Wicked and Dangerous (14 page)

“I do.” Rachel laid her lips across his. “Love you, that is. You made me realize how
good I could feel, how sexy the right man would find me . . . the kind of caring about
my feelings and my pleasure that a partner should give.” She grinned at him suddenly.
“Hey, are you affiliated with Google?”

He laughed and pushed into her again, the pleasure surging, rising, about to crest.
“No, I just swiped a few pick-up lines from them.”

“I don’t know, Decker . . . You have everything I’ve been searching for.”

Somehow, he smiled at her through a groan. “Is that a yes?”

Rachel rotated her hips beneath him, and felt ecstasy begin to tingle through her
body. “Yes!”

The bliss exploded, and as she pulsed around Decker, he slammed into her, then let
go of his restraint with a cry.

Her heart beat furiously, and she struggled for her breath. Decker barely let her
drag in some air before he jumped off her, tossed away the used condom, and dragged
her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Where?”

“Vegas. I don’t want to wait until even tomorrow. We’ll find a nice chapel and get
married by Elvis and have something to laugh about with our grandkids.”

Rachel would have giggled . . . except that he looked dead serious.

“What about your parents?”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a big shindig for my younger sister and her fiancé coming
up in a few months. We’ll send them pictures. Bet our wedding will be more fun.”

“Well, my parents . . .” What? They had seen her get married in the big white gown
once. Did she really want to do all that again? No. This time was just for her and
Decker. “They’ll enjoy the pictures, too.”

Decker pulled her in tight for a hug. “That’s the spirit! It’s either that or I’ll
call the police and report you for stealing my heart.”

Would she ever get used to his crazy sense of humor? A whole bunch of protective male
covered it and roared when she was threatened. But she loved this side of him, too.
She’d thank him later for picking her up on false pretenses and lying to her to keep
her safe. Let him sweat a little. In the meantime, she couldn’t wait to be his.

“Um . . .” She started giggling uncontrollably. “This is crazy! What will my last
name be?”

“You still don’t know, do you? That’s awesome!”

“It’s a little irresponsible, so put me out of my misery and cough it up, Decker.”

He peered at her playfully. “Would you believe Papadopoulos?”

“Papa-doodie . . . what?” She smacked his arm. “No!”

“Pavlyuchenko?”

“No Pavlov’s dogs or whatever in this house.” She rolled her eyes. “Try again.”

“You got me. It’s Blaszczykowski.”

Rachel wrapped her arms around him and laughed. “I’m going to call the police and
have you arrested for stealing my sanity.”

He gave her a juicy smack across the lips. “It’s McConnell, honest truth.”

“Much better. Do you know how difficult it would be for a bunch of fifth graders to
spell Blaszczykowski?”

“I’d bet you’d get a laugh or two out of it.”

She pressed her lips together to hold in a grin. “True. I’m grabbing a suitcase, I
guess. I’ll be Mrs. McConnell by tonight.”

“Yes, you will. But I’d rather just call you mine.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Shayla Black
(aka Shelley Bradley) is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of over thirty sizzling contemporary, erotic, paranormal, and
historical romances for multiple print, electronic, and audio publishers. She lives
in Texas with her husband, munchkin, and one very spoiled cat. In her “free” time,
she enjoys reality TV, reading, and listening to an eclectic blend of music.

Shayla’s work has been translated into about a dozen languages. She has also received
or been nominated for the Passionate Plume, the Holt Medallion, Colorado Romance Writers
Award of Excellence, and the National Readers’ Choice Awards.
RT Book Reviews
has twice nominated her for best erotic romance of the year, as well as awarded her
several Top Picks, and a K.I.S.S. Hero Award.

A writing risk taker, Shayla enjoys tackling writing challenges with every book.

MAKE ME YOURS

RHYANNON BYRD

For Will . . .

ONE

DRIPPING WITH SWEAT AS HE TOOK A LATE NIGHT RUN ON THE
moonlit beach, Scott Ryder had a strange feeling burning through his veins, twisting
its way into his bones. One that didn’t have anything to do with his grueling pace
or the miles of sand he’d already covered.

The feeling had been building inside him for weeks now, making him restless, leaving
him in a generally shitty mood. He’d tried to shake it, but he couldn’t. Damn thing
just kept growing, pissing him off even more. People were starting to go out of their
way to avoid him at the station, which was just as well, seeing as how he hadn’t been
in the mood for conversation. But tonight he’d been forced to attend the retirement
party for one of the other deputies in the sheriff’s department, and his nerves were
still scraped raw. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dwight Jones. Dwight was an all right
guy who was looking forward to spending his days either out on the golf course or
on his new fishing boat and he wished him luck. But Ryder’s boss, Ben Hudson, had
been at the party with his new wife, and for some unknown reason the sight of them
had set his teeth on edge.

He didn’t want the sheriff’s wife for himself. Reese was more than easy on the eyes
and had a killer smile, but Ben had staked his claim the moment she hit town at the
beginning of the summer, so she and Ryder were friends and nothing more. But the way
Ben kept looking at her during the party, as if marriage made him the luckiest bastard
in the world, had made Ryder want to put his fucking fist through a wall.

