Authors: Lori Foster
A writer?
Now, somehow that fit. The creative types were always a bit different, as far as he knew. “What do you write?”
“Mysteries.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Fun stuff. Whodunits with a few laughs and some racy romance thrown in.”
It was Mick’s turn to say, “Wow.” Then he added, “Have you ever been published?”
“Well, yeah.” She seemed to consider that a stupid question.
She’d said it so casually, as if it were nothing. He’d never met a novelist before, and now he planned to sleep with one. “How many books have you done?”
“I’ve had four published so far, with two more in the works.” She nodded toward her laptop. “I’m working under a deadline right now.”
“How old are you?” Mick didn’t think she looked old enough to have one book published, much less four. He’d always pictured writers as more seasoned, scholarly types.
His question made her grin. “Twenty-five, almost twenty-six. I sold my first book when I was twenty-three.”
Mick eyed her anew. A mystery writer. He had to shake his head at the novelty of it. And here he’d claimed to be a PI. A match made in heaven. “I’ll be damned,” he said, still dealing with his amazement. “Maybe I could read one sometime?”
“Sure. I’ll show them to you when we get to my apartment. By the way, I drove myself here so I could take us both home tomorrow. Your friend Josh was pretty ticked off about it. He was going to tattle, and you should have seen his face when we found you asleep. He looked so frustrated, I thought his head would explode. Of course, for that one, it might be an improvement.”
Mick closed his eyes. Some maniac had tried to kill her, and here she’d been on the road alone again, vulnerable. He could just imagine Josh’s frustration. “Delilah.”
“Del.”
“Excuse me?” He opened his eyes again and stared at her. Hard.
“If we’re going to be friends, you may as well call me what everyone else does.”
“And everyone else calls you...
Del?
” It sounded like a man’s name to Mick.
She shrugged. “It’s what I’ve always gone by. Only my father called me Delilah, usually if he was angry, and he died a few years ago. Now I only use my full name when I write.”
Mick wondered how her father had died, if she had any other family left.
He shook off his distraction. He’d have time to ask her about her family later. Keeping his tone stern, he said, “Josh was right to be angry. Someone tried to shoot you today. You shouldn’t be alone, not until I—” He pulled back on that, quickly saying instead, “Until the police can figure out what’s going on.”
She flapped her hand at him, waving away his concerns, then let it settle on his abdomen. He nearly shot off the bed. Every muscle in his body clenched and his cock throbbed. He’d never been in such a bad way before.
If she moved her fingers just a few inches lower, she could make him feel so much better. He closed his eyes against the image of her soft hand holding him, stroking him. Too fast, he was moving way too fast.
“I don’t think,” she murmured, watching her hand on his body, “that they were really shooting at me. Why would they?” She looked up at him, her hand thankfully still. “I mean, they aimed at me, but I think it was just a random thought. They were criminals and they got thwarted because the police showed up, and they were mad, so they wanted to shoot someone.”
Nearly choking on an odd combination of explosive desire, frustration and protectiveness, Mick asked, “And you think they chose you, a woman who didn’t have a thing to do with anything, a woman just visiting the store? They didn’t look rattled or frenzied. They looked like they meant to shoot you—you specifically—before they took off.”
Her fingers spread wide and her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I didn’t notice anything like that.”
Her baby finger was a quarter inch from the head of his penis. His body strained, fighting against his control. He
needed
to lift his hips, to thrust into her hand.
“You,” he rasped, “are the person they accused of setting off an alarm, when you hadn’t moved and weren’t anywhere near anything that could have triggered an alarm.”
That made him think of something else, and he forced himself to concentrate on things other than her touch. “How did the cops know? Did anyone tell you?”
She stared blankly at his bandaged shoulder, deep in thought. “The officer who questioned me said someone on the street noticed the guns when he was walking by, and he used his cell phone to call them.”
“Honey, listen to me.” Mick put his left hand on her bare waist, between the bottom of her shirt and the top of her jeans. Her skin was smooth and warm, her muscles taut. “Did you recognize either of them? Was there anything at all familiar about them?”
