The Right To Remain Mine (4 page)

        "Damn it," he muttered and squirmed uncomfortably in his seat, trying to ignore the fact he'd grown painfully hard.

        He'd worn this specific pair of blue jeans to hide any physical evidence of his attraction. For double measure, he'd even given himself a quick hand job before coming over, hoping to smother his libido for a few hours. But that little appetizer had only primed him for action, because just thinking about going inside her house had him so ready, he had a bad feeling merely smelling the poor woman right now might set him off.

        He couldn't do it. Two years of bottled craving had turned him into a pressure cooker. He didn't think he could get so close to Willow DeVane without blowing his top and doing something stupid like, gah, putting the moves on her. And he already knew the frosty, sophisticated lawyer would never go for that.

        This was such a bad idea.

        Reaching for the keys still hanging from the ignition, Raith had every intention of restarting his truck and getting the hell out of there. He cursed under his breath. If he left now, however, he would only be a coward. Closing his eyes, he debated his options.

        Coward or fool?

        Horny idiot or fleeing weenie?

        He cursed again, despising both alternatives.

        Then a vision struck him. He saw her with that ugly red bump marring her perfect forehead and trembling tears clogging her lashes. She could've been hurt a lot worse than she had been. Whether she wanted it or not, she needed help, yet the irritating woman was just stubborn enough to keep her word about not getting defense lessons if he didn't personally tutor her.

        Mind made up, he pulled the keys from his truck, pocketing them as he opened his door, and climbed out. One hour of soft training wouldn't kill him. Hell, he probably didn't even have to touch her. Merely explaining the moves might prove adequate enough.

        He ignored the bulge still straining against his zipper and mounted the steps of her porch.

        Definitely a judge's daughter, he decided. Raith could never afford a snazzy place like this, even before his divorce drained him of every penny he made. The front door would probably cost him a month's rent without all that stained glass embedded into the oak. Damn, even the knocker could feed him for a week.

        He tried to lift the doorknocker before he realized it was only for looks and didn't even lift. Snorting, he pressed the bell and stepped backward, shoving his hands into his pockets. Not even realizing how he jingled his keys in a nervous habit, he idly wondered what he would look like right now if he were here to take her on a date instead of just training her. He had to admit, his outfit wouldn't differ much from his current state of dress. Hell, he would probably be wearing the same pair of dark jeans and the same damn cologne.

        He winced. Yeah, he had showered and even put on the stupid fragrance before heading out the door. But there was no way he wanted to start stinking once they got up close and sweaty when he showed her a few tactical moves.

        Then again, knowing him, he would probably lose his head and buy her flowers if he were ever to take her out. Because if he were standing here for a date, then he would have a lot better shot at actually scoring with her before the night was over.

        His already throbbing penis pulsed excitedly at the mere idea.

        "Cut it out," he muttered to himself and rang the bell again.

        Would the woman let him in already? He was driving himself crazy out here, letting his thoughts get the better of him.

        Five minutes later, he realized he had been stood up. Feeling duped and stupid, he spun on his heel and strode off the porch. He glared back one last time at the darkened windows as he stormed toward his truck, swearing to himself he would turn right back around, break into her house, and strangle her if he saw even a hint of her smirking expression peeking out a bended blind.

        Raith vibrated with fury as he unlocked his truck. Already well aware he couldn't get Willow DeVane for himself, he wondered why she felt the need to rub it in by purposely making him look the fool and force him to come to her house like some kind of trained lap dog, eager for a mere glimpse of her?

        Swearing retribution, he yanked open his truck door and paused one last time to stare at her house.

        He really wanted to see her too, damn it. Pathetic as that sounded, he liked being around her. He liked annoying her and watching her big brown eyes go hot and irritated. He liked guessing what kind of challenge she might issue him next. He liked the way his blood surged every time she drew near. God, he even liked the way she made his body grow instantly heavy and tense with desire, wanting things it could never have. But no, she was going to deny him even that tonight.

        And she was going to pay for it, big time.

        Just as he pulled his door shut and shoved his key back into the ignition, dreaming up all manner of nasty paybacks, a silver BMW zipped into the drive behind him, blocking his exit. Raith growled, even more upset she had arrived after all.

        "Why me?" he said aloud before once again clambering out of the truck and glaring at her with a feral scowl as she burst from her car.

        "Sorry." She sent him a wince, genuine apology thick in her voice. "I got tied up with a client."

        He stood, stiff and erect, shoulders unyielding as she paused to lean back into the BMW and retrieve her briefcase. He held his breath when her long skirt pulled taut across her backside. Then she shimmied back out, and he gritted his teeth, a muscle in his cheek bulging dangerously.

        Taking in his rigid stance, she pinched her eyebrows together. "I tried to hurry," she offered, sounding less apologetic this time and more defensive. "I even called the sheriff's department, but you were already gone, and no one would give me a personal number to reach you."

        He couldn't seem to unclench his teeth as he muttered, "Fine, whatever. Let's just get this over with."

        Willow scowled at his unforgiving attitude and whirled away from him to march toward the house.

        Raith shook his head, realizing once again how naïve she was to put her back to an upset man. That would be lesson number one, he decided, and stormed after her.

        The interior of DeVane's place was just as fancy as the exterior. With some kind of motion sensor in the foyer, the lights blinked on as soon as she stepped over the threshold. Raith followed.

        "Give me a minute," she said as she sashayed across the room. "I want to change into something more comfortable."

        Raith skidded to a stop. More comfortable? He didn't even want to let his mind guess what that meant.

