Blue-Eyed Devil (24 page)

“Bedroom problems” was putting it mildly, I thought. I floundered in silence, wanting more than anything to open up to him.

“Was he really your first?” Hardy prompted. “That’s pretty unusual, this day and age.”

I nodded. “I think,” I managed to say, “in a weird way, I was trying to please my mother. Even after she was gone. I felt she would have wanted me to wait, she would have told me nice girls didn’t sleep around. And I had so much to make up to her for. I was never the kind of daughter she wanted — or the one Dad wanted either. I felt I owed it to her, to try and be good.” I had never admitted that to anyone before. “Later I realized that if I wanted to sleep with someone, it was my own business.”

“So you chose Nick.”

“Yeah.” My lips quirked. “Not a great idea, as it turned out. He was impossible to please.”

“I’m easy to please.” He was still toying with my fingers.

“Good,” I said unsteadily, “because I’m pretty sure I don’t know how to do it right.”

All movement stopped. Hardy looked up from my hand, his eyes bright with hunger. Heat. “I wouldn’t — ” He had to pause to take an extra breath. His voice was raspy. “I wouldn’t have any worries on that account, honey.”

I couldn’t look away from him. I thought of being under him, his body inside mine, and my heart started thrashing. I needed to slow it down. “I’d like another Jack Daniel’s, please,” I managed to say. “This time no Dr Pepper.”

Hardy let go of my hand, still staring at me. Without a word, he went to the kitchen and brought back two shot glasses and the bottle with its distinctive black label. He poured the shots in a businesslike manner, as if we were settling down for a game of poker.

Hardy tossed his shot back, while I sipped mine, letting the smooth, slightly sweet liquid warm the surface of my lips. We were sitting very close. The robe had parted to reveal my bare knees, and I saw him glance down at them. As his head bent, the light rippled over his dark brown hair. I couldn’t stand it anymore, I had to touch him. I let my fingers brush over the side of his head, playing in the silky close-trimmed locks. One of his hands closed over my knee, engulfing it in warmth.

His face lifted and I touched his jaw, the masculine scrape of bristle, laying my fingers against the softness of his lips. I explored the bold shape of his nose, one fingertip drifting to the tantalizing crook at the bridge. “You said you’d tell me someday,” I said. “How you broke it.”

Hardy didn’t want to talk about that. I could tell by the look in his eyes. Except that I had risked alot by confiding in him, by being honest, and he wasn’t going to back down from that. So he gave me a short nod and poured himself another shot, and to my regret, removed his hand from my knee.

After a long pause, he said flatly, “My dad broke it. He was a drinker. Drunk or sober, I think the only time he ever felt good was when he was hurting someone. He cut out on the family when I was still young. I wish to hell he’d stayed away for good. But he came back now and then, whenever he wasn’t in jail. He would beat the hell out of Mama, knock her up, and light out again with every cent he could steal from her.”

He shook his head, his gaze distant. “My mother’s a tall woman, but there’s not much to her. A strong wind could knock her over. I knew he’d kill her someday. One of the times he came back, I was about eleven — I told him don’t even try, he wasn’t going near her. I don’t remember what happened next, only that I woke up on the floor feeling like I’d been stomped by a rodeo bull. And my nose was broken. Mama was beat up nearly as bad as I was. She told me never to go against Dad again. She said trying to fight back only made him mad. It was easier on her if we just let him have his way, and then he’d be gone.”

“Why didn’t anyone stop him? Why didn’t she divorce him, or get a restraining order or something?”

“A restraining order only works if you handcuff yourself to a cop. And my mother thought it best to take her problems to her church. They convinced her not to divorce him. They said it was her special mission to save his soul. According to the minister, we should all make it a matter of prayer, that Dad’s heart would turn, that he’d see the light and be saved.” Hardy smiled grimly. “If I’d had any hopes of being a religious man, they disappeared after that.”

I was floored by the revelation that Hardy had been the victim of domestic violence too. But in a worse way than I had, because he’d only been a child, I restrained my voice to a careful monotone as I asked, “So what happened to your dad?”

