Bedding The Bad Boy (Dalton Brothers Novels) (13 page)

“You mind if I tag along?”

He looked surprised and she wanted a hole to form and swallow her. Had he said he wanted company? No, Grace, he hadn’t. But she’d still been reeling by his comment about wanting to stay close to the babies. She wanted to spend more time exploring
that
Max and she’d spoken without thinking.

“Not so we can—” She waved her free hand, returning Max’s sudden grin. “—squeeze stuff in or anythin’ like that. Lucy’s gone, and Melina’s home with Rhys. I just thought… You know what? Nevah mind. Looks like you’re going to be busier than a moth in a mitten. I don’t have to—”

“I’d love for you to come with me.”

She studied him closely. “You sure, honey? Because maybe you’d enjoy the ride by yourself…”

He was looking at her strangely, eyes blazing.

“What is it?”

“You’ve never called me ‘honey’ before.”

“I haven’t?”

He shook his head. “You’ve called me ‘Shugah,’” but like I said before, I’ve always felt you do it to distance yourself. Plus, I’ve heard you call others that. I haven’t heard you call anyone honey before.”

“Do you… like ‘honey’?”

He grinned. “I love it. And Dixie, I absolutely guarantee you, I would far prefer your company than driving by myself.”

She was still glowing at the fact he liked her calling him honey. “Great then. I just need to run up to my hotel. Take another shower so I can wash my hair and then change. Do my make-up. Is that okay?”

“Sure. But why go to that trouble? You always look great and now’s no exception. My parents won’t care if you’re wearing make-up or not.”

His statement that she always looked great made her feel even more warm and tingly inside. “Thanks, but I care. The only time I met your parents was at Rhys and Melina’s wedding. I don’t want them to see me with no make-up, ratty hair and in casual clothes. I just wouldn’t feel right.”

“You mean you don’t want them to see you without your armor on. But you’re letting me see you that way.”

It wasn’t like she’d had a choice. They’d run into each other at the gym. But he seemed to like the idea of seeing her in a way others didn’t. That made her feel warm and tingly again, but this time the feeling scared her. She glanced away, pulled her hand from his and plucked at an imaginary piece of lint on her jeans. “We’ll just tell them I’m visitin’ Melina so they won’t jump to the wrong conclusion.”

“What conclusion is that?”

Her gaze snapped back to his. He no longer sounded or looked pleased. “Well… I mean… it’s probably better if your parents don’t assume I’m one of your women. It might make things awkward when I see them in the future.”

“Because I don’t have female friends? Because my parents will assume any woman I’d bring along for a visit with them is a woman I’m sleeping with?”

 It surprised her how hurt he seemed by her careless words. A man-whore slash playboy shouldn’t care what she thought about him, right? The fact he did pulled at her heart. “No. I mean, obviously you have female friends.” Though there was only one she knew of—Melina—and she was more like family. She always had been. “I just thought… I don’t know. I just figured you wouldn’t want them barking up the wrong tree.”

Max stared at her for a minute longer, then smiled slightly before shrugging. “They’re going to get the wrong impression no matter what we tell them, Grace. But we can play it your way if you want.”

Puzzled by his cryptic response, she waited for a moment. When he didn’t expand, she asked, “What do you mean they’re goin’ to get the wrong impression anyway?”

“I’ve never brought a girl to meet them. Ever. Friend, lover or otherwise. You’ll be the first. And you know what they say, Dixie. No one ever forgets their first.”

***

Max sneaked a long look at Grace before she stepped out of the elevator and into the hall, headed toward her hotel room. Once again, he wanted to tell her not to bother getting dolled up. She looked great without make-up. Younger. Sweeter. Guard down, even if that wasn’t actually true.

She looked beautiful and relaxed. Not worrying about her ability to have an orgasm or finding someone to father a child. Not trying to control every step of her life because she was so damn afraid just living it in the here and now wasn’t worthwhile.

When he’d remembered his promise to Rhys, he’d been in agony, picturing everything he
wasn’t
going to be doing to Grace’s sweet body. But now that she was coming along and he’d have a chance to talk to her for several uninterrupted hours… Well, he was hoping he’d learn more about Grace, but also make some headway in getting her to rethink her baby plan.

