Brendon leaned back and put his feet up on his coffee table. “Ya gotta love family, huh?”
“Not really. But you can’t pick your family. It’s just the way it is. Your brother can’t be that bad, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I don’t think you’d be worried about him if you thought he was hopeless.”
“Know that much about me already, huh?”
“Nah. Just a feeling I have. And I’m usually pretty right about people. Got it from my great-grandmother. She was Blackfoot tribe…or…something.”
“And you have three brothers.”
“Yup.” She shook her head. “They wouldn’t like your pretty face one bit.”
“Don’t give a rat’s ass about your brothers. Do you like my pretty face?”
“Yeah. I do.” She gently stroked his cheek. “But if my brothers come to New York and find you sniffing around me, what the Doogan brothers did to you in those tunnels will seem like a cakewalk compared to the Reed boys.”
Brendon leaned into her, his eyes locked on her lips. “I’ll take my chances,” he whispered and moved in.
Should have kept his eyes open, though. It would have prevented him from going face-first into his couch.
By the time he sat up, she had his front door open.
“Where are you going?”
“My momma says to hell in a handbasket, but I’m fightin’ that.”
She got as far as the elevator before he caught hold of the back of her denim shorts and proceeded to drag her back into his apartment.
“You’re not walking out on me again.”
“I can’t stay. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Have sex with guys who don’t even know my name.” She grabbed the doorjamb and held on for dear life. “I promised myself no more of this wild child bullshit. I’m thirty now, I gotta be responsible.”
“And being with me isn’t responsible?”
“And I repeat—you didn’t even know my name and you’d already started sucking on my nipples. So, yeah, I’d say this is us about to be irresponsible.”
He had to pry her fingers off the doorjamb and haul her into his apartment. “Your name was the first thing I planned to ask you when I came out of the fever, but you were already gone.”
She scrambled out of his arms and backed up into his apartment. Thankfully, she didn’t smell frightened, but she did seem wary. He just didn’t think it was about him.
“I swear it’s nothing personal,” she insisted, “but it is for the best.”
“Don’t leave, Ronnie.”
She shook her head. “I can’t stay. I won’t stay.”
Brendon realized there was only one thing he could do. A risk. But he had to try. “I understand.” He walked away from the door so he no longer blocked her exit. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no. You didn’t do anything wrong, darlin’. It’s all me.” With one last look at him, those beautiful eyes filled with regret, she headed toward the door.
Letting out a low, mournful sigh, he sat on the armrest of one of his club chairs, his head hanging down.
“What…what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I’m fine. You better go.”
He didn’t look at her and when he heard the door open, it took all his strength not to run over and slam it before she could leave.
He waited. The door didn’t close.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Go on. I’m just tired.”
Another moment of silence, a growl, and then the front door slammed shut. Cool hands grabbed his jaw and lifted his head. “Look at me.”
He did…and Christ, those eyes.
“I bet it’s that fever. I told you it hadn’t finished with you yet.”
“I’ll be okay. Really. I’m sure I’m only tired.”
“Come on.” She took his arm and put it around her shoulders. “We’re taking you to bed before you pass out or start running down Fifth Avenue on all fours.”
Brendon let her help him up, and he led her straight to his bedroom. As she helped him onto his bed and proceeded to take off his boots, he realized that yes, he would be going to hell for lying his ass off.
Somehow he knew, though, that Ronnie Lee Reed would be worth every second he’d burn.
He could be faking it. Hell, he probably was faking it.
And if she were to be real honest with herself, she didn’t really care. He’d given her a guilt-free excuse to come right back inside and take this man to bed…uh…to help him through the fever. She wouldn’t get into bed with him.
Unless he needed her to.
Clearing her throat, she dropped his frighteningly large work boots at the side of the bed. “We should…uh…get your jeans off, too.”
“Okay.” He pushed himself up on his elbows and let out that sigh again.
“Now don’t go exerting yourself. I don’t mind helping.” Yeah. Helping. She didn’t mind helping one bit.
Forcing herself to be completely impartial, she reached for his jeans. “We’ll get you out of these and into bed. By morning you should be right as rain.”
She pulled his jeans down past his hips, realizing too late the man wore no underwear. Swallowing past the lump of lust in her throat, she locked her knees tight and yanked his jeans down his legs.
“I really appreciate you taking care of me like this.”
“Oh, it’s no bother.” No bother at all when a man had thighs like these. Big. Hard. Perfect. She could “hee haw” her way to orgasm on those thighs.
Crouching at the end of the bed to finish pulling off his jeans, she tried not to think about the mouthwatering cock a few inches from her mouth. She didn’t do very well, but she did really try.
“Ronnie?”
Ronnie closed her eyes. If you look at him, you’re a goner. Whatever you do, don’t look at him.
“Ronnie. Look at me.”
Damn, damn, damn!
Still crouching by the bed, Ronnie slowly lifted her head.
“Open your eyes.”
“I don’t think I should.”
“Okay. Keep ’em closed.”
Strong hands gently gripped her face, big fingers sliding into her hair, angling her head a little up and to the side.
“Keep ’em closed,” he whispered, his warm breath against her mouth. “Keep ’em closed and just kiss me, Ronnie Lee.”
Shaw’s lips brushed hers. Tongue stroking, teeth nipping. Ronnie grabbed hold of his wrists and whimpered. She opened her mouth, and Shaw dived in. His tongue tangling with hers, both of them groaning.
Then, with his fingers still buried in her hair, he pulled her to her feet. Before she could even blink, he had her on her back across his lion-sized bed.
Yup. Goner.
Chapter Eight
Absolutely. This woman was absolutely worth any stint in hell he may have to do. Her smell. Her taste. That canine “yip” sound she’d make every time he nipped her neck. All of those things were driving the lion buried inside him out of control.
“Christ, you smell good.”
Ronnie didn’t answer him, but slid her hands under his sweater and yanked it up. He stopped kissing her long enough for her to pull the sweater over his head and throw it across the room.
“If you value your clothes,” he said while kissing her throat, “you’ll get them off in the next thirty seconds. I won’t be responsible for what happens after that.”
She pulled out of their kiss and dragged her body out from under his.
“My daddy’s,” she explained about the T-shirt before it went sailing across the room. Her lace bra went flying next.