SinfulSouthernHero Page 9

  “Dalton?”

  Right. He had a problem to deal with, no time for kinky daydreams. And didn’t that just piss him off more?

  Dalton rounded the staircase and stepped into his living room to find Rachel perched on an arm of his sofa, shapely long legs crossed at the knee and exposing an indecent expanse of thigh due to the length of the short black dress she’d donned.

  “Is everything all right? Would you like a back rub?” Rachel stood and moved toward him.

  Dalton matched her steps, only moving backward and away from her. “Stop.” He put a hand up to reinforce the concept for her. Apparently, she was having trouble understanding things. The not-so-innocent jabs at Lucy’s weight were edging his mood off of pissed and right into hostile.

  “How did you get into my house?”

  He studied her, and it struck him that even though they’d been screwing for quite a while, he didn’t know this woman at all. He knew the character she played for him, the demure submissive with a wild sexual appetite. They rarely had real conversation, excepting the first time they’d met and decided to pursue their arrangement. Dalton had been proud of himself for looking past her familial affiliation and giving her a chance despite her lying, degenerate brother.

  “Your back door was unlocked. Honestly, I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”

  Naive. He’d been either naive or fucking blind to think Rachel was the sweet and innocent to her brother’s vile and greasy. Dalton never, never left his back door unlocked. Not his back door, front door, windows, he even locked the window over the sink in the kitchen despite the fact it was too small for a body to crawl through. Clifton was a small town, but shit went bad, even in small towns.

  “However you really found your way inside my house, forget about doing a repeat.” He stepped into Rachel’s space, her strawberries-and-grass scent he used to crave now making his stomach turn. “I’m seeing you like to play games. I thought your brother was just being a dick, acting like you and I were in something deep, spouting bullshit to Lucy about how we’re a couple. I see he got the idea from you.”

  “No, I—”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “You’re making me leave and letting her sleep in your bed?” Rachel’s tone held so much venom it likely poisoned the air around her.

  “You and I, we had an arrangement, we scratched an itch for each other, nothin’ more.” He strode to the front door, hearing the clack of Rachel’s heels on the hardwood floor behind him. He turned to face Rachel, one hand resting on the door knob and the other pointing up the steps. “That woman up there, laying in my bed? She’s in my bed because she’s mine. To be clear, she’s mine in all the ways you never were and never will be. Whatever game you’re playin’, consider it over.”

  Dalton pulled the door open and waited.

  “You’re making a mistake. I can give you things she can’t. You and I, we make sense. Look at us and look at her, then tell me which one doesn’t fit the picture.”

  Dalton forced himself to swallow the disgust rising in his throat at Rachel’s words. Worse, she hid her vile implications behind carefully selected words and innocent wide eyes. He clenched the doorknob until he heard it groan under the strain. He kept his voice pitched low so the words wouldn’t carry up the stairs to Lucy. “If you’re going to insult someone, the least you could do is say it straight out. Don’t hide behind pretty words like a coward.” He watched her lips tighten and her spine go stiff. “For the record, nothing and no one makes my dick harder than a woman with a curvy body. Soft in all the right places. Not a jagged hipbone or sharp shoulder blade. I may not be able to count Lucy’s ribs through her skin but I know, I know when she’s beneath me and I’m drivin’ into her, she won’t break, she’ll melt.”

  Having had her attack smacked down head-on, Rachel sniffed in disdain but said nothing further. With a harsh light in her eyes and tension in her step, she moved through the door and Dalton closed it as soon as her tiny ass crossed the threshold.

  Blowing out a breath, he scrubbed a work-roughened hand over his close-cropped hair and tried to figure out how to smooth things over with Lucy. No doubt she’d be in a fit and halfway across the county by now if her injuries hadn’t forced her to stay put. Finding Rachel kneeling naked in his house and spouting bullshit was the last thing she needed to see today, or ever.

