Authors: Faye Avalon
“You don’t have to bellow like that.
He’s not deaf.”
“You want your damn dog back, don’t
you?”
She folded her arms across her
chest. Marco wanted to tell her that the action spread paint onto the sleeves
of her jacket, but he thought to hell with it.
“What I want is for you to go away.
Won’t your playmates be missing you?”
Because she said it with a sneer,
Marco felt the final snap of his temper. He stepped forward two paces and came
right up against her, pleased when she stepped back. “That smart mouth of yours
might get you into trouble,
bella mia
.”
This close he couldn’t help but
notice she had long black eyelashes curling over those icy blue eyes. He
lowered his gaze to her smart mouth. It was full, ripe, and dotted with red
paint. Shit. Pissed had just morphed into a full blown hard on.
“Get away from me.”
Since her eyes fired with challenge,
not fear, he moved closer. She wasn’t afraid of him. She’d give as good as she
got. The thought shot fire through his veins and he moved closer until he
backed her to the edge of some bushes. He smiled, knowing if she continued to
move away from him, she’d end up flat on her back. She knew it too, glancing
behind her before she came to an abrupt halt. He almost slammed into her.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your
tongue?”
She narrowed her eyes and moved an
inch closer so that her breasts brushed his ribcage. Damn. If she moved another
smidgen, she’d get to feel how fucking turned on he was.
She moved. And grinned.
Shit.
“Cat hasn’t got anything. But
perhaps you’d like to step back, that is if you’d rather not feel my knee in
the region of your current predicament.”
Marco stood his ground. Even faced
with the threat of injury to his manhood, the damn woman turned him on. Before
he could question what he was doing, he dropped the paint gun to the ground,
reached out, and drew her hips up hard against him, enjoying the gasp that escaped
her and the way her eyes went wide. “Now, do you really want to do that much
damage? Think of the injustice you’ll be doing the sisterhood.”
As he continued to hold her still,
her hands shot out to his arms so she could steady herself. Her fingers were
small, slender, but her grip was firm.
“You’ve got a solid hold there. A
man likes to know a woman can grip hold of him when the occasion calls for it.”
Her eyes widened a little indicating
she’d taken his innuendo, but then they narrowed as her chin shot up. “When the
occasion calls for it I can grip as well, better, than the next woman.”
As if to demonstrate, her fingers
dug into his arms. At the same time she brought her knee up to his groin,
freezing mere centimeters away from where she could make his eyes water.
He dug his fingers into her hips,
put as much menace into his tone. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
“You’re not me. But believe it when
I say that nothing would give me greater pleasure right now than inflicting
permanent damage.”
Their gazes locked, and as Marco
looked deep into her eyes, he glimpsed beyond the threat. Sadness burned there,
an emotion he imagined she’d be determined to hide from those not fascinated
enough to really look. It intrigued him, but more it made him want to take away
the misery that shone in those sapphire depths. The unprecedented feeling hit
him dead center and he released her with such rapid movement he had to throw
out his hand to stop her tumbling back into the bushes.
Roscoe chose that moment to tear out
of the woods, barking madly as he took a flying leap at them. The action sent
them toppling back into the shrubs and Marco just managed to flip their
positions mid fall so that when they landed she was on top of him. Her breath
came out in a loud whoosh at about the same time he felt his head connect with
something hard and solid.
He winced as the world went
momentarily black.
“Oh, my God.” Her hands flew over
his face, his head. “Are you okay?”
Since he was currently seeing stars,
it was hard to say.
“Don’t move,” she instructed in the
same tone she’d used to summon the wayward Roscoe. “Let me see.”
He couldn’t have described her as
gentle as she poked and prodded him, and maybe there was something sick about
him that he enjoyed her rough handling. Maybe it was those expressive eyes
again and the concern that shadowed their depths. When she sat back on her
heels and let out a long breath, he hoisted himself onto his elbows and felt
his head swim a little. “Will I live?”
“Looks like. But it might be a good
idea to let a doctor take a look at you. Have them examine your head.”
She leaned forward, her breasts on a
direct course to his mouth, and ran her fingers over the back of his head. He
winced a little, afraid to admit that he did it more for effect, seeing as he
wanted her to keep touching him, to stay this close so he could imagine what
tempting flesh lay beneath her jacket. From the bulk of her clothes he couldn’t
get a clear outline of her breasts, but if her ass was anything to go by, he’d
be in for a treat. Shit. What the hell was he thinking? The woman had been
nothing but trouble. Maybe he really did need his head examined.
“You’re going to have a nice bump
there, I’m afraid. Do you want me to help you up?”
Hell, no. He didn’t care if he was
dying, he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction. “I’m okay.”
He started to rise, but had to blink
a few times as he gained his balance, aware that her hand lay almost
imperceptibly against his elbow. The dog edged in front of him and plonked
himself down on his butt.
“Bad dog,” she scolded as she
grabbed his lead. “Look what you did.”
Since the dog went down on his belly
and stared doe-eyed up at her as if he knew he was in deep shit, Marco felt a
certain male bonding with the animal. He’d been on the receiving end of her
pussy-whipping, too. “Didn’t know your own strength, did you boy? Only wanted
to play.”
“He’s had enough play for one
afternoon. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” Marco resisted the urge rub
his hand over the bump on his head as it started to throb. “I’ve had worse.”
Her lips twitched as, with the hand
that wasn’t holding tight to the dog’s lead, she picked up his paint gun.
“Macho man. I suppose that comes from handling such a big gun.”