“No, of course not.” She looked at her hand on his abdomen, then at his erection. He read her thoughts as if she’d spoken them aloud. Instinctively, he tightened, which brought forth a moan of pain from both physical discomfort and sharp anticipation.
“You’re in a bad way,” she said in a hushed, husky tone filled with understanding and her own measure of need.
He wanted to howl. He wanted to ask her to go ahead and stroke him, hard and fast, that she use her mouth...
“Delilah...”
“Del,” she whispered, and started to glide her hand lower.
Using his left hand, Mick caught her wrist. His hold was tight, too tight, but he felt stretched so taut he was ready to snap. “I’m in worse than a bad way,” he rasped. “I’m on the very edge, and if you touch me I won’t be able to control myself.”
She tilted her head, staring at him as if she didn’t quite grasp his meaning.
“I’ll come,” he said bluntly, then watched for her reaction.
She stayed still, but probably only because he held her slender wrist in an iron grip, refusing to let her move.
“This is difficult for me,” he explained, watching her, needing her to understand. He felt more tension than he had at fifteen, when he’d seen his first fully naked female, there for the taking. He’d lost control then; he was ready to lose control now. He ground his teeth and insisted, “I’m not usually like this.”
Her eyes, warm and heavy-lidded, looked him over. “You’re hurt, in bed. This is a strange situation.”
“It has nothing to do with any of that and everything to do with you. I want you bad, and have since the first time I saw you.”
He could tell that admission pleased her. “Today?” she asked.
Gently, he lifted her hand away from his body so he could carry on a coherent conversation. He brought her hand to his chest and kept it there. “I saw you two weeks ago, near a building I own. You were heading to the post office.”
Her frown reappeared. “I never noticed you,” she said. Then, chagrined, she added, “I was probably plotting, and I don’t pay much attention then. My mind tends to wander.”
He thought about how she’d been examining the jewelry store, studying it, prowling from one corner to the other. “Plotting...what?”
“My book, of course.”
She said it as if it should have been obvious to him.
“So,” she asked, “you saw me a few weeks ago?”
“And many times since then. I eat at Marco’s a lot, and you—”
“Jog by there a lot.” Her smile was very sweet. “Whenever I have a deadline, I need to get outside at least once a day to clear my head so I can really think and plot. So I jog. But I’ve never noticed you before.”
“I’ve watched you almost every day. Today when I saw you actually stop and go into the jewelry store, I decided it was time to introduce myself.”
Her countenance darkened. “Instead you saved my life.”
They stared at each other. The air was charged, until a nurse started backing in, dragging a cart with her.
Delilah moved so fast, Mick was stunned. She snagged the pillow from her chair and dropped it over his lap. To the nurse she said, “Time to check him again?”
The nurse looked over her shoulder and smiled. “I’ll only be a minute.” Then she turned to Mick. “For an injured man, you’re about the healthiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Mick was in no mood for small talk. “Is that right?” he asked, while watching Delilah.
“Yep. Great lungs, great reflexes. The epitome of health. I wish everyone would take such good care of their bodies.”
Delilah made a choking sound at that observation. “I’ll, uh, just get out of your way.” She tapped a few buttons on her laptop, closed it and set it on the window ledge. She picked up a large tote from the floor and swung the strap over her shoulder, saying to Mick, “I’m going to run down to the coffee shop and grab a bite to eat. Do you want anything? You slept through dinner.”
The nurse said, “We can still get him a tray.”
Delilah leaned close and whispered, “It was nasty-looking stuff. I’d pass if I was you.”
The nurse heard and grinned. “The coffee shop has pretty good sandwiches and chips and desserts. You’re not on a restricted diet, so if something sounds good...”
Delilah started out. “I’ll surprise you.”
“Delilah—”
“Del,” she said, then added, “Don’t worry. I’ll be right back. We’ll pretend we’re having a picnic.”
