Chapter Eleven

They should invent a Sunday that doesn’t have a Monday right after it.

—Fact

Michael didn’t remember trying to kill her, but stranger things and all. He shifted the towel, worried he’d embarrass himself.

Apparently, she wasn’t too upset about the attempted murder because she reached over and caressed his erection through the cloth. He almost came undone at the unexpected move, her warm touch causing a sharp tightening in his abdomen. He grabbed her hand and held it steady as he gathered himself.

“Are you sorry?” she asked.

“Depends. When did I try to kill you?”

She tsked, clearly disappointed. “You tried to feed me to the zombie gator. Don’t you remember?”

“Zombie gator?” He wouldn’t have been able to hold back the wickedness in his grin if he’d tried. Which, he didn’t. “I don’t remember that, but it sounds like something I would do.” He pulled her into his arms, mainly to keep her out of trouble. “To get in your pants. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“Was that before or after I hit you with a frying pan?”

“The first time I fell was when my mom and I pulled up to a run-down motel on the corner of No and Where, Oklahoma, the wind blowing dust circles around us, and there you were, sitting in a bikini at the edge of a pool half-filled with green water, soaking in the vitamin D.”

She smiled at the memory. “We used to joke that there was probably an alligator living in there, slowly turning into a zombie gator from all the chemicals and trash.” She glanced up at him. “And you kissed me.”

He bent his head and brushed his lips across hers, teasing the corners of her mouth where that dimple lay hidden before sliding his tongue along the seam. She opened to him, sending the tip of her tongue out to taste his.

She not only smelled like peaches, she tasted like them, too. He tilted his head and dove deeper inside her mouth as she melted against him, her hand still on his erection. She squeezed, and he pulled her tighter lest he lose control. He was no schoolboy, but it had been a while.

“Wait,” she said, pushing him away.

She was right. He needed to chill.

“You said the first time you fell in love.”

“What?” he asked, still a bit off-kilter.

“When was the second time?”

He gave an incorrigible grin its freedom to do as it pleased. “I’d like to say it was when this unhinged woman came into the kitchen in a robe thinner than my patience, but that would be a lie.”

“It’s not that thin.”

“It was the minute she opened the door.” He kissed the area between her brows. “She wore a paper-thin robe.” The tip of her nose. “Her hair stuck out in every direction imaginable.” Her chin. “And then there were those damn flip-flops.” Her chin. “So, before.”

“Before?”

“Before you hit me with the frying pan. Though I think that solidified my feelings.”

She shook her head in fascination. “How did we find each other again? How is this even possible? Do you think Elwyn…?”

“Nothing would surprise me where that girl is concerned.”

“It would be a shame to waste all her efforts.”

“Yes, it would. I just have one more question, Killer.”

“Yeah?”

“What was in the cabinet?”

Her brow furrowed as she tried to decipher what he meant. “Cabinet?”

“The one above your stove.” He tilted his head in the general direction of her kitchen. “The one you reached over me to get to while wearing that paper-thin robe. The same paper-thin robe that parted just enough to give me a spectacular view of your thighs.”

A look of stunned realization froze on her face. He studied her as she thought back to this morning when she came out of her room in a robe and nothing else. In her defense, she believed she’d disabled him. “That’s right. I ordered you to close your eyes, but—”

“But I don’t take orders from women who are one sandwich short of a picnic.”

Her cheeks brightened to a delightful pink. He was probably enjoying her discomfort more than he had a right to. But then his words sank in. She sobered and scowled prettily at him. “Perv.”

“Tease.”

“So, you don’t take orders from women who are one sandwich short of a picnic?”

An electrical current shot through every cell in his body at the sight of her challenging gaze, setting his already fragile sense of gentlemanly decorum on edge—not that he had much in the towel—but he couldn’t cave now. He offered her his own challenging gaze. “Not as a rule, no.”

One corner of her mouth rose, exposing the dimple he was sure would eventually be the death of him. “I’ll bet you ten dollars that you will do exactly what I tell you to do next.”

“I don’t have my pants right now, but I’m good for it. You’re on.”

She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on his mouth, his chest, and then lower, the heat of her stare causing him to far exceed the capacity of her hand before she leaned closer and whispered, “Get rid of the towel.”

He couldn’t rip it off fast enough—for either of them if her hurried assistance was any indication. She threw the towel on the counter, the T-shirt on the floor, and herself on him. He pulled her tight against him, kissing her like he was dying of thirst, and she was an oasis. He’d never tasted anything so sweet. So sensual. That was when things went south.

She broke off the kiss and glared at him, panting as she did so. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, confused. Wasn’t this consensual? If not, he really needed to work on his social intelligence.

“You’re holding back,” she said, cupping the base of his cock in her hand and applying just enough pressure to make him wince. In a good way. In a very, very good way. “You still think I’m some delicate thing.”

“No, I don’t,” he said, his voice brimming with guilt.

“Remember, Michael Cavalcante. Fragile, yes. But not like a flower.”

“Like a bomb,” he said, wrapping his hand around her throat and pressing her against the smooth wall. Her words unleashed something primal in him. Something greedy. Giving him permission to do as he pleased was probably not her wisest decision. He kissed her hard, his teeth scraping and bruising her lips as he crushed his mouth to hers.

