What I Love About You (8 page)

She’d love to. “I can’t leave the dog alone.” She was too tipsy to drive and Truly didn’t have taxis. “Are you sober?”

Lilah shook her head. “I know who is, though.”

Ten minutes later, Natalie sat in the back of Frankie’s piece-of-crap Ford Taurus. The heat didn’t seem to work and Natalie wrapped her cape tight around herself. Lilah sat in front, chatting nonstop like Frankie’s car was all nice and toasty and Natalie wasn’t in the back turning into an icicle.

When they pulled up in front of her house, Lilah looked over her shoulder at Natalie, “Are you going to be okay?”

Natalie nodded and looked past her friend’s head to the lights from the big house next door spilling into the darkness and onto the long drive. Light that hadn’t been burning hours ago. “Oh yeah. I’ll be just fine.”

Chapter Six

Blake laughed and raised a bottle of water to his lips. “Cliff was uglier than a bag of smashed assholes,” he said into his cell phone, then took a drink. “But there was no one better in the comm center during a firefight.”

Retired Navy SEAL buddy Vince Haven added, “And drank anyone under the table. Even you and your brother.”

“True. Remember that bar in Memphis when we took out a couple of firefighters and some of those mixed martial arts pussies.” Fighting was just a fact of life in the teams. Blake never went looking for a fight. A fight just always seemed to find him. Usually it started with a little dog itching to take on a big dog. Or it happened when a man insulted a woman, and Blake felt it his duty to tap him on the shoulder and tell him to shut his pie hole. And it just went without saying that all bets were off when someone disrespected a fellow serviceman or woman while sitting on their ass in a micro brewery, sipping pumpkin beer.

“You got arrested that time.”

Arrested because he’d been so shit-faced he’d kept fighting once the cops arrived. Blake took another drink, then set the bottle on the counter. “The charges were dropped,” he said as the doorbell rang. He raised his wrist and looked at his watch. It was midnight. “What the fuck? Someone’s at my door.”

“Booty call?”

He thought of Natalie. “Nah. That’s the big drawback of small-town living. Not a lot of booty to call.”

“Damn. I remember those days.”

Now Vince had a good-looking woman in his bed every night. He’d even put a ring on her finger. “My nut sack is about to explode from lack of action,” Blake said as he walked to the door. On the other side all he could make out was a yellow blur through the glass.

Vince laughed. “Go take some Motrin.”

The military handed out Motrin for everything from tooth pain to sucking chest wounds. “I don’t think Motrin can cure my blue balls,” he said as he opened the door and came face-to-face with someone who could. By the look on her face, she didn’t seem to be in a real accommodating mood.

“You’re finally back.”

Her hair was big. Her shiny yellow cape was not. “I’ll get in touch later, brother.” He hung up and slid the phone into his back pocket. He guessed it was too much to hope that she was naked beneath that thing. “What can I do for you, Ms. Cooper?”

She pointed down and listed to the left as if she were taking on water. “Your dog.”

He lowered his gaze from the little red smear of lipstick on the bottom of her lip, down her chin to the yellow cape tied around her throat. The shiny cape fell to mid-thigh, and his gaze continued down her long legs and black boots to the puppy lying at her feet like she’d dragged him out of his dog bed. For once, Recruit Sparky wasn’t bouncing around being a maniac.

“You can’t just take off any time you feel like it and neglect your responsibilities.” She righted herself and stood up straight. “Your actions affect other people, you know. You’re a bad dog owner and neighbor.”

Yet another affirmation why he was not the marrying kind of guy. “I was at a friend’s funeral in Oklahoma.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

He waved her inside and got a whiff of booze as she passed. “Are you drunk, Sweet Cheeks?” He shut the door behind her.

“I had some wine.” The dog finally recognized him and barked like the maniac Blake remembered. “Some vodka and maybe a shot of tequila.” Natalie leaned down to unsnap the leash and almost took a header into his crotch. She knelt on one knee, and the yellow cape parted around one of her smooth thighs. “How did your friend die?”

He looked down at the top of her blond hair so close to his button fly, and his blue balls turned a few shades bluer. “His convoy was hit with an IED in Ramadi.” Blake squatted down on the heels of his running shoes and petted the wiggling dog. She smelled like booze and perfume and temptation. A temptation that tugged at his belly and told him to slide his hand from the inside of her knee and up her thigh.

“He was a soldier?”