And before he could warn her to be cautious, she was gone. Mick sank back against the pillows, the ache in his shoulder receding to no more than a dull, annoying throb. The nurse offered him more pain medication, but he passed. He needed all his wits about him to deal with Delilah Piper. Otherwise, he thought, grinning shamelessly, she’d probably take sexual advantage of him in his weakened physical shape.
He could hardly wait.
The nurse finished her poking and prodding, changed his bandage, and then, at his request, handed him the phone.
He called Josh. A woman answered—no surprise there—and Mick heard her grumbling, heard the squeaking of bedsprings, before Josh came on the line.
“You’re either feeling much better or much worse if you’re making a call.”
“Much better,” Mick told him, and he knew it was only a partial lie. “Can you bring me a change of clothes tomorrow? The nurse said I should be ready to get out of here by eleven.”
“Sure thing, but it’ll have to be early. I’m on duty starting at eight.”
As a fireman, Josh worked varying hours, usually four days on, four days off. On his off days—today being one—he spent a lot of time with women.
Zack, an EMT stationed right next door to the fire department, was just the opposite. He spent all his spare time with his daughter and only rarely made time for women, and then only when his hormones refused to let him put it off any longer.
“If it’s inconvenient, I can ask Zack.”
“It’s no problem. I’d planned to check up on you anyway, just to make sure your little woman hadn’t done you in.”
“You don’t like her?” Mick asked, not really caring, but curious all the same. Personally, he found everything about Delilah unique and enticing, even her damned stubbornness, which had earlier about driven him nuts.
“She’s...different.”
True enough, Mick thought.
“And she took exception to me right off the bat.”
Mick grinned. That was probably a first for Josh.
“She’s not like other women, and she’ll take some getting used to. But it appears she’s as nuts about you as you are about her, and I suppose that’s all that really matters.” There was a muffled sound as someone snatched the receiver away from Josh and he apparently wrestled it back. Mick heard him growl, “Just hang on. I’ll only be a minute.”
Chuckling, Mick said, “I won’t keep you.”
“S’no problem. She’ll wait. So, what’s it to be? Jeans? And I guess some type of button shirt?”
“That’d be easiest. I’m sure you can find your way around my house.”
A feminine whisper, insistent and imploring, sounded in the background. Mick grinned again. “G’night, Josh.”
“Hey, before you go, you should know that Alec is hanging around, waiting to take care of things for you.”
Mick appreciated the subtle way Josh explained that with his lady friend listening. “Thanks. I’ll ring him next.”
He disconnected his call with Josh and punched in Alec’s number. He imagined Delilah would return any minute, and he wanted to make sure things were set first.
“Sharpe.”
“It’s me, Alec. Where are you?”
“Hanging out in the parking lot.”
“Damn, I hate to do that to you.”
He could hear the smile in Alec’s tone when he said, “Celia’s with me. It’s no problem.”
That made Mick smile, too. He could just imagine the two of them necking like teenagers. Alec was still a bad ass of the first order, but with Celia, he was a pussycat. “Why don’t you head out and I’ll call you when she decides to leave?”
The door opened and Delilah came through, her arms laden with paper bags and disposable cups of steaming liquid. Mick eyed her cautiously, not sure how much she’d heard.
She set everything down and turned to him with a smile. “Is that Josh?”
“No, it’s, uh, Alec.” He could hear Alec laughing in his ear. He knew they all appreciated the unique effect Delilah had on him.
“Alec?” That surprised her, he could tell, but not for long. “Well, tell him to go home and go to bed. I’m not leaving tonight, so I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Mick scowled. “Delilah...”
“Del.” She sat on the side of the bed and took the phone from his hand, then said into the receiver, “I’m going to stay the night. But thanks for thinking of me, anyway.”
And then she hung up.
CHAPTER FOUR
At ten o’clock, the doctor gave Mick the okay to leave, together with a long list of instructions. Del listened intently and felt confident that she could take care of everything that needed to be done.
Angel and Celia, along with their husbands, had come and gone already. They’d been there since early morning, but because Delilah now realized that they were in fact Mick’s family, she enjoyed the attention they lavished on him. He treated both women with an avuncular ease, not with the heated awareness he’d shown her.
