Wicked All Night (9 page)

Slowly, he rose from bed and grimaced. He felt grimy, and couldn't remember the last time he'd actually slept over with a woman. And he'd gotten soft since a damn toothbrush was pretty high on his list of must-haves.

Tossing on his jeans and the pistol he'd hidden beneath, he headed to the guest bathroom down the hall.

Inside, he flipped on the light. Bless Rachel. She'd thought of everything to make a guest comfortable. The vanity held a new toothbrush, fluffy towels, shampoo, and soap.

Decker made quick use of them, then wrapped the beige terrycloth around his hips. As he cracked the bathroom door, he heard a crash in the kitchen. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. Adrenaline ratcheted up, and he charged out, pistol in hand, ready to fight whoever had come for her.

As he sneaked down the hall, his back hugging the wall, he heard a feminine cry, then another crash. Fuck, what was going on?

Heart pounding, he forced himself to stay calm and crept closer, finger on the trigger, promising that any motherfucker who wanted to hurt her was going to find himself minus a head.

Fighting for calm, Decker clung to shadows until he rounded the corner and had a straight sightline into the kitchen. But he didn't see anyone attacking Rachel. Rather, she attacked a plastic bin of flour and a couple of eggs while wrestling with a stainless steel bowl. A can of nonstick cooking spray rolled down the counter. She slammed down a wooden spoon, looking beyond frustrated.

Actually, it was kind of adorable.

Until she emerged from behind the tall counter and he realized she was wearing a frilly red apron, a pair of black stilettos—and nothing else.

He wanted to fuck her right now.

Darting back into the bathroom, he grabbed his jeans and flipped them over his pistol, hiding the piece, then sauntered down the hall and set everything down within easy reach—just in case—on the adjacent kitchen table.

“That looks mighty good,” he drawled.

She blinked up at him, flushed and flustered. “Pancakes will be ready soon.”

“I meant you, beautiful. Forget food right now. I'd rather fuck you.”

And he didn't take no for an answer; snagging one arm around her waist and dragging her against his body, he dropped a hard kiss across her lips. Jesus, she smelled sweet. She'd brushed her teeth and pulled her artless curls into some half-up, half-down 'do that made him want to mess it up with his fingers.

He claimed her lips, sinking into her mouth and delivering a long, slow kiss of good morning. Rachel melted against him, opened wide to let him in, and gave as good as she got. Hmm, he could get used to this . . .

When he pulled back and sent her a steamy stare that suggested they get busy, she blushed a pretty pink.

With a laugh, he glanced down her body. “In fact, you look good enough to eat, beautiful. Did you dress up just for me?”

The blush deepened. “Maybe a little.”

“I like it. I'd like the shoes better if they were up around my ears, but . . .”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that supposed to be another pick-up line you found on Google?”

“Nope. That's all me. Impressed?” He winked and found that he really liked teasing her. He adored the way she looked down demurely while giving him a flirtatious smile with a hint of the devil.

“Decker, you're a wicked man.”

“You ain't seen nothin' yet,” he promised, then pulled her in for another kiss.

Sweet. Always so damn sweet. She didn't taste like danger, betrayal, or another man, as the other women he'd taken to bed for the last decade did. She was warm and real and . . .

Shit, he sounded like some poetry-writing pussy. But it was all true.

With an arm around her waist, he didn't have any trouble finding the big bow at the small of her waist and untying her apron. She barely had a chance to sputter a little protest before he yanked it over her head and tossed it to the ground, then silenced her with another kiss. A moment later, Rachel threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close, rubbing against his nagging cock.

Decker thrust his hands in her hair, no longer giving a shit about her pretty curls arranged away from her face and all around her shoulders. “You keep doing that and you're definitely going to get fucked.”

She gave a throaty laugh. “Promise?”

Fitting his hands around her ribs, under her arms, he lifted her onto the white tile of the kitchen counter. She gasped when her bare ass made contact with the cold surface. Rachel squirmed and tried to get comfortable. He just smiled. “Yes. Right here. Right now. Spread your legs and brace your heels on the edge of the counter.”

She blinked, looking so gratifyingly shocked, but she complied. “Just . . . like this?”

“Exactly like that,” he confirmed. “You make me ache for you every time.”

A fresh blush bloomed over her whole body.

“You ever had sex outside the bedroom?”

She shook her head, biting her lip and casting her gaze down again. “No.”

