One Hit Wonderful (11 page)

She didn’t want the room to fill up with steam since she couldn’t paint if it was too humid, so she rushed through the process of washing and conditioning her hair.

She twisted off the taps and reached for one of the fluffy soft cotton towels she’d treated herself to as a housewarming present. She towel dried her hair and patted most of the water from her skin then slathered on the vitamin E oil her mother swore by. “A man likes soft, supple skin, Lillian Ann,” she used to say as she’d smooth it into her own skin after a milk-and-rose-petal bath. “No man wants to make love to a lumberjack.”

Lily grinned as she thought of her mother. Dorine Michaels might have some antiquated ideas of how the sexes should relate, but she could always be counted on for a hug or a smack on the head, whichever was needed most.

Thinking she ought to call her mother while the first coat of paint was drying, she capped the oil and draped her towel over the shower rod. She padded naked into the bedroom and dug out the cutoff jean shorts and tube top she’d designated as painting clothes.

She could hear the rain beating on the roof, and a glance out the window confirmed that the storm had gotten worse. She crossed the room to open the window, and breathed in the fresh scent of wet earth and wind as damp air pushed into the room.

She smiled as she looked over the lush green of the lawn, to the trees in the park across the street. She had a wonderful apartment, a job she loved and good friends. And, if she could work up the nerve to borrow a cup of sugar, an attractive man who might just be willing to take her out on a date. Life was good, she decided, and would be even better when her bathroom was purple.

She strolled without haste to the kitchen, and dug out one of the squares of gourmet dark chocolate she kept in the cupboard as a pre-work treat. She let it melt on her tongue, enjoying the bite of seventy percent cocoa while she gathered the paint, along with the drop cloth, paint pan and roller she’d picked up at the hardware store earlier in the week. On impulse, she crossed to the front door, opening it to the small landing, and opened the window there as well so she could enjoy the breeze created by the cross ventilation. Satisfied, she carried her supplies back down the hall and began to prep for work.

Moments later her iPod was hooked into its speaker system, pumping out Aretha Franklin as she stood on the drop cloth and dipped her roller into the freshly poured pan of paint.

* * * * *

Nate cursed the weather and the dog in equal measure.

“Come on, you furry jackass!” He shook the rain-soaked hair out of his eyes and yanked on the leash. Beau dug his ass even farther into the puddle he was sitting in and gave a pitiful whine.

Nate bit down on exasperation. Force wasn’t working, perhaps cajoling would. “Come on, Beau, don’t you want a cookie? Let’s go home and get some cookies, okay?”

The dog’s ears perked up and he gave a hopeful woof. Encouraged, Nate tugged again and was rewarded with two cautious steps. “Yeah, that’s it, boy! Let’s go home and get a cookie!”

Beau woofed again and took two more steps forward, but before Nate could even finish the mental
Yes!
, lightning split the sky over their heads and thunder boomed. Nate swore ripely as Beau’s forward movement halted immediately, but even as he braced himself for the dog to pull back, lightning struck again and instead of burrowing in, Beau leapt forward.

The leash flew out of his hand as the dog flew past him. Caught flat footed, Nate cursed as he ran to catch up. “Beau! Beau, heel!”

He stopped cursing because it was costing him breath. He chased the dog through the park, past the swing sets and the merry-go-round, the softball fields and the picnic area. He felt a burst of relief when he realized Beau was headed for home, but his heart all but stopped in his chest as he watched him run across the street in front of a pickup. It started again with a painful thump as the truck swerved, missing the dog by inches, and Beau ran on with barely a hitch in his stride.

Nate ignored the shouted curses of the driver and ran across the street, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the dog. It was getting darker, and he could hardly make out the wet mass of panicked canine as he raced across the lawn. He put on a burst of speed when he realized Beau was racing past the house without even a pause, but by the time he made it up the hill, there was no sign of him.

