Anthology: Bad Boys Of Summer Part 21

"It's not always about looks, you know," Mackenzie chided her with a lift of her chin. "I want someone stable, someone who will be a good dad, someone who wants the same things I want, like a home and a family, a dog."

Susannah stared at her, her mouth pursed in a frown. "And you're looking for this guy where? The Mr. Bland Yellow Pages?"

"Not bland," Mackenzie protested, kicking her friend's calf with the toe of her sandal. "Responsible. Reliable."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't mean you can't have a fling with your mysterious carpenter in the meantime, you know." Susannah stood up, hooking her bag over her shoulder to go to the ladies' room, and gave Mackenzie an affectionate smile. "As long as he's only mysterious in a s.e.xy way."

Mackenzie was still thinking about that an hour later, when she and Susannah parted ways outside the bar. She'd refused the offer of a ride home. The night air was sultry and soft, and walking would give her a chance to enjoy it.

And to think.

Susannah didn't have a five-year plan. In all the years Mackenzie had known her, which dated back to high school, she couldn't remember her friend even coming up with a five-day plan. Five minutes, maybe, but that was pushing it. She'd bounced through college, somehow emerging with a degree in education, and she was a wonderful first-grade teacher, but she seemed to enjoy the fact that her students changed every year. And when it came to dating, she was all over the map-in the last two years alone, there had been a pediatrician, a mechanic, a software designer, and a navy lieutenant who was scheduled for an overseas tour in the coming year.

Taking life as it came worked for her, Mackenzie thought, breathing in the salty air as she walked along North Lumina and letting the breeze blow her loose hair off her face. But Mackenzie had always had a firm idea about the way her life would end up, or at least the way she wanted it to, and a moody carpenter with a secret didn't exactly fit the picture. He was a loner, that much was clear. And fitting a baby seat into his pickup probably didn't figure into his plans.

And she wanted a baby seat, with a baby to put into it, someday. She wanted the kind of guy who was thinking long-term, who wanted a partner. It was what she'd always seen when she imagined her life-herself branching out from wedding photography into gallery shows, with a husband in a white shirt and tie coming home at the end of the day with a kiss, helping to give the kids their baths, offering to make her tea, talking to her as she loaded the dishwasher and got ready for bed...

No matter how tempting it was to think about what it would be like to spend a night with Leo, he didn't exactly look like the kind of guy who had marriage and fatherhood on his mind.

Which made it that much more surprising when she realized that the man walking out of the drugstore just a dozen feet away was Leo.

With his arms full of diapers, and what looked strangely like baby shampoo.

Fumbling with the slippery package of diapers and the bulging bag from the pharmacy, Leo swore under his breath as he reached for his keys. At the sound of footsteps on the sidewalk, he looked up-and nearly dropped everything.

Mackenzie.

And she looked good.

He'd spent the last three days trying to hammer the sight of her, the scent of her-thefeel of her-out of his head, which wasn't easy when he was doing it in her backyard.

She was dangerous, that was the thing. Dangerously curious, dangerously stubborn, and very dangerously tempting. Not a good combination, not for him. He'd finish the job on her shed because it was the right thing to do, but he'd been stupid enough to hope he could do it without seeing her again, at least not for more than a minute or two.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Because here she was, close enough to touch and looking like she'd just walked off the beach in loose white pants and a little blue T-shirt that hugged her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her hair long and loose around her face. Tousled, a little sleepy, and unbelievably s.e.xy.

"Hi," she said. In the street light, her eyes were nothing but a soft, dark gleam.

"Hey."

She was fidgeting, dragging the toe of one sandal along the sidewalk, her mouth working as if she had something else to say. She looked so uncomfortable, he couldn't take it. Juggling his purchases, he said, "Can I give you a ride home?"

Her mouth opened in surprise, a round pinkO , and she blinked at him. "I...all right."

Oh yeah, this was the way to keep his distance.

He motioned her around to the pa.s.senger side, and she held out her hand for his packages when he climbed into the driver's seat beside her.

"Shopping?"

Girl didn't miss a trick. "Yeah."

"For...diapers." It wasn't a question. She held the bulky package up to the light. "Newborn, I see."

"They're for my neighbor," he explained, turning the key in the ignition. The truck rumbled to life. "She just had a baby and her husband had to go out of town. Death in the family or something. I said I'd pick up a few things for her."

When she was silent, he cast his eyes in her direction and found her biting back a grin. "What?"

She shrugged helplessly. "It's just...well, it's a little like seeing your grandmother revving up a Harley. I didn't expect to see you with...this." She held up a fuzzy duck washcloth he'd s.n.a.t.c.hed off the rack on a whim.

"My grandmother does drive a Harley," he said, keeping his eyes on the road as he pulled out of the parking s.p.a.ce.

She laughed, stuffing the washcloth back into the bag and setting it on the floor. "I'm sorry. It's just that you don't look like the warm, fuzzy type."

