On Her Six (Under Covers) (10 page)

Her jaw clenched and pain sliced down her neck. “There are other jobs in the department besides being a cop.”

She turned off 23rd Street, heading toward 22nd. They’d be home in a matter of minutes. If only her eyes would focus on the road. The glow from the streetlamps was doing funny things to her vision, creating large yellow orbs in front of her windshield. She blinked to clear her sight.

“What were you doing at Club Hell?” he asked again. More like demanded.

Why was her heart still racing? They’d escaped trouble, her body should have slowed by now. But it hadn’t. The blood in her ears drummed against her skull and she felt—actually
felt
—her veins stretching from the excess liquid pumping at accelerated rates through the canals. She was sure her stomach had just dropped out of her midsection. And her head. Good Lord, her head was like a balloon, growing lighter by the second. Any time now, it was going to detach and float away.

“Uh, I think I’m…” she said in a breathy voice.

She must have swerved because the steering wheel jerked and John shouted, “Hey. You okay?”

Glancing in his direction, she tried to focus on his features. But her eyelids grew heavy and her body went limp.

Then everything went black.

…

Shit!
Ash grabbed the wheel, steering the car away from the light post they headed straight for. Blondie’s head had dropped back, and her eyes were closed.

“Damn it,” he muttered, turning his attention to the road ahead. They were still one block from their street.

He threw the car into neutral and guided it to the curb. Without stability or traction control, it was difficult to force the car anywhere. He used his remaining strength to yank the wheel, cussing and wincing as he pulled. The car hit the raised cement curb with more force than he’d wanted. There was a loud scrape and then white smoke drifted to the sky, and an acrid stench of burnt metal filled his nostrils.

Oh well. He’d worry about that later. It’s not like the POS couldn’t benefit from a visit to the auto shop.

First priority was to get Blondie to his house and assess her condition.

He pulled her from the car and hoisted her onto his shoulder, ignoring the gut-searing pain. Die Hard and his buddies had done a bang-up job on his ribs and stomach. He’d be more than black and blue tomorrow. But for now, just like he’d been trained, he pushed forward. He’d get first aid once he was back at camp.

Sprinting up the block, he reached his front steps within minutes.

He laid her on the worn sofa in his front room, taking care not to bump her head on the arm. He pried her eyes open, bracing himself for the telltale sign of Vamp use. He hadn’t seen her enter the club, so he had no way of knowing if she’d ingested any of the free drinks being shoved down everyone’s throats. The drinks were obviously laced if River and her girlfriends had been affected.

Blondie’s blue eyes stared back, and he said a silent prayer of thanks. There was no red. Or black. Just light blue. Like the color of the sky on a crisp fall day.

His finger brushed a damp strand of hair from her forehead, before checking her pulse, which was racing. Her skin was clammy and on fire.

She must have gotten a residual high from direct contact with a vamp. Much like a cold or flu, the effects of the drug could be passed from person to person by bodily fluids. Not as potent or deadly as ingesting the actual substance, but she’d be horny as hell tonight and might have a blinding hangover tomorrow. He wasn’t sure if she’d have a mild addiction afterward or not. All residuals were different. She was already reacting differently than other residuals—he’d never seen anyone pass out from contact as she had.

He’d need to keep watch over her tonight and make sure her temperature didn’t spike to dangerous levels. Also, he’d need to keep her close so she didn’t go out looking for someone on the street to ease her raging hormones.

There was no doubt about it. She was staying with him tonight—whether she hated him in the morning for it or not.

First step was to bring her temperature down.

Ash checked her pulse and breathing once more. No change. So he picked her up and hurried up the stairs to the bathroom.

He turned the knob and practically dropped her into the porcelain tub, clothes and all.

She sucked in a sharp breath as ice-cold water hit her bare skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said, pushing away a strand of errant hair. He stroked his hand along her shoulder and down her arms. She shivered.

Movement. That was a good sign.

“Can you open your eyes?”

No reaction.

“I wish I knew your name, Blondie.” Ash continued to caress her skin. Smooth, he noted. His neighbor was really something up close. Not that she wasn’t when she hung out her bedroom window or bounced down her front steps smiling, but it was her simplicity—natural makeup, arched eyebrows, daintily sloped nose, and high cheekbones. She was breathtaking. Why was he suddenly stunned to realize it?

He went to the closet and grabbed a towel. Dipping it into the water, he placed it over her forehead.

This woman was the first one he noticed as just that—a
woman
. Not a pain in the ass—though in the short time he’d known her, she was definitely that. No, this one wanted to walk alongside him in danger. Not get him into it.

She’d never let herself be the victim. She had proven herself less cowardly than most of the troops he’d served with in the Middle East. Blondie had a confidence that was ninety parts arrogant and ten parts naive. A disastrous formula concocted to blow up in his face any moment.

