The Care and Feeding of Unmarried Men (21 page)

That was it. There was no fight left in him. His hips lifted. His cock—he couldn't help it!—tapped on her lower lip, demanding entrance again. And with a last little smile, she opened and took him in. Deep.

Desire flashed like lightning through his blood. Somehow she had his shirt unbuttoned now, her hands were all over his chest, and she was taking him deeper, sucking harder.

Showing her inexperience, because as she moved down the shaft her teeth scraped along the sensitive flesh. He swallowed his moan and pushed his shoulders back against the cushions. Eve had never done this before, he could tell.

She'd really never done this before.

But it didn't matter, because whatever she
did
do was so damn good, every scrape, every shift of unpracticed lips made it so much more special, because it was Eve who was touching him.

And she was so damn, damn special.

“Eve. Honey. You're so pretty. Beautiful. Your mouth feels so good.” A litany of say-anything blow-job praise tumbled from his mouth. But he wanted more. He wanted to feel her, naked against him, him, hard inside of her.

The climax was coming fast and hard on him. “Eve.”
He tugged at her hair, but she ignored him, running the flat of her tongue in barbershop stripes down his pole. It was such a crazy turn-on that he wanted her to do it for the rest of the night. For forever.

But heat was pulsing up from his heels and pulling his balls up tight against his body. They needed a bed. They needed to make it to the bed.

He put his hands under her arms to lift her away.

“No,” she said, shaking her head so the ends of her golden hair swirled around the juncture of his thighs.

“Eve. Honey. You've got to stop.”

“No.”

His laugh was breathless. “Seriously. If you trust me, then believe me when I say you've got to stop.”

She looked up. Lifted her mouth. Smiled. “Oh, Nash. That's the whole point. When we trust each other, we don't have to stop. I want everything you have to give. No holding back, no holding out. Right now I want the man who drops everything to rescue his sister and the man who drives a big, silly truck and I want the man who makes me want to do this.”

And then she took him again, took him toward her heart, and he lost everything to her. He gave everything to her. He lost it all.

He won it all.

When he could think again, breathe, remember his name, he looked down to find her collapsed onto her knees, her head pillowed on his thighs. She'd fallen asleep.

God, how long had his post-orgasm coma lasted?

But he was calm, now. Almost content.

He stroked her hair, pushed it away from her face. How young she looked. Still flushed. The superbeauty
had finally lost her supercool. Sitting up, he slid his hands under her arms. As he stood, he lifted her against his chest.

She protested in a drowsy voice but turned her face into his neck.

Turnabout was fair play, but she looked too tired for more sex tonight. He carried her over to the bed, pulled off her shoes, then rolled her in that cloudlike comforter. Without her eyes opening, her cheek burrowed into one of the six pillows.

Nash walked slowly about, turning off the lights. Then, remembering her claustrophobia, he returned to the bathroom, flipped the switch, and half-closed the door.

His gaze trained on her dimly illuminated, sleeping face, he shed his clothes, then crawled into that burrow of covers with her to spoon her body. Hadn't he wanted her to go away? Yet here she was, closer to him than ever. She'd rejected his claim of being like his father, he suddenly recalled, because she claimed to know violent men.

A thought suddenly struck.
Good God
.

Oh, good God.
He didn't know where the idea had come from, but he knew…he knew…

His arms tightened around her. He put his mouth beside her ear, feeling her silky blonde hair against his face. “Who hurt you, Eve?” he whispered. “Who beat you?”

Her body stiffened, the questions penetrating her sleep. Would she trust him? Did she really trust him?

Nash held his breath.

“Nino,” she finally said. “It was Nino.”

Nash left it at that, only tucking her more closely against him. It didn't take long for her body to relax
again and for her breathing to even out. He held her there, against his pounding heart, and though he knew she wouldn't want it, didn't need it, would never ask for it or be grateful for it, he stood guard over her sleep until it was light.