“Oh, beautiful . . . We're going to have so much fun.” He grabbed her ankles and spread them wider, helping her anchor her heels on the edge of the counter, toes pointed down, leaving her pretty cunt completely open for his stare, his tongue, his cock.

Best breakfast ever, and he couldn't wait to dive in. He was on his last condom, but after this, he'd somehow manage to drag himself out of her pussy long enough to feed her and run by the drugstore. After that, all bets were off.

Ready for a feast, he ran a finger down the inside of her thigh, skirting ever closer to her sensitive, swollen center. How fascinating to watch her folds grow slick and flush and pouty for his attention. Every part of her was beautiful.

He dropped his towel and took a few sidesteps over to his jeans, carefully removing the condom without disturbing the gun. Rachel watched, her breathing rapid, her lids heavy, her lips rosy and parted, her legs spread wide. When had he ever seen a sight more gorgeous? No doubt, he was a lucky son of a bitch that she was all his, at least for now.

And the thought crept back in that if he played his cards right, she could be his forever.

His teasing mien fell away. The inner caveman roared, wanting to break free, to claim, to take, to mark. He'd never, ever felt anything like this, but he wasn't about to fight something that felt so right.

Decker stuck the condom wrapper between his teeth, ready to tear it open, roll it on, and sink so deeply inside her that she'd never think about walking away.

The thought was spinning in his head. Her heavy breaths, his pounding heart, the gravity of the moment—it was all broken by the ringing of a doorbell.

RACHEL GASPED AND STIFFENED, THEN SCRAMBLED OFF THE
counter. Decker snagged his towel from the hardwood floor and blocked her. No way was she answering that door or talking to anyone unless it was someone's ninety-year-old grandma. And even then, he intended to frisk her for weapons.

“Are you answering the door in nothing but high heels?”

Panic flitted across her face, then she cursed. “No.”

“Go put some clothes on. I got it.”

“You don't have any clothes either,” she screeched.

Decker pointed to his jeans on the table, then turned her toward the hall, urging her back toward the bedroom with a little slap. “Go. You expecting anyone?”

“No.” She jogged down the hall, carrying her shoes. “No one ever rings my doorbell, especially this early on a Sunday morning.”

Frowning, he watched her disappear into her room, then snagged his gun and jeans, putting the latter on and palming the former. He shoved the condom in his pocket again. Whoever stood on the other side of the door was going to get his nuts blown off if Decker deemed him unfriendly.

All kinds of pissed off for being cockblocked, he stalked down the hall. “This better be nothing.”

When he reached the door, he tore it open to find a man of average height with hazel eyes behind round glasses, a checkered shirt, and khakis. He had nondescript shoes and an even more blah cut of hair in an unremarkable color somewhere between blond and light brown. The only thing worth mentioning was the scowl on his face.

“Who are you?” the stranger asked.

Decker slanted him a menacing glare. “Who are you?”

The scholarly, sharp face told him the guy was a few years older. The hint of paunch suggested this dude was more sedentary. The permanent vertical furrow between his brows said to Decker that the stranger scowled a lot. He lacked a coat, so it wasn't like he could hide a shoulder holster. The piece might be tucked into the small of his back, but . . . The man's hands looked too soft to be lethal.

Whoever this was, Decker didn't think he was threatening. Annoying? That he already believed.

“I'm here to see Rachel.” The other guy tried to look down his nose at Decker, but that had to be hard when he had to look up a few inches and through glasses to meet his stare.

“She's . . . busy.” Decker flashed a tight smile and hoped the dude got the right idea. Whoever he was, no way was he homing in on Rachel.

Mr. Glasses straightened his rims and glanced down Decker's body, rolling his eyes at the tattoos and hard abs. Then his stare bulged when he spotted the gun pinned to his thigh.

“What are you doing with that?” He backed away a step. “I hope you're a policeman.”

Not exactly, but close enough.
“Something like that.”

“Are you hurting her?”

“Would I be answering the door if I was?” Decker rolled his eyes.

“Are you taking advantage of her?” Though nervous, the stranger looked ready to dress him down.

Decker tried not to laugh. Taking advantage of her?
Every chance I get . . .

“None of your business. Who the hell are you and why are you standing on her porch when you weren't invited?”

If it was possible, the guy got even more uptight, and some suspicions about his identity took root. And if this was who he thought, that would really fuck up everything.

Before he could say another word, Rachel came skidding around the corner and into the foyer. She stopped at the door with a gasp. “Owen, what are you doing here?”