It only made him like her more.

She’d ventured out tonight in search of something so important she’d risked her own safety to obtain it. He was going to find out what that something was.

Just as soon as he made sure she lived through the night.

He placed his hand on her forehead again. The cold towel had helped. Perspiration was less evident. Her temperature seemed to be lowering.

Her eyes fluttered once. “Grandma?” she asked in a strangled voice.

His hand stilled. “No.”

She turned to him, the blue in her eyes empty and dull. “I’m so cold.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I have to bring your body temperature down.” Hopefully the cold water would help minimize the next symptom as well, he thought grimly.

He took the towel from her forehead, soaked it in the cold water, and squeezed it over her shoulders.

She shivered again, and her teeth chattered. Her lips turned the same color as her eyes.

He went to the closet to get more dry towels. “Just a few more minutes. I promise.”

She nodded once, the movement choppy in conjunction with her shudders.

Jesus, it killed him to see her in this condition. She’d been so strong. So capable. And now she was so damn vulnerable.

Once he thought she’d had enough, he yanked her from the tub and wrapped her in a towel. When she curled into his chest, he softened even more as he carried her into his bedroom.

“You’ll warm up soon,” he said, rubbing her back. Sooner than she realized since his AC was broken.

He pulled back the sheets and laid her on his bed. Taking a deep breath, he laughed. “You’re definitely not going to like this when you wake up.”

His hands worked her skirt down over her narrow hips, doing his best not to look at the small bit of fabric remaining. Then he sat her up to remove the flimsy top, not daring to look at her bra.

He covered her up to her neck with the sheet and then reached under to slide her drenched panties down, shaking his head in disbelief as the thin material slid over her ankles. “This is definitely a first.”

Making sure the sheet stayed in place over her, he unhooked her bra. His breath hitched at the feel of her soft skin against his callused hands. It was impossible not to wonder what she looked like under that sheet.

Needing distance, he hung her clothes on a nearby chair by the open window.

Filling his lungs with the warm night air, he turned to see the body of his neighbor lying so still.

Soon, very soon she’d be awake. And in need. Though he’d have to wait to find out which of her needs would outweigh the other. The drugs. Or her libido.

Chapter Eleven

Removing everything from his body except his boxer briefs
and a pair of gym shorts, Ash crawled into bed next to his neighbor, too damn tired to worry about administering first aid on himself. He’d splashed water on his face and wiped away most of the blood and grime. It had been a trying night. Rest was what he needed. He normally slept naked, but he definitely wasn’t putting himself in that situation tonight. Not with Blondie’s condition, the fact that they barely knew each other, and the awkward explanation it would cause tomorrow morning. Tonight had been weird enough.

Reaching for her forehead again, he breathed a sigh of relief that Blondie’s temperature had leveled out. She rolled, whimpering as she huddled into him. He hated himself for noticing how well her head fit onto his shoulder and her hips curved into his.

When she shifted onto her side, her hair lifted, fanning out on the pillow behind her. It gave him full view of her slender neck.

Best place to start kissing a woman…

He grinned at the thought. Lips were fine, but that soft patch of skin at the back of the neck really warmed the blood. Scandalous and sweet, all at the same time. She was just the right height for it, too. Perfect for his six-three frame to caress the sensitive spot with his tongue. His groin tightened as he imagined other things he could do to her with his tongue.

Giving in to the heat, he closed his eyes and thought about wrapping himself around a woman, holding her close, catching a trace of her sweet scent. It had been so long; he’d almost forgotten how amazing women smelled. Jasmine, lilac, vanilla, lemon. Even the simple scent of shampoo wafting into his nostrils got his blood started. Each woman’s scent was different, but in a way the same, too. They all smelled like their own piece of heaven.

A violent shiver shook her body, yanking him away from his thoughts.

The woman’s injured. Pull yourself together!

“Shhh,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re going to be okay, Blondie. The drugs just have to work their way out of your system.”

He caressed her back and shoulders, trying to create as much friction as possible to warm her up. The long-ignored stir low in his belly rekindled, and he fought to keep his thoughts in check.

No.
He told his subconscious.

Why not?
It asked back.

I can’t.

How long’s it been? Months?

Not going to happen.

Why?
the voice persisted, almost in a whine.

He continued to stroke her back, sliding his fingers along the plane of her spine, down and up again, imagining how it would feel to give in to his needs.

Ash hadn’t been tempted after Lorena. Hadn’t allowed himself to. Women had always been a means to an end. He’d accepted that.

But this one—he didn’t know what to make of her.

Bringing him back to the present, Blondie pulled her arms from under the covers and threw the sheet down past her stomach.