Unfortunately, Josh had shown up, too, at the crack of dawn. She’d been asleep when he’d arrived, and was forced to awaken to his scowling face. He’d seemed suspicious of her overnight stay, as if he thought she might have molested Mick in his sleep. Stupid man.
Though Josh was uncommonly handsome, and could be witty when he chose to be, she wasn’t at all certain she liked him. Whenever he looked at her, his demeanor plainly said he found her lacking. He distrusted her interest in Mick, and showed confusion at Mick’s interest in her.
Nevertheless, she did appreciate his friendship with Mick. Willingly, he’d brought Mick clothes to wear home, then insisted she leave the room while he helped Mick dress. She would have stubbornly refused—
she
wanted to help him dress!—except Mick had wanted her to leave, too.
Delilah had already washed her face and brushed her hair and teeth while his family visited. They’d shown up just as Josh was leaving, and she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of poignant sadness, seeing how loved he was. He had a good family, loyal friends, and she envied him that.
Hoping to make a better impression on them today than she had yesterday, she’d applied a little makeup and exchanged her slept-in T-shirt for a dark-rose tank top. Though the hospital was cool, out the window she could already see heat rising off the blacktop in the parking lot.
Now that they were alone again, Mick paced around the room, waiting for an orderly to bring a wheelchair. To Del’s discerning eye, he looked ruggedly handsome with his morning whiskers and tired eyes. He also looked a little shaky. She wanted to coddle him, but she’d already figured out that he wasn’t a man used to relying on others.
“Does your family live close?”
He glanced up at her, clearly distracted. With his arm in a sling and his eyes narrowed, he looked like a wounded pirate. “A coupla hours away. They’ll be back over the weekend, I’m sure.” His dark gaze sharpened. “Will that be a problem?”
“To have them visit? Of course not. For as long as you stay with me, I want you to be completely comfortable. It’ll be your home, too.”
He looked undecided, as if there was more he wanted to say, then he just shook his head. “We need to come to a few understandings.”
“Oh?” Seeing Mick flat on his back in bed was one thing. Him standing straight and tall—all six feet three inches of him, moving around the room with flexing muscle and barely leashed impatience—was another. He was an intimidating sight. An arousing sight.
“I want a few promises from you.” He stalked toward her, as if ready to pounce, and she felt her heart tripping.
She was a tall woman, meeting many men eye-to-eye. Not so with Mick. He looked down at her, his dark eyes drawing her in, and without thought Del went on tiptoe and touched her mouth to his.
He froze for a beat, then slanted his head to better fit their mouths together, and caught her with his good arm at the same time. He carefully gathered her close, his large hand sliding up her back to her nape and holding her immobile.
Del was acutely aware of his arm in the sling between their bodies. Her breast brushed against the stiff cotton restraint and she shuddered, trying to keep space between them so she wouldn’t inadvertently hurt him.
“Relax,” he whispered, and then his hand left her neck to coast down her spine, down and down until he was squeezing her bottom, cuddling, drawing her up and in until her pelvis nudged his groin. He made a rough sound of pleasure.
Del pulled her mouth away and rested her forehead on his chest. “This is incredible,” she groaned.
“I know.” He kissed her temple and asked, “How many bedrooms do you have?”
Her nerve endings jumped with excitement. “I have two, but I was thinking we’d—”
The orderly pushed into the room with the wheelchair and gave them a cheery greeting.
Del felt heat flood her face, more so when Mick gave her a scorching look of understanding. He started to pick up the small bag of items he had to take home, but Del rushed to beat him to it.
“You just sit,” she said, trying to regain some composure, “and I’ll get this.” Mick kept her so flustered, she could barely think, and she almost left her laptop behind. Without preamble, the orderly plopped nearly everything into Mick’s lap and started out the door. Del hustled after them.
“It’s stupid to ride in a wheelchair when I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“And smooching,” the orderly said in agreement, even more cheerful now that he knew what he’d interrupted. “But it’s hospital policy.”
