Drop Dead Gorgeous (30 page)

“Aren't you going to?” she finally got out.

“Going to what?” The edge of his teeth showed like a hungry predator.

“You know.”

“Say what you want
me
to do.”

He challenged, yet an indefinable need laced his voice.

She swallowed. He wanted her to say it aloud, ask for it, beg for it. Oh, he needed her. “Taste me, T. Larry.”

He groaned, then touched his tongue to her.

Electricity jumped through her body. Her head fell back against the pillow. Oh, T. Larry. Oh goodness. She squirmed and wriggled the way he'd wanted her to, but managed not to scream. T. Larry, fingers kneading her bottom, held her tight to his mouth.

Her hand found the edge of the mattress, the other gripped her pillow, pulling it over her mouth.

He lifted from her long enough to whisper hoarsely, “Scream. I want to hear you scream my name.”

Then he was back. She bucked, lost her hold on the pillow, lost her hold over herself, arched her back and gave him exactly what he wanted. She screamed her orgasm, screamed low and long and heartfelt, said his name over and over. And still he kept his mouth on her, prolonged the climax until she thought she'd fallen off the edge of the Milky Way.

She came back to his kiss on her belly, his tongue on her breast, his mouth finally against her neck. He lay for a moment breathing her in, his nose in her hair.

“Thank you.”

She barely heard his words. “Shouldn't I be thanking you?”

He was silent a long time, his weight heavy but comforting. “That's what I meant.”

He'd meant something else but changed his mind about telling her. She wanted to ask, but his cotton shirt rubbed her sensitive skin as he moved, and her vulnerability suddenly overcame her.

“Are you going to take your clothes off
now?
” She feared he'd roll from the bed and walk away.

He did just that, but instead of leaving, he towered over her at the side of the bed. She pulled the covers to her armpits.

She loved him in the waning light. “T. Larry? Can I do that to you?”

“What?” His voice rose on the word.

“Taste you.”

The silence was longer this time. He was too far above her to read his eyes or his expression. “You don't need to do that to get me to stay. I'm not leaving, Madison.”

The idea should have stung, but she recognized his vulnerability. “I
want
to do it.”

Long seconds passed. “I don't think I could take it if you did that right now.”

Power rushed along her arms, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She rolled over, cool air on her exposed backside as she opened the sidetable drawer for a condom. “Then can I put it on?”

His Adam's apple bobbed visibly. He bulged the front of his slacks. “I'm not sure I can stand that, either.”

“Let me.” She held the packet up, the foil glinting. “Take off your clothes,” she whispered when he merely stood there.

After a moment's hesitation, he unfastened his shirt buttons with slightly trembling fingers, threw his shirt and undershirt to the carpet, then lowered his hand to his pants.

She stilled him with a light touch. “I'll do this part.”

He swallowed again. Was this anything akin to what he'd felt when she'd asked him to taste her? Power lay in words and shaking hands and labored breath. Could love exist on the same plane?

She rose, bent her legs beneath her, the sheet falling to her lap, exposing her breasts. Her knuckles brushed his penis as she unzipped. His body jerked. His fingers gripped hers.

“Don't play. I can't take it.”

“I'll just help you put on the condom.” She'd never actually done that before. She wanted him to help her, the idea of their hands doing it together somehow more exciting.

The corner of his mouth tilted. “You like this, don't you? The fact that I'm almost out of control.”

“I like it as much as you liked hearing me scream.”

“Tit for tat. Jesus, Madison, have it your way.” Then he shucked his pants and underwear and for once didn't bother to fold his clothes or hang his slacks.

The sight of him overwhelmed her. “Oh my goodness.”

He sat on the bed beside her. “You saw it last night.”

“No, I only felt it. It's huge.”

He groaned. “When was the last time I told you how crazy you make me?”

“I'm sure it was earlier today. Can I put it on now?” His penis bobbed as she reached for it. Oh my. She reached for it again. It moved again. “Are you doing that?”

“You're doing that. It's overexcited.”

She stared with awe. “Can you really move it without touching it?”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the carpet between his legs. “Jesus, Madison, just put it on.”

He looked even bigger from this new angle. She tried opening the packet, but her fingers kept slipping. He reached for it, opened it with his teeth like a pro and handed it back.

She held the rubber between her thumb and forefinger. “What do I do, T. Larry?”

“Don't you know?” Their voices dropped to a whisper with bizarre reverence for the task.

She looked up. She knew the mechanics of it, but with T. Larry, everything was new. How he felt in her hand, his body inside her, what he liked, what he loved, what made him see the same stars she did. “I want you to show me.”