“He came back a couple of years after that. I was a lot bigger then. I stood at the door of the trailer and wouldn’t let him come in. Mama kept trying to pull me aside, but I wouldn’t budge. He — ” Hardy stopped and rubbed his mouth and jaw slowly, and wouldn’t look at me. I was filled with the electrifying awareness that he had been about to tell me something he’d never told anyone before.

“Go on,” I whispered.

“He came after me with a knife. Caught me in the side with it. I twisted his arm and made him drop the knife, and then I beat him until he promised to clear out of there. He never came back. He’s in prison now.” His face was taut. “Worst part about it was, Mama wouldn’t talk to me for two days after.”

“Why? Was she mad at you?”

“I thought so, at first. But then I realized . . . she was scared of me. When I was going ape shit on Dad, she couldn’t see any difference between us.” He looked at me then, and said quietly, “I come from bad stock, Haven.”

I could tell he meant it as a warning. And I understood something about him, that he had always used this notion of being from bad stock as a reason to keep from getting too close to anyone. Because letting someone in close meant they could hurt you. I knew all about that kind of fear. I lived with it.

“Where did he cut you?” I asked thickly. “Show me.”

Hardy stared at me with the glazed concentration of a drunken man, but I knew it had nothing to do with the Jack Daniel’s. A flush had crossed the crests of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. He tugged at the bottom of his T-shirt until it revealed the taut flesh of his side. A thin scar showed white against the silky tan. And he watched, transfixed, as I slipped out of my chair and knelt before him, and leaned between his thighs to kiss the scar. He stopped breathing. His skin was hot against my lips, his leg muscles so tense they felt like iron.

I heard a groan above my head, and I was plucked from between his knees as if I were a rag doll. Hardy carried me to the sofa, laid me out on the velvet upholstery, and knelt beside me while tugging at the belt of the robe. His mouth covered mine, burning and whiskey-sweet as he pulled the front of the robe apart. His hand was warm as he touched my breast, cupping beneath the soft curve, plumping it high for his mouth.

His lips covered the tight peak, and he drew his tongue over it in tender licks. I squirmed beneath him, unable to hold still. The nipple budded almost painfully, sensation darting to the fork of my body with every stroke and swirl. I moaned and put my arms around his head, my spine dissolving as he moved to the other breast. My fingers tangled in the silk of his hair, shaping to his skull. Blindly I urged his mouth back up to mine, and he took it savagely, as if he couldn’t get deep enough.

The weight of his hand settled low on my stomach, spanning the soft curve. I felt the tip of his little finger resting on the edge of the dark triangle. Whimpering, I nudged upward. His hand slid lower, and as his fingertips played in the springy curls, my insides began to throb and close on the emptiness. Until that moment, I had never felt as if I could die from raw need. I moaned and pulled at his T-shirt. Hardy’s mouth returned to mine, licking at the sounds I made as if he could taste them. “Touch me, ” I gasped, my toes curling into the velvet cushions. “Hardy, please — ”

“Where?” came a devil whisper, while he stroked the damp curls between my thighs.

I parted my knees, shaking all over. “There. There.”

He gave a sigh that was almost a purr, his fingers nudging me open, finding heat and syrup, centering on the place that drove me wild. His mouth rubbed over my swollen lips, dragging gently. His hand slid from between my legs, and he gathered me in his arms as if he meant to lift me, but instead he just held me in a bundle of smoothness and trembling bones and gasping dampness. He dipped his head, kissing the arc of a knee, the plush give of a breast, the tight strain of my throat.

“Take me to bed,” I said hoarsely. I caught one of his earlobes between my teeth, drew my tongue over it. “Take me . . . ”

Hardy shuddered and released me and turned to sit on the floor facing away from me. He rested his arms on his bent knees and lowered his head, his breath coming in deep, harsh gusts. “I can’t.” His voice was muffled. “Not tonight, Haven.”

I was slow to understand. Trying to think straight was like pushing past layers of filmy curtains. “What is it?” I whispered. “Why not?”

Hardy took an unnervingly long time to answer. He moved to face me, kneeling with his thighs spread. He reached out to cover me with the sides of the robe, the gesture so careful that it seemed even more intimate than what had gone before.

“It’s not right,” he said. “Not after what you’ve just been through. I’d be taking advantage of you.”

I couldn’t believe it. Not when everything had been going so well, when it seemed like all my fear had gone. Not when I needed him so badly. “No you wouldn’t,” I protested. “I’m fine. I want to sleep with you.”

