Carry Me Home (26 page)

ONE FOR THE SINNERS

“I told you so,” Luke said. “Bad idea.”

They were sitting on the couch, and Cal was flipping through a magazine from Rochelle’s coffee table.

“Huh?” Cal asked absently, because he was somewhere else.

You may be thinking you get to pick out my underwear, too
, she’d said.
But you’re just going to have to be surprised on that one
. He hoped that meant what he thought it meant. Man, he hoped so.

He lifted the magazine he’d been leafing through, turned it around so Luke could see it. “Nine Ways to Drive Him Wild Tonight,” he informed his brother.

Luke grinned back at him. “Yeah. What I said. Show up and get naked. Two ways. Or even better, show up and let me know she’d like
me
to get her naked. Now we’re down to one. Guess that wouldn’t make for much of an article, though.”

By the time the door opened and the girls came out, Cal had gotten himself informed about all nine ways, and was about ten ways turned on himself, because those had been some pretty specific instructions. He’d had no idea that women were getting all that . . . information.

And then he was about eleven ways turned on, because here came Zoe. Her round brown eyes, which could look so sweet and innocent, were smoky with shadow and liner again, snapping at him like she was daring him to think she didn’t look good enough. As if that were going to be a possibility. With a spot of color on each cheek that he didn’t think was makeup, and her full lips, parted a little now, painted a deep red. Rochelle’s doing, obviously, because they matched the dress.

And
damn
. That dress.

That red dress. The style making the most of her curvy shape, all that leg showing between its hem and the tops of her cute little boots. And that wonderful deep V between her full breasts, that shadow that he knew he’d be sneaking a look down while he danced with her. Oh, yeah.

“Luke,” he told his brother without taking his eyes off her.

“Yeah?”

“You’re a real good shopper.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say?” she asked. She was still trying to be sassy, and he still loved sass, so that was fine by him.

She pirouetted in her boots, swung back around to face him, her perfectly mussed fall of dark hair going right along with her. “Am I acceptable?” she asked. “Or do you have any further instructions?”

“You’re acceptable,” he said, smiling at her. “And, yeah, darlin’. I might have some further instructions.”

Luke coughed a little. “Pushing,” he muttered.

Cal didn’t think it mattered. He thought it had worked, because her color was even higher, and she dropped her chin, looked sideways at him with a flirtatious challenge he’d never seen from her before. Because she was feeling sexy, and pretty, and a little bit wild.

Nothing like a red dress to set a woman free. Nothing at all.

And when he was dancing with her in that dress, he was sure of it.

It was a different band tonight, featuring a girl singer with a sexy, smoky voice, taking turns on lead with the guitarist. There was a fiddle, too, and it sounded great. Cal was twirling Zoe, watching her dress swirl around her thighs, then catching her again, feeling her come into his arms, his palm firm against the warm, damp skin of her back.

The band was rocking, and she was, too. Dancing like she loved it, laughing up at him. He was forgiven, because she looked beautiful, and she knew it.

They danced fast, and they danced slow, and she still had her thumb on his collarbone, but there was a lot less tension in that arm, and the longer it went on, the less there was.

Another fast one, whirling her, doing some fancy double twirls, a few tricky moves, and then the band paused, and the girl singer was stepping up to the microphone.

“We’re going to slow it right on down,” she drawled, punctuating it with a toss of her blonde hair over one bare shoulder. “This one’s for the sinners out there. And yeah,” she added with a wicked smile, “I know you’re out there.”

No instruments to start it out, just a slow snap of fingers, and she had a hand on the microphone stand, was leaning in, cradling it, making love to it. Singing about how strong and wild that sin felt, creeping up on her, pulling her down. About fighting the temptation, and losing the fight. About wanting, and longing, and falling. About the hot, sweet release of giving in.

The guitar wailed, the drums offered up every hard beat, the male singer had joined in, and Cal had Zoe in his arms, was swaying with her. And the thumb was gone. Her hand was on his shoulder, all the way over on the other side where it belonged, her rounded arm resting right there against his.

One last moment when she looked up into his eyes, and he looked down, and his heart pounded with a slow, steady beat that matched the irresistible pull of the drums.

“The thumb’s optional,” she told him softly. “And I’m opting right now. I’m opting to give it up.”

She stepped right up into him, and he had every bit of her pressed up against him at last, strong and soft and . . . wonderful. Her feet moving, her body swaying softly like she was meant to do this, like she was meant to fit with him. Her cheek turning, pressing into his shoulder.

It was dancing, and it was making love standing up, a slow, sweet, delicious rock. And it was so good.

She’d known she was his from the moment she’d seen him look at her in the dress he’d bought for her, just because he wanted to see her in it. And every single song they’d danced to since, every single step she’d taken in his arms, had walked her a little farther down that path.