  Pulling out his phone, he thumbed through his contacts and highlighted his foreman Dez’s number. Dalton needed to make sure his home was secure first and foremost, which meant switching out the locks on his doors ASAP. With no idea how Rachel had gotten inside, he’d start with the doors. Keeping Lucy safe was his number one priority and if Rachel could get into his house, Lucy’s shithead ex wouldn’t have a problem either.

  Dez had been Dalton’s foreman for the six years since the man had returned to town after a stint in the army. Dalton trusted Dez with his business and, now, he was the only person he would trust with Lucy’s safety.

  “Dez, I need a favor. No, not work related. I need you to tap into the knowledge base the army gave you. Right. Grab your shit and meet me at my place.”

  * * * * *

  Lucy came awake with a start. She found it unbelievable she’d somehow fallen asleep while the drama unfolded between Dalton and Rachel downstairs. The stress and trauma of the last day—hell, the last few years—had caught up with her. Shoving the sheet off of her legs, she shimmied her butt to the edge of the bed and swung her feet down to touch the chilled wood floor.

  She stood with slow movements, grateful when the room stayed still instead of spinning around her like a tilt-a-whirl. Squinting at the clock on Dalton’s dresser, she found she’d only slept two hours. Still, she felt about a million times better than she had when Dalton tucked her into his bed.

  On surprisingly steady legs, she shuffled through the bedroom, into the hall and to the landing at the top of the stairs. With one hand on the sturdy, polished wood railing, she carefully moved down the steps, pausing at the bottom and squeezing her eyes shut to quell the dizziness threatening to sweep in and take over.

  A deep, rumbling male voice froze Lucy in mid-step, just as she was about to round the stairwell and search for Dalton. The voice was muffled, coming from the back of the house, probably the kitchen, and it did not belong to Dalton.

  Lucy had no idea how she knew for certain this voice was not Dalton’s, she just knew. Who was in his house? Where was Dalton?

  She swallowed a knot of fear trying to lodge itself inside her throat and craned her neck, waiting, listening.

  An answering rumble came from the same direction as the first, only this time Lucy’s heart sped instead of freezing. Dalton. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. As long as he was in the house, she’d be safe. At the thought, her heart skipped a beat. At this rate, she’d give herself a heart attack if she didn’t relax and control her reactions. At least this reaction she understood completely.

  Lucy never thought she’d feel safe, especially not with a man in the house. Damn Dalton for prying open her protective walls and hammering himself inside. The man had snuck up on her and swept through her defenses—which were considerable, she thought, before he came into her life.

  With one hand to the wall steadying herself, she took a deep breath and moved toward the sound of the voices.

  “This woman means somethin’ to you.” Lucy heard the voice she didn’t recognize clearly as she came upon the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, she stopped before entering. Eavesdropping was an asshole thing to do, but…

  “Shit, man. I didn’t call you over for a heart-to-heart. I got a woman tucked into my bed with a concussion and an abusive dickwad ex-husband turned stalker. She does graphic design work for a living, she has to be able to use the internet, use her email, without worrying this douchebag is gonna trace her.”

  Dalton was already taking care of her, arranging for Lucy to get her work done without the fear that Ross would somehow use that to find he
r. Her insides warmed and she took a step into the kitchen doorway.

  Standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, his back partially toward her, Dalton faced a man Lucy wasn’t sure she wanted helping her with anything.

  The man leaned his jean-clad ass against the heavy kitchen table, the pose negligent but somehow full of barely leashed power. He had his thumbs hooked into the front pockets of those faded, fraying jeans. Faded and frayed from use and washes and hard work, not bought that way, Lucy guessed. A black tee under an equally well-worn leather vest and beat-up black motorcycle boots completed his look. That is, if you didn’t count the dark-blond hair, too long for a man but it worked on this guy, pulled back into a queue at the base of his neck, and the plethora of tattoos nearly covering both arms.

  “Abigail and Jed swung by earlier, grabbed her keys, should be back soon with her laptops. A small, pansy-ass thing I don’t know how she does anything on, and a big heavy one she uses for work.”

  “It’s a netbook, and it isn’t small and pansy-ass. It’s compact,” Lucy stated, shuffling into the kitchen.