“You’re in no shape to make that decision right now.”

“But . . . ” I sat up and rubbed my face. “Hardy, don’t you think you’re being a little high-handed about this? After getting me all worked up, you — ” I stopped as an awful thought occurred to me. “This is payback, isn’t it? For last night?”

“No,” he said in annoyance. “I wouldn’t do that. That’s not what this is about. And in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m as worked up as you are.”

“So I’m not part of the decision? I don’t get a vote?”

“Not tonight.”

“Damn it, Hardy . . . ” I was aching all over. “You’re going to let me suffer just so you can prove some completely unnecessary point?”

His hand slid over my stomach. “Let me finish you off.”

It was like being offered an extra appetizer when the entree wasn’t available. “No,” I said, red-faced with frustration. “I don’t want a halfway job, I want a full, start-to-finish sex act. I want to be regarded as an adult woman who has the right to decide what to do with her own body.”

“Honey, I think we just proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that I think of you as an adult woman. But I’m not going to take someone who’s just been through a near-death experience, bring her up to my apartment and give her alcohol, and then take advantage of her while she’s feeling grateful. It’s not happening.”

My eyes widened. “You think I would sleep with you out of gratitude?”

“I don’t know. But I want to give it a day or two to wear off.”

“It’s worn off already , you big jerk!” I knew I wasn’t being fair to him, but I couldn’t help it. I was being left high and dry, just at the point when my body was about to go up in flames.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman, damn it all.”

“Well, now’s a fine time to start.”

I couldn’t stay in his apartment another minute — I was afraid I’d do something to embarrass us both. Like throw myself on him and beg. Struggling off the sofa, I retied the belt of the robe around my waist and headed for the door.

Hardy was at my heels immediately. “Where are you going?”

“Down to my apartment.”

“Let me get your clothes first.”

“Don’t bother. People wear robes when they’re coming up from the pool.”

“They’re not naked underneath.”

“So what? Are you afraid someone will be so overcome with lust he’ll pounce on me in the hallway? I should be so lucky.” I charged to the door and went out into the hallway. I was actually grateful for the surge of invigorating rage — it didn’t leave much room for me to worry about the elevator.

Hardy followed, and waited beside me until the elevator doors opened. We went in together, both of us barefoot. “Haven, you know I’m right. Let’s talk about this.”

“If you don’t want to have sex, I don’t want to talk about our feelings.”

He scrubbed his hand through his hair, looking confused. “Well, that’s for damn sure the first time a woman’s ever said that to me.”

“I don’t take rejection well,” I muttered.

“It’s not rejection, It’s a postponement. And if Jack Daniel’s makes you this ornery, I’m never pouring you another shot.”

“It has nothing to do with the whiskey. I’m this ornery all on my own.”

It seemed Hardy realized that no matter what he said, it was only going to aggravate me further. So he remained strategically silent until we reached my door. I entered the combination and stepped over the threshold.

Hardy stood looking down at me. He was disheveled and appetizing and sexy as all get out. But he wasn’t apologetic.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said.

“I won’t answer.”

Hardy slid a long, lazy glance over me, the folds of his own robe wrapped around me, the tight clench of my bare toes. A hint of a smile deepened one corner of his mouth. “You’ll answer,” he said.

I closed the door smartly. I didn’t need to see his face to know there was an arrogant grin on it.

I showed up for work at eight-thirty the next morning and was immediately surrounded by Kimmie, Samantha, Phil, and Rob. They all expressed relief that I was okay, and asked about the flooding and what it had been like to be trapped in the elevator, and how I’d gotten out.

“I managed to call a friend of mine before my cell phone went out,” I explained. “He showed up and . . . well, everything was fine after that.”

“It was Mr. Cates, wasn’t it?” Rob asked. “David told me.”

“Our tenant Mr. Cates?” Kimmie asked, and grinned at my sheepish nod.

Vanessa came to my cubicle, looking concerned. “Haven, are you all right? Kellie Reinhart called and told me what happened last night.”

“I’m just fine,” I said. “Ready for work as usual.” She laughed. Maybe I was the only one who heard the condescending edge to it. “You’re a trouper, Haven. Good for you.”