Too Wicked to Keep (5 page)

Slowly, she let her hair down, the strands fanning down her exposed back, providing scant protection
against her body's keen awareness of his. So close. So warm. So…solid. She swayed a little. He cupped her elbows to keep her from losing her balance.

“Daniel,” she pleaded.

“Danny,” he corrected. “No one calls me Daniel. No one who really knows me.”

“There are people who really know you?”

He released her. “A few. Maybe one or two.”

“Like your brothers? The ones you won't call to tell where you are?”

She crossed her arms to keep her loosened dress from sliding off her body, but she wanted to hear his answer. In all the reports she'd read from her private investigators, she'd never once run across the name of anyone Daniel—Danny—had become close with. She'd assumed he was either an inveterate loner or he kept the people he cared about protected from his work.

Or both.

“Just because I don't want them in my business doesn't mean they're not important to me. Alex and I have gotten kind of tight.”

“You mean Alejandro?”

Danny smirked. “Yeah, him.”

“And what about Michael. You said on the plane that you've known him longer. Aren't you close?”

He rolled his eyes. “Hello? FBI agent. He's not exactly cool with my profession.”

“Your older brother is an art expert,” she pointed out. “As you steal art, I can't imagine he's too thrilled about your choice of jobs, either.”

“He's not,” he conceded. “But he's willing to overlook my past misdeeds in the name of brotherhood. He's Spanish. They're really big on family blood and loyalty and all that.”

She sniffed in amusement, snatched her pajamas and headed back to the dressing area. “Yeah, I know about
famiglia.
”

She didn't expect him to leave the room, so she wasn't surprised when she heard her mattress squeak under his weight. She chuckled hopelessly and changed as quickly as possible out of her dress and into the silky pj's. Even covered from head to toe, she still felt exposed when she slid back into the bedroom. One layer of filmy material between her bare breasts and Danny's assessing eyes didn't seem like nearly enough.

“Interesting look,” he commented.

He'd bunched her throw pillows against the headboard and was lying across her comforter as if he owned the place.

“What did you expect me to wear? Flannel?”

“Seemed to be the direction you were going in.”

“I don't own flannel.”

“Then this is the next best thing.”

Against his chest, he held her favorite pillow. In the darkness, he couldn't see the saying embroidered into the cover.
Well-behaved women rarely make history.
Like the painting, it had been a gift from her grandmother. Like the painting, it was a present her parents had been glad to see taken from their house. She couldn't help but wonder what her parents would think if they knew who was lying on her bed with a half-expectant look in his dreamy green eyes.

She snatched the pillow away.

“Time for me to show you where you're sleeping.”

“I could sleep here.”

“You could,” she said, “but then I'd have to sleep in the guest room and that just doesn't seem right somehow.”

He moved as if to get up, but instead, planted his elbows on his knees and eyed her with that cocky assuredness of his that she never could decipher. Was he about to tease her? Or hit her with an undeniable truth?

Or both?

“Come on, Abby. Your husband has been gone for a year. A guy like him, willing to forgive what you—what
we
did. He wouldn't want you to be lonely.”

“I'm not lonely.”

“This from the woman with two cats?”

“Exactly,” she said. “I have two cats not because I am lonely, but so that I won't be. At least I know they're going to stick around. At least I know they're not going to steal from me or lie to me.”

“I won't lie to you.”

“But you have.”

“Yes, and I apologized. And now I have a chance to prove to you that I won't hurt you again.”

“By sleeping with me?”

He scooted to the other side of the bed, where no one had ever slept except Black Jack and Lady, and flipped back the covers.

“Great idea,” he said. “It's been a long day, and to be honest, I've been spending way too many nights alone. And maybe, if I manage to sleep next to you all night long without doing anything you don't want me to, you'll start trusting me a little.”

She narrowed her gaze. He was trying to pull something. A guy like Danny Burnett was always running a scam, always working an angle. “Define
doing anything you don't want me to,
” she asked.

He chuckled. “Sharp as always. Okay, that could be too open for interpretation. How about, I won't do
anything that I might have done during our previous…interactions. Unless you verbally ask me to.”

She quirked a brow.

“Okay, unless you beg.”

“That's not going to happen.”

He grinned. “Not tonight.”