  Two heads whipped around at the sound of her voice. Two sets of harshly beautiful male eyes zeroed in on her, one set searching, curious, one set looking a little more enraged than she wanted to see.

  “What are you doing?” Dalton took a step toward her and she matched it by taking a step back.

  Her eyes hit the unknown man, finding him looking amused, before snapping back to Dalton. “Umm…”

  “Tell me you didn’t walk down the stairs alone.”

  This was a strange request, considering it was obviously exactly what she’d done. He didn’t seem to require a response, so she waited.

  “Woman, you could have broken your damn neck.” Dalton prowled closer.

  The warmth that had started in her chest when she heard Dalton arranging for whatever it was he was having done to protect her and let her work spread to her veins and cranked up the heat. He was worried about her, she knew. Still, it surprised and delighted her that he was this worried.

  “Well, I didn’t break my neck, as you can see.” Dalton’s gaze moved over her as if checking for confirmation. She licked her lips before pulling the bottom one between her teeth and nibbling on it, a nervous tic she had never been able to beat. When he stopped scanning for injuries and his gaze settled on her mouth, she cleared her throat and took a step toward him, hoping he’d move out of the way. “Who’s your friend?”

  Dalton kept silent. His stare remained on her lips and to her embarrassment, her nipples hardened and the lacy pink bra he’d helped her into earlier did nothing to hide the effect his attention had on her body. She decided escape was the best option and stepped to the side to move around him.

  Dalton, of course, did not allow this. He spun and tagged her with an arm around her waist, his big hand gripping her hip. The man leaning against the table caught Lucy’s small gasp and one side of his lips tilted up in a small smile. Dear God but the man was actually scarier when he smiled. A short scar ran in a diagonal from the side of his nose to his upper lip, halfway between the middle and the corner.

  “Lucy, Dez. Dez, Lucy.”

  Why was she not surprised with Dalton’s abrupt introduction?

  “Nice to meet you, Dez. You have a very interesting name.”

  The man’s smile turned into a grin and she realized he wasn’t only scary as hell, he was seriously hot too.

  She felt Dalton chuckle, the sound vibrating against her side, which he’d tucked against his own. “Dez is a nickname. His real name is Desmond Gerrard Walker.”

  Lucy’s eyes went wide before she hid her shock. This man did not look like a Desmond Gerrard Walker. No wonder he used a nickname. Dez fit his brute biker persona to a T.

  “My parents said they wanted to give me a real smart name, so, that way, I’d grow up and be real smart. Go to college, be a doctor or a lawyer.”

  “That was nice of them.” Lucy could think of nothing else to say, and really, it was sweet of his parents to try and give him a name he’d be proud of. Still…

  “Too bad for them you grew up not only smart, but a smart ass.” This was Dalton, clearly comfortable teasing the rough-looking man.

  “Well, if you’re gonna work some mojo on my computers and make it so I can’t be tracked, you must have grown up all right. Smart, too, ’cause IP addresses and all that crap confuse the heck out of me.”

  Dez’s gaze went to Dalton. “Did your woman just use the word ‘mojo’?”

  His woman? Lucy was both pleased and scared to death of this title.

  Dalton gave her hip a squeeze. “Yeah, she’s kind of a goof.” He guided her to a chair by the table and settled her into it. “Stubborn, too,” he continued, ignoring Lucy’s glare. “She thinks I have mojo, too.” He winked at her, causing her glare to ratchet up a notch. “Though, I believe she called it ‘hillbilly magic’.”

  Dez arched one dark-blond eyebrow and bounced his gaze between Lucy and Dalton before shaking his head. A full-on grin exposed his straight, white teeth and Lucy thought he might not be so scary after all.

  A pounding knock sounded on the front door.

  Lucy jumped and probably would have bounded from her seat if not for Dalton’s strong hands gripping her shoulders and keeping her still.

  Dez visibly tensed as if readying his body to pounce, his head cocked to one side like a jungle cat listening for prey.

  Nope. Still scary.

  “Jed and Abigail,” Dalton stated.

  “How?” Dez asked.