A
re you running away from me again?” Nash asked as he ducked under the canopy and slid into the passenger seat of one of the Kona Kai golf carts.

Eve's fingers stilled on the ignition key and her belly fluttered, but she turned her head to send him a cool glance. “I've never run from a man in my life.”

She'd never been at a man's feet—and why had that made her feel both powerful and vulnerable?—either. It was that wild, hot, poignant memory of last night that she was trying to distance herself from. He'd been asleep when she'd rolled silently out of his bed this morning, but apparently in the time it had taken to shower and change, figure out that her crummy Hyundai wouldn't start, and snag the golf-cart keys, he'd managed to wake up, shower, and go looking for her.

His hair was damp, but there was a sexy, gritty
shadow of whiskers against his chin. He hadn't taken the time to shave.

Resisting a little shiver, she cleared her throat. “You're not spending the morning with Jemima? You usually do.”

Nash pulled his cell phone out of the front pocket of his jeans, checked that it was on, then shoved it back inside. “She's sleeping in, she said, and then she has some aromatherapy thing booked.” He gave her a pointed look. “Which means I'm all yours.”

But he wasn't. He never would be.

Instead of directly answering, she turned the key. “I'm going for coffee.”

His eyebrows rose. “The Kona Kai out of beans?”

The Kona Kai was gated, walled, completely enclosed. And today, instead of seeming like a safe haven, it had seemed dangerous. Too fenced in.

“Widening my horizons.” She glanced around at the surrounding mountains. Distances were so odd in the desert. The San Gorgonio Mountains were far across the valley, yet thanks to the dry air and the unrelenting azure blue of the sky, their details were stark to the eye. Taking in deep gulps of oxygen, she drove the cart out of the parking lot and into the street, heading for “the Village,” as the downtown area of Palm Springs was known.

“Eve.”

When she didn't respond, he touched her cheek. “Eve,
darlin'
.”

Those distant mountains seemed to move in now, locking her breath in her lungs. She knew what he wanted to know. It was something she never talked about, but just those two words in that slow, low voice of his were so hard to hold out against.

She joined the busy four-lane traffic on one of the main thoroughfares. Being crowded by Caddies and Mercedes and elegant SUVs gave her an excuse not to look at him. “I guess it wasn't a dream last night, then.”

“Some of it was pure fantasy for me, but no, none of it was a dream.”

When she'd gone to his room the night before, she'd been surprised, then distressed by his reaction to the events in the bar. He'd thought they'd made him ugly, when instead what she'd seen, what she'd
known,
was that he was a man good from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

It was all she could do not to weep about what he'd told her, and she never cried over a man. Instead, it had been her great pleasure to show him how beautiful she found him. How trustworthy. Even now, her skin prickled at the memory, and a shiver danced down her spine. Nash, heavy and hot in her mouth, his enjoyment her delight, his gratification her titillation, his satisfaction her bliss.

Well, if he'd thought his life experiences had tainted him, then maybe he would believe this one of hers tainted her, too. That would be okay. Good. Exactly what she needed. Because putting space between her and The Preacher became more of a necessity with every passing minute.

She braked at a red light. “At eighteen, I thought I already knew everything there was to know about men.”

“But you didn't know Nino.”

“I didn't know enough about Nino, anyway.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact. “He was older, very possessive. I found that exciting at first, and then I found it stifling. When I broke it off, he—”

“Hurt you.” Nash's neutral tone mirrored her own. “How bad?”

“Bruises here and there. Two black eyes. A split lip.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Nash's fingers tighten on his thighs, but his voice remained oh-so-calm. “Did you press charges?”

She shook her head. “I didn't tell anyone but Téa, for several reasons. Political reasons. Family reasons.”
Mafia
reasons, but she figured he could read that between the lines.

“But—”

“He's never hurt me again. He wouldn't.” She didn't think so, anyway. But Nino never stopped watching, she knew that.

“You were just eighteen? How the hell did you keep the beating a secret?”