She swallowed what little moisture was in her mouth and considered how this could play out. She could order him into the guest bedroom, lock her door behind her and spend the rest of the night wondering if she'd lost a key opportunity to see just how far she could trust the man she'd recruited to save her family's reputation. Or, she could show him how much
she'd
changed by accepting the gauntlet he'd thrown.

“Fine,” she said, sliding between the sheets. “The bathroom's in there if you want to take a shower or whatever. I have extra toothbrushes in the drawer.”

Surprisingly, he took her up on her offer. He bounded off the bed and made such quick work of prepping himself for bed that she hardly had time to close her eyes when he came back in with his shirt untucked, his pants unbuckled and his socks removed. He grabbed a throw blanket from her chair and then slid on top of her bed beside her.

She rolled over. “That's cheating.”

He arched a brow. “And you expect more from a guy like me?”

She turned over with a huff, punched her pillow and then slid her right arm firmly underneath it. “No, I guess I don't.”

“Good, because I'd hate to disappoint you again. The first time nearly ripped me apart.”

F
OR AN HOUR
,
MAYBE TWO
,
Abby slept. Her dreams had been a confusing kaleidoscope of shapes and colors, most of them more like smears of slick oils on canvas rather than actual images she could identify. But they hadn't woken her up. Danny's voice had done that. Even as she rubbed her face and her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could hear him muttering in his sleep. She couldn't understand him until he said, “Abby.”

She rolled over and pushed aside the comforter that had bunched up like a cushioned wall between them. He'd turned onto his side, facing away from her. Though it was cold outside her floor-to-ceiling windows, Danny's skin glistened with a thin layer of sweat. The slight muskiness shot Abby's tired mind straight back to the hot summer nights she'd tried so hard to forget.

“Please, Abby.”

She scooted closer. Was he really dreaming about her? She bit her lip, as afraid to believe him as she was to doubt him. If he was murmuring her name in the middle of the night, that meant he still cared about her—still wanted her. Even after all these years. Even when she had nothing left for him to steal.

But what if he was faking, pretending to be so wrapped up in her that she invaded his dreams? She'd never be able to trust him. He'd manipulated her once. She couldn't allow him to do it again.

With a minimum of movement, she rolled out of bed. Crouched, she remained beside the bed for a minute, pondering her choices. She really didn't have many. She could, she supposed, take her pillow and retreat to the guest room. There, at least, she'd be safe from either scenario. If he was really sleeping, then she wouldn't hear anything that he wouldn't want her to—anything that might reveal the truths locked away in his subconscious mind.

And if he was acting, he couldn't play her if she wasn't around.

But she didn't want to run. She wasn't that girl anymore. She couldn't be.

Instead, she padded softly around the bed. A streak of silver moonlight stretched across the length of his body. The light dazzled through his chest hair, drawing Abby's eyes to his lean, flat abs, which tapered into his unbuckled pants. It was too dark to distinguish the source of the bulge in his crotch. It could have been the blanket, she supposed. Or a trick of the light.

Or an erection.

Her mouth watered.

She covered her face with her hands. This was wrong. So wrong. The man had lied to her, stolen from her, nearly wrecked her whole life, starting with her impending marriage. He'd used her in the worst possible way, luring her out of her comfortable, respectable life with promises of sensual experiences that he had, admittedly, made good on up until the very end.

While married to Marshall, she couldn't remember
ever fantasizing about Danny or even wondering what had happened to him. She'd done her very best to put him entirely from her mind. And her husband, whether out of his own insecurities or a genuine desire to keep their marriage strong, had gone out of his way to spice up their sex life. She was never bored. They never fell into a rut.

But as a result, Marshall's death meant she missed sex more than ever. She missed the intimacy. She missed the mindlessness. She missed the conflagration of sensations that stripped away every pretense, every fear, every regret.

Could Danny give her that?

Did she want him to?

This time when he spoke, his words were unintelligible, a tangle of sounds that spoke of hot sex and utter surrender. He shifted, turning so that he was lying flat on his back. There was no mistaking his erection now. He'd not only unbuckled his pants, he'd unzipped them.

And he wasn't wearing underwear.

Unconsciously, she stepped closer, then looked away.

