Thieves Like Us Part 21

She looked suspicious. "Maybe. Tell me first."

He couldn't help smiling at her caution. "I know you're worried about Janet, but you don't have to be. She's not like anyone else I've been out with. Janet's different."

"No kidding. She's way better."

"Yes, she is. I'm not about to screw it up."

She gave him a skeptical look. "Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good." Her stern expression could have come from his own mother. She folded her arms, a younger version of her authoritative grandmother. "But why should I believe you?"

He looked back at Janet, who stood with hands in her pockets, waiting, a hesitant smile on her beautiful face, wondering what he was saying to Libby.

The truth hit him-because he loved her.

He actually wasn't that surprised. He'd never been so infatuated with a woman before, and Janet Aims had more than lived up to his fantasies. But fantasies were just part of the chase. In the light of the morning after, they tended to wear off. Not this time, though. That didn't surprise him either. With Janet he only wanted more. What did surprise him was the urge to rip apart any man who stood in his way. He hadn't known he could love that quickly or that deeply. And he knew telling her would risk scaring her off forever.

He couldn't tell Libby. Not yet, not before he'd told Janet. He understood that on a cellular level. Janet would not appreciate having someone else hear it first. Actually, she wouldn't appreciate hearing it at all.

"Because she means a lot to me." He put as much sincerity in it as he could. Libby searched his face, her narrow gaze unnervingly mature. He had the feeling she already understood men all too well, and could categorize them by acceptable and unacceptable behaviors. He very much wanted to be one of the good ones.

Her expression gradually softened to something kind and gentle. "Good luck," she told him. "I hope she feels the same way."

A tiny quiver of panic shot down his back, shaking his confidence. Libby knew Janet well. "You think she might not?"

Libby shrugged, unconcerned with the possibility of his future heartbreak. "It's always a risk, isn't it?"

He looked at her as if she'd suddenly grown a tail. "G.o.d, you're tough. I think I feel sorry for the man who falls in love with you."

As if he'd complimented her, she said, "Really?"

"Definitely. Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d." He tousled her hair lightly to counteract the joking insult, even though she didn't seem to take it as one. She couldn't have looked more satisfied as they left. His last glimpse was of Libby firmly instructing Freddie to "sit," while pushing his bottom into place. The pup wriggled but stayed, adoring eyes on Libby's face.

Rocky couldn't help but wonder how many men would be in Freddie's position before Libby found one who would ignore her orders, then choose to stay on his own initiative. Probably more than he cared to know. "Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d" was right.

Chapter.

Twelve.

Janet thought the day would never end. After chaperoning nose-to-nose introductions, she and Libby had spent the afternoon refereeing Freddie's exuberant pursuit of kitty friendship. The outcome was still pending. And Elizabeth had conveniently found reasons to leave the house, so Janet hadn't been able to corner her about Libby's insecurities. It'd been her primary concern right up until Rocky walked into the room and kissed her, wiping all thought from her mind. She was pathetic, like an addict getting her fix.

He probably wouldn't mean so much to her if he didn't represent her only chance to get out of the house, she told herself. It was a bonus that he was fun to be with and, as Libby's friend said, cute in a bad way. Oh h.e.l.l, who was she kidding? He was downright dangerous, and any woman with hormones knew it. But the real danger with Rocky was an emotional attachment that would just get her hurt in the end.

That danger was especially high tonight, judging by the hooded looks he kept shooting her way as he drove. She smiled, recognizing the route he was taking. "Jack and Ellie's house?"

"Of course. I'm really worried about that fern being lonely while they're gone."

"Oh, me, too," she a.s.sured him.

"But if you don't mind, I'd like to stop at my place first, just to make sure nothing happened today. I'd like to think Easy Joey would give up on breaking in, but when the guy thinks he has a point to prove, nothing will dissuade him."

"Okay." She was content to let him lead tonight.

She watched him as he drove, not even trying to hide her interest. She noticed the way his hands held the wheel and imagined them touching her with the same casual competence. Then she noticed his legs, recalling the hard muscles of his thighs as he knelt between hers. It nearly made her blush, but it was impossible to ignore. She was obsessed, completely tuned in to his body and how he felt. Beside her, on top of her, inside her.

"If you keep looking at me like that, I'm going to pull over right here."

