The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men (10 page)

Oh, God, they were gonna be good together.

Then, behind them, sudden laughter.

They both froze.

Then it came again, on the other side of the door, more laughter. A scuffle. Giggles. The wood panel behind Eve vibrated as the door to the room behind them slammed.

Two voices—not theirs—moaned in passionate abandon.

Nash took a moment to consider. Did he have a chance of distracting Eve from their unwelcome neighbors with another kiss, or had the mood cooled?

She shoved at his chest.

Cooled.

She shoved again, harder.

Okay. The mood was definitely dead.

Cursing in silence, Nash stepped back. He saw the whites of her eyes as she put her finger across her lips. He nodded, then followed her as she did a tiptoe dash away from the door, her high heels soundless against the tiled floor. They withdrew to the far side of the bathroom, putting the maximum possible distance between themselves and the couple in the adjacent room.

When she dropped to the ledge of the sunken tub, he took a seat opposite, on the commode.
Hell.
He had to shift his weight and adjust his damn pants for
comfort, since his cock had yet to catch up to its unpleasant change in circumstance. He glanced over at Eve.

“Sorry,” he whispered, trying to sound pleasant. Comically chagrined instead of flat-out still frickin' horny. No point in letting her know how high she'd driven his lust.

She shook her head in…bemusement? Anger? Frustration? It was too dark to make out the expression on her face. Then he heard her take in a short breath, let it out. An irritated huff. “I don't suppose we could sneak out unnoticed,” she said.

A muffled giggle floated through the door. “I don't suppose,” he answered.

“Meaning we're stuck here until they're done.” Now there was a distinct snap in her voice.

Obviously, she wasn't taking the situation with good humor. Well, he wasn't happy either. This was supposed to have been his one-time, superbeauty stand. Crossing his arms over his chest, he swallowed another curse. “‘Stuck'? Gee, darlin', you could at least try to hold back your enthusiasm.”

“Well, it's all your fault.” Her toe began a silent
tap-tap-tap
.

She was pissed. Definitely pissed. As if he'd dragged her in without her full compliance. Frustration rose from that uncomfortable place in his lap, and he gritted his teeth. “Next time you put your tongue in my mouth I'll be sure to remember that means ‘no.'”

The comment shut her up for thirty seconds or so. Then she slid her palms down her thighs as if they were damp and popped to her feet. “This”—her whisper had an icy edge to it—“is
really
all your fault.”

His fingers curled into fists, but then he forced
himself to relax them. There was no reason to feel a sudden urge to hit something. The superbeauty was as hot as they came, but missing a chance for some standout sex was not a good reason to get all worked up. He stretched his legs in front of him and reminded himself that he could use his fist to quell his frustration later tonight…alone in a lukewarm shower.

She paced silently to the door, then spun around and came back toward him. As she neared, he could hear her shallow, fast breaths.

Wait a minute. Too shallow, too fast.

Narrowing his eyes, he leaned forward, trying to figure out what was fueling her agitation. It could just be desire thwarted, he supposed. Or simply a bad girl in a bad mood. But as Eve took another jerky turn around the small room, his belly knotted, like it had done when he'd been worried about Jem. When she approached him again, he caught her hand.

“Jesus!”
Her skin felt frozen and her fingers trembled within the cage of his. “Eve, what's wrong?”

“Nothing.” She tried tugging, but he wouldn't let her get away. “Let me go.”

He shifted his hand to feel her pulse. It raced against his fingertips. Was she having a heart attack or something? Had he found Jem only to lose Eve? His belly knot jerked tight.

“Are you sick?” he whispered urgently.

“No,” she whispered back, then he heard her take in a long, shuddering breath. “I'm claustrophobic. And if you don't let go of me right now, I'll scream.”

C
laustrophobic?” Nash repeated, rising. He kept hold of Eve's hand. “Then let's get out of here.”

