If You Know Her: A Novel of Romantic Suspense (10 page)

He’d take either option with the beautiful woman over Deb. Hell, he’d take having his eyes jabbed with red-hot needles over Deb. Dealing with Deb was akin to being in the ninth level of hell, he figured.

Feeling her censuring gaze on him, he glanced back at her.

“You are such a
rude
young man,” she sniffed. “Your mother must be
appalled
.”

“I know.” He bared his teeth at her. “I can’t help it. If I’m going to be rude, though, at least I do it to a person’s face instead of gossiping about them behind their backs. Got to give my mom credit, though—before she died, she got that through my head, at least. You know, if you’re here to talk to Sam, don’t you think you’d have more luck if you checked out the office?”

She opened her mouth to reply as he lifted his hand to bang on the door again.

That was when Nia opened it. Wearing … holy shit … a towel.

Law just about swallowed his tongue.

A towel. Droplets of water. Nothing else.

Suddenly, he realized that maybe dealing with Deb
wasn’t
akin to the ninth level of hell. At all.

The ninth level of hell was staring at Nia Hollister, with all those little droplets of water clinging to that smooth, warm skin. Here he was dying of thirst and he already knew, even before he looked into her eyes, there was no way he’d be getting a taste.

“Ahhh … I brought you coffee,” he croaked out. Shit. Now his voice was all but breaking on him like a horny teenager’s. Clearing his throat, he held out the coffee and lifted her keys. “And your keys. Ah, your bike’s here, too.”

She glanced at him, then at the coffee, the keys, still blocking the door, that towel clinging to the sweet swell of her breasts.

Off to the side, Deb sniffed again—that prissy sound managing to convey shock, displeasure, and avid interest all at once.

Nia blinked, her lashes drooping slowly over her eyes and then she slanted a look at Deb.

Recognition flared in that golden gaze. A dull flush stained her cheeks red, but she said nothing. All she did was smirk and then step back, pushing the door open wider.

Law lifted a brow. As he stepped inside, he tried to figure out … had he just stepped completely into that ninth level of hell or was this maybe some hidden doorway to heaven?

He was pretty sure it was hell, though.

He wouldn’t be lucky enough for anything else.

After she closed the door behind Law, Nia accepted the coffee and sauntered away hoping he wouldn’t see
the fact that her knees were all but shaking just from the sight of him. Damn it, what in the
hell
was it about him?

She heard her keys jangle as he laid them down.

Focusing on that, she grabbed her robe from the hanger near the sink and pulled it on, discreetly slipping out of the towel before tying the robe’s belt around her waist. “Why do you have my keys?” she asked as she lifted the coffee to her lips.

“Ah, just forgot to give them to you. Tired, late. You know.”

“Hmmm.” She sipped. The caffeine hit her stomach like a sucker punch, strong and powerful. “Tired. Late. Right. Thanks.”

She slipped him a look and tried not to think about the way it made her feel when she saw him staring at her. Too hot inside, like she’d all but bathed her insides with the steaming coffee he’d brought her. Too damned hot.

Swallowing a whimper, she looked away. “Well, thanks. Appreciate the coffee. You bringing my bike back.” She paused and shot him a look. “You didn’t wreck it, right?”

“Nah.” He grinned at her. “I can handle a bike. She’s a nice one, too.”

“Hmm. Well, don’t expect to ride her again. But still … thanks. For everything.”
For not pawing me last night even though I was pawing you—oh wait, no, why
didn’t
you paw me?

She’d wanted him to paw her. Still wanted it. She was still aching, deep down low, aching and so damn needy it was almost pathetic. No. It was pathetic. She needed, wanted, and more than anything, she was dying to put the coffee down, go to him and wrap her arms around him, see if he really tasted as good as she thought he had. See if he felt the way she thought he did …

Maybe it was all just a drunken fog and he wasn’t that special. She could find out and then move past it.

Easy.

Right?

So easy.

Even as she considered that idea, he jerked a shoulder in a shrug and said, “Yeah. Okay. Take it easy.”

As he turned for the door, her heart leaped into her throat.

“Wait.”

With his hand closed around the doorknob, he looked back over his shoulder at her. Tawny hair fell into those intense eyes as he paused, waiting expectantly.