He knew damn well that his reaction didn’t make any sense. Christ, he wanted Ben and
Reese to be happy. After everything they’d been through, they deserved it. He just
couldn’t stomach being near all that cozy, romantic bliss. Not when this itch in his
veins wouldn’t let off, his instincts constantly twitching, as if he were missing
something important and needed to open his damn eyes so he could figure out what it
was. He’d had the same kind of feeling before, when he’d worked black ops, and it’d
saved his ass too many times to count. But he’d left that life behind. He no longer
had to live in constant survival mode. There was no danger here. No one gunning for
his life or the people he cared about. Which meant he needed to calm the hell down
and learn to relax.

Heading into the last half mile of his run, Ryder repeated a familiar phrase in his
mind. His personal mantra now that he’d settled down in the cozy little town of Moss
Beach.

Nothing to run from . . .

Nothing to run to . . .

There was a peace and perfection in those simple words. They meant freedom. A new
beginning. A new life.

Unfortunately, they were nothing but lies. Because while he might not have anything
to run to, he was sure as hell still running
from
something. He might have decided to stay put in this scenic little beach town on
Florida’s Gulf Coast, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fighting an internal battle every
damn day of his life. He’d physically stopped, but his mind was still running at top
speed, doing everything it could to forget about—

Shit. Don’t even go there
, he muttered to himself. And that thought was swiftly followed by a guttural
Christ, I need a drink.

He spent a lot of time these days telling himself what he needed to fix his head.
A drink, a woman, or
women
when he couldn’t be bothered to choose which one he wanted to take home for the night.
If he wasn’t careful, he was going to develop a reputation in town as the lawman who
could screw his way through hoards of party girls without ever losing his breath.
At the age of thirty-three, it wasn’t a distinction to be proud of. It just meant
that while all the other guys were getting on with their lives, he was still acting
like an idiot who thought with his prick. Or one who would only touch a woman if she
let him tie her—
No, damn it
. He wasn’t going
there
tonight either. In his current mood, those thoughts wouldn’t lead him to any place
good.

Hitting the five-mile marker, Ryder finally slowed to a walk and pulled off his damp
T-shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his face. He headed across the sand toward
the beachfront duplex he rented from an elderly couple who had retired there after
living in New York for the past forty years. The house was designed with an entrance
to each half at the sides of the duplex, bougainvillea-covered trellises creating
two pathways that sheltered the entrances from the street, with matching archways
in the back that you could walk through if coming up from the beach. The profusion
of flowers was a little fanciful for Ryder’s taste, but his sister had gushed about
them when she came for a visit last month, claiming the trellises gave the house “Southern
charm.”

Wondering if he’d finally be able to chill enough tonight that he could sleep, Ryder
had nearly reached his front door when he sensed a slight movement to his left, in
the shadows of the trellis, and he reacted before he’d even given conscious thought
to the possible threat. That’s what over a decade of black ops training could do to
you, and despite being out of the game for a few years now, his reflexes were as lightning
quick as ever. Dropping his shirt, he reached into the shadows, snagged a feminine
arm, and yanked the woman into the moonlight, the shrill scream on her lips quickly
shifting to an outraged snarl as she brought her other arm around to strike him across
the face. He quickly blocked the move, catching her wrist and pinning both arms behind
her back, while she flailed in his hold, kicking at his shins with her sandal-covered
feet.

“Who are you?” he growled, quickly assessing that she wasn’t a physical threat. Her
hair covered her face as she struggled to free herself from his embrace. But despite
her efforts, there wasn’t a chance in hell she could break free. He knew how to counteract
every one of her defensive moves, which only infuriated her more.

Narrowing his eyes, Ryder carried out a quick visual check on the female. She had
her head down so he still couldn’t see her face—but what he
could
see of her made his mouth go dry. Waves of silky strawberry blond hair. Her miniskirt
and short-sleeved, button-down shirt revealed creamy skin and a body that was slight
but deliciously feminine. So familiar it was almost too good to be true. She had the
right shade of hair. The right frame. The right shape. The right fucking everything,
ripped right out of his goddamn memory to torment him.

He could hear a roaring in his ears, drowning out the rational voice in the back of
his mind shouting for him to move away from her. Instead, he continued acting purely
on instinct. On the raw, powerful lust that ripped up through his insides the instant
he realized he had someone who reminded him of
her
in his arms. The very woman he never allowed himself to think about, let alone fantasize.
But this was like a gift from fate. The bastard had never been kind to him in the
past, but at the moment Ryder just didn’t give a damn. The only thing he had to worry
about was convincing the little hellcat that there was something a hell of a lot better
they could be doing together than fighting.

His breathing got deeper, nostrils flaring as he pulled in her light, purely feminine
scent, the autumn night warm enough that the air was still sultry and damp from an
earlier rainstorm. His body had already reacted to the feel of her wriggling against
him, a serrated groan on his lips when her belly brushed against his erection, making
her gasp. She went instantly still, but not with fear. It was more like . . . surprise,
and he knew the exact instant her anger flared into lust—and he was done for. In that
moment he couldn’t have walked away from her if his goddamn life depended on it.