“No.”
They were both still whispering, but she said the word as loud as she dared. If they left the bathroom, not only would they interrupt the couple making use of the room next door but the couple making use of the room next door would also know they'd interrupted her and Nash. “I can wait it out.”

She'd have to. Beyond the fact that she didn't care for others to know her business, there was Vince to consider. Restarting their romantic relationship was out of the question, but he might become suspicious of those lunch dates she was promoting if it became public she was seeing someone else.

Her mind tripped over the thought. She wasn't thinking of “seeing” Nash…was she?

Yanking her hand out of his, she took another silent turn about the room, trying to calm her rabbity heartbeat even though the walls were crawling toward her. “I can handle this,” she mouthed. She was strong, independent. A Caruso. “I can handle this.”

She could. She would. No matter that instinct was urging her to run straight through the closed door like a cartoon character, leaving an Eve-sized hole behind.

Her shoulder brushed Nash's chest on her next lap around the room. “Do you have to loom?” she asked from between her teeth. Now the ceiling had lowered, she was sure of it.

“Testy, are we?”

She could feel the weight of his gaze, just something else making it hard to breathe. Her fingertips brushed the closed door at the other end of the growing-smaller space, and she did her best to sound casual. “A little aftereffect from an unpleasant childhood experience.”

He was still watching her as she made another few trips around the room. “Have you considered talking to someone about it?” There was a note in his voice that might have been judgment or maybe even disdain. The perfect Preacher thinking the flock wasn't entitled to its neuroses.

“I don't need a shrink to tell me that I panic in confined spaces,” she retorted. “Or why, for that matter.”

“So why do you?”

She wiped her sweaty palms on her dress. “What would compel me to tell you?”

“Confession is good for the soul,” he offered.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she countered.

“Your cat almost killed
me.
”

Her feet halted and a laugh bubbled up. Eve clapped her hands over her mouth. The walls moved out a
fraction and she found herself able to inhale a decent breath. Then the memories dropped back like a shroud. Darkness. Hide. Quiet.
Don't let anyone know you're here.

Look out for #1.

Halfway into her lungs, her breath hitched and she felt herself hyperventilating again. Despite the dots of dizziness flying around the edges of her vision, she restarted her pacing, desperate to distance herself from the feeling that she was being buried alive.

“Can you tell me just one thing, darlin'?” Nash's drawl was thicker than the suffocating air. “Am I safe? Because right now I'm a tad bit worried that you're Glen Close and I'm Michael Landon's family bunny.”

She saw red in the dark room and stopped in front of him to whisper furiously. “So you're saying you think I'm nuts? Or that I'm acting a part here? I was traumatized, I'll have you know. By our very own federal government.”

“What, they confiscated your hot rollers?”

She was outraged into a full breath. “They broke into our house and stole all our money!”

“Who?” He sounded as if he didn't believe her.

“The FBI, that's who. My father's missing for a few days and they come in with crowbars and flashlights and hands…all their damn hands. Joey and I had to get away from them.”

Her little sister had dived beneath her bed.

“Where'd you go, Eve?”

“The closet.” It was still there in her head, that dark, coffinlike space. Clothes brushing against her face. Her back to the farthest corner, her butt on the cold hard floor. Already she'd been taller than Bianca and Téa, so she'd folded her long legs close to her chest and wrapped her long arms over her head as the
gravel-voiced agents yanked open drawers and tore into walls.

The sound of her whole world coming apart.

“They found Joey first,” she heard herself say. “Pulled her out by her ankles. She was yelling at them to leave her alone. Crying, sobbing.” Eve's hands crept over her ears as they'd done that day sixteen years ago. “I should have done something to save her.”

“Did they hurt her?”

It was like a movie playing in her head. “They smashed her piggy bank and then they threw her out of the room.”

Quiet. Quiet. Don't let anyone know you're here,
ordered the cowardly voice in Eve's head.

“And then they found you.”

