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After a half hour or so of blessed silence, where he’d finally gotten his gonads to calm down, Merissa turned up her face to look at him. He felt even drunker now, but some of that might be overwhelming need blunting his brainpower.
He tried to resist, but finally glanced at her—and got caught.
“How’s your head?” she asked.
All his concentration went to her mouth, and he had to fight the urge to give her a long, hot, wet kiss. Think, Armie. An idea occurred to him. “You tell Cannon you were coming here?” He already knew she hadn’t because if Cannon knew his baby sis was hanging out at his apartment he’d have already come to collect her. No guy in his right mind would want a female relative slumming with Armie, but Cannon was more protective than most. “He needs to know—”
“You’re right.” She got her phone from her purse, thumbed in a message, then put the phone on the coffee table. “All done.”
Armie stared at that phone, willing Cannon to reply, and when it finally dinged he released a tense breath of both relief and disappointment. She needed to leave, true. But damn, it was so nice having her close.
She leaned forward, looked at the screen and smiled.
Smiled?
Suspicious with a vague sense of dread, Armie asked, “He coming to get you?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“What’dya mean, no?”
She held the phone for him to see the message.
He read: Good. I’m glad you’re not alone. Now I can stop worrying.
Confusion nearly crossed his eyes. “You told him you were with me?”
“Yes.”
Tunneling a hand into his hair again, Armie wondered what the hell Cannon was thinking.
When the room went quiet his heart stalled. Wide-eyed, he realized that Merissa had turned off the television. He tracked her every move as she replaced the throw pillow in the corner of the couch, then stood and carried her boots over by the door. The finality of the lock clicking into place jump-started his heart again.
He shifted around and watched her remove her socks and peel off the hoodie. Scalding heat washed over him. She tucked the socks into the boots and left the folded sweatshirt on top.
Now wearing only skinny jeans and a big SBC T-shirt, she came back to him and held out a hand. “Come on, Armie. I’m ready for bed.”
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_ec70c83f-e785-58b7-8f94-43c27f51abda)
MERISSA HAD NEVER felt so daring in her entire life. Leading Armie to bed—yup. That topped the list of daring feats. For some reason she felt powerful tonight, powerful enough to make some headway with the man of her dreams.
Maybe it was escaping the violence. Maybe it was how Armie had so gallantly protected her.
Maybe it was her brother’s encouragement—and tacit permission.
Whatever the reason, she was here, and she was willing to fight dirty to get what she wanted.
Armie had accepted her hand and now their fingers were very loosely laced together. Gaze intense and big body taut, he came along quietly, perhaps a little stunned. Sexual tension filled the air, thick enough to trip on.
She didn’t know her way around Armie’s place so she peeked into rooms as she went. He kept things mostly tidy, but was far from immaculate. His black-and-white bathroom had a towel on the floor, another over the shower rod. A laundry hamper overflowed and she saw his bloody flannel shirt on top.
It leveled her to remember the moment he’d stepped in front of her, willing to take a bullet. Emotion swelled until it burned her eyes but she fought it. She wasn’t a crier, never had been, and saw no point in it.
These were very different circumstances, so eventually she might break down—but not on Armie.
He’d been through enough today, more than her for sure, given he’d offered up his life to protect her.
She didn’t always understand him, what motivated him or why, but she loved him. For tonight, that seemed like enough.
Next to the bathroom was an open bedroom. Biting her lip, anticipation keen, she peeked in. Heavy black furniture dominated the room. The unmade bed was king-size with a directional light overhead. On the wall facing the bed was a gigantic mirror. Otherwise, it looked like the rest of his apartment—comfortably masculine and lived in.
Crowding close to her back, his voice dark and silky with menace, Armie asked, “Having second thoughts?”
She shook her head.
“Looking for my whips and restraints?”
She spun around to see him, which meant they stood very close, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. “Do you have them?”
His firm lips quirked up. “Curiosity killed the cat.”
Guessing that he only wanted to scare her off, she taunted him. “I don’t think you do.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have whatever I need to make a lady happy. And by happy, I mean screaming as she comes.”
Wow. He certainly sounded confident as he said that. “So...restraints if she asks for them?”
His expression hardened more. “I’m not having this discussion with you.”
“Pretty sure you are.” She tried to sound cavalier when really, inside, she was a little appalled. And maybe just the tiniest bit turned on, too. Not by the idea of being physically hurt, but any thoughts of Armie in sexual mode made her tingle. “Besides, I heard you talking to that woman. I’m dying to know what you did with her.”
Confusion overshadowed his antagonism. “What woman?”
“The one who came to visit you tonight.”
His jaw loosened, then he clenched it tight. “You eavesdropped?”
“Afraid so.” It’d be hard to question him without admitting that much. “But not on purpose. I came to see you, and she was already there. I didn’t want to intrude, so I waited.”
“Within hearing distance?”
“You were both in the hall. Not like I put my ear to the wall.”