She didn't have to peek at him to remember his naked body. The images had remained burned into her brain. With him, she'd discovered so much about her sexuality—things she never would have been brave enough to explore with Marshall, who'd known her since she was a child and who'd treated her, up until her affair with Danny, like a china doll that might break if he loved her too roughly.

But Danny had never treated her gently. From the first moment they'd met, he'd come on to her with whispered innuendos just shy enough of crass to pique her curiosity without frightening her or turning her off. He'd orches
trated every word, every touch, to her vulnerabilities so that she'd had no choice but to fall and fall hard.

With him, she'd explored the true depths of passion and physical need and expression. He'd scorched away her inhibitions until all that was left was raw, unfulfilled desires, which he'd then satisfied one by one by one.

“No, don't,” he said. “Don't go. No.”

He grunted and groaned, and in the sounds, Abby heard the timbre of true supplication. He was begging her for something…or at least, he was begging someone. She knew how quickly characters could morph when someone was asleep.

Then he said her name again.

She dropped to her knees beside the bed. Heat suffused his skin, curling the dark hair at his temple and forehead. She lifted her hand to brush the moisture aside, but stopped. If she touched him, he might wake up. And if he did, then what would she do? He was more than ready to slide his thick and rigid length right into her. He was so primed, so fevered, the act of copulation might take a minute, maybe more, to bring him to the edge.

But she'd want more than a minute.

No, wait.

She didn't want anything at all.

She couldn't want him. Could she?

His eyes fluttered open, but they were sightless, still trapped in a madness she could not allow herself to join.

“You came back,” he said before his eyelids drifted closed again and he launched into another string of nonsense words—each more erotic than the last.

She had no idea what he was saying, but God help her, she knew what he meant. From the way his tongue
rolled and his lips buzzed, he was reciting a collection of sensual promises that only he could fulfill. Her mind flew back in time, to the night he'd first kissed her, to the night she'd surrendered to passions she'd kept locked inside since the first time she'd seen a nude portrait at the Art Institute or read a romance novel.

But with Danny, no lock on her sensuous nature would hold. He'd awakened her like no other man had before.

Or since.

Forgive me, Marshall.

She reached out and risked running her fingers over Danny's rough cheek. His skin was as hot and sharp as the tears suddenly streaming down her face. The thought of the sandpaper sensations grazing over her naked body stole her breath. Fiery heat flooded her veins, sparking a gentle throb between her thighs.

The sweet tattoo of pleasure synched with the beat of her heart. She refused to be ashamed. She refused to feel regret. She didn't want Danny because she was still hung up on him—she wanted him because even while asleep, he brought to the surface pieces of herself she kept buried deep inside, pieces she needed to find and nurture or she might never be whole.

Risking everything, she leaned over until her face was inches from Danny's. She hesitated, not breathing, caught in the twilight world between hoping he'd wake up and praying he'd remain asleep. From his rapid breaths and undulating eyelids, she could imagine the eroticism of his dreams. She wished she could see them. She wished she could live them.

Like a feather floating in a curved cushion of air, Abby lowered her lips. His warmth intoxicated her. Like a key in a keyhole, his taste opened the store of memo
ries she'd tried so hard to repress. Floodgates of sensation nearly drowned her, but she remained still, applying only enough pressure to his mouth so that she could experience the flavors that were his and his alone.

“Abby.”

At the sound of her muffled name, she shot back into the darkness. She waited for him to open his eyes, maybe laugh at her for falling for him again…or drive home the fact that she was the one who couldn't keep away from him, not the other way around.

Instead, he rolled over onto his stomach, moved erotically against the mattress for a second, then stilled. He hadn't come, but he'd dreamed about it. Probably with her underneath, accepting his silky hot erection into her wet, tight body…her legs wrapped around his waist…his name bursting from her lips.

She slid into the chair by the window and curled into a ball, wishing it was daylight so she could forget, just for a minute, everything she was missing while Danny slept in her bed alone.

 

T
HE WEIGHT ON
Danny's chest was not a good sign.

He was under forty. He was in excellent shape. He'd just spent the night next to a beautiful woman and, shockingly, he'd kept to his promise to not touch her.

At least, not while he was awake.