For a complex woman, she wanted simple things—things most people wanted. Who didn’t want to come while actually having sex and
not
because some vibrator stimulated you into climax? And while he knew plenty of people who didn’t want children, the majority of people he’d come across did. Grace wasn’t alone in her desires. But who went out and found another person for the sole and specific purpose of creating and raising a baby? Who looked for someone they didn’t love and never would just because they wanted a child to have a father, but didn’t want the emotional complications that came with having a baby the traditional way?

Someone with enough issues around control and letting go to fill an Olympic swimming pool.

Someone like Grace.

She opened the door to her hotel room and motioned him inside. It wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t exactly neat either. It was how his own hotel rooms often looked, which for some reason made him smile. There was only one bed in the room, but it was a king. “Did you share a room with Lucy?”

“No. I stayed all by my lonesome,” she said, putting her gym bag on the bed. “Why?”

“No reason. But you’re ruining my fantasy of two women sleeping together,” he said, teasing her. “Why not share a room while you were here?”

“I like my privacy. And Lucy is datin’ Jericho. They tend to get carried away with their Skype calls.”

He snorted. Knowing Lucy, he could only imagine what fresh hell Grace would have to endure if Lucy and her latest boy toy were having internet sex in the same room.

“What do you think about this Jericho guy?” he asked.

“He’s broodin’, passionate, artsy. Seems perfect for her.”

He heard the hesitation in her voice. “But?”

Grace dug around in the chest of drawers then pulled out some clothes. “I’m goin’ to shower first.”

He looked at his watch. It would be cutting it close, but they had about a half hour before they had to leave. Without her invitation, he stretched out on her bed, palms behind his head with legs crossed. “Leave the door open, and talk to me,” he said, mostly to see how she’d react.

For a moment, she hesitated, and he mentally willed her to do as he asked. She’d made it clear that letting others make decisions for her was not something she generally allowed, and he figured baby steps were needed to lead up to what he wanted from her. And for her.

She gave a tight nod of her head, then stepped toward the bathroom.

“Take off your clothes first.”

She froze and turned to look over her shoulder at him, mouth open and eyes rounded with horror.

He stifled a grin. She wanted him to make her come. An hour ago she’d been sliding her body all over his hard-on. And yet she was embarrassed to take her clothes off in front of him?

Baby steps, he reminded himself. Baby steps.

“Just strip to your bra and panties. We’ll save the rest for when we have more time.”

She took a deep breath. “Your parents. You said—”

“We have time. Now do what I said, Dixie. Start with your top.”

She licked her lips, looked toward the bathroom as if she was thinking of running inside, then carefully placed her fresh clothes on the dresser beside her.

Facing him, she pulled her top off. When she dropped it to the floor, she lifted her chin and kept her hands to her sides.

He studied the baby blue lace demi-bra that cupped her flesh to perfection. It looked padded, but he could still see the thrust of her nipples and the slightest hint of her piercings through the thin fabric.

“Nice,” he whispered. “Now your pants.”

She shifted her legs, but immediately moved to unbutton the jeans. She lowered the zipper. When he glanced up, he saw her eyes on him. As if she was judging his reaction to what she was doing. As if she was getting off on it.

He knew he was reading her correctly when the zipper was completely down but she didn’t remove her jeans. Instead, she trailed her fingers across her belly and the edge of her panties in a devious little tease.

He straightened and sat up, no longer able to just lie there. No longer able to pretend this was just a game. “Take them off.”

“Or what?” she said.

He narrowed his eyes. “Or I’m going to have to punish you.”

She shook her head. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re too much of a gentleman to hurt a woman.”

He stood, watching as she stiffened and visibly stopped herself from retreating. When he was three feet in front of her, he reached out and gently freed her hair from her ponytail holder. He skimmed his fingers through the golden strands, loving the way she leaned into his touch. Then he dropped his hands.