Yep, that confirmed his suspicions.
Damn it.
While it seemed awfully convenient that Four-eyes was in town when Decker had been solicited to kill her, the truth was Owen hadn't been the guy on the next barstool, offering him twenty-five thousand down and another twenty-five when the job was done. Yes, Owen could have hired someone to employ him. But why? Rachel's ex looked more like the sort who would protest violence, not create it. With a curse, Decker surreptitiously tucked his pistol in the small of his back before Rachel could spot it, and leaned against the wall.

If Owen hadn't solicited him to commit murder, then he was back to square one, trying to figure out who had.

* * *

WEARING LITTLE MORE
than a frilly robe with her hair in disarray, Rachel stared at her ex-husband, who gave Decker a derisive glare, then sent her a look filled with scorn. She bristled. He'd moved on with his life. Hers was none of his business now.

“I'm here to talk to you,” Owen said stiffly. “I didn't realize you were occupied. New boyfriend?”

“We just met,” she admitted softly.

But Decker talked over her, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Yes. I'm possessive, too.”

Rachel nudged Decker, wondering what the devil was wrong with him. Then she tugged him away from the door, pulling it open. “Come in, Owen.”

Val had other ideas. The fat orange tabby pranced to the door, sniffed at Owen, and hissed. Beside her, Decker laughed.

“You've still got that beast?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm . . . And now you've added another.” He shot Decker another disdainful stare.

Annoyance flared through Rachel. Who was Owen to judge? She hadn't met his new girlfriend, Carly, but she sounded like she could be a bimbo. So she'd gone for the hot guy who was good in bed this time. So what? She was entitled.

Except Decker was way more than that. When she'd met him at the bar, then texted him for what amounted to a booty call, she hadn't expected anything beyond a good time. Instead, he'd put her at ease while challenging her notions of herself and sex. He'd been patient, understanding, willing to listen, and ardent in bed. If he wasn't a one-night stand, he might be everything she wanted.

“Can you make him put a shirt on first?” Owen sounded nothing less than acerbic.

Suddenly, Decker dragged her closer. “Only if you stop being a judgmental asshole. If you want to talk, you can wait while we put on some clothes, which I'm opposed to by the way.”

Rachel gaped at him. “Decker . . .”

“Hey, I offered to get dressed. After what he interrupted, I think that's pretty magnanimous of me.”

She felt a furious blush creep up her cheeks. Why not just take out a billboard announcing that they were having sex. “Would you—Shh!”

“I think he could have guessed what we were up to, beautiful.” He grinned at her, and damn it, there was no way she could stay mad at him. Mercy, she must be out of her mind.

She turned back to Owen, doing her best to stand tall and look prim, despite wearing a robe designed for seduction, with her hair a wild tangle all around her. “The living room is straight to the back of the house. If you need coffee, I'll make you a cup quickly before I—”

“No, you won't.” Decker picked her up, lifting her against his chest. “He'll survive without caffeine for five minutes.” He sniffed her and nuzzled her neck. “Or thirty.”

She gasped. “Decker!”

“I am not amused, Rachel.” Owen glowered.

He never was. She tried not to sigh.

Decker got in his face. “You came over here unannounced and uninvited early on a Sunday morning. Don't expect her to just drop everything for you. You should have had the common courtesy to call first, but you didn't because you're either an inconsiderate bastard or you wanted to see if she'd be alone. Either way, that makes you a prick. If you're just rude, then shut the fuck up and stop acting like you're the most important person here. If you hoped to find her still alone, sorry to burst your little bubble. Rachel is far too gorgeous and kind to spend her life without someone who knows how great she is. You've moved on, and she's doing the same. If that's too much for you to handle, then scoot your annoying ass down the road. If you're staying, then I expect to hear some courtesy and respect for her, especially since you knocked on
her
door. I've heard all the asshole I'm going to take from you. Are we clear?”

Rachel pressed her lips together to hold in a gasp—and a cheer. Decker had just defended her in the most beautiful way possible. She wanted to hug him, kiss him, tell him how grateful she was. Not only was he funny and great between the sheets, he was protective and kind in his brutish way. Everything she'd always wanted and never gotten from her ex. She melted inside, especially when Owen had the good grace to look contrite.

“Yes,” he mumbled. “I . . . You just startled me.”

Decker didn't look like he believed Owen, but he let it pass. “Like I said, you can wait for us in the living room. We'll be out soon.”