Something passed through his gaze, then he guided her hand. “Put it here like this,” he demonstrated, moving her other hand lightly from his base to the crown, then back. He gusted out a long sigh. “Hold the tip, then roll it down.”

He took his hand away. Before she gave herself a chance to think or him a moment to stop her, she leaned forward and took him in her mouth.

“Christ.” His hands fisted in her hair, holding her tight.

She swallowed the salty taste, then slid him fully inside her mouth. She loved the taste and the breadth of T. Larry. She loved the growl in his throat, the harshness of his breath out of his lungs, the near pain of his hold on her.

She pulled back, ran her tongue around the velvet tip, then let him pop out.

“I almost came.” He sounded surprised.

“You did not.”

“Do it again and I will.”

“But I want you to come inside me.”

He ran a finger down her cheek, along the side of her neck, into the vee between her breasts. “Then put the condom on.”

In the end, he did it himself because she couldn't seem to stop stroking and caressing and making him breathe harder. The task done, he pulled her onto his lap, raising her above him, spreading her legs and bringing her down onto the head. He slid inside. Filling her, he held her still a moment, his head back.

Then he looked in her eyes. “Come when I come, Madison.”

She pumped with the help of his grip on her buttocks, then he put a hand between them, between her legs, rubbing her, and she came because she couldn't help it. She came seeing stars and yes, she was pretty sure she heard bells, too. He followed close on the heels of it, because
he
couldn't help it. At least, that's what she wanted to think.

 

L
YING BESIDE HER
, Laurence watched Madison in the full darkness, the red glow of her digital clock falling across the pillow to illuminate her. She lay on her stomach, her head turned to him, her hair over her face, bare shoulders inviting his lips.

She'd screamed
his
name, came with
his
mouth on her,
his
penis inside her, her fingers caressing
his
scalp.

It wasn't enough.

The darkness played tricks with his mind. He imagined soft echoes of her voice crying other men's names. She knew how to make a man come with little more than a stroke of her mouth.

Laurence couldn't stand the thought.

A week ago, he'd have said he could never be a jealous man. That was before touching Madison. Now he didn't know who he was. He didn't know who had begged her to say all those things aloud, didn't know what part of himself had to hear them or die.

But he hadn't heard the one thing he truly wanted. That she loved him. Yet even if he had, he wouldn't have believed it.

He was afraid she'd leave him when she realized
he
was the one who couldn't change. He was afraid to stay with her long enough for that to happen.

He woke her to savor making love one more time as the sun came up.

L
AURENCE SETTLED
into his car next to a steaming Madison Avenue. The steam had nothing to do with making love in the early hours of Saturday morning. It was due to his ordering her to her mother's house.

She fought him every step of the way. He'd told her to pack. She couldn't find her favorite slippers—Laurence had the erotic image of Madison wearing nothing but fuzzy slippers. Then she couldn't decide which scented shampoo to bring. Or which hand lotion. Laurence dumped the entire contents of her countertop into a plastic bag and handed it to her. “Take it all, dammit.”

Finally, they had packed an overnight bag with her remaining clothes, Laurence got her into the car by nine o'clock.

He would find the culprit—and he'd find him today—since the police hadn't and Madison couldn't, and he'd go through his own people to do it. Harriet disappeared yesterday. So had Zach. He'd start with them, and he'd end up with Dick the Prick because he was sure something funny was going on with the man. He would browbeat answers out of Dick in a way he knew the police couldn't.

He'd clue Madison in after his intentions were fait accompli.

“If you don't stop fidgeting with that bag, it'll break.” Laurence adjusted his rearview mirror. Odd, that black BMW he'd seen on University Avenue was still behind them.

“I'm not fidgeting, I'm making sure my tangerine lotion is here.” Madison twisted the bag closed. “Thank you for making love to me. Both times. That was beyond the call of duty.”

He glanced at her. There was no sign of tears in her eyes. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“Absolutely not.”

He couldn't figure out what she was being, except too nice about the whole thing after her display while getting ready. He went on the defensive. “I'm not dumping you at your mother's.”

“I agree it's the best place for me right now.”

“Right.” That made him think the best place for her was at his side so he could keep an eye on her. He moved to the mirror again. Damn, the black car was still there, and it bothered him. He'd have asked Madison if she knew the make of Richard Lyon's car, but he knew the question would only spark another argument. She'd been none too pleased that Laurence had insisted she add Dick to the list of names she gave the police. She hadn't been pleased about creating the list period.

She glanced behind her. “T. Larry, what are you looking at back there? You just missed my mother's street.”

