Against the Rules Page 7

  He seemed completely alone. Her heart tightened painfully at the thought. He was such a sweet, caring man it wasn’t right that he be so alone. If given the opportunity, she would change that.

  Chantel sat on the bed in the back bedroom pondering her discovery, or lack thereof, until the handsome, mysterious and clearly pissed off Reese McCormick filled the doorway.

  * * * *

  “Nnnnoooo!” Foster yelled in vain as a fireball engulfed the chopper. The body, torn to pieces and flung like a rag doll, was much too small to belong to Sammy. Foster’s legs gave out and he crashed to the ground on his knees. Bile flooded his mouth and burned his throat.

  The occupants of the bar began to trickle outside, drawn by the thundering explosion that shook the aged building. Several young idiots ran to the bike. A few shouted the news to the remaining customers inside. Two employees used fire extinguishers to dampen the flames before they spread. Other patrons hustled to move their choppers out of harm’s way.

  Panic had Foster lying flat out in the high grass. He should have been gone by now, not hanging around like a complete amateur. Sammy, the cold bastard, stayed near the building. His eyes quartered the area, not the fire. He avoided looking directly at the flames, thus his vision remained first rate. His body language spoke volumes. A predator hunting prey. He knew it was his bike. He had undoubtedly known the victim, yet he couldn’t have cared less. All his attention was bent on finding the culprit. On finding him.

  Foster knew that the slightest movement would draw Sammy’s hawk-like attention. How long could he afford to stay there? Foster’s bike would be discovered once law enforcement arrived. With all these witnesses, they had surely been alerted. As if on cue, distant sirens joined in the clatter, another loaded gun was cocked and aimed directly at him.

  Like a rabbit frozen under the stare of a coyote, his eyes were glued on Sammy. If he moved, Sammy would spot him, and if he stayed, the police would be all over him. Shit.

  * * * *

  “Let me guess, you got lost on your way to the bathroom?” He looked around the room as if she’d stolen something.

  Chantel’s heart broke from the tone of his voice. Disappointment and resignation oozed from every syllable. There was something very telling about his body language, but there were too many missing pieces of the story for her to begin to put it all together. Somehow, he knew she’d gone through his house. He knew she’d searched through his private belongings and for what? She really had no answer that justified her breaching his privacy.

  “How’d ya guess?”

  Reese didn’t move a muscle. He looked relaxed and casual until Chantel noticed the taut vein in his neck and white knuckles crossed over his barrel chest.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to confess. She wanted to, really she did, but she got the impression that having his fears confirmed would only hurt him. If she didn’t cave, he could believe her subterfuge. Or at least that was the lie she told herself.

  “Actually, I was trying to find my shoes.” She searched his face trying to gauge his mood. “I can’t remember exactly when I took them off.”

  “I hid them. It’s part one of my master plan to have you barefoot and tied to the stove.”

  “Tied to the stove? Hmm, sounds kinky.”

  Looking her steadily in the eyes, his voice became a seductive whisper. “Take off the shirt, Channy,” he commanded. “I want you again.”

  She knew he was already hard. Who could miss that? But there was also something different about him. He didn’t believe her—she’d doubted that he would. He wasn’t stupid. So what did he believe? His body language was deceptive. At first glance he appeared calm and relaxed, yet Chantel knew he was ready for anything. His slow and languid movements were a careful façade. During their sexual marathon, Reese had proven to be incredibly strong with faster than usual reflexes. Though she was trained in martial arts, she doubted she could take him.

  A shiver of fear ran down her spine as she wondered why she was considering him a potential opponent. What had caused such a thought? Did she feel threatened? Was her subconscious trying to warn her? Her father had always taught her to trust her instincts.

  But her instincts were as confused as the rest of her. Her body throbbed with need. Need for Reese. Yet her brain told her something was off. He was distant. A little cold. But what had she expected? He’d caught her going through his house. She had gone through his personal things—not that she’d found anything personal. Still, she had violated his trust. He hadn’t called her on it, but they both knew. She would have been pissed off if the shoe were on the other foot.

