the back of his shoulder. “Let’s give the girl what she wants.”

For a second, I thought Raph was going to argue. God, what would I do if he did? Call for help? Jump out of the way when he swung a punch at Brendon? Brendon
had
spilled my secret, after all. Truth be known, a part of
me
wanted to punch Brendon, even though I knew he’d done so out of worry.

But then, with a level look at Brendon, and an intense gaze at me, Raph nodded his head once, turned and walked from my room.

Brendon watched him leave before, with a surprised, “Huh,” he swung back to me. “
Are
you okay, Maci?” he asked.

My lips twisted into a little grimace. “What do you think?”

He ducked his head and scratched at the back of his neck. “You’re pissed I told him about your condition.”

“Told everyone. You shouted it.”

“I was angry.”

“I saw that.”

He let out a soft laugh, raising his gaze back to me. “Sure you don’t want me to kiss you again? Just to be sure there’s nothing—”

I rolled my eyes and gave his chest a shove. I knew the only reason he stumbled back a step was to humor me. “Get out of here, Osmond,” I ordered. “I need to sulk for a while and I
am
still angry at you.”

He laughed, a second before he snared my wrist in a loose grip, tugged me to him and placed another kiss on the top of my head. We really had moved onto the whole brother-sister relationship, it seemed. “Call me if you need me. I’m sending Heather back in now. Don’t argue. Just deal with it.”

And with that, he too pivoted on his heel and strode from the room. Far less stompy than Raph, I have to admit.

Heather hurried through the door a few moments later. Dropping onto the edge of the bed beside me, she grinned. “Wow. That was tense.”

I frowned. “What?”

“Raph and The Biceps out there.”

My breath caught in my throat. “In the hall?”

She nodded. “Raph waited until The Biceps came out. They then did that caveman-chest-thumping thing at each other with their eyes before The Biceps told Raph he’s not good enough for you, and Raph told The Biceps to stick his opinion up his arse. Oh, by the way, according to Macca, The Biceps broke Raph’s bodyguard’s nose in the fight.”

I blinked.

Heather grinned again. “So, two guys fighting over you. How’s that feel? Oh, and you still have to tell me what it was like being kissed by The Biceps,” she said, eyes twinkling. “And are you going to do it again? Who kisses better? Who are you going to pick?” Grinning at me, she squirmed on the edge of the bed, the excited puppy once again. “Oh, do you think they’d agree to a ménage? Oh man, imagine
both
of them making love to—”

I smacked my hand over her mouth. “Stop!”

She giggled against my palm.

Rolling my eyes, a smile playing with my lips, I lowered my hand. “I can’t believe you.”

She laughed. “Hey, admit it, you went there as well.”

I burst out laughing. Warm happiness flowed through me and, I’m not afraid to admit, a little bit of naughty excitement. I allowed myself a moment to imagine what it would be like to have
both
Brendon and Raph doing wicked things to my body at the same time before, with a chuckled snort, I pressed my hand to Heather’s smirking face and shoved her away. “You’re debauched,” I admonished with a smile, watching her flop back on my bed.

The rest of the afternoon was spent lying around my room, chatting and relaxing. We even did clichéd things like braid each other’s hair, paint our toenails—Heather has the most out-there collection of nail polish, including glow-in-the-dark yellow—and discuss celebrity crushes. When she went into great detail about what she would do to Robert Pattinson, I covered my face with my hands, begging her to stop, laughing so much the words made zero sense.

She didn’t mention my Parkinson’s once. When I got up to take my meds, just before the pizza we’d ordered for dinner arrived, she didn’t ask me about them, which is what most people do when they watch me swallow the collection of tiny pills I gather in my palm. Nor did she try to help me when I struggled to open one of the bottles. I know she noticed. It’s kind of hard not to when I’m having one of those moments, mainly because all you can hear is me muttering curse after curse and the maraca-like rattling of pills inside plastic.

It was then that I realized just how much I liked her. Really liked her. In the short time I’d known Heather, she’d become one of the best friends I’d ever had. Like,
ever
.

I mean, I have friends back home in Plenty—good friends—but my best friend up and moved to New York when she was accepted into NIADA. And when I was diagnosed with Parkinson’s… Well, I withdrew from most forms of interaction and focused on my studies at college. That withdrawal most likely played quite a large part in me winning the scholarship and being here now, which, when you think about it, is ironic. I’d distanced myself from friends due to my condition and ended up in Australia, where I’d made one of the best friends of my life. Freaky, huh?

Sitting back on the bed beside her, listening to her describe her last date—B-grade horror-movie marathon followed by skinny dipping at Bondi Beach—I couldn’t help but smile and send up a word of thanks to whatever all-powerful force put Heather in my life. Fate had dealt me a pretty crummy hand, but this vivacious Australian who spoke a mile a minute was making it easier to deal with.

I was going to miss her so much when I had to leave. Damn, was I going to miss her.