“So I did. I'll go down the next street and come in from the other way. And you don't have to thank me for making love to you.” He should be getting down on his knees and thanking her for how she'd made him feel. But now it was morning. He had to put the night to bed. Though he was no longer exactly sure why.

“I'm thanking you because you made me feel special.”

God, she hadn't a clue how special she really was. To him. To everyone. His heart contracted. “You're welcome.” An inadequate reply, but the most he could muster.

He turned at the next street. The black car followed and stuck with him as he turned once more, onto the road where Madison's mother lived. It was beyond odd, had moved into the realm of suspicious. Dare he drop Madison off at her mother's?

A plan bloomed full grown in his mind. If the driver of the black car was Madison's stalker, then he would trick the sneaky bastard. He'd let Madison out of the car, drive away, then double back to see if the Beemer was nearby, watching, waiting. He'd catch him in the act and get the cops down here PDQ.

Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. If he found her stalker, Madison would see that his constant planning actually had merit.

“T. Larry, are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Why do you ask?”

“Because you didn't tell me I was blathering too much.”

He realized she must have been speaking the whole time he was formulating his splendid plan. Christ. How much trouble had he gotten himself into by not paying attention?

“You weren't listening, were you?”

It must have been something really important. “Of course, I was listening. There's your mother waiting. And your brothers. Wonderful.” Thank God for distractions.

The whole O'Donnell clan stood on the porch, dribbled down onto the front walk and out onto the lawn.

Sean barreled down the walk with furrowed brow, his sandy eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. James came next, then Patrick. They rounded the front of his car like one great behemoth. The Beemer, its windows tinted and disguised, pulled into a driveway two houses down, executed a three-point turn and went back the way it had come.

Laurence wasn't fooled.

He turned to deal with the brothers. Who were most likely going to ask him why the hell he hadn't brought Madison to her mother's last night, followed quickly by where the hell had she spent the night, and dammit, had she been alone.

Laurence prepared a lie to save her reputation.

 

M
ADISON TASTED HIM
in her mouth when she licked her lips, felt his skin against her, roughened with hair. His scent covered her like a sun-dried blanket and erased the stench of that poor animal. Waking with T. Larry beside her, she'd wanted to bask in the afterglow. She wanted to believe bad people didn't exist, though yesterday had proved that they did. She'd wanted to keep all her fears at bay. Mostly she wanted to believe she'd make it years, even decades, past her twenty-eighth birthday.

T. Larry had ruined it all by taking her to her mother's.

He'd had some lame excuse about keeping her safe and talking to the police again and speeding up the discovery of the squirrel killer. The truth was he'd made love to her because she'd cried. It was the only way to shut her up.

She knew how Harriet felt. People did what she wanted so they didn't have to listen to her gripe. Demoralizing to realize T. Larry had treated her just like Harriet as he dumped her on her mother's doorstep and stood at the curb arguing with her brothers. Madison's bag of bathroom goodies bounced against her knees.

“We were so worried when you called this morning.”

“I'm fine, Ma. Honest.”

“I wish you'd called me last night.”

She took in her mother's troubled eyes. “I didn't want to worry you.” She glanced back to her brothers. “Any of you.”

“We were frantic anyway.”

She squeezed Ma's hand. “I should have told you.”

“But you didn't because…” Her mother looked to the street, as well, but her focus was on T. Larry.

Madison watched him gesturing wildly by the side of his car. Very unlike him. Tears burned at the backs of her eyes. Silly girl. “I think I'm in love with him.”

Her mother's arm drifted across her shoulders, then tugged her in close to her cinnamon-scented warmth. “And he hasn't figured out he's in love with you yet?”

“He's putting up a valiant fight.”

“Men do that. They're like scared little boys. Your father caved after six months.”

Madison's chest tightened, afraid to think six months into the future. “I can't wait that long.”

“It'll pass more quickly than you think.” Her mother held her chin. “And you have a lifetime.”

“Yes, Ma.” Her mother needed to hear her agreement, and Madison needed to start believing it. She didn't want a week with T. Larry. She wanted a lifetime.

Out on the street, Sean's face had turned hopping-mad red. Patrick looked close to throwing a punch. James's head was covered by a cloud of steam. Though he was no taller, T. Larry seemed to tower over them all. Like an avenging angel. Her guardian. “Do you think someone's really trying to hurt me, Ma?”

“Yes.” Her mother's hug tightened. “That's why T. Larry was right to bring you home.” Tilting Madison's face to hers, she added, “He's doing it for me, too.”