  She met his gaze, determined to discover his secrets. Major mistake! His eyes were dangerous weapons guaranteed to drop a woman on the nearest bed in minutes flat. And she was certainly a woman. All her feminine parts were highly susceptible to him. Really, what did it matter if he had secrets? She had a few of her own.

  Slowly, she began to release the buttons from their holes. “If all you want is me tied to the stove, why do I need to take off the shirt?” she asked with feigned innocence. “It’s easier to cook for you with clothes on.”

  Men like Reese tended to have ADHD as far as women were concerned. Fickle, never able to focus on one, always conquering. Undoubtedly leaving a string of broken hearts in their wake. Although she wasn’t proud of her decision, she still intended to enjoy as much of Reese as he was willing to give. Chantel doubted that she would ever get Reese completely out of her system. When he left her, and he would, her heart wouldn’t be the only thing to miss him terribly.

  “Hmm, perhaps I misspoke. While I am starving, darlin’, mere food will not abate my hunger. And though I’ve never seen my shirt look better, I want to see what’s under it.”

  Slowly, Chantel started undoing the buttons from the bottom leaving her ample bosom still covered.

  “And you are taking way too long,” he warned, before he pounced with the grace of a jungle cat onto the bed beside her.

  A look of absolute desire sent another lightning strike straight through her core, searing any lingering doubts she might have had.

  Buttons flew through the air as he ripped the shirt apart, uncovering her breasts. “That’s better! Much, much better,” he murmured. In total contrast, he gently removed the remnants of his shirt from her body then threw her over his shoulder and stalked into the master bedroom.

  “I’ve decided the bed is better than the stove. It has many more possibilities.” He sounded gruff and stern, but his hands were tender and careful of her.

  Instead of ravishing her body as she’d expected, he snuggled around her and just held her.

  “But that can wait. For a little while anyway.” He took her hand in his and began to nibble the pads of her fingertips. “I like the feel of your hands on my body. When I tie you up I won’t have that pleasure.”

  She laughed. “The big bad wolf never tied up Little Red Riding Hood. It was Grandma he tied up and threw in the closet.”

  “That’s just plain sick, darlin’. Besides my closets are too small to properly maneuver in. I want full access to your body.”

  She loved his playful banter. He just kept on surprising her. She didn’t know what to expect one minute to the next. He was rough and hard, then gentle and slow. It didn’t matter. She wanted it all and she got her wish, and more, throughout the day.

  * * * *

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and blurred his vision. If Sammy even suspected that Foster was behind this, his wife and son wouldn’t live to see the sunrise.

  Finally, he caught a break. Marla sauntered up beside Sammy. She was a cruel bitch, but apparently she had her uses. When Sammy continued to scan the surrounding forest, ignoring Marla, her patience wore thin. She took his chin in her hand and turned his head to look at her. While Sammy and Marla spat curses at each other, Foster moved like the wind deeper into the trees. It took precious time to snake through the forest using deer trails, but there was little doubt that S
ammy and the police would scour the area come morning. He had no intentions of leaving any evidence to lead suspicion back to him.

  * * * *

  Teague looked down at the exhausted woman in his arms and wondered if she was playing him. He wanted to believe her, but did he dare? She looked thoroughly embarrassed, but was that from their marathon sex fest and missing articles of clothing or from being caught going through his house? He couldn’t tell.

  They had made love in that spare room. Hell, they’d been in every room and on every available flat surface. It was feasible.

  Once she’d fallen asleep, he checked through his house. It didn’t look like she’d found the false door in the spare closet or any of the equipment he had hidden away.

  He decided to let it go. There was nothing in the house that would garner anyone any real information about him. He hadn’t trusted her before he went to the store and he still didn’t. No big deal. He’d already decided to enjoy the hell out of this weekend then pull another disappearing act. So either way, this changed nothing.

