Tangled Up in Love (15 page)

His mouth pulled down in a frown as he considered that. What did it mean? What did it say about her?

Was she cheap or just being frugal? Or maybe she was in trouble financially.

She shouldn’t be, since she probably earned only slightly less than he did with her job at the
Sentinel
and she seemed to be living well within her means. Of
course, he had no idea if she’d racked up a boatload of debt or had a gambling problem.

Somehow, he couldn’t see her getting carried away with online poker or putting money down at the track. Betting on next fall’s most popular colors, maybe, but not the ponies.

He wasn’t sure what was going on with her or why she felt the need to put on such a show when the real Ronnie was apparently more down-to-earth than she let on, but he planned to find out.

“Did you fall asleep in there?” her groggy voice called out, jerking him out of his reverie. Although he shouldn’t feel guilty just for snooping through her bathroom, his conscience gave a small twinge, sending heat to his cheekbones.

Straightening from his crouched position in front of the sink, he opened the door and stalked back out into the living area. “I was just looking for those extra condoms you said you had. I expected you to fall asleep, though.”

Her lashes fluttered as her eyes popped open, but she didn’t raise her head from the arm of the couch. “I just need a few minutes to recharge. Did you find them?”

He shook the box in his hand, relieved when more than one packet shuffled around inside.

“I hope they’re still good.”

“How old are they?” he asked.

She made a face, letting her eyes slide closed again. “How long has it been since Bush Senior was in office?”

Her deadpan reply nearly made him laugh out loud. She might drive him crazy 95 percent of the time, but she did have a great sense of humor.

Reaching the sofa, he patted the right cheek of her sexy bare ass before gently lifting her legs to slip beneath them and sit down. He draped them back across his lap, leaving her on her side, and studied the box.

“Let’s see if the fine folks at Trojan can tell us what we need to know.”

When the back of the box didn’t reveal a “use by” date, he started flipping it end to end. There, along one of the openings, was a stamp of the product ID number and a date.

Praise Jesus. “We’re good for another six months.”

That brought Ronnie’s head up a couple of inches. “Really?”

“Yep.” He pried the end with the expiration date open and dumped the contents onto the coffee table. It was a box of twelve and there were nine left.

One brow shot toward the ceiling as he considered that. He had no business wondering when she’d used the other three or with whom . . . but, dammit,
he did
. And he wanted to kick the anonymous Mr. Lucky’s ass.

Which was a completely ridiculous thought for him to be having. He wasn’t planning to marry Ronnie, he just wanted to shag her for a few hours. Or maybe a few days here or there, scattered throughout a few months.

Point being, he wasn’t the first man she’d been with and he wasn’t going to be the last, so he should stop worrying about things he couldn’t change and shouldn’t care about to begin with, and get back in the game.

Leaving the condoms where they were, he stretched out in the narrow space between Ronnie and the sofa back and brushed her hair aside to kiss the back of her neck.

“Ready for number three?”

She moaned, but he didn’t miss the slight shift of her bottom tilting closer to his groin.

“Are
you
?”

He chuckled, his teeth nipping lightly at the lobe of her ear. “I don’t need to be ready. This bet doesn’t require
me
to come thirteen times in one night, only you.”

She moaned again, turning her face away. “Remind me to keep my mouth shut from now on.”

His lips continued to trail down the side of her neck, over her shoulder, along the line of her upper arm, while his hand sneaked around her front to toy with the firm globes of her breasts.

“That’s been my recommendation on many occasions, if you recall. You never seem to take my advice.”

“I will from now on, I swear.”

He chuckled. “Right. The day that happens, be sure to alert the media.” Pausing a moment for effect, he added, “Oh, wait, I am the media.”

His joke was rewarded with an airy laugh. But it didn’t last long when his fingers wandered lower. She made a mewling sound in the back of her throat and arched into him.

He was no superman, and no perpetually erect porn star, either. But even if he’d been three hours in his grave, feeling the soft curve of her buttocks pressed against his crotch would have given him a chubby.