Mick stayed silent until they got into the car and were on their way. He seemed inordinately alert, watching everything and everyone, and he soon had Del on edge.
“Do all PIs act like you?”
Mick didn’t bother to glance her way when he said, “Yeah.”
“Are you going to do this the whole time you’re with me?”
Again, he said, “Yeah.” But then he turned to face her. “You were shot at, Delilah. I wish I could blow it off as bad luck on your part—being in the wrong place at the wrong time—but I can’t. Not yet. Not until the police have a chance to talk to the guy I shot, and that can’t happen until he comes to.”
She bit her lip. “Do you think he’ll die?”
“I doubt it.” He turned to look back out the window, hiding his expression from her, but she heard the contempt in his tone when he added, “But don’t feel bad if he does.”
“I wouldn’t. I mean, I don’t. He could have killed someone.”
“That’s about it.”
Given his surly tone, she decided a change of topic was in order. They stopped at a light and she looked Mick over. His hair was thick and shiny and a little too long. The whiskers on his face, combined with the tiredness of his eyes, made her heart swell. Today he wore the softest, most well-worn jeans she’d ever seen on a man. They hugged his thick thighs and his heavy groin and his lean hips and tight buttocks.
Her pulse leaped at the thought of that gorgeous body beneath the clothes. Tonight, she’d get to see all of him. She’d make sure of it. She was so wrapped up in those thoughts, she almost missed the light turning green.
She eased the car forward, while her thoughts stayed attuned to Mick.
The shirt Josh had brought him was snowy-white cotton, buttoned down the front, and looked just as soft as the jeans. The thick bandage on his shoulder could be seen beneath, as could the heavy muscles of his chest, his biceps. “The doctor says you can shower,” she told him with a croak in her voice. “But he doesn’t want you to soak.”
“Right now, a shower will feel like heaven.”
“Will you need anything in particular? I could run by your place after I drop you off and pick you up anything you need.”
“Josh grabbed me a change of socks and boxers. Angel’s taking care of the rest later today. For now, whatever soap and shampoo you have will work.” He glanced at her, smiling just a bit. “Do you use scented stuff?”
“No.”
His eyes went almost black. “Good. I love the way you smell. I’m glad it’s you and not from a bottle.”
Del tightened her hands on the wheel. Boy, much more of that and she wouldn’t make it home. Luckily, he stayed silent for the rest of the ride, and Del didn’t bother trying to draw him out again. Her heart couldn’t take his idea of casual conversation.
She pulled up to the garage in front of her building. She had to pay extra to park her car there, but she knew if she left it on the street, it’d likely get stripped. She said as much to Mick as she turned off the ignition.
“Yeah, I know. I told you I own that building next door, right?”
Del rushed around to his door to help him—and got a disgruntled frown for her efforts. He was suddenly in an oddly defensive mood, and she didn’t understand him.
“You told me. I wasn’t sure if you meant the building to the left or the right.”
He grunted. The building to the left was a shambles. His building was nicely maintained. “Alec used to rent from me, before he married Celia. The agency where he works is located between here and where he lives now.”
Del cocked a brow. “If he doesn’t live
here
now, why did he follow us?”
Mick jerked around. Wary, he asked, “What are you talking about?”
She rolled her eyes. “Your friend is pretty hard to miss, looking like Satan and all. I saw him a few cars behind us. I suppose this is more of your protection?”
Tilting his head back, Mick stared at the heavens. “Something like that.” When he looked at her, she could almost feel his resolve. “I don’t have a gun right now. The cops confiscated it as evidence.”
Del gasped. “They’re not going to accuse you of anything, are they?”
“No, it’s routine to take any weapon used in a shooting. I’ll get another one before the day is out, but until then, I wanted someone armed to keep an eye on things.”
Fascinating. He spoke about guns with the same disregard that she gave to groceries. “This is all really extreme, you know.”
“It’s all really necessary, as far as I’m concerned.” Then he added, “Trust me, honey. This is what I do, and I’m not willing to take any chances with you.”