Annoyance had him breathing harder and his right eye kept twitching. “Shit. I’m too far gone to figure this out.”
“Far gone?”
“Drunk.” He waved a hand at her. “And you being here isn’t helping.”
“Don’t ask me to go.” For good measure, she admitted, “When I’m alone, I can’t stop thinking about the robbery and that man and how he—”
“Shh. That’s over.” There, outside the bedroom, while stepping in against her, Armie caught each of her hands and pinned them to the wall at either side of her head. “You’re okay.”
The press of his body all along her length caused her breath to hitch. Especially when his solid erection nudged her belly. He wore only the silly boxers, and she could feel each and every long, firm muscle through her thin T-shirt and low-riding jeans.
His gaze drifted over her face, lingered on her mouth, then down her throat to the tops of her breasts. The side of his nose brushed hers and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, Stretch.”
This time the nickname didn’t faze her. “Yes, I do.”
His lips grazed her bruised jaw, over to her earlobe. “Rissy...” he said, sounding pained.
“I’m asking for you, Armie. Just you.”
He hesitated, then thrust himself away from her. “Not that easy and you know it. No one comes to my bed wanting just me.”
“I would,” she whispered. “I do.”
He groaned. “Jesus, I’m drunk.”
If that was true, and she was pretty sure it was, then it wouldn’t be ethical of her to take advantage of him. He wanted to resist her and she wanted to wear him down.
But she didn’t want to dupe him into doing anything that he’d later regret.
She gave him a long look and went into the bedroom.
He laughed, rubbed his tired eyes and muttered, “I tried.”
“Yes, you did.” To get him to join her, she asked, “Would it help you to relax if I told you all I want is to sleep? Beside you, I mean, because I honestly don’t want to be alone.” And she was pretty sure he didn’t want to be alone, either.
Full of regret, he shook his head. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t. I’ll crash on the couch.”
Babe? That was a new one, but again, he’d had too much to drink and wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “It’s going to be crowded with both of us out there.”
When he stood there—neither leaving nor making a move to stay—Merissa decided to try to sway him. She reached for the snap on her jeans.
Armie didn’t look away from her eyes, but he breathed harder.
She dragged down the zipper, then slipped her hands into the jeans along her hips and slowly pushed down the tight material until she could step free.
His nostrils flared.
She dropped the jeans over a chair, pulled back the comforter on his bed and, full of uncertainty, slipped beneath the covers. To make room for Armie, she scooted over to the middle, looked at him and waited.
“If I wasn’t drunk,” he whispered, staring at her, “I might be able to do this.” He edged closer, caught the comforter and dragged it away from her body. His blistering gaze surveyed every inch of her, leaving her singed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” He’d been prepared to die for her. She trusted him completely.
A deep, harsh groan tore from his throat, and then he was in the bed, gathering her close, one hand in her hair, the other low on her back, almost to her derriere. Their legs tangled, his hairy and muscular, hers smooth and slim. She felt soft chest hair against her cheek, and the heavy bumping of his heartbeat.
“Armie?”
“Shh. Give me a minute.”
“Okay.” He smelled so good and felt so nice, she didn’t mind just being close with him. But as the time slipped by, she started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. The bedside lamp was on and the comforter remained at the foot of the bed.
Levering back from his hold, she tipped up her face and found his eyes closed, his brows lightly pinched.
She scooted upward to kiss the injury to his head, and that’s when she saw the restraint hanging loosely from his headboard. She couldn’t quite look away from it, either, now that she’d spotted it.
“Armie?”
His dark lashes left shadows over his high cheekbones. “Hmm?”
Now she frowned, too. “Are you playing possum?”
“Concentrating.”
“On what?”
His hand slid farther down, over one cheek of her behind. He stroked with his thumb, fondled, then returned to the small of her back. Voice raspy, he said, “Not doing more of that.”
After that sizzling, sensual caress, it took her a second to regain her voice. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Can we talk about this tie hanging from your bedpost?”
His eyes opened, dark, compelling. “We could talk about you losing this shirt.”
That low, rough voice enticed as much as the suggestion. “Oh, Armie,” she whispered. “If you weren’t drunk, I would.”
“If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t ask.”
Probably true. She sighed.
As if to convince her, he said, “I’m a better cocksman when inebriated.”
The laugh almost burst out. “Cocksman?”
He nudged his erection against her. “Like a swordsman, but with my dick.”
“Yes.” She had to work at keeping the smile at bay. “I understood the reference.”
The hand on her back began toying with her shirt. “Want me to show you?”
“I want you to explain the restraint.”
His eyes went heavy, sensual. “I use them to tie up frisky ladies so I can do as I please—and they love it.”
“Is that one of the things women ask of you? To be tied down?” Being at Armie’s mercy—she wouldn’t mind that. In fact, her toes curled just talking about it.
“Yeah.” He drew her down for a kiss. “They beg for it.”