For all Ryder knew, the woman was a thief who’d been getting ready to clear his house
out, but he didn’t care. She smelled like Lily, had that same gorgeous hair and sexy
figure, and he was too fucking starved to resist. One second they were standing on
the walkway in front of his door, and in the next he had her plastered against it,
wishing like hell that he’d replaced the blown bulb in the outside light so that he
could get a better look at what he was tasting. His mouth had instantly settled against
the base of her pale, slim throat, his tongue fluttering against her hammering pulse
as he grabbed the front of her short-sleeved top and ripped. By the time Ryder could
hear the shirt’s buttons pinging against the ground, he already had his mouth buried
between her beautiful breasts. Any concerns he might have had that she wasn’t on exactly
the same page as him were shattered by the low moan she gave when he ripped the silky
cups of her bra down and curled his long fingers around the firm, delicate mounds,
covering one of the hardened tips with his mouth. She cried out as he suckled her,
her short nails digging into the bunched muscles in his shoulders, and it was like
losing himself in a fever dream, her wild response to his aggression only adding fuel
to the fire.

The nipple in Ryder’s mouth was tight and sweet, the intoxicating taste of the woman’s
skin cranking his lust up to a primitive level. That irritating voice was still shouting
in the back of his mind, warning him to snap back to reality and think about what
he was doing—but he was too far gone, and she was too damn hot and willing. Her hands
were already fisted in his hair, holding him to her as he switched to the other breast,
her thigh riding his hip as she arched against him, as if she was as desperate for
this as he was. And he was beyond desperate, his dick so hard he could have hammered
through the fucking door with it. And the longer he touched her, the harder he got.
Not that she was complaining. The woman was grinding herself against the front of
his running shorts, riding the hard ridge of his cock, the husky sounds spilling from
her lips the sexiest damn thing he’d ever heard.

He didn’t have a condom on him, which meant he couldn’t fuck her until he got her
inside. He might be aching for it, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d always been religious
about suiting up with latex and had never screwed without it. But this hot little
stranger made him damn tempted.

“We need to move this indoors,” he rasped against the soft skin just under her right
breast. Gripping her hips, Ryder dropped to his knees and kissed his way down her
flat belly, until he’d shoved her skirt up and had his face buried against the silky
front of her panties . . . then lower, between her legs. A rough, guttural sound crawled
its way up from his chest as he caught the hot, mouthwatering scent of her cunt, the
sexy underwear already damp with her juices. And then she had to destroy the whole
goddamn thing with the soft, whispered sound of his name.

“
Scott
.”

Ah, Christ. No one fucking called him that but
her
, and it hit him like a bucket of ice water in his face.

He should have listened to his gut, to that damn voice that had been shouting in the
back of his mind, because this woman didn’t just
resemble
Lily Heller. She
was
Lily Heller!

No. No way. Not her. Not Lily. Couldn’t be. She was just someone who reminded him
of her. Someone he could still touch and get his fill of. Someone he could—

Damn it!
He tried, but he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t buy his own bullshit. The lie had been
blasted into a million tiny fragments and now he was going to have to pay the fucking
price for being an idiot. No doubt with his sanity.

Jerking back to his feet, Ryder gripped her shoulders as he locked his sharp gaze
on her face for the first time in three years. “
Son of a bitch
,” he grated under his breath. Big green eyes with lashes that were long and thick
stared back at him. Rosy lips parted for her panting breaths. Moonlight spilling down
on those firm breasts, her pink little nipples still glistening from his mouth and
tongue.

Oh, God.

He was shaking so hard she was jerking in his arms, but he couldn’t stop, unable to
believe what was right in front of him. The girl he’d left his life and career for—the
one who had been the object of his most dangerous obsession for far too long—was trapped
between his body and his front door, blinking up at him with those big, bright eyes
while she tried to catch her breath.

Lily Heller, daughter of his ex-boss and goddamn thorn in his side, in the flesh,
staring back at him as if she could eat him alive, with her perfect tits out and her
skirt hiked up around her waist.
Jesus.

Ryder rubbed a rough hand over his mouth, wondering how he could have let things go
so far. What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn’t. Which was the problem. He’d shoved rational thought to the back of his
mind and focused on what he wanted. Instant gratification would screw you over every
time. Damn it, he knew that. Had an IQ that said he was way too fucking smart to make
that kind of mistake—but his dick had apparently failed to get the memo. And now,
thanks to this royal little screwup, he would have to go through life knowing
exactly
how right it felt to have her under his hands and mouth.

“Fuck!” he ground out through his clenched teeth, shoving away from her. At six-three,
he towered over her, even though she wasn’t a short woman. Maybe five-six or five-seven,
though she seemed more petite because of her build. She was slim, but feminine as
hell, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back into his arms and—

Shit
. He couldn’t do it. Because if he did, it was going to goddamn destroy him when he
had to walk away. And he
would
walk. He didn’t have any other option. He never had where this girl was concerned.
Yeah, she might be twenty-five now, but he still thought of her as the gangly, innocent
teen she’d been when he first met her all those years ago.