Brendon rang three times to make sure I was okay. Every time I was torn between being angry with him for his concern and being touched by it. A part of me still wished like hell our kiss had been the explosive, melt-your-bones-and-make-you-horny kind. True, I wasn’t in the market for a boyfriend, but I’m still human and I do still have needs and, despite the fact my hands sometimes shake with all the force of a Duracell-powered vibrator, they—and the vibrator—are no substitute for a body-to-body orgasm.

Was that too much information?

Another part of me admitted it wasn’t Brendon who was making me more aware of those needs.

A third part of me wished to hell those goddamn needs would just fuck off.

Ha ha. Fuck off. Get it?

Anyway, at some point after we finished the pizza, I must have fallen asleep. I’m not surprised. I’d had a busy day, what with the pre-breakfast workout, naked-man drawing session over breakfast with Raph, fun and games with the paparazzi, unplanned concussion and trip to the ER followed by the events on Mackellar House’s front lawn.

What I
was
surprised by, however, was the person in my room when I woke.

It wasn’t Heather.

A dull, fuzzy ache throbbed in my head when I opened my dry and scratchy eyes who knows how many hours later. The sunlight streaming through my room’s one and only window told me it was daytime, as did the sounds I’d grown accustomed to of my fellow Mackellar House occupants moving about on the other side of my door.

Squinting against the bright light, I levered myself up to a sitting position and froze when my sleep-blurred gaze fell on the person sitting in my uncomfortable desk chair beside my bed.

My heart slammed into my throat like a linebacker into a quarterback.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Raph asked, lips curling in what I assumed was mirth.

I stared at him. “What…wh-why…how long…”

Oh God, talk about being articulate.

He raised an eyebrow. “Have I been here? Since eleven.”

“In the morning? What time
is
it?” I swung a glance around my room, stunned enough by his presence to make my brain wonder if it was working properly. Well, as properly as it
can
work. Was it after lunch already?

“Eleven p.m.”

His answer sent a sudden thump into my chest. I turned back to him, mouth open. “You’ve been here all night?” I scowled. “That’s a little
Twilight
-ish of you, isn’t it?”

He frowned. “What?”

I raised a hand and waved off my woeful attempt at flippant sarcasm. “Forget it. Why are you in my room?”

He studied me. “I bribed Heather.”

“What?”

“I bribed Heather. She told me Osmond was going to stay with you through the night and I bribed her to tell him
she
would. And then I bribed her to let me stay instead.”

I didn’t think I could gape any more, but apparently I could. “You
what
?”

“Do you really want me to say all that again?”

I gave him a confounded stare. “Why?”

“Why did I bribe her?”

I nodded, my pulse pounding in my ears. My belly was a knotting twist of tension. Even in my baffled state, I could see how damn sexy he was, what with his tousled hair—hair that looked like hands had worried it all night—muscular, jeans-clad legs stretched out in front of him with relaxed ease and broad, broad shoulders.

Between you and me, I’ve never woken up with a guy that wasn’t my dad in the same room as me. The fact my very first guy was Raphael Jones only made the event all the more…daunting.

His dark eyes held mine with steady calm. “I was worried.”

I don’t know what I wanted him to say, but
I was worried
wasn’t it. Disappointment shot through me, hot and bitter. Followed by the very familiar taint of self-contempt.

“Worried,” I echoed. “Of course. Because I have—”

He moved before I could finish. Like a sexy, tousled-haired blur. He shoved himself from my desk chair to the side of my bed, his hands cupping my face with firm but gentle pressure, his lips crushing mine.

Okay, forgive me for a moment here, but I’m going to pull a Heather and get descriptive.
Really
descriptive.

It was the horniest fucking kiss I’ve ever had.

Let’s be serious, Raph’s kisses had already been off-the-scale hot.

His lips ravished mine. There was no other way to explain it. Ravished. He feasted on them with his own. He swept his tongue into my mouth—already open and willing, despite my surprise—and mated with mine. He groaned, sliding his fingers up the sides of my face to tangle in my hair.

I groaned back, not from pain—remember, I’d lost a head-butting contest with a light pole only the day before—but because every fiber and nerve ending in my body was on fire with lust and desire and need.

Need
. I needed him to kiss me. I needed it more than I need medication to stay steady, more than I need air to live.

He nibbled at my bottom lip, sucked it gently and nibbled again. He flicked his tongue over my teeth, deeper into my mouth and back to my teeth once more. Every time our tongues slid together, he groaned, a raw sound of utter want and surrender.

Every time he groaned, the hot place between my thighs grew hotter, damper. Heavy with urgent, impatient hunger.

I met him in his passion, incapable of doing otherwise. I was burning up in the fire of his kiss. I was drowning in the hot pleasure rolling through me. I could have sat there and died in the sheer potency of Raph’s kiss for the rest of eternity. It left all the restroom kisses we’d shared in its wake. It was incredible. Amazing. Consuming.