Her mouth went dry. Wait—shit, what was she asking him to wait for?

Her hands were shaking as she set her coffee down. Best place for it—the way her hands were shaking, she didn’t
need
to be holding the damn coffee. “Ahh, listen. About last night …”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his voice distant. Polite.

Hell. And what if I want to worry about it? What if I can’t stop thinking about it?

“Um. Well, I just … I’d had a few too many beers, and just was … well …” Hell.
I acted like a damn tramp, and I don’t care and why in the hell didn’t you just give me what I wanted? What I still want?

She swallowed, looking past him. “I …” She blew out a breath, but nothing was making this any easier. Nia didn’t have these kinds of problems, damn it. She didn’t. If she wanted a guy, she wanted a guy. Granted, she preferred to have some sort of connection first, a strong one—and she sure as hell felt one here, even if she didn’t really know him.

When there wasn’t a connection and she needed some sort of release, she could handle it herself—no guy required.
She actually
preferred
it that way. It was easier, safer, just plain better.

But she’d already proved that wouldn’t work right now. She wanted
him
. Needed
him
.

“Look,” she said, clearing her throat.
I can do this. I know he wants me. This is easy. Hell, he probably was holding on to my keys
hoping
for something like this, right?
“About last night …”

“Nia, it’s not a problem,” Law said, his voice taking on a hard edge.

Narrowing her eyes, she snapped, “Well, it sure as hell is one for me!”

Law pulled his hand away from the doorknob and turned around, leaned back against the door. “Okay. Since you seem determined to lay into me about something, why don’t you tell me what the problem is, then?”

“You didn’t finish it.”

Oh. Fucking. Hell
.

She hadn’t just said that … hadn’t just blurted it out like that, had she?

Law stared at her.

His brows drew low over his eyes. His voice was a low rasp as he said, “I didn’t …” He stopped, cleared his throat. “I didn’t finish what?”

Nia wiped her hands down her robe, then reached for the belt on her waist. She was making a mess of this. She could talk to people. At least she could
usually
talk to people. Guys were easy for her; she could be glib and charming and if she needed sex, then she was okay
getting
sex, but damn it if she was okay with anything right now. Not her life, not how she felt, and certainly not anything that included Law.

Untying the belt, she shrugged out of the robe and then stepped toward him. Staring into his eyes, she said, “I might have been drunk, but I knew what I wanted.”

“Shit.” Law closed his eyes, slammed his head against the door at his back. “I don’t make it a habit to have sex with drunk women—it’s a rule of mine.”

Nia leaned in and nuzzled his neck, breathing in the scent of him. Man, he really did smell that good. Wow. If he smelled that good, then maybe the other stuff was really that good, too. “It’s a nice rule … I like it. But I’m not drunk now. And I still want you.”

His hands came up, gripped her waist.

“Nia …”

Tipping her head, she stared into his tawny, hazel eyes, so intense, so burning-hot and all-consuming. Had she ever had a man look at her like that? Like she was all? Like she was everything? The center of his universe? Hell, screw the center … Law was looking at her like she
was
his universe.

Closing the minute distance between them, she pressed her mouth to his, lightly. “I want you.” Against her belly, she could feel the burning, hot length of him. “I know you want me. And I’m perfectly sober. So …”

Law was certain he’d fallen into some alternate universe at some point in the past five minutes. Or maybe he’d hit his head and was hallucinating. Could be one of those fugue states, even—were there hallucinations in fugue states?

Nia pressed her lips to his and he groaned, opening his mouth.

Slow down—think—

Except he was pretty certain that wasn’t possible. Thinking. Slowing down.

And what in the hell was there to think about, anyway? She wasn’t drunk—she was clear-eyed, sober, and that long, coffee-and-cream body was pressed against his, warm and sweet and naked and he wanted her like he wanted his next breath.

It was more than a want—it was a blinding, desperate ache and what was there to think about?

Gliding his hands up over her sides, along the curve of her rib cage, up until he could cup her breasts in his hands, he plumped the warm, soft weight of her, stroked his thumbs over her nipples.

She whimpered into his mouth, then tore away, her head falling back on a ragged sigh.