He hadn’t even pretended to want to dance with anybody else, and she was so very far past pretending herself. And now, she was all the way there. She was pressed into him, feeling him telling her how much he wanted her. His hand on her back, guiding her so surely. His other hand around hers, warm and strong. And the rest of him. That, most of all. Warm, and hard, and ready to give her everything she wanted. Everything she needed.

The song went on and on. She had a feeling he’d had something to do with that, could have sworn she’d seen money change hands. But she didn’t care. She just held on to him, danced to the music, with the smooth texture of his T-shirt under her fingers, covering all that hard muscle. With the roughness of denim against her thighs, his belt buckle against her lower ribs—and everything else, too. Feeling him wanting her as much as she wanted him.

Every song had to end, though, and this one did, too. The singer gave her hair one final toss, the drums offered a last emphatic beat, the guitar let out a last languid lick, and the room erupted in applause and whistles.

Cal wasn’t clapping. He couldn’t, because he still had hold of her hand, had barely stepped back from her. He was taking her back to the table, grabbing her coat and his own, holding hers for her, helping her on with it.

“Going so soon?” Luke asked, sitting back with a beer in his hand. Rochelle must be dancing with somebody else, Zoe realized hazily, although she didn’t much care.

Cal didn’t even answer. He had hold of Zoe’s hand again, was leading her between crowded tables, the cluster of patrons by the bar, barely acknowledging the greetings he gathered along the way.

The cold hit, as always, when they got through the outer door, but for once, Zoe barely noticed it.

It seemed to sober Cal up, though. He stopped, looked down at her. “I’ve got this right, haven’t I?” he demanded. “If not, tell me now.”

“You’ve got it right,” she managed. “Please.”

He let out a breath. “Then let’s go.”

“Rochelle,” she began.

“Luke,” he answered, and that was that. He had his hand around hers still, was hustling around the corner toward the spot where his truck was parked on a side street. He was taking her home.

INSPIRATIONAL

They reached the truck, and Cal was there at her side, his keys in his hand. He looked down at her, his breath puffing out in a cloud of white that matched her own.

“Got to kiss you first,” he said. “Cold and all.” He reached for her, pulled her against him, and his mouth was on hers.

Not sweet this time. Hot, hard, and demanding. She uttered a little sound of surprise into his mouth, and his tongue was there, plunging, retreating, his hips rocking into her in the same urgent rhythm, and her hands were on his broad shoulders, grabbing him, pulling him down to her, trying to get him closer.

“Too small,” he said on a gasp, and he was reaching under her, picking her up, turning her so her back was against the door of the truck. Her legs wrapped around him like they needed to be there, and she was grabbing either side of his head, her fingers curling into the short, dark hair. She was kissing him right back, giving him everything she had, tasting beer and salt and man, drowning in him.

One of his hands stayed underneath her, holding her up, and the other one was on her bare thigh, the short dress and coat falling away. His hand was on her, broad and hard, stroking up, and up some more, and she was gasping into his mouth.

Male laughter from the sidewalk beyond brought her back to herself with a start. “Man, get a room,” she heard somebody call.

Cal must have heard it, too, because he pulled back, set her on her feet, and finally got her door open. “Yeah,” he said, sounding shaken. “Good idea. Up in that truck, sweetheart. Slide right on over there next to me, because I’m going to need to hold on to you.”

She should care that he was ordering her around again, but she didn’t. She got up there and slid, catching her breath as her bare legs hit frigid leather.

He was around, up in his own seat, turning the key. “What?” he asked as she shoved her hands under her thighs.

“C-c-cold,” she managed.

He turned the dial for the heat, and the fan blasted. More cold air, and she was shivering. “We’ll get you warm,” he said. “That’s a promise.”

“It’s my th-th-thighs,” she said. “F-f-freezing.”

“Them, especially.” His forearm was on the back of the seat behind her again, his head turning to back up into the street. He got the truck pointed toward Main, then stopped. “But where are we going?” he asked. He shook his head, laughed a little. “I just wanted to get you out of there, get you someplace where I could take off your clothes. Please don’t tell me we have to go all the way back to my place. I don’t think I’ll make it. We need a bed, not my truck pulled over to the side of the road.”

“My apartment,” she said, pulling the keys out of her little purse.

“You feel safe enough there?”

“With you? Oh, yeah. But could you quit talking and
drive
? Please, Cal. Take me home.”

He breathed out a laugh. “Hell, yeah. I could do that.” He put his foot down, and they were turning onto Main.

She put her hand on his hard thigh, exactly the way she’d wanted to do on that high school stage, and she could swear he jumped a little, so she did it some more. She curled a little bit closer, got her right arm around his chest so she could stroke the side of his face, then leaned over and kissed his neck, thrilling at the rasp of whiskers under her lips.