  He saw a slight flush cover her cheeks. His heart turned over painfully in his chest. A quick and bitter rage flared to life, stealing his breath away. He had conditioned himself to feel nothing. Damn her. Emotions of every sort beat at him, leaving him confused and disoriented. His life had order. Control. It was boring and sterile and he hated it, but he needed it back. He wished he’d never met Chantel Donley.

  Teague raked his hand through his hair as he realized that wasn’t true. He was a complete bastard without a shred of honor left. He knew the final outcome and there would be no happy endings. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to change paths.

  “Just let me hold you, Channy. The big bad wolf needs to regain his strength.” And clear his head of these crazy emotions.

  Teague lay awake watching her. It was damn near impossible to convince himself that Channy was a plant. Yes, he had caught her searching his house. She had definitely been up to something, but if she worked for Mr. G. she would have already sprung the trap. Wouldn’t she? Maybe she wasn’t convinced that he was Teague Brodie. She hadn’t asked many questions about his past. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she was an innocent. That was easier to believe with her curled up next to him.

  Teague refused to sleep. He didn’t dare drop his guard. Yet dreams invaded his consciousness. Seeds of hope began to sprout in his heart. How, he had no idea. Surely nothing good could ever grow in that dark, neglected wasteland.

  He knew the moment she awoke. Her calm, steady breathing changed. For just a moment, she tensed then settled back into his arms. A soft murmur of sound escaped her lips. He began to grow hard again. What a weekend! Enjoy it today, lover boy, for tomorrow Reese dies. Again.

  Sunlight was streaking in through the window, setting her red hair ablaze. A pyromaniac could watch it for a lifetime and never tire. Teague shook off his melancholy. He couldn’t keep his hands off this woman no matter how many times he’d taken her.

  “Hungry?” he asked allowing his breath to tease her neck.

  Her reaction was immediate. A feminine little wiggle that set his body on fire. As she ground her bottom against his groin, she answered, “Oh, yessss.”

  An amused chuckle rumbled from his chest. “I meant for food, you greedy woman.”

  “Hmm, that too.”

  He danced his fingers along her ribs, tightening her breasts into perfect peaks. He loved the way she responded to his touch.

  She rose up and straddled his waist. He knew what she had in mind and, though he liked the idea immensely, it wasn’t what he wanted.

  With a buck of his hips, he reversed their positions. “No, Little Red. I let you have your fun last night, but no more. I’m in charge from here on out.”

  Her set jaw and raised eyebrow made him laugh. She had a temper to match all that fiery red hair.

  “Why? Didn’t I please you?” She pushed out her bottom lip in an obvious pout.

  “Stop that. You know you did.” He rubbed his thumb lightly over her lip until she smiled. “Besides, you get quite wet when I go all caveman on you.”

  Channy giggled. “Caveman? Hmm, I can work with that.”

  Feeling silly, he beat his hands on his chest and bellowed, “Me Tarzan, you Jane.”

  Her laughter flowed over his body and made his heart beat funny. It was a beautiful sound.

  Shaking her head, she told him, “Tarzan is a jungle boy, not a caveman.”

  “You are going to be difficult, I can see that now. Okay, me Reese, you Channy. Now, woman, stop talking, I’m trying to seduce you here.”

  “I am not being difficult.” She wiggled her hips in an attempt to fling him off her. When that utterly failed, she grabbed a pillow and beat him with it.

  He let her get in a few good whacks before he used another pillow to defend himself. Though she was pelting him, what he noticed most were her hips and thighs rocking and bucking beneath him. She had strength in those sexy legs. More than once she’d almost tossed him from the bed. Finally, he ripped the pillow from her hands and threw it on the floor then dropped his beside it.

  Just when he thought he’d ended her mutiny, she began to tickle him. Every time he countered, she would find another tactic to charge him with. In the end, he lay over the top of her, pinning both her arms and legs. They laughed until she had tears running down her face.