“No.” He looked into her eyes a few inches from his. “Navy SEAL Team One, Alpha Platoon. We graduated BUD/S together.” She looked like she sincerely felt bad and, if she offered to give him a hug, he didn’t trust himself not to throw her down and pin her to the floor.

“He was a SEAL?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t talk about his dead buddies with people who’d never lived in a war zone. “How many shots of vodka did you have?” he asked, purposely changing the subject.

“Two. Maybe.” Natalie put her hand on his shoulder and straightened. Put it on him like her touch meant nothing. As if her warm palm didn’t send fire down his chest and straight to his crotch. She dropped her hand like she didn’t notice. “I feel bad,” she added.

Sparky licked his face and he stood. He hung the dog upside down against his chest and scratched its belly. He’d never admit it out loud, but he’d kind of missed the little guy. “Wine, tequila, and vodka is a bad combo.”

“No.” She pushed one side of her bouncy curls behind her ear. “I feel bad because I’ve been all annoyed that you stuck me with the dog for two weeks. I thought you’d gone on vacation, but you were at a funeral.”

He supposed now was not the time to mention he’d spent the week and a half after the funeral in Texas with Vince, refurbishing his ranch house and shooting skeet.

“Don’t feel bad.” The dog stretched and yawned and Blake patted Sparky’s round gut.

“So I trained Sparky to poop only in your yard.”

He looked up.

“There’s a lot of it.” She moved toward his kitchen. “You might want to pick it up soon.”

Blake set the dog down and brushed black fur from his white Henley. He wanted to get pissed off, but he’d dumped a puppy on her so he didn’t suppose he could get indignant about it now. “I don’t imagine you’re going to pick up your half.”

She shook her head. The heels of her boots tapping across his wood floor drew his gaze to her long bare legs in black fuck-me boots. “Possession is nine-tenths the law. Remember?”

Yeah. He remembered.

She reached for his bottle of water on the counter and made herself at home. “Do you cook?” She unscrewed the cap and lifted it to her lips.

“I Crock-Pot,” he answered as he watched her drain the bottle. “Do you want some water?”

“No. I’m not thirsty.” She wiped the back of her hand across her red mouth and set the empty bottle back down. “Are you recently divorced?”

“No.” He took his phone from the pocket of his jeans and set it on the island. “Never married.”

Again her heels tapped across the floor as she wandered into the living room. Tap-taps like a sexual code. A relay of information. It was late. She was in his house. He needed to get laid.

Copy that.

“You don’t have much furniture.” She turned in a slow circle while she looked up at the vaulted ceilings. “I thought maybe you got wiped out in a divorce.”

“Before moving here, I lived in a condo in Virginia Beach. I wasn’t there a lot.”

She looked over her shoulder at him as she walked to the big front windows. “Are you anti-marriage?”

What was this? Twenty-question night? “I think marriage is great. For other people.” His ran his gaze up the backs of her legs. “But it’s not for me.”

“Get your heart broke a time or two?” She stopped in front of her reflection.

“No.” He moved behind her, and his gaze met hers in the window. “Are you anti-marriage?”

“No. I’ve been married.” She looked out at the darkness, and the smattering of town lights across the lake. “I’d get married again if I met the right man.” She turned to face him and her cape brushed the front of his jeans. “A man around the house would come in handy for those things I can’t do myself.”

Sex. She couldn’t have skin-on-skin sex by herself.

“Like lifting heavy objects and opening pickle jars.”

Pickle jars?
That’s why she wanted a man around?

“The problem with living in Truly,” she continued, “is that I went to school with most of the men in town, and none of them are the right one, either.” The corners of her lips turned down as her brows pulled together. “If one more person asks if Michael’s living with me when he’s getting out, I’m going to go all flying snooker crazy.”

He’d been trained and tested in hand-to-hand combat. He knew where to hit a man to take him out for a while or for good. “What the hell is ‘flying snooker crazy’?”

“I don’t know. It sounded lethal when I thought it up in my head, but I’m kind of drunk.” Her hand slipped from behind her cape and she twisted the cord around her finger. “I think it’s a combination between a flying kick and a snooker punch.”

“I guess I won’t ask about your ex and risk a flying-snooker butt kicking.” He watched her long fingers and short pink nails work the cord and felt it twist his nuts. He wanted her. He wanted to feel her fingers sliding down his chest and diving beneath his pants. She’d told him she wasn’t a booty call kind of woman. He bet he could get her to change her mind.