The light changed, and she carefully pressed down on the accelerator, not letting her emotions get the best of her. Nash was sure to find this whole account repellent. He was sure to find
her
repellent, which was all to the good. “I excel at keeping things to myself.”

There was a long silence. The Preacher was taking it all in, she figured, cataloging who she was and what the Party Girl had been a party to in her past.
She
wasn't ashamed of it—her experiences and her family made up the whole cloth of who she was—but now he would certainly take those steps back that she needed.

There was a lot about the Carusos and about her that a man like Nash Cargill would find too dark—and he didn't even know the half of it.

Still, his quiet was stretching her nerves taut. Maybe she should slow down so he could jump out at the intersection, thus removing himself from her offensive presence.

At the next red light, she glanced over at him.

His head turned toward her, and his words exploded into the air. “Jesus Hayseed Christ, Eve!”

It was so not what she'd expected—
Let me out, Eve, this is way too weird for me,
or
The Mafia connection is getting a might too close for comfort
—that a laugh was startled out of her. “Jesus
Hayseed
Christ?”

His big hand reached out and cupped her cheek with a gentle touch. “Oh, darlin',” he whispered, then his mouth pressed a soft kiss onto hers. And then another. “What else could the ‘H' stand for?”

She could only stare at him, and at that half-frustrated, half-bemused light in his eyes. This man, who worried he was violent, touched her in a million tender ways. Her skin heated, her stomach fluttered with nerves, her hand went to her forehead, and she swore she could feel another pimple forming.

Oh God, oh God
. He'd asked what else could the “H” stand for.

How about, How could this be happening?

How about, How come he wasn't running the other way as fast as he could?

How about, How could she say good-bye to a man who said “Jesus Hayseed Christ”?

Instead, Nash chucked her under the chin. “Light's changed, Party Girl.”

She started, then faced forward again and pressed the accelerator. These physical symptoms had to be some sort of illness. She'd thought that before. It was something she'd caught in the days since she'd met Nash, she decided again, with a heavy feeling of dread. Because no man ever—

The thought jumped out of her head as a black limo knifed over from the lane beside hers. Its red rear lights flared. Eve gasped, then stomped on the golf-cart's brakes and instinctively threw her arm over Nash's chest.

He shoved her hand aside. “Is somebody trying to kill us?”

“No.” She hauled on his elbow as he tried climbing out of the cart. “It's my grandfather.” Her mood lifting, she jerked the wheel right to edge over to the curb. “I'll be back in a second.”

The limo had parked at the side of the road as well. Eve ran to the rear door and pulled it open. This was exactly what she needed. A quick dose of her grandfather Cosimo, who would remind her of the woman she was. Strong, ruthless even, no pushover for anyone, including Nash Cargill.

“Grandpa!” As she slid onto the wide backseat, a shadow darkened the car's doorway. Then Nash was stepping inside the car too, his long, muscular leg pressing against hers so she was forced further along the slick leather.

“Cara
.
”
Her grandfather shot a quick, assessing look at Nash, then turned his attention back to her. “I hope I didn't startle you and your friend, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to say
buon giorno
.”

She smiled at him, then leaned forward to kiss both his cheeks. “You made Nash nervous, but I'm so glad to see you.”

“Nash doesn't look like a nervous man to me.” He raised his silvery eyebrows at Eve. “An introduction,
per favore
?”

“Of course.” She half-turned on the seat. “Nash, this
is my grandfather, Cosimo Caruso. Grandpa, meet Nash Cargill. He's a guest at the spa.”

“Is that right? And a businessman, I think? You drive those enormous trucks too,
sí
?”

“Yes.”

The two men shook hands, Nash frowning. Eve guessed it didn't sit well with him that Cosimo was already familiar with his resumé. She smiled, glad again. “That's my grandfather.”

