Liberating Lacey (16 page)

He shook his head. “Can I stay?”

In the past he wouldn’t have asked. She would have asked, or he would have just stayed because after the first night, he was ass-over-elbows down that slippery slope.

Tonight, he felt like he should ask. She’d cooked for him. She hadn’t kissed him.

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A soft wariness in her eyes, she leaned against the cabinets between the sink and the stove and crossed her arms over her chest. “Why didn’t you call?” He’d heard that before from other women, usually after a lead-in statement of
I
thought we were serious
or
I deserve better than this
.
If you really cared
or some other form of guilt trip followed. He should have known better than to think he was off the hook. Part of him was seriously pissed that someone with Lacey’s manners would take advantage of a vulnerability he showed to almost no one.

The drawbridge slammed closed. “So I have to promise to call if I want to stay?”

“Of course not,” she said. “You can stay whether you promise to call or not. But I’d like to know.”

Apparently belligerence didn’t work any better on Lacey than it did on him and he owed her the explanation. She deserved it, but Christ, this relationship shit was hard.

He looked away, then back at her. “I was spooked.” Smart, savvy Lacey knew what he meant. “We can use condoms if you prefer,” she said, her whole demeanor gentling. “One heat of the moment decision doesn’t have to become an ongoing habit.”

But she already had…

“That’s not what spooked me,” he said, although that had been some of it. What spooked him was how the lack of a barrier ratcheted up not only the physical sensation but also the pound of his heart, the inability to get air into his lungs.

It was a half-answer at best, but she didn’t attack, just came to stand in front of him to brush her lips over his. “Are you spooked now?” Given the rollercoaster ride of the last twenty-four hours, he thought it best to consider the question seriously, so he took stock. Muscles relaxed, heart thudding along at its normal rate, palms dry, stomach happily digesting his first meal in a day. The slimy, clawed tentacles reaching out from his psyche at the boy’s abandonment were beginning to pull back into their lair. The lick of desire he felt whenever he was with Lacey sent heated tendrils along his nerves. Normal. He felt reassuringly normal. And tired. Alcoholic stupors weren’t restful.

“No,” he said eventually. “I’m not spooked now.”

“Fair enough,” she said, then turned off the light over the stove. They made their way upstairs. He stripped and watched her nightly routine, his head braced on his hand as he stretched out what he was beginning to call “his side of the bed”. Face washed, teeth brushed, clad a long-sleeved ankle-length cotton nightgown pulled from under her pillow, she climbed into bed and curled up with her back to him. He curved around her, buried his face in the thick, cool fire of her hair and succumbed to sleep.

* * * * *

The battle had been hard fought and he’d conducted himself with honor. He pulled back the
tent flap and walked in to find his share of the tribute waiting for him. His king had rewarded
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him generously with a gold cup and platter on the low platform, the armor from his slain
enemies stacked against one wall.

A woman.

She was naked, her red hair tumbled around her shoulders, her brown eyes serene as she
waited on his blankets. Her bound hands rested her lap, her legs drawn up and to one side. Such
tranquility under extreme duress belonged to the protected daughter or wife of a powerful man.

Now, thanks to the fates of war and his conduct in battle, she was his. If he wanted her.

Despite his exhaustion heated interest expanded in his chest. She was beautifully composed
and he found that poise intriguing. Battle-worn and experienced, he wasted no energy, certainly
not on subduing an unwilling captive. But his king, who had long since stopped including a
warm body in his share of the spoils, knew him well. This woman might suit him.

He unbuckled his sword belt, splashed water on his face and hands, then sat back on his heels
in front of her as he used a rag to dry off. She watched him without flinching, although color
crept over the curve of her breasts and into her cheekbones as he considered her. The blush,
simple and telling, made his cock harden.

He tossed the rag to the side and braced his palms on his thighs. “What’s your name?”

“Laetitia.”

An odd name, oddly familiar to him, oddly suited to her. With one finger he lifted her chin a
fraction of an inch. “You know what we will do here, Laetitia,” he said.

His “prisoner” met his blunt challenge by lifting her chin another fraction of an inch, clear
of his finger, before answering. “Yes.”

Clearly not a virgin to scream and cry. He avoided the camp followers but found no
pleasure, as many of his compatriots did, in raping defenseless girls.

After a day of bloody death the long-ignored desire for life-affirming skin-to-skin contact
surged through him. He yanked his tunic over his head and bore her back into the blankets.

“A bargain,” she said, her thighs tensed against his hand, her bound hands braced against
his chest.

“You have nothing to bargain with,” he pointed out, amused by her effort.