That wasn't entirely true, either. Just after she'd finally fallen asleep, he'd turned over to watch her. Unable to resist, he'd smoothed a lock of hair out of her face. The texture of her skin had struck him like a match and lit a continuous stream of erotic dreams that might have resulted in wet sheets if he'd been younger.

Could the heightened frustration of having her so close and yet being totally unable to act on the fanta
sies playing out in his subconscious have caused him to have a heart attack?

Then the weight sitting on the center of his chest swatted his nose with its paw.

He cracked one eye open. The amber eyes staring at him did not belong to Abby, but to her massive, long-haired, pissed-off-looking male cat.

Danny scooted back onto the pillows. The cat flew off the side of the bed, but his companion was curled contentedly in the crook of Danny's arm. Black Jack pounced atop the mattress again and hissed.

Jeez, what was it with him and the Albertinis? Could he never go after a female in this family who wasn't already spoken for?

“You're awake.”

He turned to find Abby standing in the doorway, her pretty, petite hands wrapped around a quirky mug with a handle that looked like the marquee outside the old Chicago theater. She looked well rested, her complexion bright, as if she'd just gotten back from the gym.

He pushed Black Jack away, then gingerly coaxed Lady off his wrist so he could rub his face with his hands. Prickly stubble bit into his palms, and though he'd only had one glass of wine last night on the plane, he felt as if he'd drunk everyone in a biker bar under the table.

“If you say so,” he said.

She came around to his side of the bed, sat near his feet and handed him her mug. He sniffed. She drank her brew with cream and sweetener, but he needed caffeine and wasn't about to be choosy.

“How'd you sleep?” she asked.

He tested the temperature and then finished what was left of her coffee in a couple of gulps. “Like a baby.”

She took back the empty mug, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “A baby Casanova, maybe.”

“Excuse me?”

She waggled her eyebrows.

“Crap. I didn't do anything, did I?”

The humorous twinkle in her eyes dropped off her face, taking the tilted corners of her mouth down with it. He untangled the blanket from his legs and looked down, half afraid he'd shed his clothes during the night before doing something he'd sworn he wouldn't do.

But he was fully dressed. His zipper was lowered, but his johnson was tucked safely away. He grunted with relief.

“You should see your face!” Abby said, dissolving with laughter. “I never knew skin could fade to that particular shade of green.”

He glared at her. So she thought this was funny, did she?

He'd show her funny.

He tackled her.

She squealed. The coffee mug went flying, bouncing first on the mattress and then onto her plush, carpeted floor. The cat screeched and ran.

Then his body made full contact with hers and he wasn't aware of anything else happening in the room. Was there sunlight? Was there air? He could feel nothing but her softness against his hardness and then, incrementally, her heartbeat thrumming against his chest.

“Danny,” she said.

“Hmm, that sounds suspiciously like a plea to me. What do you want me to do, Abby? Or maybe I should ask where you prefer me to start? I mean, your neck has
always been a favorite spot of mine, especially that little curve right beneath your ear where you…”

“Danny, please.”

He lowered his head, but stopped short of kissing her on the sensitive area that he couldn't tear his gaze from.

“Remember what I said about begging, Abby.”

She folded her lips together, then speared him with a determined glare.

“Please, Danny. Please get off me.”

She sounded serious. Damn it.

“First, I think I should get some credit for keeping my hands to myself last night. I kept my end of the deal.”

“Yes, you did,” she confirmed. “You lived up to your word. And from what I could gather about your dreams, it wasn't an easy task.”

“Nothing about you has ever been easy.”

“Except getting me into bed the first time.”

He grinned. “We didn't do it in a bed the first time.”

In her bid to free herself, she shifted beneath him. He winced as the teeth of his zipper scraped against his naked flesh.

“You know what I mean.”

“Of course I do. What do you think I was dreaming about all night?”

Pushing past the pain of knowing he'd get no more contact than this, Danny concentrated on the feel of Abby underneath him. Their natural curves fit together like the tongues and grooves of a masterfully carved frame. No gaps. No space.

No room for uncertainty.

“You said you wouldn't do anything unless I begged you to,” she reminded him, even as her nipples pebbled beneath her T-shirt. “And the only thing I'm begging you to do right now is let me up.”

She sounded so reasonable, so calm, he had no choice but to comply. He might have tricked a few women—including her—into doing things they might not have done otherwise, but he'd never forced anyone.