“Zoe,” he ground out. He was stopped at the light. Almost on Maple. Five blocks from home.

“What?” She kept her hand stroking over his jaw, twined it around to the back of his head where the hair was cut short, and rubbed her fingers over his nape, while she licked her way to where the pulse beat steady and strong under his ear, and kissed him there.

The light had turned green, the driver of the car behind him blasted out his impatience at the delay, and Cal started up again with a jerk, took off up the Maple Street hill.

“One minute,” he told her. “Sixty seconds. And you aren’t going to believe how fast you lose that pretty little dress.”

“Promises, promises.” Her fingers were still playing, her hand moving a little farther up his thigh. “You sure you’ve got something good enough for me?”

“Oh, darlin’,” he said, pulling onto Jackson at last and turning into her driveway. “I’ve got so much for you. And I can’t wait to give it to you.”

He cut the lights and the engine, leaped out of the truck, and was around to her side before she’d had time to do more than slide over and get a hand on the door handle. Then he was lifting her down. He kept his arm around her, was taking her keys from her, hustling her along the sidewalk to the basement door, fitting the key into the lock, shoving the door open and hitting the light switch, all in about fifteen seconds.

It was freezing in here, too, musty with a week’s worth of disuse, and she was shivering again.

“Thermostat,” he muttered.

She went across to it, shoved the lever to the right. “We’ll have to keep our coats on,” she teased, coming back to him where he still stood by the door. “Have a hot drink.”

“Hell we will.” He was pulling her up on her toes, kissing her some more, his lips trailing over her cheek, around to her neck. “Little girls who tease men when they’re trying to drive,” he murmured into her ear, his lips sending shivers down her spine, “get in trouble.”

“Oh, yeah?” she managed to say. “What happens to them?”

“They get their clothes taken off.” He was unzipping his coat, tossing it onto the easy chair, and then getting to work on hers, adding it to his own, looking at her where she stood in the red dress he’d bought her.

“This,” he told her. “Got to touch this.” He slid a slow hand right inside the neckline of her dress, held her there. “Oh, yeah,” he sighed, “that’s good.”

It was. His hand was moving, his thumb was tracing, and she had her hands on him, too, was tugging his shirt up. She stepped a little closer, kissed him right under his collarbone, spread her palms flat on his broad chest, and nudged the shirt over his shoulders. Then pulled it over his head, and was finally able to toss it.

He stood in front of her, bare-chested and powerful, and she drank in the sight of him. Shoulders, chest, arms, all of it narrowing so perfectly down to his waist and hips. She traced her fingernails over his pectorals, down the ridged lines of his abdomen, bent and licked a flat brown nipple. The air hissed between his teeth, and he jumped.

“Here I thought I was going to be in trouble,” she told him as she straightened, “and the only one getting naked is you.”

“You want a take-charge guy, do you?” His hands were stroking from her shoulders down her bare arms, every nerve ending they encountered on their journey sending a message straight to the part of her that was waiting for him, that was so ready for him.

She lifted her shoulders, let them fall. “Maybe not.” She did her best to make it sound sassy, even though all she wanted to do was lie down for him. “Not if that’s too much of a challenge for you.”

He laughed, low and soft. “Here I thought this was going to be my lucky night,” he said. “Turns out I didn’t have a clue.”

He got the hem of the dress in both hands, pulled it up over her head, dropped it to the floor. “Now, that’s what I call pretty,” he said with satisfaction.

“I told you I could pick out my own underwear,” she managed to say. She’d worn the blue lace ones again. Her favorites.

“Oh, yeah.” His hand traced the edge of the bralette. No wires, nothing but lace. “You did a real good job. Not much at all between you and me right here. I like that. Let’s see what we can do with this.”

He had a hand under her thighs, the other one around her shoulders, and before she knew what was happening, he was striding across the living room with her in his arms, kicking open the bedroom door with a booted foot, dropping her onto the bed, and coming down over her.

“Heater,” she said.

He looked around for it, got up again and switched it on, then came back and stood over the bed, looking down at her. “Still giving me instructions, huh?” he asked her. “Thought I was taking charge here.”

“Well,” she said, trying to shrug again, “only if it’s necessary.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be necessary anymore.” His eyes were on her body. “Blue lace and cowboy boots,” he said. “One hell of a combination. I’d call that downright inspirational.”

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled off his boots and socks, and she sat up to reach for her own.

His hand was on her shoulder, giving her a gentle shove that put her on her back again. “Oh, no,” he told her. “No undressing. That’s my job.”

“My
boots
?” she asked, trying to laugh, but it wasn’t easy, not when he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt. Her eyes were glued there as he pulled the tongue of leather free, began to work on his button fly.

“Seems to me,” she told him, “that a take-charge guy would want a woman doing that.”