After a few seconds of twisting she asked, “If you aren’t anti-marriage, and you’ve never been married, why do you think it’s not for you?”

He raised his gaze from her hand to her red mouth. The lipstick smear tempted him to smear her up a bit more. “I don’t have to get hog-tied and barbecued to know getting a spit shoved up my ass isn’t for me.”

“Ouch.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “Have you ever lived with a woman?”

“Yeah.” He took the cord from her finger. “My mother.” She looked down at his hand as he slowly pulled. “She used to pack my lunches for school. Peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches. I liked the crusts cut off.” The bow slipped free. “But I don’t need a mother now.”

She lifted her gaze and looked at him like she had in his wine cellar. Like she had a few weeks ago in her kitchen when he’d been so tempted to smash her against him and stick his tongue down her throat. “What do you need?” she asked just above a whisper.

To get laid
, temptation answered. Her question hung in the air as he pulled the cord until her cape opened like a shiny present all wrapped up just for him. “What are you wearing, Ms. Cooper?”

“I’m Robin.”

Seemed only fitting. “Batman’s sidekick.” The cape slid from her shoulders and pooled at her feet. Blake’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as his gaze landed on a red bustier pushing her plump breasts together. Red-hot lust landed a flying snooker punch to his groin.

She raised a hand over her cleavage. “My costume is kind of tight and slutty.”

He reached for her wrist and pinned her hand to the window next to her head. “Tight and slutty is my favorite.” He slid his free palm along the side of her warm throat to the back of her neck. “I love tight and slutty.” He
needed
tight and slutty.

“You’re one of those guys.”

He tangled his finger in her hair and pulled her head back. “What guys?”

“The kind who pick up women in bars but never call again.”

“I don’t go to bars.” Not anymore.

“Why?”

“I’m into clean living,” he answered. Rehab had pounded the importance of honesty into his head. They’d also pounded the importance of AA, but Natalie didn’t need to know about his addiction anymore than he had to attend a meeting to control it. “I’d call a woman again if the sex was good and she wasn’t crazy.” He lifted his gaze to the lust shining back at him through her blue eyes. “I might even call a crazy girl again if the sex is crazy good.” He pushed her back against the window. She gasped, and he took advantage of her parted lips. He kissed her soft mouth, and she tasted like sweet wine and intoxicating pleasure. He had tasted neither in a long time.

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a booty call woman. It didn’t matter that he
was
a booty call man. It didn’t matter that she was drunk. All that mattered was the hot, moist pull of her feeding mouth. Her slick tongue and the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest. Her hands slid up his ribs, and her touch made him want more. A lot more. A lot more of her hands and mouth. A lot more of her hungry mouth sliding south, down his hot flesh. It had been a long time since he’d kissed and touched a woman. A long time since a woman had taken him into her hot, wet mouth.

Instead of sliding south, Natalie curled into his chest and pressed her soft parts into his hard places. He groaned deep in his throat, and slid his hands to the sides of her bustier. He hooked his thumbs beneath the satin top, and all he had to do was yank it down.

Her head tilted to one side and the kiss got deeper. Deeper and hotter and tempting him to pull the bustier down until her breasts popped out and her hard nipples poked his chest through the thin cotton of his shirt.

As if she read his thoughts, she moaned into his mouth and he had to lock his knees to keep from falling. Through his denim button fly, he rocked his hard penis into her. Into her little shorts and crotch. All he had to do was push aside her shorts and drop his pants. Then he’d be in. Inside where she was hot and wet and her orgasm would grab his erection and pull him deeper.

The tips of his fingers dug into the satin covering her ribs, and he hung on as if she was a mirage. A shiny illusion that would shift and disappear.

He was a man. He needed to get laid. She was in his house and hands and it would be easy to get her into his bed and make everything real.

He was a man living in temptation hell. From Johnnie and Natalie, and it would feel so good to give in to one of them. To drown in it for just one night.

He was a man, but he wasn’t that man. He pulled back and looked into her blue eyes sleepy with lust and her mouth wet and swollen from his kiss. “You need to go.”

“What?” Her voice was a husky whisper.

“You need to go or you’re going to end up my booty call.”

She blinked as if his words made no sense.

“Do you want to be my booty call?”

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and broke his heart. “No,” she said.

He let out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. He was a man with more honor than to take advantage of Natalie. “I don’t take advantage of drunk women. I want you fully aware when I take advantage of you. So you need to go.”