“After tearing our bedroom apart. After dumping out every drawer and separating the mattresses from the box springs. They sliced them open, looking for money.” Then the closet door had flung open, she'd heard the screech of hangers against the wooden pole, seen the big hand in a surgical glove—making her feel dirty, tainted—that yanked her through the clothes to stand under the bright overhead light.

In the hall on the other side of the doorway had sat a white plastic hamper—their plastic hamper—piled high with green bills. Some of those dollars her daddy would have given her just for being pretty. All gone, just like him. All gone.

She swayed.

“Eve.” The voice sounded from a far distance.

“Eve.”
Nash's voice. “Breathe.”

But air couldn't make it past her tight throat.

He pushed her down on the bathtub ledge and lowered himself to the commode across from her. “Inhale,
Eve. Through your nose. Then breathe it out through your mouth.”

“Can't.”

His hands found hers. “Close your eyes.”

“Nash—”

He squeezed her fingers. “Close your eyes.”

She was too dizzy to disobey him. His grip was warm and firm, and this time it felt secure, not imprisoning. Her lashes fell.

“Imagine a wide-open field with tall grass,” he murmured, leaning close to her ear. “There are dandelions. Butterflies. Take a long breath of the warm air and let it out slow.”

Her frantic heart felt too big for her chest. There wasn't room for her lungs, let alone for air inside of them.

“Take the breath, Party Girl, or I'll spank you like a doctor delivering a baby.”

The image pierced the dizziness. Nash and his spanking fixation made her want to laugh. She gasped in a breath.

“Now let it out slow.”

She managed to do that, too.

“Good. That's good. There's a blanket on the grass, Eve. See it? Now keep breathing and stretch out on it. Let the sun warm your skin.”

But Eve was shivering. “Cold,” she murmured. “I'm so cold.”

“I'll fix that.” His knees bumped hers as he leaned closer. “Long breath in, long breath out. That's right. Keep breathing.”

She felt him gather her in his arms. That wasn't right. She could handle this all by herself. “Nash—”

“Breathe in, breathe out,” he instructed, pulling her onto his lap. “Now keep using your imagination. You've wrapped the blanket around your shoulders.”

It was his arms that were around her. “You're toasty, Eve. Comfortable. Snug as a bug in a rug.”

And she was beginning to be. His slow Southern voice was calming her pulse, his body heat was seeping into her frozen bones, melting her icy panic.

“This is why you ran out of the supply closet that day,” Nash said.

It had been part of the reason. She'd been uncomfortable in the enclosed space and nervous about his big size…and then spooked by that sound of flesh hitting flesh. Without opening her eyes, she leaned the back of her head against his chest. “Uh-huh.”

“Yet tonight you let me pull you into a dark bathroom.”

“I was distracted at the time.” There was no point in denying it. She could feel his chest rising and falling behind her, and she synced her breathing with his. She was calm now. The grass in the field smelled like Nash and the snuggly blanket surrounding her was more muscular than she usually liked, but she'd fought the phobia and won!

Or Nash had fought it for her.

No.
No.
She could save herself. She only ever had herself to rely on. Her body struggled against him, trying to get up, get away. Be independent.

He tightened his hold on her and growled in her ear. “Do I have to distract you again?”

She turned her head toward his to tell him exactly what he could do with his distraction—

And he covered her mouth with his lips.

She made a sound from the back of her throat. It was a protest, of course. But a quiet one, because there was still a reason to be silent…

…some reason…

But the details of it fled as he hitched her closer and kissed her harder. Her mouth opened beneath the pressure and he slid his tongue along the edges of her lips, painting the insides of them with a gentle touch. Heat flushed over her body and she reached out with her own tongue to meet his. They slid against each other like reunited lovers. Wet and warm. Wanting.

Turning on his lap, she twined her arms around his neck. It was so good to breathe again. Feel. Taste. Feel and taste Nash.

She'd worry later about showing him her weakness.