  Lucy assumed Dez must have been asking how Dalton knew who it was without looking outside.

  “I know his knock. Obnoxious bastard. Knocks with his fist and a whole lotta force.” With those words, he gave Lucy’s shoulders a squeeze and stepped back.

  As he moved to the front door to let their guests inside, Lucy was left alone in the kitchen with a rough-looking male stranger. Not a place she particularly wanted to be.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dalton rubbed his knuckles against his closed eyelids. No sleep for nearly two days made blinking an effort, his eyelids feeling more and more like sandpaper. He was grateful his friends had dropped everything to converge in his home and tackle Lucy’s problems, but damn he was glad they were gone now. A quiet snuffle drew his attention. He dropped his hands to his hips and studied the small but curvy body tucked into a tight ball on his sofa.

  Dez, Abigail and Jed had enough compassion and violent tendencies between them to turn the impromptu gathering into something closer to a tactical discussion of war. Abigail, like Dalton, had wanted to turn the tables and make Lucy’s ex the prey. Hunting the bastard down and castrating him sounded perfectly rational to them. The guy presumably had two nuts, Abigail and Dalton could divide the trophies of war equally. Problem solved.

  Dez and Jed, the level-headed bastards, had to inject reason and law into the situation and vetoed the plan involving testicle removal. Buzz kills, both of them.

  Lucy had hung in there until about an hour ago, when she’d finally succumbed to exhaustion. As it stood, she hadn’t missed much. Dez was putting some old military and PI contacts into play to track Ross’ movements. Jed and Abigail would keep an eye out for anyone strange showing up at the shop looking for Lucy. Dalton…

  He smiled and moved toward the sofa. Dalton had the best job of all, protecting Lucy, which meant keeping her very, very close. He knelt beside the sofa and used his index finger to gently tuck an escaped curl behind Lucy’s ear. She sighed and turned her cheek into his palm, nuzzling him. Unconscious, she welcomed his touch. Now, if she’d only do the same while awake.

  Dalton slid one arm beneath her shoulders and one under her knees before standing and settling her warm, soft body against his chest. She turned her head, burying her nose against his nipple and making him stifle a groan.

  “What was that, darlin’?” he asked when she mumbled something he couldn’t understand.

  “Stop c
arrying me around like a sack of dog food,” she grumped, still half asleep.

  “Now, why would I do that?” Dalton took the steps to the second story, the addition of Lucy’s weight barely adding to his effort.

  “’Cause you’ll throw out your back lugging my fat ass up a flight of stairs. You’re too heavy for me to lift if you fall and can’t get up and you won’t be able to get away from Rachel when she pounces on her downed prey.”

  His chest shook and he tightened his grip on her and entered his bedroom. “I don’t want to hear you calling yourself a fat ass. You may be right about Rachel though, she has a screw loose I didn’t notice before.”

  Lucy’s eyes opened a mere slit and she glared. “I won’t call myself fat as long as you never use the words ‘screw’ and ‘Rachel’ in the same sentence ever again.”

  Dalton’s dick jumped against his zipper. “Jealous?” He sat her on the right side of the bed, the side furthest away from the door. “Darlin’, I like that look on you.” He tapped her cute little nose with his finger before stepping back and moving to the heavy oak dresser against the far wall.

  “I’m not jealous. I just think it’s possible your girlfriend is an escaped mental patient who was probably one of the whores in some king’s harem in a past life.”

  He laughed and decided not to address the “your girlfriend” comment. Lucy already knew the score. It lightened his heart to know she felt safe enough with him to tease. Because he planned to push her boundaries in a few moments, Dalton grabbed a fresh pair of boxers from a drawer and headed to the bathroom to change for bed.

  When he emerged from the bathroom, dressed in only a comfortable pair of boxer shorts, he found Lucy had scooted to the middle of bed and now lay on her side facing away from him with both hands tucked under her cheek. He grinned.

  Lifting the corner of the blanket and sliding into bed in one smooth movement, Lucy didn’t have time to retreat. He heard her gasp and, as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back snug against his front, he felt her body stiffen.