She'd intended to visit with Cosimo alone, but this was better. Much better. Just in case Nash was romanticizing or minimizing the idea of the California Mafia, one look at her grandfather should clear that up. In a European-cut suit colored something between rose and taupe, with a matching silk shirt and tie, he appeared wealthy and powerful. But the power wasn't in the clothes, it was in the watchful glint in his dark eyes and the fierce aura that surrounded him. This man was the real deal.

Once meeting Cosimo Caruso, one couldn't forget he was California's
capo di tutti cappi
.

And the boss of bosses never wasted a moment. “So, you're spending time with my granddaughter?” he asked Nash.

Leaning back against the cushions, Eve hid her smile. The honed steel behind the words should scare even a monster-truck driver away. Of course he would deny it.

Nash crossed his arms over his chest and sat back beside her. “Yes.”

Eve jolted upright. “No, we're not.”

He flicked her a glance. “Yes, we are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Cara,”
Cosimo interjected. “As your sister Joey would say, cut the gentleman some slack. You're here, he's here, the two of you are spending time together, at least
this
moment in time.”

Nash shot her a grin. “Exactly.”

Eve sighed. “Fine. But ‘for the moment' is the operative phrase.”

Cosimo laughed. “I don't envy you,” he told Nash.

“Hey—”

The sound of a cell ringtone interrupted her protest. Nash pulled out his phone and frowned down at the screen. “Excuse me,” he said. “I have to take this, it's my sister.” He stepped out of the car and onto the sidewalk.

“Nice young man,” Cosimo remarked.

“He's not nice…well, he's
very
nice, but I don't want you or anyone else getting the wrong idea.”

“I heard he helped out with an unpleasant situation in the Kona Kai bar last night.”

Cosimo had spies—or maybe just Nino—everywhere. She shrugged. “I could have handled it.”

“Ah,
cara
. But you don't always have to handle things alone. You need to learn that. All you have to do is ask for help.”

He couldn't know about the SEC situation, could he? He didn't. “I'm fine, Grandpa.” But suddenly she was nervous again, and she wanted out of the car before she blurted out
her
troubles, making trouble for the family that had taken her in. “Just fine.”

“You're certain?”

“Of course. Yes. Really.” And before her babble could reveal any more, she slid toward the door. “I'll see you again soon.”

Without giving herself a chance to give any more away, she was standing on the sidewalk beside Nash, and the limo was pulling back into traffic. She watched it cut through the other cars and turn a corner. Then she glanced over at Nash.

He was staring down at his phone, a new frown on his face. Her belly fluttered again. “What is it?”

“Jemima.”

“Something's happened to Jemima?”
Oh, God. The stalker. Images flashed through Eve's mind. The car coming toward them. Jemima falling. The threatening fax. Then, oddly enough, the dead canary and that mangled stuffed animal.

But Nash was shaking his head. “Something happened to her, all right, but not what you're thinking. She got a call from the L.A. police this morning. Ricky Becker showed up at his mother's, and he has an ironclad alibi for the past few weeks.”

Air whooshed out of Eve's lungs. “That's good.” Except Nash still had a funny look on his face. “Isn't it?”

“Of course. It means she doesn't need a bodyguard any more.”

Oh
. Right. She waited for the relief she should feel. Nash was definitely going to distance himself from her now, because he was going to leave Palm Springs. She wanted that. It was what they'd both been waiting for.

“But…but she'd probably like your company a little longer.” Eve couldn't believe what she heard herself suggest in that rational, I-don't-care-either-way voice. “She doesn't report for the new film for a few more days, right?”

“Right. Except she had even more interesting news. She's marrying Mack Chandler. Today. As a matter of fact, they're on their way to Vegas right now, and then
they'll be honeymooning at Chandler's ranch in Montana.”

He repeated what Jemima had told him. Mack Chandler had been staying in the bungalow next to hers. They'd fallen in love, and nobody—including Nash—was going to stop her from becoming Chandler's bride. Nash had spoken to the actor too and had found himself reassured that the other man was looking out for Jem's welfare. “My little sister,” he said, shaking his head. “The Hollywood wife.”