“You don’t know me, Grace. We don’t know each other. But we’re going to. And you’re going to learn I’m the type of gentleman that makes a woman hurt really, really good. Now take off your jeans.”

She licked her lips. Swallowed hard. Then did as he said.

Her panties were blue lace, too. Unlike the skin on her back, the rest of her body was bare of ink, her skin smooth and creamy.

He reached behind her with one hand and unclasped her bra.

“Max,” she said, her breath starting to hitch.

“Shh. Let me,” he said. “I want to see you.”

When she remained quiet, he tugged her bra off, letting it fall to ground.

He sucked in a breath. Her breasts were just as graceful as the rest of her. The perfect size. Not big and overblown, but still womanly and lush. Her nipple piercings were dainty gold hoops with a tiny silver ball. Forcibly keeping his hands off her, he leaned forward. Kissed her throat. Kissed down her chest. Then sucked her nipple into his mouth. Hard.

She immediately buried her hands in his hair and arched closer. “Oh God. Oh Max.”

He repeatedly flicked the ball dangling from the hoop with his tongue, then moved to the next nipple, sucking it good while his thumb and forefinger played with its mate. Whenever he pinched her nipple, she gasped. Whenever he tugged lightly on her piercings, she moaned.

He wanted her to scream.

Wanted to nibble his way to her belly and to the moist, delicate flesh between her legs. He wanted to bury his face there. Rub her cream all over himself until all he could see and taste and smell was her. He wanted it so damn bad he was shaking.

A half hour, he reminded himself. Not enough to do what he wanted by a long shot.

So he forced himself to pull away.

She reached for him, but he grabbed her, kissed her hands, then let her go. He returned to the bed, hands once again behind his head. Enormous erection on display so she couldn’t miss how aroused he was.

“Do what you need to do, Grace. But first turn around.”

She was flushed and breathing hard, her eyes dazed. At first, she didn’t seem to understand what he was saying.

“Show me your tattoo, Dixie.”

Slowly, she turned.

He sat up to get a better look before standing once more and stepping behind her.

Gently, he bunched her hair in his fist and lifted, giving himself an unimpeded view of her back. Running the length of her spine was the black outline of a stylized bird. Was it a swan? He wasn’t sure, but the curved lines he’d seen at the gym above her tank top made up one of its wings, stretched up toward her neck. The ones he’d seen below her tank made up the other wing. The overall design had a simplistic elegance and sensuality, giving the suggestion of flight even as the bird stood upright.

It was gorgeous.

She
was gorgeous.

And given what he’d said to her the night before, it seemed terribly significant that the only tattoo she had on her body was a bird.

Don’t get on that plane, Grace. Fly with me instead.

“Does it represent anything in particular?” he asked. She jumped slightly as he traced the length of the tattoo with the tip of his index finger. She gave a long, drawn out moan when he leaned forward and began sprinkling kisses up and down the length of the tattoo.

“Not really,” she said.

And he knew there was a story there. One she didn’t want to share.

He’d give her that for now.

With one last kiss to her back, he straightened and reclined once again on the bed. “Go ahead and take a shower.”

With a jerky nod, she headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he’d told her. He heard the shower turn on.

He blew out a breath even as he imagined her body and that freaking fabulous tattoo glistening under the spray of the water. Groaning, he cupped himself through his jeans, imagining it was her stroking him. Fuck, when she’d been on her knees in front of him in that dance studio, it had taken all he’d had not to—

He heard her fumble a bottle and grinned. If she was half as torqued up as he was, she was probably cursing his ass about now. Best to get her mind on something else.

“Tell me about Lucy and Jericho,” he said.

It didn’t seem like she was going to respond, then she called back over the sound of running water. “After Lucy and her last boyfriend, Jamie, broke up, she came up with this theory.”

“What theory?”

“That people with different backgrounds, like a jock and a brain, or a preschool teacher and a skydivah, can totally fool around with one another, but when it comes to long term commitments like should stay with like.”

That didn’t sound like the free spirited Lucy. Maybe he’d misheard her. “Like and like? Meaning what?”

“Both people should be preschool teachers. Or skydivahs. You know, the same. In personality if not profession.”