He grunted. "Oh yeah? What type am I?"

She didn't answer immediately, and he cut his eyes sideways as he turned onto her street. This early in the season, most of the houses were dark; her porch light was a warm glow in the distance.

"I don't know," she said finally. She was staring out the window, but her fingers worked the strap of her bag unconsciously, twisting and untwisting it. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just your hair, your earring, your..." She trailed off, but he saw that her gaze was now fixed on his bicep. "You have a kind of dangerous air. Rock and roll, not nursery rhymes."

He pulled into her driveway and cut the engine and the lights, sliding his arm along the seatback behind her. She thought he was a bad boy, or whatever women called them today. He had to restrain a bark of amazement. Rock and roll. She had no idea.

But all he said was, "Dangerous, huh?"

She nodded, and despite the darkness he knew she was blushing. "Not really. Not like you'd hurt me."

Not physically. Never. But the violence of the l.u.s.t rushing through him was almost frightening. He turned her on. He could hear it in the husky whisper of her voice, feel it in the heat and tension of her body. And that turned him on.

"Of course I wouldn't hurt you," he agreed, getting out and walking around to her side of the truck. He opened the door and offered her a hand. "You probably wouldn't expect this, though, would you?"

"Probably not," she admitted. Her hand felt small in his-small and delicate and very warm.

He led her down the driveway and through the gate to her back porch. After the first day he'd come to the house, he'd never seen her use the front door. The shadowed shelter of the little porch was better for what he had in mind, anyway.

"You'd probably expect a guy like me to take instead of asking, huh?"

She'd backed up against the door, and he braced his hands on the frame on either side of her. In the velvety darkness she was nearly indistinct, but he could sense her body, warm and alive, trembling slightly.

"Maybe," she said. The word was a breathy whisper.

"Definitely," he told her, and leaned in, covering her mouth with his own.

It was hot and soft, her tongue a wet surprise, spiking his arousal even higher. She tasted so good, felt so good, and when her purse dropped to the floor with a thud, her hands crept up his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt.

She didn't know from dangerous. She didn't have any idea how easy it would be for him to sweep her up and carry her inside, tossing her down on that rumpled, lonely bed in her room. Get her naked, fill his hands and his mouth with her, the silky heat of her skin, the rich, dark taste of her body. Fillher , with his c.o.c.k...

She whimpered when he tangled his fingers in her hair, angling her head back to give him easier access to her mouth and the slender column of her throat. She was melting against him, nearly boneless already, and he hadn't even touched her.

But he was going to. Oh yeah. Didn't matter how stupid this was, how dangerous it was for him to get close to a woman who was too curious for comfort. Mackenzie Pruitt had gotten under his skin.

She groaned, a low vibration of pleasure against his mouth, when he slid his other hand under her shirt. His fingers were firm and sure against her back, her ribs, the sweetly curved underside of one breast beneath her bra. Squirming, her fingers clutched at his shirt again, pulling him closer.

He let go of her hair and dragged her up against him, inhaling the scent of her hair and her skin, and cupping her a.s.s with one hand. Soft, round, and so f.u.c.king sweet.

She was holding on now, arching into him, and he pushed her T-shirt and bra out of the way so he could lower his mouth to her breast. The skin was flushed with heat, the nipple ripe and firm already, and he fastened his mouth around it, drawing hard, his c.o.c.k responding to her moan of delight.

Bracing her against the door, he slid his hand into the loose waistband of her pants and then into her panties, smoothing his palm over the curve of her a.s.s, and then moving around to stroke her thigh. She murmured something wordless, an incoherent sound of pleasure, and he twisted his hand to delve between her legs as he licked the hard, hot point of her nipple.

"Leo," she said breathlessly, and he smiled against her breast. Her heart was pounding beneath it, a frantic drumbeat, and she was already wet, creamy and hot.

He slid a finger through her folds gently, lingering at the dark center of her, circling it before sliding up to stroke her c.l.i.t. It was swollen, already pulsing, and she was panting now, shudders of pure need racing through her.

One finger, then two, thrusting inside her, stroking hard, the way he wanted to thrust. The urge to take her, to devour her, to fill her was overwhelming, but not yet.

Now, what he wanted more was to feel her break, to watch as she gave herself up to the pleasure, and with one long, sure stroke against her c.l.i.t, she did. Knees buckling, mouth opening, she arched into his hand, the only sound she made a desperate, breathless groan.

Holding her close, he buried his face in her hair, stroking her down, rearranging her pants, her shirt, waiting for her trembling to stop. When she looked up at him, eyes full of moonlight, he kissed her hard, sating himself on the taste of her tongue.

