Dog Collar Couture (19 page)

T
im stood
in the doorway and waited for Lucie to say something. Damn the darkness because he couldn't see anything in her body language.

Usually, he'd tag her mood in seconds. She was easy that way. Her haunting blue eyes gave it away every time. Now? He had nothing. Zippo.

From now on, he'd leave on the damned living-room lights.

And then she launched herself at him. Just sprinted the few feet between them and leaped.

Her body connected with his just as he got his arms out, and the force—a hundred pounds was a hundred pounds—sent him crashing into the open door.

Shoving her tongue in his mouth helped break the chaos. In a big way.

He clamped his hands over her ass to keep her from slipping. If her tongue in his mouth didn't give him an erection, well, her legs around him just did.

She pulled back, and the side of her mouth quirked enough to make him think about sex and lots of it. Damn, he was nuts about her.

Every time he was around her his world opened up to all sorts of possibilities.

With her, he was invincible.

A beast.

Untouchable.

She rocked her hips against him. “Hello, you.”

“You started it. And I'm not apologizing.”

“Please, don't.” But she smacked his shoulder. Hard.

“Ow. What's that for?”

“For making me sweat that whole I-love-you thing, that's what.”

He moved away from the door, kicked it shut and locked it with one hand because he didn't intend on coming back to do it later.

She'd be lucky if he let her out of bed to pee.

“I didn't make you sweat it. I was surprised. And then you went psycho on me, and I couldn't figure out if you loved me or not. I had to regroup.”

“
Regroup?
Did you just say that to me?”

Shit.
Were they going to fight about this? Now?

No. They weren't. He smacked her on the ass, and she dropped her legs, made a move to stand.
No way, sweetheart.
He bent low, grabbed hold and—upsie-daisy—boosted her over his shoulder.

“Eeep!”

At his bedroom, he kicked the slightly ajar door open. “We're not fighting over the fact that I love you. I've been waiting on you to say it. Hell, Lucie, I knew I loved you after our first date. You weren't ready for me. I've been telling myself that. While waiting. On you. So, yeah, I needed to figure out how to not make an ass out of myself when I told you I loved you for the first time. Deal with it.”

“Okay,” she said. “That's better.”

Dodged one there.

“Glad to hear it. By the way, my bed is a king. And we're gonna use every inch of it.”

“Eeep,” she said again, this time the word coming on a long slow, breath and without the squeak from a second ago.

This time, she knew exactly what was happening.

T
im tossed
her on his bed, and—
wow, wow, wow
—Lucie totally loved that.

Due to her diminutive size, most people treated her like delicate china. Something that would shatter when bumped or pushed too hard.

Guess what, kids? She didn't shatter.

Most of the time anyway.

And Tim, after only a few months, understood that in a way Frankie never had.

She hopped to her knees and poked her finger at him. “Out of those clothes, sailor. You're about to get laid.”

Even as she said it, she couldn't hold back the giggle. And that got
him
going and here they were, the two of them in his darkened bedroom, about to rip each other's clothes off for the first time, laughing at each other.

Perfection.

“We're really twisted, Tim.”

“What's your point?”

He tossed his suit jacket away. Where it landed, she didn't know and didn't care. When he reached for his shirt buttons, she swatted his hands away. “Me, me, me.”

He dropped his hands, ran them over her waist, down her hips to the front of her jeans. He popped the snap and worked the zipper low, low, low.

Come to me, O'Hottie.

Zipper done, he hooked his thumbs over the waistband of her jeans and let his warm fingers slide over her skin. Her hormones whooped it up.

Months she'd been without physical touch—skin to skin with a man—and now, with Tim, she ached for more. For the heat and friction and companionship that came with intimacy.

O'Hottie wasn't the only one about to get laid.

Clothes gone, Tim scooped her up, ripped the comforter and sheet back and set her back down, moving over her and propping on his elbows. He dragged one thumb over the side of her face, looping it in circles, round and round and round all the while, watching her, studying her face and her eyes and her lips.

Wow, wow, wow.

“You won't crush me,” she said. Seductive brilliance.

He smiled down at her, kissed her lightly—three quick taps—on the lips that held his attention for the last ten seconds. “I know. I'm just looking. Been thinking about this a while.”

Me, too.

He dipped his head down, kissed her neck as his weight, all that muscle and warmth, settled on her. Wrapped around her in his nice Tim cocoon, once again that feeling, that enormous sense of security that came with him, hit her.

She dragged her nails up his back, over the hard planes of his shoulders and over his neck, drawing him closer, wanting to feast on his beautiful mouth.

He reached left, slid the nightstand drawer open. “Gotta . . . um.”

Condom. Another thing she hadn't had to worry about in a long time. She was on the pill, but they'd have the whole safe-sex conversation later. When they also had the conversation about exclusivity.

Because Lucie wasn't into multiple partners.

She hoped he'd understood that. He had to. Right?

He rolled off of her, turned his back and went to work on the condom. “I hate these damned things.”

That made two of them.

Later.

He turned back to her, smiling through the darkness, and she saw it,
felt
it. For the first time really let herself experience the buzzing tingle that invaded her body when he looked at her.