“Roll over,” he whispered, keeping a hand at her waist while she moved closer to the edge of the couch so she wouldn’t accidentally topple over. At the same time, he got up on one knee and straddled her.

She was on her stomach now, head turned to the side, her cheek resting on her folded arms. Gathering the long strands of her dark hair, he twisted the mass
into a makeshift ponytail to make room for his hands to gently knead the line of muscle between neck and shoulder.

“Mmmm. Is this one of those Happy Ending massages I’ve heard so much about?”

He smiled, continuing to work his way over her shoulder blades and along the slim expanse of her back. Her muscles were anything but tense, so she probably didn’t really need a massage, but he was enjoying himself. And getting her all soft and pliant was one step closer to giving her a third orgasm.

“It could be.”

“Would it be politically incorrect for me to say I’m glad you aren’t a petite Asian woman?”

He laughed aloud at that one. “Probably, but I won’t turn you in, since I concur. If you’re not careful, though, I still might walk on your back.”

“If it feels as good as this,” she told him, “go right ahead.”

He crawled backward, coming to rest at her knees rather than—as much as he’d liked the position—over her ass. The tattoo emblazoned high on her left butt cheek caught him off guard, sending a bolt of desire from his chest, to his gut, to his balls, which tightened at the sight.

It shouldn’t have jolted him quite so much, since he’d known it was there somewhere. He’d just never seen it before. And even though she’d been naked much of the evening, she’d mostly been facing him, giving him little chance to view that portion of her posterior until now.

Major oversight on his part. He should have yanked her skirt down and turned her around first thing.

He’d speculated about this tattoo, wondering where it was and what it meant. Brushing his palm over the fancy black Chinese symbols, he slid his hand down another fraction until he could lean forward and press his lips to the design.

“I’ve fantasized about this tattoo, you know.”

He didn’t know what possessed him to make the confession, but there it was.

“As amused as I was by your determination to go through with that particular challenge, I respected you for it, too.”

She shifted slightly, turning her head a fraction to look back at him. “Lots of people have tattoos,” she told him. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yeah, but most people actually
want
a tattoo and go into it with enthusiasm, knowing what they want inked on their bodies for the rest of their lives. Somehow I can’t picture you as being interested in body art or already having a design in mind.”

“No, you’re right. It took me a while to work up the courage . . . and to decide what to get and where to put it.”

“Good choice, on both counts. But I have to admit, I’m dying to know what this symbol means.” He ran his fingertips over it again, a feather-light touch that brought goose bumps to her bare flesh.

Twisting at her waist, she came half around to meet his gaze. A hint of a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth, and a glint of mischief danced in her chocolate-brown eyes. “Are you sure? I don’t think you’ll like it very much.”

“I can handle it,” he assured her, not sure whether to be worried or amused.

Shrugging one slim shoulder, she said, “Fuck you.”

The sudden verbal assault made him blink. They’d been having a good time, an amicable time, even. He hadn’t expected her to turn on him and tell him off quite so succinctly.

“I was about to,” he replied flippantly, and though he considered climbing off her to go in search of his pants, he didn’t move.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s what it means. It’s the Chinese equivalent of ‘Fuck you.’ ” An airy chuckle spilled past her lips. “I was none too happy with you at the time, and if I had to permanently mark my body with something I didn’t really want, I figured it should be memorable and mean something. ‘Fuck you’ seemed to sum up my feelings pretty well. It wasn’t easy to track down the symbol, though . . . Grace and Jenna helped me with that.”

Dylan studied her for a minute or two, letting her explanation sink in. It wasn’t every day a woman branded herself with an invective directed at one specific person, and even though he felt like a complete dope because of it, he was ridiculously pleased to be that person.

For the rest of her life, she would wear that tattoo.

For the rest of her life, every time she saw herself naked in the mirror, she would be reminded of him.

Every time she slept with some random jerk-off, he might not know it, but he’d be looking at or stroking a brand that said Dylan Stone had been there first. Long before he’d gotten her into bed, he’d been in her periphery, in her head, under her skin.