She held the gun out so he could
take it. He held her gaze, pleased that her eyes no longer held sadness or
concern. He grinned back at her. “I handle my gun pretty well.”
“I’m sure you do.” She flashed
pretty white teeth. “Except when you’re aiming at unsuspecting women who happen
to be in your path.”
Damn, she was beautiful when she
smiled. Even with all that paint on her face. “Most of the women I aim for are
happy to be in my path.”
She gave a sound low in her throat
which went straight to his still rigid cock. “Macho and modest. That’s some
combination.”
Since they weren’t growling at each
other and she was still smiling at him, he stepped closer and held out his
hand. “Marco Zutini. Macho and modest are my middle names.”
She dropped her chin a little,
looking up at him from beneath those long, dark lashes. It was a surprisingly
coy expression that was in direct opposition to her tough exterior. She glanced
down at the hand he still offered, before looking back at him. “Beth Devlin. I
don’t have any middle names.”
He smiled, keeping hold of the hand
she slipped into his. “Sure you do. Beautiful and bold.”
She tried to tug her hand away, but
because she looked flustered he tightened his grip. “Since neither of us came
out of this encounter well, how about you let me buy you a drink to make up for
spraying you with paint from my big gun.”
“I have to get back to the Center.”
Her chin came up and her cheeks flushed a little. “It’ll be feeding time soon
and they’ll need me.”
Yeah
, Marco
thought as his lips twitched.
Definitely
flustered
. “How about tonight?”
Her gaze dropped to Roscoe who was
currently giving his impression of butter-wouldn’t-melt while he looked from
one to the other as they spoke. “I’m on late shift.”
Okay. It hurt his ego, but he could
take a hint. “Then let me at least pay for your clothes to be dry cleaned or
something.”
She laughed. “These old things?
They’re going straight in the bin. Don’t worry, I have plenty more.” She gave
Roscoe a tug and the dog jumped to attention beside her. “Bye, then. Make sure
to get that bump looked at.”
He watched as she walked away,
talking to the dog as she went. When she got to the path that would take her
back to where he’d first seen her, she turned the corner without even a
backward glance.
Marco stood there smiling to himself
as he hoisted the paint gun back across his chest. Did she really think it was
that simple? That after feeling her soft warmth pressed against him, looking
into those blue eyes and having her hands run over him, he was finished with
her?
Like hell. She hadn’t seen the last
of him.
Chapter Two
Late into the evening, Beth finished
adding to her notes on Roscoe. His assessment hadn’t gone so badly, at least
until that little episode in the woods. Hell. That idiot man. What was it about
him that annoyed her so much? It was more than the paint spraying debacle, it
was
him
. Everything about his vacuous
persona. And damn it, even to herself that sounded harsh, cold. At least he’d
helped her find Roscoe and taken a fall for his efforts. She hoped his head was
okay.
Marco. The name suited him. All that
dark hair teasing his shoulders, sexy brown eyes, even the small silver loop
that flashed in his left ear. It was probably the flack jacket that made his
shoulders seem so big.
Was it the fact that he was so damn
sexy that irritated her so much? Or did he remind her in some way of the past?
Mostly she’d been able to push the memories back so deep she’d barely thought
about them. Work helped of course. The Center didn’t run itself and there were
always more animals coming in needing to be cared for and evaluated, not to
mention the work involved in the adoptions that thankfully had been going like
a train.
And yet at the first remotely sexual
encounter she’d had in almost eighteen months, she’d felt all those feelings
storm back. One brush of his admittedly impressive erection and a torrent of
need had let rip inside her, leaving her edgy and, okay, horny.
Leaning back on the battered sofa,
Beth plonked her booted feet on the small coffee table in the staff lounge and
forced herself to concentrate as she turned to page two of the assessment for
Roscoe.
She was about to fill in the bit
about recall, when Carrie, one of the assistants, popped her head in the door.
“Beth, someone to see you.”
Beth turned her wrist to glance at
her watch. “It’s past nine. Didn’t we put the closed sign up?”
“Sign’s up, but this guy says it’s
personal.” She grinned. “He could be personal with me any day.”
As her stomach gave a surprising and
treacherous roll, Beth took her feet off the coffee table. “Did he give a
name?”
“No. He said if you asked I was to
say that you were responsible for his middle names. That you’d understand. Who
is he?”
Because Carrie jiggled her eyebrows,
Beth put on her professional face as she stood. “He met Roscoe this afternoon.
Probably something to do with that.”
“Want me to bring him over?”
“No.” Beth dropped the assessor
sheet on the table. “Is he in Reception?”
At Carrie’s nod, Beth started out.
There was still a streak of light
across the early spring night sky, but the reception area lights were on and
Beth saw Marco through the glass doors as she crossed the yard. Her heart gave
a quick jolt and her pulse quickened. What on earth did he want?
When she pushed through the doors,
he turned and smiled at her.
Oh my, he
had a smile that could melt the panties right off a woman
. But despite the
danger to her own underwear, Beth maintained her professional face as she came
up to him. “We usually close at six. Is there something I can help you with?”
“Hello to you, too.” He upped the
amps on his smile several kilowatts, and Beth’s stomach fluttered in response.
Stupid. He was no doubt a player and used that smile to devastating effect
whenever the opportunity arose. “Got something for you.”
As he turned to pick up a bag he’d
placed on a chair, Beth took a moment to let her gaze travel over him. She’d
been wrong about the flack jacket. His shoulders were wide even beneath the
lightweight ivory jacket he wore. Plus, his to-die-for butt, encased in smart
black jeans, was honed to perfection.