        DeVane kicked off her shoes and lifted both arms to pull a few hairpins from the auburn heap on top of her head. With her arms up, the tiny buttons keeping her starched, pale blue blouse together threatened to pop off. Holding his breath in the vain hope they did just that, Raith was already a little lightheaded by the time her hair came free of its confining pins. Then she shook it free. He nearly passed out as all those luscious locks bounced over her shoulders and down her back.

        Deciding the woman had to be the sex goddess supreme, he could only nod to let her know he'd heard her when she glanced questioningly at him.

        "I'll be right back then. Make yourself at home."

        He waited until she'd vanished through a door before letting out a snort. "Not likely." He'd never felt so out of place in his entire life. Welcome to lifestyles of the rich and famous, Malloy. Every bronze knick-knack and crystal-framed portrait of upstanding judges and top-notch politicians only emphasized how much he didn't belong.

        At least the place looked lived in. It was cleaner than his own home but not spotless. He discovered dust on one miniature statue of a man fishing with his son and felt a little more confident. She'd even left her high heels lying forgotten in the middle of the floor.

        When she returned, toting two bottles of water, he had cooled his jets and thought he could function normally again. That was, until he turned and got a look at what she'd changed into.

        More comfortable my ass.

        The outfit might be more comfortable for her, sure, but it made him extremely uncomfortable. Although she wore loose but short jogging shorts, her black tank top could've passed for a second skin. It molded to every curve and dip, showing him more than he'd ever seen of her before.

        After she handed him one of the water bottles, he twisted off the cap and guzzled, hoping to rehydrate his mouth, which had gone bone dry.

        Too much flesh available for the touching.

        Couldn't think properly.

        He took another drink, gulping as his eyes scanned the toned, creamy expanse of her disproportionately long legs. The only thing to top off such perfection would be if he could tear out the ponytail holder she'd put in her hair when she'd gone to change.

        She stepped toward him, and he once again stopped breathing. The closer she came, the tighter his jeans fit.

        But a beep he'd been hearing since they'd entered the house halted her. She glanced behind her and switched directions. "Do you mind if I check my phone messages before we start?"

        Raith sighed as if the delay irritated him, when in truth he welcomed a second to collect his scattered wits. He leaned against a wall and crossed his arms over his chest. DeVane pushed play, and the list of messages began.

        Five in all, they began with some guy named Kit. "Hey, Will," he called through the speaker. "It's Kit. Tina's out of town with the kids. So... I need some food. What've you got to eat over there?"

        Raith frowned, not caring for the jab of jealousy prodding his belly over hearing the man's voice. "Who's Tina?" he asked, when what he really wanted to know was who this Kit guy was and how much of Willow he had seen and tasted.

        But the damn woman had to be difficult, because she answered, "She's Kit's wife."

        He rolled his eyes. Well, who the hell was Kit?

        "Will, honey," the next message started, and thank God, this one owned a woman's voice. "This is your mother. I was just calling to remind you your father's birthday slash retirement party is next month. I need to get invitations out soon, and I'd like your help. Call me."

        Raith crinkled his eyebrows. "The judge is retiring?"

        Willow sent him an annoyed scowl, obviously not caring for the fact he openly listened to her messages. He lifted a challenging brow. Well, why was she playing them in front of him if she didn't want him to hear?

        She sighed and gave in. "He's not going to announce it for another few weeks, so don't go spreading that around. Okay?"

        Raith nodded, amazed he actually knew the inside scoop on something political for once in his life.

        The next caller—some asshole named Scott—left a message, confirming lunch reservations with Willow the next day. Raith's gut burned, and the indigestion only doubled, for the next voice came from Cole— whoever the hell he was—canceling his date with her on Friday.

        Wondering what kind of moron would ditch out on her, Raith's gaze slid DeVane's way. But she didn't seem distraught over the cancellation. She merely shrugged, pushed delete, and moved to the next recording.

        Three messages from three guys and one of them even married. Raith decided the gossip he'd heard about DeVane was probably true. She went through men like toilet paper, which drove him crazy because it still didn't mean he would have a chance with her himself.

        "Willow, damn it!" The first guy—Kit—called from the machine. "I'm starving. Where are you?"

        As Willow pushed delete, the phone rang. Raith sighed; she speared him with a look, telling him to hold his horses.

        "Oh, hey, Mom," she said after answering. "Yes, I got your message. But I just walked in the door, so—what's that... oh, okay... uh huh... Sure, I can manage." She opened a nearby drawer and pulled out a pen and pad of paper.

        When she began jotting down notes, Raith threw his hands in the air and turned away. To keep himself occupied, he wandered through the front room, reexamining all the knickknacks. When he got to one—a small bronze figurine of a man with a little girl on his lap—he lifted it to study the amazing detail. His host was close enough, however, that she snapped it out of his hand and gave him a dirty look before setting the statuette back where it belonged, all while answering her mother's questions without missing a beat.

        Raith shoved his hands in his pockets. He glanced around for something else to absorb his time, until he heard a noise from the rear of DeVane's house. It sounded like someone had just come in the back door.

        He glanced toward her, but she didn't act as if she had heard anything. Suspicious, Raith decided to check things out. He crept down a short hall and came to a doorway that led into a bright kitchen. Pausing, he watched some guy lean over the opened fridge and fish around inside.

        The guest whistled as he browsed. When he straightened, he held a leftover food container tucked under his arm. Raith scowled as the new arrival shut the door and turned. The man jerked to a halt when their gazes met.

        Ignoring the deputy's intimidating glower, the stranger grinned in welcome. "Hey, man. How's it going? Want some lasagna?" He lifted the container.

        Raith blinked.

        "There's plenty here," the slim, tall blond offered. "And let me tell you, Will makes orgasmic Italian. You don't just eat it, you moan your way through it."