His tongue moved deeper into her mouth. She wiggled, and beneath her bottom, Nash was aroused.

Okay. Good. They were equal then, because she was aroused too. His hand slid from her waist to cup her breast, and her nipple beaded to an almost painful tightness. He brushed his thumb over it, and over and over, until she pressed her breast into his hand. He tightened his fingers on the hard bud, pinching her through her clothes until she moaned how right it felt into his mouth.

His other hand tightened on her hip, then he dropped the teasing fingers from her breast to her knees, bared by her rucked-up skirt. His hot flesh palmed her skin, stroking her from knee to thigh.

Alarmed voices started chattering somewhere in the far recesses of her mind. Rational voices.
He doesn't approve of you. He doesn't like you. He's The Preacher and you're the Party Girl. Right now you've got big problems and you don't need to add a man like this one to the mix.

But that wasn't going to happen. He wasn't going to intrude on the mess that she'd made of things. Because he didn't approve of her, because he didn't like her, he wasn't entering her life. He was just the hot tongue in her mouth, the fast thrum of her heart, that firm, caressing hand on her skin. She could have just this. This moment.

It was so, so much better than being alone in the dark.

She pressed close to his chest.

No one would know. There was just the two of them in the room, and Nash wouldn't be telling. He might pray for their souls later, but he wouldn't confess to anyone what they'd been doing.

“Open your legs for me, Party Girl,” he murmured against her mouth, sliding his forefinger along the seam between her clenched knees. He drew it upward, opening her thighs. When he reached their juncture, he cupped her.

Her body clenched, and she jerked against him. He murmured soothing nonsense, kissing her chin, her cheeks, her ear, as he pushed her microfiber panties into the swollen folds of her sex. “You feel so hot, so soft, here,” he said. He rubbed his cheek against hers, and the sandpaper sensation of his whiskers prickled more heat across her flesh.

Everywhere.

“Eve…” He drew his finger along the triangle of the panties, to the hipline, and then back down the crease of her thighs. Her legs opened wider and his fingers teased across the damp fabric. “Eve,” he murmured again. “I want in.”

She squeezed her eyes tighter.

“Please, darlin',” he said again. “I want in.”

And apparently someone else did too, because there was a sudden thud against the bathroom door. They both jerked toward it.

Oh, no!

“I can get it,” a man's voice muttered from the other room. “It's probably just stuck.” There was another thump, and then the door popped open. Light flooded the small space.

Oh, God. No.

Dazzled by the light, Eve rapidly blinked at whoever had discovered them. Nash had already hot-potatoed his hands from their illicit location, but one arm was curled about her waist and the palm of the other hand rested on her knee.

Eve shoved it off her skin and shot up from Nash's lap, staring, aghast, as she finally took in the man standing in the doorway. “Johnny?”

There was a sparkle in the man's blue eyes and a sheepish smile on his face. “That's me. Téa and I have been apart for a week, and, uh, well, you know. Then she wanted to fix her makeup in the mirror. I didn't realize…”

A disheveled Téa peered at them from behind her fiancé's shoulder. “Eve? And…Nash?”

Eve sighed, ignoring a sudden throbbing in her head, as well as the residual throbbing…elsewhere. “Nash, you know my sister, of course, but this is my almost brother-in-law, Johnny Magee.”

She didn't like the unholy grin overtaking Johnny's face as he stepped into the room and held out his hand to the other man. She hadn't wanted anyone to find them together, but at least it was only Johnny and Téa. Though she was still an idiot for getting herself in
this position with Nash, at least it was family. That had to make it okay, right?

Except Nash didn't look as if it was okay with him as he rose to shake Johnny's hand. He looked wary. “Pleased to meet you.”

And maybe he had reason for that wariness, because Johnny's grin only grew bigger. “Likewise. And as Eve's closest male almost-relative on the premises, I think I now get to ask…exactly what are your intentions?”