His head whipped around as he scanned the yard, calling Beau’s name at the top of his lungs. It was only on his second scan of the yard he noticed the bottom door to the carriage house apartment was ajar.

He leapt forward, spanning the distance in two strides, and immediately noticed the huge muddy footprints on the front of the door. He was pushing the door open when he heard the crash and the scream.

Fearing the worst—though what the worst was he had no idea—he flew up the stairs and through the open apartment door. Part of his brain made note of the muddy footprints and puddles of dirty water on the floor, and used them as a trail. He flew down the hall and, noting the lights on and music coming from the bathroom, bolted through the door at top speed.

He had a glimpse of Beau, muddy and wet and scrambling for purchase on the plastic-draped floor, and of Lily, arms pinwheeling, paint flying off the roller in her hand as she fought for balance. He stepped forward, arms outstretched to catch her, steady her, but the heel of his worn and muddy sneaker caught a puddle of spilled paint. His legs shot out, his arms shot up and he went skidding into both of them like a bowling ball aiming for the last two pins on the lane.

Beau yipped, Lily screeched, and they all went down in a pile of arms and legs and paint roller and fur.

“Fuck.” Nate’s head bounced off the tile and had him seeing stars. Beau whined and tried to get up, pushing the bulk of his considerable weight into Nate’s lower abdomen. He cursed again, groaning as the dog slipped and fell back into his lap, and in self-defense curled a hand into his collar.

“Are you all right?” he heard Lily ask from the vicinity of his knees, and looked down.

She was lying half under the dog and half over him, her neck arched over his shin and the top of her head resting on the floor. She had paint on her face. “Ah…fine,” he managed, and struggled up onto his elbows while keeping a vise grip on the dog. “How’re you?”

“Oh fine. Just hanging around.”

For a second neither of them said anything, the silence only broken by Aretha’s soulful voice crooning about Dr. Feelgood, then they both burst out laughing at the same time. Beau whined and tried to lick both their faces. Lily laughed harder, her whole body shaking with it.

Nate finally managed to sit up and lever Beau off his lap. “Sit!” he commanded, pulling up with the hand on his collar, pushing his rump down with the other, and with an oddly human groan, Beau complied.

Nate turned back to find Lily pushing herself up and quickly grasped her elbow, easing her into a sitting position.

“Thanks,” she said, laughter warming her voice. Her brown eyes danced, sparkling in the light as she pushed her hair off her forehead. Her full lips were unpainted and curved in a smile he was sure she had no idea was as sexy as it was silly.

It was the first and only time he could recall getting an erection with the smell of wet dog in his nostrils.

Think of something else, he ordered himself, and sat up. “What happened?”

She shrugged, a lock of paint-streaked hair falling over her forehead into her eyes. It made his fingers twitch to stroke it aside.

“I don’t know,” she said, and held up her hands in a gesture of helplessness. “One minute I’m grooving along with Aretha and painting, the next I’ve got a hundred and fifty pounds of wet dog trying to climb into my lap.”

He grimaced and eyed Beau, who had the grace to look sheepish. Jackass, he thought. Out loud he said, “I’m sorry, the storm spooked him and he got away from me in the park.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she crooned, and reached out to scratch Beau behind the ears. “Were you afraid the thunder would get you?”

“He’s lucky a Ford pickup didn’t get him,” Nate muttered. “I’m not sure how he got in the door downstairs though.”

“Oh, that might be my fault,” she said, still petting the dog. “I came in with my arms full earlier and kicked it shut. It might not have been closed all the way.”

“And the apartment door?”

She grinned at him. “I left it open, so I could get the cross breeze from the window on the landing.”

“Ah.” He grinned at her all of the sudden. “You know, you’re wearing a lot of paint.”

She grinned back. “Yeah? So are you.” She reached out and stroked her fingers down the side of his neck, holding them out for him to see the streaks of purple on them.

“Nice color,” he said, and glanced up at the wall she had half done. “It’ll look nice in here when it’s finished.”