"Just watch the road. I can watch whatever I want."

His look promised payback.

Rocky kept Janet close as he checked out his alarm and the first floor. She let him check the upstairs alone while she poked through his CD collection and bookshelves. The man certainly had a broad range of interests. She wandered back to the kitchen, where memories. .h.i.t her. Not visions of the miniature explosion in the sink, but the thrill of being pressed against his refrigerator while he drove her crazy with desire. She remembered every touch, her body burning again as she did. She glanced at the kitchen counters, distracted by what he'd promised to do on them. Or on the floor.

She stood next to the countertop, stroking the granite, gauging the height. Nah, it could never work.

"Interesting thoughts?" He stood behind her with his arms crossed, his hip c.o.c.ked against the stove.

She smiled. If he didn't already know what she was thinking, he hadn't been paying attention. "It's too high."

"Maybe you're just not creative enough."

"Whoa. Is that a challenge?"

"Could be." He moved toward her, looking her over. His gaze changed as she watched, becoming hypnotic, his body moving as stealthily as a cat on the prowl.

She waited until he stood in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body inches from her own. She licked her lips. "I don't know what you're thinking, but if you lead, I'll bet I can follow."

"Bet you can," he agreed, bending to nip at the delicate skin beneath her ear, sending shivers all the way down to her fingertips.

She tried to replicate the maneuver, but he moved his head and her lips. .h.i.t air. "Uh-uh," he said, giving her a thoughtful smile. "You don't get to play this time." Before she could protest, he slipped his hands around her waist and boosted her onto the corner of the counter above the lazy Susan. He pushed between her legs and leaned into her, holding her hands to the countertop. Her heart sped up a few dozen beats.

He leaned closer, his chest touching hers. "I know you said you hate me, but I'm starting to think you lied."

"That's just the pheromones." She dismissed the subject. "Are you planning to have your way with me or not?"

His smile was tolerant. "It's more than pheromones."

Because it felt dangerous, she hedged. "What makes you think so?"

"I can feel your heart pounding."

No kidding. She was surprised the whole counter wasn't vibrating. "That's because you're so annoying. You gonna make a move here?"

He clicked his tongue disparagingly. "You're too impatient. Making love is an art."

She was tempted to correct him, to say they were having s.e.x, not making love, but he was kissing her neck and unb.u.t.toning her top. She didn't want to interrupt. Besides, if the man was willing to put enough dedication and focus into s.e.x to call it an art, she wasn't about to argue.

He popped the front closure of her bra with a smile. "Easy access. Were you planning ahead?"

"Darn right," she managed before sucking in her breath as his mouth explored. His hands did, too, holding, caressing, and finally drifting down to her waistband. She arched back, doing her bit to help. While he opened the snap at her waist, she ran her hands through his hair. Desire and affection and need mixed together in hot waves. She tipped her head against the cabinet and moaned. As if it was a signal, his mouth came back to hers and he took the sound into himself. She opened to every touch, feeling as if he was peeling back layer after layer until she was laid bare.

Bare. Only one of them was bare. With urgent whimpers she pulled at his shirt, needing to feel his chest against hers. He understood, and tugged it off, her tender nipples against his chest.

"Oh, yes," she groaned.

"Hold onto me." He pulled her closer and she held his shoulders, not knowing what he wanted. In the next second his hands slipped beneath her bottom, taking her unfastened shorts with them. He set her back on the counter as he dropped them to the floor.

His fingers were on her, probing and stroking, while his gaze held hers. "I love when your eyes get all soft and hazy like that," he murmured.

She caught a few panting breaths while she worked at his belt and zipper. "Glad to oblige your s.e.xual quirks."

He pulled her forward, fitting her against him. The important parts were evident even through his pants, and still a couple inches off. "You're right, this doesn't work," he told her.

She clamped her legs around him, throbbing and desperate for relief. "I gotta tell you, that's an even bigger disappointment now than it was a few minutes ago."

"Hang on."

She clung to him as he pulled her off the counter and walked a few short steps to the kitchen table. The smooth wood pressed against her bottom as he set her down, feet dangling over the edge.

She fixed startled eyes on him. "On the table?"

"Why not?" He was making quick work of stripping off his pants and shoes, and putting on the condom he pulled from his pocket.