He loved her.

Loved
her.

She bolted up and kissed him, mashing her bare breasts against his chest, loving the tickling hair in the middle of his torso.

Man's man.

Then she shoved him backward. Taking control in a way she'd never allowed herself. Control meant confidence, in her body, in her looks, in her relationship.

Something she suddenly realized she'd been sorely lacking.

She straddled Tim's hips, and that silly grin of his poured over his face.
He likes it.
Her heart pounded, and she leaned forward, ran her hands up his chest, over his shoulders and kissed him lightly. “I love you.”

He gripped her thighs, let her adjust herself and thrust, and—
wow
—the feel of him inside her made her gasp.

“Helloooo, Lucie.”

“Helloooo, O'Hottie.”

She rolled her hips, moving with him, bringing him deeper and deeper. Amazing. The two people who couldn't be more opposite in lifestyle and looks, somehow found common ground.

Lucie leaned back, brought him fully inside her while his hands and gaze roamed over her body, exploring every inch and—funny thing—she didn't freak out. Didn't dip her head in embarrassment, didn't wonder what he saw, didn't draw comparisons to his perfection and her lack of perfection.

Thank you.

Tim clamped his hands at her hips, gritted his teeth and she shifted, making him groan because, yes, his orgasm was about to hit. And she'd done it. She'd brought him to that edge.

Then she was on her back, flipped right over while Tim stared straight down at her, a wicked smile in place. She knew what he wanted. He wanted her on the edge, too. She brought her legs up higher and . . . perfection.
Right there.

“Luce?”

She swung her head, needing the silence as her body came alive, every nerve ending exploding with pleasure and release.

She opened her eyes, stared up at Tim, the big shoulders, the green eyes that twinkled when he looked at her. Something in his expression changed, hardened.
Hanging on.
She reached up, dragged her fingertips over his chest.
Boom.
The orgasm took hold, and he cried out. Something inside her churned, and she pumped her hips and whipped her head sideways and waited—
please, please, please
—until finally, finally, she let go into a swirl of bright lights and release.

So good.

Tim sank into her, his full weight pressing her into the mattress, shooing away the cold.

With him, she'd never be cold.

Or alone.

Whatever their differences Tim O'Brien might be the best thing to ever happen to her.

L
ucie woke
up to the sun slanting between the blinds. Tim needed drapes.

Of course, she wouldn't tell him that on day-one post–I love you, but if she were going to spend overnights, this invasive sun problem needed to be rectified.

She closed her eyes, burrowed under his comforter. The scent of his soap lingered on the sheets, and a little squee went on a rampage in her brain.

A noise sounded from outside the bedroom, and she rolled over. No Tim. From across the hall came the muted splash of running water.

The water stopped, and the bathroom door swung open to reveal an extremely naked Tim. Yowzer, the man had a body. All long legs and sculpted, roping muscles that she'd explored every inch of last night. And . . . wow . . . her cheeks burned.

“Morning, sunshine.” He crossed the hall and tossed the towel in his hand into the hamper by his bedroom door. “Sorry I woke you.”

“You didn't.” She patted the spot next to her. “Since you're naked and all, come back to bed.”

A lightning-quick smile flashed. “You have no idea how much I'd like to.”

Ah, the early sting of rejection . . . “But?”

“Just got called out. Robbery.”

“I see.”

He walked toward her, dropped onto the bed and stretched out next to her while Lucie tried to keep her eyes above his shoulders.

“I was going to let you sleep, but if you want I can run you back to your car.” He kissed her then ran one finger over her shoulder down to the rise of her breast. “Or you can stay here. Whatever you want.”

At the moment, she couldn't have what she wanted. And, yes, apparently she'd turned into the slut Ro had suggested she try to be. Who knew it could be such fun?

Well, with Tim anyway. She had no interest in being with anyone else. “Damn.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “Here I thought I was living life on the wild side and turning into a slut. Turns out, I just like having sex with hot, Irish detectives.”

“Plenty more sex for the Irish detective sounds
great.
”

He kissed her again, and she ran her hand up his thigh hoping she could coax him into some naughtiness.
Slut. Te-he!

Tim ruined the whole thing by clamping on to her wrist. “Luce, I can't. I'm already late. Tonight though, you'll be in trouble.”

“Promises, promises.”

“Oh, don't worry.” He rolled off the bed, walked to the dresser and starting at the top worked his way through three drawers. T-shirt, boxer briefs and socks. He tossed them on the bed and moved to the closet where his shirts hung on one side. Sorted by color. White, cream, light blue, pin stripes.

An organized hunk. It was like the Holy Grail of hormonal overload.

He grabbed a white shirt, hung it on the closet knob and moved on to suits, also sorted by color. His long fingers moved over the hangers, searching, searching, searching and . . . bingo. Navy suit. The tie came next. A nice red one with blue accents.

She'd missed this. The comfort of watching her man in his space, completing his morning routine. The normalcy of it. She curled into her pillow, drew a long breath and wished they could stay right there, in Tim's room, just the two of them enjoying a day off.