That sounded nice, as if he might be starting to like her. But maybe, Del thought, all private detectives were as cautious as Mick. She had no comparisons to go by; she’d never known a PI before.
Shrugging, she decided not to fight what she couldn’t change, and hefted out her laptop. She put the leather strap of the carrying case over her shoulder along with her tote, and then reached inside for his bag.
Mick caught her shoulder with his left hand. “Something we need to clear up.”
Del peeked up at him. He looked too serious, almost grim. Getting to know this man, with all the twists and turns of his personality, would be exhilarating. “Yes?”
He relieved her of his bag, then her laptop, holding both casually in his left hand as if they weighed no more than a feather pillow. “I’m not an invalid.”
Her temper sparked. “No, of course not. But you are wounded and you’re not supposed to strain yourself.”
Without warning, he leaned down and gave her a loud, smacking kiss. His expression was amused and chagrined and determined. “It doesn’t strain me, I promise.”
“But you can only use the one arm.”
Slow and wicked, his grin spread. “I can do a lot,” he whispered in a rough drawl, “with one arm.”
Her stomach curled at the way he said that and what she knew he inferred. She cleared her throat. “I see.”
“Good. Now lead the way.”
She didn’t want to. She wanted to insist that he let her help him. He’d done enough already, more than enough. Too much. The man had a bullet in him, thanks to her.
She turned and marched toward the front stairs. The entry door was old and heavy, and she hurried to open it, anxious to get Mick settled inside.
Together they climbed the steep stairs to the upper landing, where she used her key on both of the locks for her apartment door, one of them a dead bolt. Being a runner, she made the climb with ease, breathing as normally as ever when she reached the top. She half expected Mick, with his injuries and his load, to huff at least a bit, but he didn’t.
He did, however, keep a vigilant watch. “I’m relieved to see the landlord keeps the place secure. Not all the buildings in this area are safe.”
Del looked at him over her shoulder as she reached inside and flipped a wall switch. She didn’t tell him that she’d had the dead bolt installed recently. The front door opened directly into her living room, and one switch turned on both end-table lamps. She said only, “I’m not an idiot. I wouldn’t endanger myself.”
She tossed her tote onto the oversize leather sofa to her right and reached for her laptop. Mick, who’d been looking around, taking in her modest apartment, held it out of reach, lifting it over his head as if he didn’t have a bullet in his other arm, as if the pain wasn’t plain on his face. His strength amazed her.
“Where do you want it?”
Sighing, Del pointed to her desk in the corner, where a half wall separated her kitchen area from the rest of the room. Her desk was the only modern, truly functional piece of furniture she had. A computer occupied the center of the tiered piece, with a fax machine, a printer and a copier close at hand. There were file folders and papers stacked everywhere, notes, magazines, interviews she hadn’t yet put into the file cabinet behind the desk. Reference books littered the floor.
Mick lifted a brow and boldly glanced at her papers as he set the laptop down.
His curiosity would have to be appeased another time, Del decided. She took his arm and steered him toward the narrow hallway on the opposite side of the room. “The bathroom is this way. You can shower while I change the sheets. Are you hungry?”
He’d never admit it, she knew, but he looked ready to drop, pain tightening his mouth and darkening his eyes. Twice she’d seen him rub at his temples when he didn’t know she was looking. The doctor had told her that he was as likely to have headaches from his fall as pain from his wound. Del had a hunch the two were combining against him.
“After you finish,” she said gently, but with as much authority as she could summon, “you’ll need to take your medicine.”
Mick stopped in the bathroom doorway and caught her chin with his hand. His gaze burned, touching on her mouth, her throat, her breasts. “After I finish,” he said, his fingertips tenderly caressing her skin, “I intend to see about you.”
Her knees almost went weak. “Me?” It was a dumb question; she knew exactly what he meant.
Nodding slowly, he said, “All that teasing you’ve been doing, all that talk about starting an affair, and your bold touching. I’m beyond ready.”