Madison let the tears mist her eyes. “I'm sorry, Ma, I'm so selfish. I never even thought about how you must feel.”

Ma cupped her cheek. “Stay and keep me company until T. Larry finds out who's doing this and puts a stop to it. I'd feel so much safer.”

“Of course.” What if T. Larry couldn't figure it out?

Tiny fingers tugged at her right hand. “Don't cry, Auntie Madithon.”

Little Kirsten stared up at her with pleading eyes and dirty face. Madison dropped her bag to the porch and squatted to touch her niece's cheek. “Auntie's not crying, sweetie.”

A single tear slid through the grime on that angelic face. The last of Madison's self-pity slid away with the dirt in that solitary drop of moisture. “Why don't we clean up your face? Then you can make me another candy necklace. I ate the last one.”

Rising, she took Kirsten's hand and turned for a last glance at the street. Over the roof of his car, T. Larry watched her from behind his sunglasses.

She was still afraid. She'd been afraid so long she was sure it wouldn't go away overnight, not even if that night had been as wonderful as last night with T. Larry. But she had her mother, her brothers, her nieces and nephews. Her family gave her hope.

So did the way T. Larry removed his sunglasses to look at her. As if he didn't want her to think he was hiding from her. As if he were trying to communicate something. Then he raised his hand in a wave before climbing into his car and pulling away.

Madison decided to trust him with her heart as much as she trusted God and her family with her soul.

 

T
HE
O'D
ONNELL BROTHERS
had been ready to murder. Fortunately Laurence hadn't been the intended victim, Madison's madman was. Which made it doubly troubling when they'd acquiesced so quickly upon his proclamation that he would solve Madison's problem himself. It couldn't have been a lack of caring on their part. It wasn't that they failed to grasp the gravity of the situation. It wasn't a lack of emotion, either. Even Laurence felt buffeted by their consolidated overabundance of testosterone.

He had a terrible feeling they were matchmaking by letting him be Madison's savior. He wasn't sure he deserved that level of trust.

So here he was, disguised by his tinted windows and dark sunglasses, parked on the other side of Ramona Avenue, watching for the black Beemer to pass ominously by the O'Donnell house. He would not fail the O'Donnells or Madison. He simply could not.

Fifteen minutes ticked over to half an hour. The June sunshine percolated the inside of the car. His polo shirt itched around his neck. He pulled the wool blend away from his skin and rolled down the driver's side window. Where had the bastard disappeared? Laurence tapped a finger on the steering wheel.

Lace curtains flicked at an upstairs window of the house he'd parked in front of. A breeze rustled through the branches of overhanging trees. The neighborhood was too damn quiet, no children in the streets, no teenagers with non-existent mufflers. And no black BMWs cruising the macadam. Dammit.

Forty-five minutes. The sun threatened to fry his brain. His lids drooped. The breeze carried Madison's flowery scent to his nostrils. The faint taste of raspberry lip gloss blossomed on his tongue. His chest expanded, his gut tensed, and his trousers tightened over his erection.

The soft rumble of an engine broke his reverie. Exhaust fumes obliterated Madison's flowers. His eyelids snapped open just as the Beemer's brake lights came on for a full stop. Heart racing, Laurence reached for the keys in his ignition. Dammit, dreaming of Madison, he'd almost missed his quarry.

The black car slowed in front of the O'Donnell house just as Laurence did a roll stop through the intersection.

It
was
tracking Madison. And Laurence was tracking it. Hot on its tail, he made the same right turn, then another right, and a left. Heading back to Madison's apartment? By God, Laurence would catch the bastard in the act, stealing something, leaving something, pawing through Madison's things.

He did consider calling the police, but rejected the idea as quickly as it came. With sirens blaring, they'd scare the culprit away. Or he'd wriggle off the end of their hook. But he wouldn't wriggle away from Laurence.

Exhilaration turned him almost giddy.

Until the Beemer passed Madison's apartment building with nothing more than a tap on its brake.

Dammit. Damn. It. Thank God he hadn't called the police. They didn't need a false alarm distracting them, making them reconsider Madison's level of danger. Some knight in shining armor he would have appeared.

They entered downtown Palo Alto. At the left turn on University, two vehicles managed to slip between Laurence and the black car. His pulse quickened, but he maintained control. He'd follow until the bastard proved his evil intent.

His prey wandered through interminable lights, causing Laurence's fingers to tighten on the wheel as he feared the yellow. The crush of traffic grew. A bead of sweat trickled past his eye. Right turns, left turns, El Camino, through the mall parking lot and out the back side, up toward the 280 freeway.