“I will hold nothing back to create what comfort I can in your life,” she said, looking him
directly in the eye, “and in your bed.”

He switched tactics, trailing feather-light touches along her tightly closed legs. The muscles
trembled under his fingers. “And in return?”
She smiled, mystery and an age-old awakening in her eyes. “I reserve the right to beg a boon
now and again.”

“And if I refuse?”

Trapped between the ground and his body, her shrug was small but eloquent as she
acknowledged the futility of her effort. “I have no desire to be beaten into submission, but your
pleasure will be greatly diminished.”

He wouldn’t beat her. He’d send her back to the king, who would casually gift her to another
warrior, a thought that stuck in his craw. Her bargain, and the courage necessary to make such a
proposal, appealed to him.

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“What requests would you make?” he asked, curious to know what might be in the mind of
this willing, experienced woman with an invulnerable aura radiating from her.

She smiled, oblique and provocative. “You must take your chances as I do,” she said.

The present pleasures tipped the scales against an unknown, future demand he might not
live to consider. “Agreed.”

Her soft brown eyes glassy and eager, she lifted her bound wrists over her head and opened
her thighs, offering herself to him in the most primitive manner. Long suppressed need roared
through him. Assured of her willingness he gripped her wrists in one hand and pushed them into
the hard earth under the blankets. With the other he smoothed her fiery hair back from her pale
face, then settled between her legs, the tip of his aching cock finding warm, wet heat…

…a car door slammed and an engine turned over. A slightly shocked gasp wafted into cool, gray air, but there was nothing unwilling about the urgent lift of feminine hips under his body…

He sank into her to the hilt, setting a slow, hard rhythm designed to assuage the craven need
roiling under his skin, utterly lost in the hot plunge and slide into the tight, slick grip of her
sheath…

“Oh God, yes!”

Hunter’s eyes snapped open as the pleading words shattered the trance-like impression in his mind. He paused mid-stroke, in that split second merging his dream with reality. The dry, hot air of the tent and the blankets over hard-packed earth faded into the pre-dawn light, a soft bed. But his dream captive was the real woman under him, the fragile bones of her wrists clamped in his hand and stretched over her head, her breasts round and lifted, the nipples peaked and begging for his mouth.

She dug one heel into his ass and arched into him. “Hunter, please!” Was she in every part of his head? Laetitia, savvy and bargaining as she submitted in his dreams…Lacey, hot and wet and eager in his arms…Lacey…Lacey…always Lacey. With a groan he sank into her and bent to kiss her, the electric connection arcing through him when their open, panting mouths met.

She moaned, lifting her hips to meet each pounding thrust. It felt fucking incredible, each stroke into her moist, clinging sheath coaxing the hot pressure of his orgasm up his shaft. All his pressure points tingled, his nipples, his mouth, the rapid slam of his pulse in his neck, the base of his spine where swirling pleasure gathered. Sweat broke out on his forehead, slid along his jaw and onto her collarbone.

Something must be working for her because the tenor of her gasps changed, went shallow and desperate. With a low sob she arched and came, the rough shudders making her breasts jiggle in a way that drove him over the edge. One last lunge into her contracting pussy, then he gritted his teeth and let the freight train climax slam into him.

A few moments later he let go of her wrists and dropped to the side.

“What on earth?” she began, her voice faint and trembling.

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He had to force the words out through his closed throat. “I was dreaming.” About her. Holy shit. “Sorry,” he added.

“Ummmm…I want to hear about that dream.” She kissed his cheek then wriggled out from under his arm. “But not right now. I’ve got a breakfast meeting at seven.” And there was his unflappable Laetitia. Silent laughter shook him. He pulled the sheet up to his waist, drifting in and out of sleep as the shower ran and she dressed for the day. Eventually she dropped a kiss on his mouth and said, “I’m leaving. Will you be here tonight?”

“Gotta go home,” he mumbled through the easy slide back into sleep. “My apartment stinks. No clean clothes.”

That earned him a giggle, followed by another quick kiss then her heels clicked swiftly toward the doorway.

“I’ll call,” he mumbled a little louder.

“I’ll count on it,” she said.

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Half awake as he floated in that easy place where he could still feel the remnants of dreams in his body, for the first time in a very long time Hunter savored waking up slowly, surfacing from the depths of sleep into the quiet of Lacey’s bedroom.

Then he remembered what woke him. The steady rap of heels on the oak floor downstairs. Was she back?

A slim hand extended from a black suit sleeve to push open the bedroom door.

Memory surfaced through the fog of sex and sleep. Lacey was dressed in cream when she left.