She giggled nervously. "Because you eat here?"

He gave her an appreciative look from head to toe. "Believe me, dinner will never be the same again." He pressed her back as he said it, propping one leg on a chair and hovering over her. "In fact, maybe kitchen tables were made for this. I think we've found the right height."

She didn't have to look to know he was right; she could feel him hot and hard and poised at just the right spot between her thighs. She circled him with her hand just to watch his eyes grow dark as they closed halfway.

"You know what I love about you?"

He was suddenly still. "What?"

"Your eyelashes. I'm a sucker for long lashes."

She thought he'd smile, but he didn't, simply watching her as his hands spread her thighs. "The curse of the Hernandez genes. Dreamy eyes." He pushed against her.

"Mmm," she said, appreciating the pressure and wanting more. Moving her hand aside, he rubbed himself against her while she closed her eyes and fisted her hands, lost in the sensation.

"Rocky."

She opened her eyes. "Please," she whispered. "Now."

His gaze steady on her own, he slipped inside her. Warmth filled her, flowing to every limb, followed by a deep restlessness.

She had to move, but her damp skin stuck to the table. He moved for them, turning the vague, restless feeling into something tighter and heavier, an energy that burned until it was nothing but raw urgency beating in time with her pulse. Every stroke was too much and not enough. His arms were braced on the table beside her, and she gripped his wrists, using the leverage to increase the force of each stroke, and urge him to pump harder.

She gasped as the first spasms. .h.i.t, then gave in to the mindless bliss, riding her o.r.g.a.s.m as he pushed harder and faster until he reached the same mind-blowing peak. With one final thrust, he went still. She could feel his breath on her neck, and she went limp on the table.

"I can't believe we just did that." She reached up to stroke his face affectionately, feeling the stubble on his cheek. "But I'm definitely accepting any future dinner invitations from you."

He smiled. "You're the only one on the guest list."

"I think you mean on the menu."

His lopsided smile was back. "Even better." He licked her neck until she was helpless with laughter.

"Get off and help me up! No, wait," she ordered, pulling him back for a long kiss. "Okay. Go slowly; I don't want to leave too much skin behind."

He did, grinning. "I guess we don't need to go to Jack and Ellie's house after all. Unless you'd like to use me again."

She'd been the one to insist that she was only using him for s.e.x, so it shouldn't have struck her the way it did. But what he'd said made the past fifteen minutes sound crude and dirty. That wasn't at all the way it had felt. She wasn't sure what it was, but she no longer wanted Rocky to think she was using him.

"Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That I'm using you. It doesn't sound right."

"But you were the one-"

"I know. Just don't. Please."

"Okay." He pulled her close, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed against his hard chest, his arms holding her tight. His kiss was tender, and she knew he meant it to soothe her even though he didn't say so.

She kissed him back, wondering how everything had turned upside down in such a short time. Words that hadn't bothered her before sounded different now. What had begun with strict boundaries seemed to have crossed them when she wasn't looking. An uneasy flutter in her chest made her pull away. Stepping out of the circle of his arms, she put some distance between them.

"I want to wash up."

"Use the upstairs bathroom; it's bigger."

Checking to see that the window blinds were drawn, she scampered upstairs, well aware that his gaze followed every jiggle and bounce. Typical Rocky-he'd always been open about his attraction to her. It used to make her uncomfortable, but she had to admit it gave her a little thrill of power to catch his appreciative stares. And there was nothing wrong with that.

Except there was. In fact, it was in complete conflict with the code she'd sworn to follow ever since her narrow escape from Banner: Never trust her feelings. They'd led her astray before, into a marriage to an emotionally detached, calculating man who was most likely a psychopath.

She tried to block her thoughts, but they kept battering her, insisting on being heard. Spying a radio on the bathroom counter, she turned it on, bouncing loud rock music off the tiled walls while she turned the shower on full blast, drowning out the little voice inside her head.

He nearly missed the alarm. The rush of water upstairs had covered up the tiny, intermittent beep from the security box. If he hadn't walked into the laundry room to drop a washcloth and hand towel into the laundry basket, he never would have noticed the blinking red light. Even then, he double-checked the circuits before coming back to that one alarm, forced to admit that only one circuit had been broken-the one for the skylight in the upstairs bathroom.