When he pulled away, she drew in a shuddering breath and opened her mouth to speak, but he shook his head. It was too much-it was crazy. He wanted her in ways he hadn't wanted a woman in a long, long time, and that was bad. He wanted her in ways that had nothing to do with l.u.s.t, and everything to do with a far deeper need. Maybe she expected him to take his fill, maybe she wanted to give that to him, but he couldn't do it. He shouldn't have done this.

"Good night, Mackenzie," he murmured, reaching down to pick up her bag and hand it to her. He didn't trust his voice-it was rough with need. "Sleep well."

And then he was striding toward the truck, cursing himself and everything he couldn't tell her. Stupid. He was so f.u.c.king stupid. He'd wanted to keep his distance, and instead he'd opened himself up to her, or at least to her curiosity.

Mistakes. He was so f.u.c.king good at them.

Five.

By eleven o'clock the following morning, Mackenzie had decided that watching the clock truly didn't make time go any faster. If anything, she felt as if she'd been planted in front of the d.a.m.n thing for about three days instead of nearly three hours.

Thank G.o.d it was the microwave clock. If she'd been monitoring a timepiece that ticked, her head would have exploded by now.

She glanced out the kitchen window as she took a pitcher of iced tea from the fridge. The sky was a dull slate, and the air was swollen with the promise of a storm. But Leo had pulled into the driveway just after eight, truck tires crunching the gravel. By eight-fifteen, she'd heard the groan of old wood being torn away from its studs, and the metallic clatter of tools in use.

What she hadn't heard was h.e.l.lo. After those wild minutes on the back porch the night before, she'd sort of figured it was the least she could expect.

So she'd waited, scrambling out of bed and into the first clothes she stumbled across. She'd brushed her teeth and made coffee, all with an ear c.o.c.ked toward the backyard. She'd ditched her shirt for a different one-okay, a prettier one-and she'd brushed her hair and slid lip gloss over her mouth, certain she'd be interrupted any minute.

Wrong. It had been the longest three hours of her life.

Stirring a spoonful of sugar into her iced tea and swallowing down half of it in a single gulp, she made up her mind. She couldn't very well hide in the house all day, just because she didn't have an appointment scheduled. Not that she was hiding, of course. No, she was waiting. Well, she couldn't wait all day, either. She wanted to clear the air. She wanted to discuss what had happened between them.

She wanted him to kiss her again.

Taking a deep breath, she set down her gla.s.s and marched outside, swallowing hard when she saw that Leo was in the yard outside the shed. One confrontation, no waiting, she told herself, fighting the hot flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks just at the sight of him.

He was breaking apart old boards, throwing them into a loose pile outside the shed, and he was already sweaty. The sun was only a suggestion of light behind the clouds that had ama.s.sed over the ocean, but it was hot and sticky, the air full of moisture and the faint, burnt smell of electricity.

He looked up when he heard her crossing the gra.s.s, and nodded curtly. "Morning."

"Morning," she echoed, waiting, wriggling her toes in the damp gra.s.s.

Well, this was awkward. He'd turned back to his task, the cut-off sleeves of his dark T-shirt giving her an un.o.bstructed view of the muscles in his arms. His hands were encased in heavy work gloves, his feet in dusty construction boots.

What to do...She stood there, impatient, irritation beginning to tingle along the back of her neck.Turn around , she wanted to say.Talk to me.

Kiss me again.

As if he'd heard her unspoken thoughts, he glanced at her over his shoulder. "You need something?"

Did sheneed something? She took a deep, calming breath, willing her voice to remain steady. She needed something, all right. She needed some answers, some clarification.

Almost as much as she needed him to finish what he'd started last night.

"I...need to talk to you," she said finally, taking a step closer.

"Can it wait?" he said, not looking at her, breaking a splintered piece of siding apart with a single blow. "I'd like to get this done before it rains."

She glanced at the sky, which was even darker now, an ominous near-black. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

"It will only take a minute," she insisted, jumping when he threw the pieces of wood onto the pile with a sharp clatter.

He sighed and turned around, stripping off his gloves. Beneath his furrowed dark brow, his green gaze pinned her to the spot. "What is it?"

He had to know what.i.t was, didn't he? Why was he making her try so hard? Why was he being so G.o.dd.a.m.ned difficult?

"Mackenzie?"

She cleared her throat, feeling like every kind of fool on earth, and straightened her spine. "It's about last night."

He ran a hand over his head, bristling the barely-there fuzz. "Okay."

c.r.a.p. Now what? If only her heart would stop banging so violently, maybe she could think of something intelligent to say.

"You're not making this easy," she said finally, taking another step closer and looking him in the eye.

"Making what easy?" he asked, shrugging. But he ran his hand over his head again, as if he were restless. Possibly uncomfortable.

Huh. She went closer still, nearly close enough to touch him. "Last night was...well, it was unexpected, for one, but it was also wonderful. It would have been more wonderful if you'd come in." She stopped, the double entendre occurring to her too late, but Leo ignored it.