“Well, you know,” he said, a slow smile growing, “I think you’re right. I think you’d better get on over here and do it.”

She sat up, walked across the bed to him on her knees, got a hand under his waistband, and looked into his eyes. And then she started to unbutton. Her mouth was dry, her breath was coming hard, and she could see his chest rising and falling, because his was, too.

She finished, carefully not touching what lay beneath, because she could tease, too, and shoved the jeans over his hips, down his thighs.

“Hang on,” he said. “Condom.” He grabbed a couple out of his pocket, tossed them onto the bed, dropped the jeans down the rest of the way and kicked them off, stood there before her in navy-blue briefs.

“Got another job to do, haven’t you, darlin’?” he asked. “Better get to work on that.”

She didn’t need telling. She was pulling them down, and then the briefs were gone, too, and he was standing there, all six foot three of hard-muscled man. Every single part of him looking more than ready to take her on, and win.

She swallowed. “Is that all for me?”

“Oh, yeah,” he told her. “You did real good, sweetheart. Now lie on down there, because we’re going to see just how much I can do to you before we even get that pretty underwear off.”

She did what he said, because she needed to.

He got her boots and socks off first, dumped them on the floor. “Not that I don’t love the idea of doing you with just these boots on,” he told her. “It’s just that I’m saving that one up for when I’ve got you over the tailgate of my truck.”

The jolt of arousal went straight through her, and he saw it and smiled. “Yeah,” he said. “That works real good, doesn’t it? It’ll work even better when you’ve had a while to think about it first.”

“I . . .”

He wasn’t listening to whatever she would have said. He was sliding over her, covering her with his big body, kissing her again at last, and she was hanging on to him, kissing him back, stroking her way over his back, his shoulders, his arms. Smooth skin over hard, bunched muscle, and she couldn’t get enough.

He didn’t stay there very long. He was pulling her hair back to get to her, biting his way down her throat, around to the side of her neck. He mouth closed on the sensitive spot under her ear, and she moaned.

“So good,” he said. “Let’s do some more.” His hand drifted down her throat, over her shoulder, and headed for her breasts at last, because they needed him, and he knew it.

She expected him to take the bra off. But he didn’t. His fingers trailed over the edge of the lace, and his thumb flicked lazily over the hardening nipple, over and over, teasing mercilessly until her hips were moving in invitation and she had her hands on his shoulders, trying to pull him closer, making urgent little noises.

He still didn’t take it off. Instead, he lowered his mouth to her, bit her, sucked at her through the lace. And when the friction was almost unbearable, he transferred his attention to the other breast, until, when she was actually squirming underneath him, he finally pulled the bra up, freeing her.

“Goes over your head, huh?” he said. “I love this.” He hauled it up over her arms, then stopped.

“Now, that’s a real nice look,” he said. He’d only gotten it halfway, and her arms were stretched overhead. “How about we pause this a minute and you stay exactly like that? Seems to me I could spend some more time here. Because this is real, real good.”

Another thrill, sharp and electric, as his mouth closed on her breast. She began to pull her arms down to hold him, and his hand shot up, grabbed her wrists, and held her there.

He looked up. “Okay?”

“Uh . . .” It felt so good. So good. “Okay,” she gasped, “but thanks for . . . asking.”

He smiled, but didn’t answer. Just got busy again, his other hand working on one breast while his mouth made love to the other one, and she was moving hard against him, because he was going so slowly. Taking so long, and her legs were parting as if they had a mind of their own.

“Cal,” she managed to get out, “touch me.”

He looked up at that, his hand still imprisoning both of hers, and smiled, slow and lazy. “You need me?”

“Yes. Yes.”

“Then I’d better give you some more, hadn’t I?” He was finally pulling the bra the rest of the way off her, releasing her hands, sliding down her body some more, yanking the blue bikini panties down her legs and dropping them to the floor to join the bra. And then his hands were on her thighs, spreading them wide as her hips rose beneath him, trying to make it happen faster.

“Oh, honey,” he said with a sigh, “on second thought, let’s take our time.”

“No,” she insisted. “No. Now.”

All he did was slow down. He nibbled his way down, licked into her belly button, then, finally, when she thought he never would, moved a tantalizing little bit lower. His hand took a maddening detour over her hip, the top of her inner thigh, and it felt good, but it didn’t feel good enough.

“Cal,” she moaned. “Please.”

“What?” he asked against her skin. His hand was stroking up her thigh, and when he finally took it higher, one finger flicking delicately over her, a feather touch against the sensitized nub, she jumped.

“Now,” he said.

When his mouth finally found its target, she actually screamed a little. He gave her a long, slow lick, and she nearly climbed off the bed. He laughed against her, his hands gripped her inner thighs more tightly, and he got serious. And if it had felt good before . . . now, there was nothing but this. Nothing but those strong hands, that talented, willing mouth.