Adrenaline shot through his veins, jacking him bolt upright in the bed while he grabbed for the sheet and yanked it up to his chest. The shocked gasp that came from the woman standing in the doorway easily matched his horrified chagrin, coming hard on the heels of the adrenaline surge.

Oh. Fuck.

A woman stood in the doorframe, her hand still raised as if to open the door, her mouth literally hanging open. She stared at Hunter, stark naked under the sheet and flushing as red as any teenage boy caught where he wasn’t supposed to be after doing something he wasn’t supposed to do.

Training compelled him to stare back, meeting eyes the same soft brown as Lacey’s.

For a long moment the only sound in the room was the sound of neither of them breathing, leaving plenty of time for his first impression of the formidable Mrs. Meyers to embed itself in his brain. Her daughter had inherited her eyes, pale skin and straight spine, but Lacey’s father must have the red hair because her mother’s was a chemically produced chestnut brown.

Mrs. Meyers’ jaw closed with an audible snap. Hunter sucked in air, stifled the automatic impulse to pat his right hip and braced himself.

“How do you do? I’m Annette, Lacey’s mother.”

The Southern accent surprised him but he held up his end of the conversation.

“Hunter Anderson, ma’am.” No way was he using first names just yet.

“Oh yes. Of course. I’ll just…” She gestured vaguely down the hallway. “Perhaps we can continue this downstairs?”

Without waiting for an answer she turned and shut the door behind her. Hunter let his eyelids sag shut for a brief moment as he mentally ran through every curse word in his vocabulary. Then he threw back the sheet and scrambled into his jeans and t-shirt. A quick glance in the bathroom mirror told him the hangover signs were gone, thank God.

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He’d gotten too comfortable here, lounging around like a rent boy while his sugar mama went to work. “Great first impression,” he muttered, rubbing his palm over his unshaven jaw.

The society matron, looking every inch the part in a trim black suit and heels, was waiting for him in the kitchen, seated at the table with her legs crossed at the ankle and a cup of coffee held in both hands. Lacey must have made extra and left it for him. He weighed the ballsy appearance of getting a cup for himself, then did it. After all, she’d just found him naked in Lacey’s bed. Getting a cup of coffee hardly compared and he needed the caffeine.

Mrs. Meyers watched him the whole time and gave him a pleasant smile when he sat down next to her. Even in Lacey’s sizeable kitchen he felt big, awkward and back on his heels.

“I’m sure this is a shock. My daughter didn’t know I was coming over. I’m returning the necklace she loaned me last week,” she said, nodding at a large dark blue velvet box. “I have my own key, you see.”

Sure she did. Everyone in the entire city had a key to Lacey’s house, including him.

“Lacey probably hasn’t talked about me,” he began, trying to figure out the best way to explain his presence in Lacey’s bed when she wasn’t at home. No mother wanted visual evidence of her daughter’s sexual activity, even if the daughter was in her thirties.

“Oh no. She’s mentioned you often. I believe you escorted her to the Entrepreneurs Association cocktail hour at the Metropolitan Club.” So he wasn’t Lacey’s dirty little secret? “That’s right,” he said, unsure whether he was out in the open or just plain outed.

“You’ve been seeing Lacey for almost three months now?” He nodded.

“And you’re with the police department?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ah.” She took a delicate sip of coffee, leaving a perfect pale pink lip-print on the rim of the mug.

Silence descended again. Hunter searched for something to say, but casual conversation wasn’t his strong suit even when he hadn’t been shocked out of his skin.

Mrs. Meyers leaped into the breach. “Lacey’s face surely brightens when she talks about you.”

Couldn’t they talk about the weather, or something less of a minefield than how her daughter felt about him? He made a noncommittal noise and sipped his coffee. Maybe more caffeine would kick-start his brain.

“She had a hard divorce. Very unexpected, but with both of them so focused on their careers, well… Not that I blame Lacey for Davis leaving,” she added hastily.

He left
her?
“No, ma’am,” Hunter said, because he had to say something, right?

“You know she’s thirty-six.”

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“She told me first thing, ma’am,” he said, beginning to feel a little punch drunk.

“My daughter’s very brave,” she said as she looked at him, humor in her eyes. “In her shoes, well, I might have told the teensiest little white lie.” Another sip of coffee hid his amusement.

“You know she wants children,” Mrs. Meyers said, following a feint with a hard uppercut.

The amusement disappeared. No, he didn’t know. “We haven’t discussed that, ma’am.”