“You sure about this, Nia?” he rasped, staring at her through slitted eyes. She needed to be damn sure because he was going to die if he stopped—yeah, it might not be logical for a man to die of sexual frustration, but he was pretty sure it could happen. After all, he’d been dreaming about
this
woman from the time he’d laid eyes on her. Even though he’d only seen her a few times—even though until last night he’d only touched her when he was trying to get a fucking gun away from her. Didn’t matter, because the moment he’d looked into her golden eyes, he’d felt something—a click—something that went deeper than anything he’d ever felt.

“Sure?” She smiled at him.

That smile—damn it. That smile ought to be illegal. No woman should be able to smile at a man like that, because it did bad, bad things to a guy’s sanity.

As that smile curled her lips upward, smug, female and so fucking sexy, she slid a hand down his chest, down to the waistband of his jeans. She paused to stroke him through the thick denim and he groaned, leaning into her touch.

“What do you think, Reilly? Am I sure?”

Law swore and shoved away from her, grabbing the back of his shirt and stripping it away. He came back to her, cupping her face in his hands. “Insane—you want to drive me insane, I can tell.”

Nia chuckled against his lips. “Do I? I’m not trying to drive you insane, sugar, I promise.”

“You don’t have to try,” he muttered, nibbling at her lower lip. “Open your mouth, damn it.”

Not that he was waiting … he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, desperate for the taste of her. He slid his hands down her neck, along her shoulders, her collarbone, along the slope of her breasts, toying with the hard, puckered crests of her nipples. She gasped and arched into his hands. “Law …”

Fuck, she was responsive—hot, sleek, and responsive, reacting to each touch like it was the first, like everything he did drove her wild. It was so erotic, so mind-blowing, and he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Sinking to his knees in front of her, he pressed a stinging series of kisses down the midline of her body, one arm wrapped around her middle, watching as she arched back, her hands resting on his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin. He pressed his mouth to the curve of her belly, stroking one hand up her thigh.

She parted her legs, rocked against him. “Bed,” she panted. “Damn it, take me to bed.”

“What’s your hurry?” He licked her navel, bit her lightly. The mound of her sex was covered with a neatly trimmed patch of tight, black curls and he could already see the moisture gleaming there. Inching lower, he pressed another kiss just there, brushed the tips of his fingers across the curls. The heat of her … he hissed out a breath as he felt the heat, the moisture.

“My hurry?”

He looked at her from behind his lashes and smiled. “Yeah … what’s your hurry? I want to touch you … taste you.”

“And I’m dying,” she groaned. “Spent five minutes in the shower trying to get myself off after last night and I’m still dying …”

The image of that blasted through his mind. Law’s eyes just about crossed as he found himself picturing
her, that long, sexy body … standing under the spray of water, her fingers moving in and out. Oh, hell …

His brain almost exploded on him. Swearing, he stood up and slanted his mouth over hers. Cupping the heat of her sex in his hand, he ground the heel of his palm lightly against her and pushed one finger inside her. As she closed around him, greedy, slick and tight, he shuddered.

She cried out against his mouth.

Desperate, dying, he pulled his hand away and wrapped his arm around her waist, hauling her against him. Couldn’t let her go—he had the weirdest damn feeling that if he stopped touching her, even for a second, he’d wake up and realize this was a dream. Something. Couldn’t stop touching, couldn’t stop …

Those long, muscled legs wrapped around his hips as he boosted her up and turned, taking the three strides it took to get to the bed. He half-staggered, half-fell onto it, turning so that he went down first, with Nia sprawled atop him. Hot, sleek, and perfect. Her legs parted, settled on either side of his hips and she rocked against him. Both of them groaned. He could feel her, through the heavy, too-tight denim of his jeans. She sat up, reaching for his belt buckle, her fingers struggling to free him.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said.

“Yeah.” He rested a hand on her thigh, stroked it up to her hip. “You’re not … fuck, you’re gorgeous.”

A slow smile curled her lips. “Thank you.”

He might have said something else, but then she managed to get the zipper undone and she had her hand inside his jeans, shoving his boxers down quick as a wish and his ability to speak abruptly died. All he could manage was a ragged grunt as her fingers closed around him, pumped up and down once … oh, shit.