“I need to talk to Rachel alone,” her ex-husband protested.

She wanted nothing less than to spend quality one-on-one time with Owen.

“Not going to happen. If you have something to say, you can say it with me in the room,” Decker answered for her. Normally, she'd hate that, but if it kept her ex's visit brief, then she'd agree to anything.

Owen adjusted his glasses, bristling. “It's quite private.”

“Too bad. If you want to talk to her, that's the deal. I don't have to negotiate.”

Owen's hands curled into fists and he pinned them to his hips. “This is ludicrous. What exactly do you think I'm going to do to her?”

“I don't know, but this craptastic attitude of yours isn't giving me a warm fuzzy. If you want to talk to Rachel, we'll be out shortly. If you want to leave, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out. That's the deal.”

Without waiting for a reply, Decker turned and carried her through the foyer and down the hall. Shock still pinged through her. What the hell was he up to? Why did he give a rip about Owen wanting to talk to her? Even with the uncertainty, she couldn't hold in a smile.

He wandered back to the bedroom and set her on her feet. Rachel's head raced as she shut the door and whirled on him. “I don't know whether to thank you from the bottom of my heart or ask you if you're psycho. Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to set Owen on his butt?”

“I'm sure a while. It's obviously long overdue, since the prick seems to think that you should ask, ‘How high?' whenever he tells you to jump.” He cocked his head. “You did that for years, didn't you?”

She frowned. “Probably longer than I should have.”

“Then he deserved what he got. You're no longer his, and you don't have to do a damn thing he says.”

“But I'm not yours, either.” And that was the confusing part. She didn't really expect him to care about her problems with Owen, but he'd made sure that her demanding ex didn't walk all over her. “You didn't have to stick your neck out there.”

“Yeah, I did. You're too good for him. I wasn't about to let him treat you that way.”

Those words made her liquefy into a puddle of goo. Who was she kidding? It made her want to fling aside her robe and plaster her naked body to his. “Thanks. That means a lot. Asserting myself with him is something I've struggled with for years. I know I should. I just don't like confrontation.”

And every time she'd tried, Owen had done his best to make her feel petty and regret it.

“Then I'll take care of it for you.”

His words took her aback. “I-I don't expect you to stay and listen to whatever Owen is droning on about. It will be long and dull and probably sanctimonious. If you want to take a rain check on the pancakes, I'll let you off easy.”

Decker clenched his jaw. “I'm not in a hurry to leave, Rachel. And I'm not thrilled with the idea of leaving you alone with a man who doesn't know how to draw the line between you two, much less be polite. I'll blend into the background if you want, but I'd like to stay. One of the truths about being a protector for a living is that your instincts are well honed. I don't like him being here. Why isn't he in Florida?”

What did Decker think Owen would do to her? He was annoying, but harmless.

“I have no idea.”

“Let's put some clothes on and find out.” He gave her a hot, lingering stare. “Or take them off and deal with him a lot later.”

Rachel sent him a playful swat. He was good for her ego, but she shouldn't keep Owen waiting. Not only was it rude, but he'd make her pay for it eventually, when Decker had gone for good.

Within minutes, Rachel found undergarments, jeans, and a red, scoop-neck T-shirt in her closet at the back of her bathroom and dressed. She ran a brush through her hair and applied a little lip gloss. She wasn't getting prettier than this without makeup, and that would take too long.

Emerging back into her bedroom, she saw Decker fully dressed in last night's clothes. His five o'clock shadow had grown thicker, darker, making him look more disreputable. Dangerous. She shivered. That shouldn't turn her on. She'd never been attracted to the bad boy.

Rachel couldn't deny that she'd made an exception for him.

“Let's go.” She smiled at him and found herself blushing as she remembered everything they'd done last night.

As if he could read her mind, Decker grinned back. “And get this over with so we can come back to bed.”

Hand in hand, they made their way down the hall, Decker leading her through the narrow corridor. She had no idea why he hadn't bailed when she'd given him the opportunity, much less why he'd stayed and seemed determined to stake his claim in front of Owen. It was kind of unnerving . . . but it was mostly nice. He'd defended her and was now standing by her side during what she feared wasn't going to be a fun conversation. Not at all what she'd imagined when she'd invited Decker over last night, but she had to admit that she was pleasantly surprised. This was her first one-night stand, and she didn't know the etiquette, but something told her this might last longer than a few hot, sweaty hours.