He stopped breathing. There was just enough light from the street to filter streams along her bare skin. Oh Christ. The shape of her petite round breasts were visible. They were already pert and aroused. His groin tightened further, and his subconscious laughed at him.

This was going to be a long night.

Eyes now open wide, she ran her fingernails up his exposed chest, over his shoulders, and gripped his biceps.

He closed his eyes and imagined the situation differently—that she wasn’t under the influence and she had come to him willingly.

Huge mistake.

She rolled off the pillow, positioning herself over him, and laid sweet wet kisses on his neck, jawline, and cheek. He hissed in a breath at the feel of her tight nipples running along his chest. His hands lifted to her back but halted before contact was made. “Not like this,” he reminded himself. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, trying with all his might to regain composure. His body reacted to every movement she made, humming to life, hardening beyond comprehension.

It’s just been awhile
. This was a normal reaction after the drought he’d been through.

What a crock of shit. He wanted this woman. Bad. And it pissed him off that she’d snuck under his radar.

Blondie was doing things to him. Making him feel things…things he had vowed to never feel again.

She trailed her hot mouth along his chest, abdomen, and then reached the line of his waistband. With its own agenda, his cock jumped, straining against his shorts.

Like a bolt of lightning, his fingers gripped her shoulders and yanked her toward the headboard. Fuck. There was no way he’d stop her if she started touching him down there.

As if reading his thoughts, her lips formed into a wicked curve. Jesus, he’d give his entire pension to read what was going through her head.

He held her still, suspended above him, his blood coursing through his veins in protest for not allowing this beautiful creature to have her way with him.

His subconscious said a few choice words he chose to ignore.

“What’s your name?” he asked, hoping to distract everyone involved.

The corners of her mouth curled higher in knowing anticipation. Like a black widow, luring her lover close before she snapped his head off. “Anything you want it to be.”

He groaned. Yep, long night. Tipping his head to the side, he raised an insistent eyebrow.

She let out a loud sigh and rolled her eyes. “Samantha. Happy? Now can I continue?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know my name?”

“Not really.” She jolted forward, catching him off guard, and planted her lips on his.

Soft and perfect, that’s all he could think. She was eager and she was here, making it extremely hard to remember he was a gentleman.

Hard. Yeah, definitely hard. Dangerously hard.

It brought back images of their kiss outside Club Hell. When she saved him. When she took control. Damn, he loved when a woman took control during sex.

She opened her mouth and ran her tongue along his lips, then dipped inside and moaned.

His body shot to attention, ready to engage. If he didn’t stop her now, he wasn’t going to.

And he
had
to.

She somehow managed to crawl on top of him—when or how, he had no idea—and straddled him.

Now. Definitely now. Stop her now.

With every ounce of restraint he had left, he planted his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away. He flipped her onto her back and used his weight to pin her onto the mattress.

She gave him a grin that almost stopped his heart.

He held her wrists above her head. The hold didn’t help his control as it lifted the swell of her breasts. They were there for the taking. All he had to do was lean down…

No. Remaining still, he willed both of their bodies to come down from the high that wouldn’t find release tonight. He pulled the sheet up and tucked it around her chest, burying his hands beneath her to make sure she couldn’t wiggle free. If he could have wrapped her like a fucking burrito, he would have.

She frowned and squirmed beneath his hold, but her small frame was no match for his strength. “Please?” She gave him a convincing pout. His resolve started to crumble. If he stared any longer at that face—those sad blue eyes and full inviting lips—he’d be a goner for sure.

“Samantha.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

He wondered the same damn thing. “Well, for starters, you’re under the influence.” He was fairly certain she wouldn’t be as outgoing without the residual Vamp in her system. But then again, how the hell would he know? She’d been hell on wheels the second she’d walked into his life. “And you’ll regret it in the morning.”

Her eyes sparkled with erotic promise. “No, I won’t.”

He groaned. Images of her naked body on top of him—sliding and stroking to completion—blinded him.

“Please.” As if her plea wasn’t difficult enough to fight, she slipped one arm between them and grazed her palm against his rock-hard erection.

He groaned again as his eyes slammed shut.

Goddamn torture.

“Oh,” her voice was pleasantly surprised. His eyes fluttered open to see her gaze lower to her errant hand, as if she just now noticed his attraction to her.

Ash smiled wryly.

She closed her fingers around the shaft, acquainting herself with his shape. She moved a little slow for his taste, but that could be fixed. Her hand squeezed tighter, and the pace picked up.

Terrible idea. This is a terrible idea.

“You’re
really
big,” she marveled. “And hard.”

He grew even harder.

His body started to give in, lowering itself toward her. The thin cotton sheet brushed against the hair on his chest. He moved closer, breathing in her sweet scent as he sought out the sensitive spot on her neck.