“Have I ever told you that you’re a very scary woman?” he asked.

“Scary in a good way, or scary in a bad way?”

He grunted, not sure whether to be amused or intimidated. “Both.”

“Thanks. I think. I just hope the damn thing really does mean what I think it means. We did the best research we could, but I may never know for sure if I got it right. For all I know, I may have ‘Made in China’ stamped on my ass.”

She slapped a hand across her face and rolled her head back and forth on the arm of the sofa. “God,” she groaned, “do you have any idea how angry I was with you over that challenge? I wanted to kill you, and now here I am having sex with you. I need serious counseling.”

Biting the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing, he said, “I’ll keep that in mind for a future column.”

The hand fell away and her eyes went wide. “Don’t you dare,” she warned, her voice going low and as close to
The Exorcism of Emily Rose
as he’d ever heard it. “If you print a word of anything I’ve told you or of anything that happens here tonight, I swear to God you’ll be sorry.”

“Oh, yeah?” he taunted, this abrupt confrontation turning his blood hot and sending it rapidly to all the right places. “What will you do?”

She sat up a fraction more, flames leaping in her wide, round eyes. “I’ll rip open your chest and carve the Chinese symbol for ‘Fuck you’ into your still-beating heart. And then . . .”

Quick as a shot, her hand darted out to grab him by the danglies. He yelped and tried to pull back, but she held him tight, her fingers flexing on the verge of painful around both his dick and his tea bags. Shit, this woman meant business, and she
was not
messing around.

When she spoke again, her tone was frighteningly soft and calm, a full-180 switch from seconds before. “And then I’ll get nasty.”

For a moment, they both remained perfectly still. She seemed determined to make her point, and he was afraid of being the recipient of a sex change he hadn’t signed up for.

Then he swallowed and inclined his head. “Got it. Tonight is off the record, no exceptions.”

When she smiled sweetly and loosened her hold on the family scepter and jewels, fresh air flooded his lungs.

“Thank you.” She released him entirely and laid back down. “Now, shall we continue on our way to number three?”

How she could go from threatening his life—and worse, his manhood—to being ready for another round of mind-blowing sex in the space of a heartbeat only confirmed his belief that she was a scary, scary woman.

So how demented was it, then, that he found himself growing harder than before and even more eager to be inside her again?

Yep, she was scary, all right, but he was obviously one sick puppy.

“Turn over,” he growled out, determined to reassert his masculinity and return the testosterone level in the room to an even keel.

“Why?” she asked, eyeing him suspiciously. “You aren’t going to spank me for grabbing your crotch, are you?”

At that suggestion and the image it invoked, his dick trembled and headed a fraction farther north.

“Maybe,” he said, careful to keep his expression
blank. “But if you don’t roll over, then the answer is definitely.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her dry lips before she did as he’d commanded, sliding back to rest on her stomach. Only the stiff line of her spine alluded to the fact that she wasn’t entirely at ease.

For several long minutes, he stayed where he was, simply staring at her. Taking in every curl, every curve, every dip and plane.

Then he reached out for a condom packet, deciding he might need one soon, after all.

Ronnie awakened slowly to sun streaming through her bedroom window and every muscle in her body aching from overuse. Squinting against the bright light, she turned her head to find Dylan stretched out beside her.

He was flat on his back, spread-eagle, looking about as dead to the world as a person could get. And no small wonder, after the energy he’d exerted last night. He’d brought her off time and time again—with his mouth, his fingers, his cock. He’d taken her in ways she hadn’t known were possible. On her back, on her side, straddling him, sitting on his lap . . .

Her favorite, she thought—if she could even pick a favorite out of the myriad pleasures she’d experienced all through the wee hours—had been when he’d bent her forward over the back of the sofa and fucked her silly while she stared through the open curtains at the shining city lights against a blanket of black.

She remembered wondering at one point if anyone could see them; if some voyeur might be out there with a pair of binoculars, watching as Dylan made her
scream. The possibility had only heightened her pleasure and the ensuing orgasm.