  “I think you’ve had way too many women fall at your feet and obey your every command,” she teased him.

  “And tying you up is looking better and better. But I can see I need to take another direction here.” With one fluid movement, he jumped off the bed and retrieved the pillows. Pulling her up into a sitting position, he fluffed the pillows behind her then settled her down upon them. Sitting gently beside her, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Just looking at you makes me hard.”

  He was killing her with that voice and his soft touch.

  Reese took her hand in his and began to kiss each finger. When he reached her palm, he swirled his tongue, sending heat racing through her. While her attention was centered on his magical kisses, he pushed her legs apart and moved between them. He took a condom from his nightstand and slid it over his ready cock. Bringing her arm down to rest by her side, he slid his mouth down the inside of her knee. His hands held her hips in case she decided to rebel again.

  Slowly, he began to move up her thigh, kissing and stroking her as he went. Wet and ready for him, she ran her hands through his hair as she considered complaining. She needed him inside her. Now! Though her brain knew exactly what she wanted, her mouth was incapable of formulating a complaint of any kind.

  “You taste wonderful, Little Red, and I’m a hungry man. Hungry for you,” he murmured along her most sensitive place. “You wouldn’t deny a hungry man, would you, darlin’?”

  “No,” she whispered. Shaking her head from side to side, she was unsure if her answer had been in response to his question or to the onslaught of sensations he was causing throughout her body.

  She was writhing in tormented agony and sheer pleasure. The explosive pressure continued to build, but he held her orgasm at bay. Her hips were rocking in perfect time with his. He knew his way around a woman’s body and that knowledge both thrilled her and pissed her off.

  With his hands at her waist, he pulled her tighter into his clutches. Sliding his fingers underneath her thighs, he clamped his hands around her wrists effectively locking her to him. She moaned as his lips touched her pussy.

  Damn him. Each time her body tightened to the point of orgasm he would change his technique and slow the pace.

  Just a few days ago, she would have sworn it was impossible to ride the crest between ecstasy and orgasm for so long. She’d lost track of time. Her brain had ceased to function. Only her nervous system was still up and running—and boy was it running. High speed, broadband, turbo charged.

  “Reese, please!”

  “Mmm, please what, Littl
e Red?” he murmured leisurely as if he had all the time in the world to bring her pleasure.

  “I can’t take any more,” she moaned. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire and begging for release.

  “Sure you can.” He chuckled seductively. “Besides, darlin’, you’re a mean woman when you want to be. I think it’s best that I stay in charge. Just yesterday you wouldn’t let me touch you. I have to make the most of this.”

  “When?” she panted, torn between heaven and hell. He was killing her. Has a woman ever died from prolonged orgasmic distress? “When did I ever keep you from touching me?” she whimpered, as he continued his assault with his tongue.

  “In the bathtub,” he reminded her as his hands worked their magic at her breasts. While he nipped her inner thigh, he laved his tongue teasingly across her clitoris.

  “Our vanilla time was fun, I enjoyed it very much, but you like me dominant. You like it when I take your body and use it for our pleasure. Don’t you, Channy? You want me to take you over and over again.”

  “Any time.” She panted. Begging him now. “Any time, I swear.”

  “So, you’re saying I can have your body any time?”

  “Yes!” she screamed as he swirled his tongue over her clit.

  “Just to be clear… I can touch you anywhere I want?” To punctuate his meaning he entered her with two fingers. Her hips bucked in response. “Any time I want?”

  “Please, Reese. I’m going to explode.”

  “Not yet, darlin’. We’re still negotiating,” he teased, as he changed his stroke. “I’m not about to throw away my advantage. Bear with me while I make sure I understand our deal. I bring you over the edge, instead of just dancing along the ridge, and in exchange you will give me complete control over your body.”

  While one hand moved sensually inside her, his other hand pulled her taut peak in a massaging rhythm. “Yes… All yours.”

  “To do with as I please?”