She whimpered as he parted her legs with his knee and sent his fingers inside her, preparing her for what would come next. She scratched at his buttocks, wanting more. Wanting him.

The shower wall had a small shelf, and her ass fit perfectly there when he propped her up onto it, lifted her leg, and braced one hand against the wall to hold her in position.

“Open your eyes,” he said, his voice more animal than human.

She did. She lifted her lids and showed him those gorgeous smoke-tinted irises, like a wild coyote lived inside her. Ate and slept and bred by the grace of her exquisite flesh.

He tightened his hold on her throat and pushed inside. She gasped, her sexy mouth forming a perfect O, but he didn’t break eye contact as he slid in and out of her, slowly at first and then faster, pumping into her until the sharp sting of orgasm threatened to explode. But he wasn’t finished yet. Not even close. He pushed inside her and stayed, catching his breath, slowing his heart rate.

She clung to him, lured him closer, pressed her clit against his flesh. “More,” she whispered in his ear.

He pulled out, turned her to face the wall, and angled her head against his shoulder until he could bend and kiss her again. He held her there with one hand, his tongue assaulting her mouth. With the other, he dipped his fingers in that peach conditioner, spread her ass cheeks apart, and slid a finger inside.

She gasped and sank her nails into his arm, but he held her tight, refusing to give in. After a moment, she relaxed against him. As he massaged, her breaths quickened, grew shallower until a soft moan escaped her.

“Do I proceed?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yes,” she said.

“You can say no.”

“Yes!” she said again. “Please, yes.”

He worked a second finger in gently and then got into position, using his free hand to cup her right breast. Just before he entered her, he pinched the nipple. She cried out and tensed, making his entrance even tighter, but he held still for a long moment, giving her time to adjust. When she was ready, she pressed against him.

He held her with one arm and slid his fingers between her labia with the other, brushing her clit with soft strokes, coaxing her to come. He started slow and shallow, but with each thrust, he went deeper and faster, pounding into her with a ferocity he hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Her head was still against his shoulder, and he knew she was close when she whined, the pitch high, the sound expectant. He covered her mouth with his as the whines got louder and pumped into her even harder. Even faster. The sounds. The scents. The sensations. The sensual pleasure of it all caused the orgasm he’d been holding at bay to push its way through his barriers. He exploded inside her, coming in a sea of ragged thrusts and jagged gasps.

She screamed into his mouth, riding the high herself, shivering uncontrollably when she started the descent. She gaped up at him as they stood panting in each other’s arms.

“You okay?”

“Very.”

Good. He turned on the water, the initial cold stealing their breath.

Izzy laughed and said something to him along the lines of, “Don’t drop the soap.” He couldn’t be sure. He was still reeling.

No matter what happened in the future, he knew one thing for certain. This shower would definitely survive the remodel.

“Are you okay?” she asked as they lay in her bed.

“It’s been twenty-four hours.”

“Twenty-four hours?” she asked.

“Since we met. Well, again.”

She looked at her clock. “You’re right. You knocked on my door at two in the morning.” She shook her head. “This has been both the worst and the best day of my life.”

“I do that,” he said. “I’ve been told I’m polarizing.”

She snorted. “You’re something.”

He pulled her closer, her little spoon fitting perfectly with his. “So let me get this straight.”

“Mmm?” she asked, getting sleepy.

“You ordered me not to be mesmerized ever again?”

“To be immune. Yes.”

He nodded in understanding. “Did you do that to Emma, as well?”

She looked over her shoulder at him, the grin that swept across her face was more sheepish than proud. “I did. I was worried I would do something I would regret. The sad part is, I did do something I’ve regretted.”

“Really? What?”

“I made her immune,” she said with a soft laugh. “Do you know how much easier it would be if I could order her to eat her dinner? To go to sleep? To pick up her toys?”

He chuckled, not believing her for a minute. “You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t. Not even a little. I know what it’s like to have one’s autonomy taken away. I would never do that to her.”

“You’re pretty noble, too.”

“Really? I never got the email.”

“Is this okay?” he asked, referring to their sleeping arrangements. “What will Emma say?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never, you know, had a man over. But I think she’ll be ecstatic.” She winked at him. “She’s quite taken with you.”

“I’m quite taken with her, too.”

Everything fit. For the first time in Michael’s life, all the puzzle pieces fell into place. The odd shapes, the strange corners, they all just fit. He’d never felt so content. So at ease. So able to sleep without a lot of over-the-counter help. Or even under the counter.

Just as his lids drifted shut, she snuggled close against his side. “I use it to ward off evil spirits.”

He lifted his lids again, so comfortable and sated he couldn’t wrap his head around what she was saying. “Evil spirits?”

She giggled sleepily. “The item in the cabinet.”

“Yeah? You come across a lot of those?”

“Not normally, but you never know.”

He’d play along. “And what else can this item be used for?”

“Well, historically, it’s been used as a form of currency.”

“Got it. Evil spirits. Currency. Anything else?”

“I’ve heard some people use it as a seasoning. Weird, right?”

He grinned, pulled her even closer, and said softly in her ear, “Salt.”

* * * *

Also from 1001 Dark Nights and Darynda Jones, discover The Grave Robber , The Graveside Bar and Grill , The Graveyard Shift , The Gravedigger’s Son .