“I think so,” she said then laughed. “I didn’t get as far as I wanted with it.”

He chuckled. “I guess not.” He got to his feet and held out a hand. “I could give you a hand with it tomorrow, if you like.”

“I’d like that,” she said, and put her hand in his. She shivered as he pulled her to her feet.

“Cold?” he asked with a frown. It was a warm night, even with the rain.

“No.” She laughed, the sound strained, and he noted with interest the blush that crept up into her cheeks.

Nate ignored the nudge Beau gave his hand. “You’re shivering,” he murmured, and glided his hands down her bare arms. The shorts and tube top left little to his imagination, praise be. Her nipples were clearly outlined against the thin fabric. “You certainly look cold.”

She looked up at him through the long sweep of her lashes, a half smile curing her lips. “Trust me,” she said, laying her hands on his chest. “I’m not cold.”

“Really?” he murmured, sliding his hands to her hips. His fingers flexed, digging in to her soft flesh for a brief moment. She gave a little lurch forward, a shifting, seeking motion of her hips that made his fingers tighten even more. His nostrils flared, picking up the fine and subtle scent of her under the sharp tang of spilled paint and the stench of wet dog.

“Really,” she sighed, a breathless little catch in her voice. He could all but feel his inner beast sit up and howl.

Testing, he lowered his mouth slowly, deliberately, until it was a mere breath from hers. “So if you’re not cold,” he breathed, delighting in the way her eyes darkened and the shiver that ran over her skin as his breath washed over her, “then what could be making you shiver like that?”

Her breath came out in a rush, and he had a moment to savor the sweet feel of it over his face before she said, “Oh fuck this,” and grabbed the back of his head.

Her lips crashed into his with enough force to make him stagger. He dug his fingers into her hips to steady himself and, making a mental note to buy Beau the biggest soup bone the butcher could find, poured everything he had into kissing her back.

God, she packed a punch. Her lips were soft, and she tasted like fine dark chocolate and warm spicy woman. The soft, whimpering moan that escaped her parted lips to vibrate against his had his libido growing fangs, and with a strangled moan of his own, he took control of the kiss.

Oh my God
, was all she could think as he all but swallowed her whole. She didn’t know what came over her, she’d never initiated a move like that in her life, but if this was what she got when she made the first move, she was absolutely going to do it more often.

Her breath snarled in her throat when he pulled her to her toes by his grip on her hips. She knew she’d wear fingertip-sized bruises for days but couldn’t bring herself to care. Never in her life had a man kissed her like this, as though he’d starve without a taste of her. Her own fingers tightened on the back of his head, tangling in the wet strands of his hair as she gave as good as she got.

They ate at each other, tongues plundering, teeth nipping, lips sucking until Lily felt as though the top of her head were floating somewhere on the ceiling and her pulse had centered itself on the damp, needy flesh between her legs. Her hands clenched convulsively in his hair as he bit into her lower lip then soothed the tiny hurt with a swipe of his tongue.

His own hands were far from still. He released his death grip on her hips when it became apparent she wasn’t going anywhere, and now they roamed restlessly over her body. Stroking down her back, the curve of her hips, the taut and heated flesh of her bare thighs, leaving little firebolts of sensation in their wake.

Restless, eager, his mouth drifted from hers to trail kisses across her jaw to her ear. Lily’s head fell back on a ragged moan as his lips worried her earlobe, sending a fresh burst of shivers down her spine. Earlobes were her weakness.

“This is crazy,” she breathed, her fingers clenched in his hair to hold his head in place.

“Nuts,” he agreed, and swirled his tongue in her ear.

“I never do stuff like this,” she told him. She hooked one leg over his hip and tilted her pelvis to cradle the happy-to-see-her bulge in his wet jeans.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against her neck. “Me neither,” he assured her, and set his mouth on her skin.

“Oh wow.” She shifted her grip from his head to his shoulders, and from there down to his upper arms where his triceps stood out in sharp relief and made her dizzy with lust.