Mrs. Meyers seemed to remember her unorthodox introduction to Hunter because a faint blush crept into the soft, rouged skin over her cheekbones. “Well, perhaps not. But she’s not getting any younger and sometimes a woman can’t…” Ah, yes, the one instance where women did come with expiration dates. But if Lacey had a ringing biological clock she hadn’t brought it up around him. Of course, maybe she had no intention of having kids with him.

Hell, he wanted kids. Eventually. After he got married, but that wasn’t happening now and if she wanted the whole deal, the ring and the wedding and the babies now, well, they could add to the list of things he couldn’t give her.

So she’ll get them from someone else…

“You seem like a nice young man,” she said decisively, as if she’d just neatly compartmentalized him in the Lacey’s-Fling-Before-She-Settles-Down-Again box.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, keeping his voice calm as he desperately searched for a way to get out of this situation. Next thing she’d be asking him who his people were and he couldn’t go there.

Mrs. Meyers stood and poured the rest of her coffee down the sink. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Officer Anderson,” she said as she gathered her purse and keys from the counter. “I’ll call Lacey later today and tell her I stopped by.” He didn’t miss the fact that she wasn’t using his first name, either. “Okay,” he said, but she was closing the door behind her. When her Mercedes pulled out into the street he shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed his jacket and headed for the Charger parked on the street. He started the car and opened his cell phone to dial Lacey’s BlackBerry number from memory.

“You said you’d call, but I didn’t expect anything this early,” she said.

“Your mother was just at the house,” he said, automatically managing the wheel, the manual gearshift and the cell phone as he reversed into the neighbor’s driveway.

“Oh, my. Were you…?”

“Nope.” He put it in first and turned down Lacey’s street, flooring the accelerator to make the light to cross Hanover and head into his neighborhood.

“Did she…?”

“Yup.”

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“Oh, my,” she said again, but laughter burbled in her voice.

“Easy for you to say,” he growled. “You weren’t just caught naked in my bed by my dad.”

“True,” she said. “Oh, dear. Let me make it up to you. Have dinner with me tonight. Caffe Grazie does a fabulous lasagna.”

“I don’t know if I can eat,” he admitted, the image of Mrs. Meyers’ face, white with shock, burned into his retinas.

“The sauce includes sausage, pork and ground beef.” Oh yeah, he could eat. “When?”

“Seven? Let me just check my schedule.”

“You’d better not be driving and on that BlackBerry, beautiful,” he said as he came to a halt at the lights two blocks up from his apartment.

“It’s not illegal, is it?” she asked, effectively ducking his comment.

“It should be.”
Especially for you
, he added mentally.

“You’re driving and talking on the phone at the same time.”

“I’m trained to multitask in the car. You nearly take out the neighbor’s mailbox every time you back out of the driveway.”

“It’s how I know where the curb is. I can’t parallel park, either,” she admitted cheerfully. “My last meeting ends at six, so seven at Caffe Grazie? Do you know where it is?”

He smiled as he accelerated through the intersection. “I know it. See you, beautiful,” he said and flipped his phone closed.

It was easy to be with her, so easy he forgot about the rest of the world. Mrs.

Annette Meyers and Mrs. Duffy and the Metropolitan Club crowd and his own coworkers. The questions about Lacey had died down, eventually, after Nat Johnson found someone else to needle, but he wasn’t fooling himself. As a rule, cops defended one of their own from outsiders but were brutal within the brotherhood. He’d take anything anyone dished out and come back for more, but the thought of anyone dissing Lacey made his fists tighten.

He pulled into his lot and parked the car next to the bike. The chilly fall breeze hit him as he got out of the car. It was time to move the bike into his dad’s garage, winterize it and get it under shelter until spring. He hadn’t taken Lacey for a ride yet, but maybe he’d pick up a helmet for her and take her out on the first nice day in March or April.

Sometimes he wondered if he was losing his mind, so sure this wouldn’t last, then making plans like it would. When he met her he’d planned on three hours with her, tops, but being with her was so easy he forgot about the future. Until Mrs. Meyers brought up kids, or he had another shitty day on the job, or had to work Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and Easter, then missed her birthday because he got called in. A classy, savvy redhead could do better than him, for so many reasons.

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Taking the stairs two at a time, he unlocked then cautiously opened the door to his apartment. The air was cool but clear of any funky smells. He couldn’t say the same for the surfaces in the bathroom. With a grimace he found a sponge and some powdered cleanser under the sink. He shook the can over the counter, toilet and bathtub, then wet the sponge and got to work.

Clean his apartment, do laundry, go to the gym, call his dad back about the counter install and the motorcycle. Live his life as if the date at the end of the day with a redhead and some lasagna didn’t mean anything special. But it did.

He had a problem.

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