Letting instincts be his guide, he placed his lips on her pulse. It leaped in response to the soft caress. By its own desire, his tongue slid out, tasting her satin skin.

Salty. Sweet. Delicious.

Perfect.

His left hand, feeling grossly neglected, sought out her breast. Beneath the sheet, he filled his palm, kneading and pressing the mound. His thumb circled her nipple, finding it already sharp and tight, crying out for attention. Relief. His body was all too eager to oblige.

She moaned. “Yes.” Her other hand had escaped his weakened hold and found its place at the base of his head, guiding and urging him on. She shifted, arching her back, offering more to him.

The movement pulled Ash from what he was about to do. He cursed under his breath. This was insane.

He reached like a madman for his sanity. Damn, it sucked being the good guy.

She stiffened beneath him. Her hands moved to his chest, palms covering each pec. Her thumbs mimicked the motion he’d done to her nipple. “Please?” she begged in that soft bedroom voice. “Please. I need you.”

His body needed her more.

But he knew it was the drug talking. She’d take anyone right now.

When he didn’t move, breathe, or speak, she bit off, “What’s the matter with you?”

Gone was the adorable blue-eyed creature. In its place was a mean she-monster with furrowed brows and puckered lips. She was beginning to feel the severe effects of withdrawal. A pull so intense, Ash knew she’d never experienced anything like it before in her life.

“Get off me!” Her hips bucked against him.

He remained in place, gripping her wrists tighter to remind her of his strength.

“Now!” she said, practically spitting in his face.

“No.” He was in control of himself, and she damn well better take notice.

“Ahhh!” She writhed beneath him. “I need— I need—”

“What you need is to lie still,” he said. “You want another hit, but you’re not going to get it. So be quiet.”

Her face filled with blood, and her head whipped from side to side.

Since her eyes hadn’t changed color, he knew she hadn’t ingested the drug. His body relaxed with relief. She’d make it through the night. They just had to wait it out. He was prepared to hold her all night if that’s what it would take to keep her safe.

“You’re an asshole,” she spat.

He chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Ash held her, determined to keep his promise. All night if that’s what it took.

…

Warmth. All Sam wanted was to be warm again. An odd need, given her AC had been broken for a week.

Her body shivered as if she’d been dipped into the icy waters of the Chesapeake Bay. Then all of a sudden, she was scorching and happy, enveloped in the most delicious heat imaginable. Like lying next to an open campfire.

“Mmmm,” she murmured, snuggling closer.

Her head pounded at her temples. A few minutes longer and she’d have to give in to the migraine and search for Tylenol. But for the time being, she smiled in satisfaction—

Why was she naked?

She never slept naked.

Ever.

And why was the delicious warmth hard as a rock?

Something tightened around her stomach. It gripped, straining her ability to breath.

Her eyes flipped open.

In the early morning light, she made out the shapes of trees and power lines outside. But they looked different. Their positions were wrong. There wasn’t a telephone pole in front of her bedroom window. No, no, it was in front of—

Oh God.

Her eyes adjusted to the shadows in the room. She was face to face with the silhouette of an angular jaw, broad shoulders, and a dark symbol with wings tattooed on a neck. In this light it appeared to be a bird in black silhouette. An eagle.

Her neighbor’s eyes were closed, and his breaths regular.

Why the hell was she in his bed? Why the hell was his shirt off? And—
again
—why the hell was she naked?

Sam quickly peeked underneath the covers and exhaled a soft sigh of relief at the sight of dark shorts covering his bottom half. Okay, so hopefully they hadn’t had sex. Though, who knows, because last night was a complete and utter blur. Nothing at all was coming to mind. Or at least nothing that would explain her current state of nakedness and location. First order of business was to get dressed. Then he’d have some explaining to do.

She lifted her head and surveyed the room. Next to the window was a chair with her clothes draped over it.

Slowly, so as not to wake the sleeping beast, she slithered toward the edge of the bed. She managed only a few inches before his strong arm locked tighter and pulled her until her nose was within inches of his bare chest.

She froze. When his deep, steady breaths blew across her skin, her body relaxed. He was still asleep.

A mixture of sweat and musk invaded her nostrils. She didn’t think sweat could ever smell good, but with him, it was like an invigorating cologne. An essence of rugged maleness and brute strength designed to awaken all of her female senses.

She closed her eyes for the briefest moment, enjoying the sensation of being surrounded by him—
all
of him. It had been so long since she’d lain this close with a man, the heat and scent of his skin floating around her. She’d forgotten how amazing it was. How comforting. The tighter his hold, the safer she felt. A complete stranger; and yet at that moment, she was at home with him.