bag,” she reminded him as he climbed the steps to his
front porch.
“We’ll get you settled, then I’ll grab your bag.”
When they drew close to the front door, for reasons unknown
but Lucy would blame on her head injury, she blurted, “You’re not carrying me
across the threshold.”
Dalton’s steps stuttered, then stopped. His head tilted down
and those dark, dark blue eyes settled on Lucy’s. His lips twitched and she
felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck.
“No, darlin’, I’m not.” His eyes danced with mirth. “Though
that’s a fine idea for another time. Right now, I need to dig my house keys out
of my front pocket. I don’t know if you noticed,” another twitch of his lips, “but
these jeans are kinda tight so I can’t hold you and dig into my pocket and fish
out the keys at the same time.”
“Um…” Well, of course she’d noticed his freakin’ jeans were
tight. She’d noticed because they were tight in all the places they were
supposed to be tight and not in all the places they weren’t.
Dalton bent and placed Lucy on her feet in one smooth
movement, holding onto her elbows until she steadied herself. She stared as he
dug into a front pocket and retrieved his keys. A low, husky chuckle had her
gaze snapping up to his face. Shit. She’d been staring at the man’s crotch. And
he’d caught her.
She opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it.
Turned toward the door, pressing the key into the lock, he
looked over his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I think I will carry you after
all. Through the door and right on up to my bed where you can relax.” He
winked, pushed the door open as he swung around to Lucy and scooped her into
his arms.
Relax? The man wanted her to relax in his bed? Lucy
would probably feel all sorts of unwelcome emotions while in his bed—which she
would not be in because she was about to demand to be deposited on the couch
instead—but she would definitely not feel relaxed.
Lucy was prepared to explain this to Dalton and, if he didn’t
then deposit her onto the couch, she was prepared to throw herself out of his
arms and dive for the damned thing. Her nausea had subsided enough to let
reality creep back in and she did not want to curl up in Dalton’s bed and give
herself the idea that she might like to stay there.
“What. The. Fuck .”
Dalton’s angry words and his suddenly stone-hard limbs
wrapped around her brought Lucy’s thoughts back into focus. She tilted her head
back to scan his face before following his line of sight to whatever had made
him go all growly and clench his jaw until the muscle jumped.
Lucy’s breath caught and the nausea she’d ditched on the
porch made a swift comeback.
“I’m at your service, Sir. Here to tend any of your needs
that have been neglected since our last session was cut short.”
The nude woman kneeling inside the entryway kept her head
bowed, her gaze lowered, but the satisfaction and conniving in her voice,
though she attempted to sound simpering, made Lucy think the woman had a smirk
on her lips. Rachel.
Dalton’s chest vibrated against Lucy’s shoulder and he made
that scary-ass rumbling growl again like he had at the hospital. Only this time
he wasn’t furious with an insensitive, nosy cop. He directed the intense fury
at the woman sitting back on her heels, knees spread apart so all of her bits
were on display, hands palms up on her knees.
Lucy didn’t think Dalton would hurt the woman, they’d been
lovers, even though they’d apparently been rough ones. Anyway, he still held
Lucy in his arms and there wasn’t much he could do without setting her down.
Unlike Submissive Barbie, Lucy had curves and padding which
required the dedication of two arms, even on a man built like Dalton. Her
throat got tight the longer her eyes refused the order to move away from
Rachel. Rachel had small, pert, perfect breasts with tiny apricot-colored
nipples the likes of which someone above a size 2
front porch.
“We’ll get you settled, then I’ll grab your bag.”
When they drew close to the front door, for reasons unknown
but Lucy would blame on her head injury, she blurted, “You’re not carrying me
across the threshold.”
Dalton’s steps stuttered, then stopped. His head tilted down
and those dark, dark blue eyes settled on Lucy’s. His lips twitched and she
felt the heat of a blush creep up her neck.
“No, darlin’, I’m not.” His eyes danced with mirth. “Though
that’s a fine idea for another time. Right now, I need to dig my house keys out
of my front pocket. I don’t know if you noticed,” another twitch of his lips, “but
these jeans are kinda tight so I can’t hold you and dig into my pocket and fish
out the keys at the same time.”
“Um…” Well, of course she’d noticed his freakin’ jeans were
tight. She’d noticed because they were tight in all the places they were
supposed to be tight and not in all the places they weren’t.
Dalton bent and placed Lucy on her feet in one smooth
movement, holding onto her elbows until she steadied herself. She stared as he
dug into a front pocket and retrieved his keys. A low, husky chuckle had her
gaze snapping up to his face. Shit. She’d been staring at the man’s crotch. And
he’d caught her.
She opened her mouth to say something but he beat her to it.
Turned toward the door, pressing the key into the lock, he
looked over his shoulder. “I changed my mind. I think I will carry you after
all. Through the door and right on up to my bed where you can relax.” He
winked, pushed the door open as he swung around to Lucy and scooped her into
his arms.
Relax? The man wanted her to relax in his bed? Lucy
would probably feel all sorts of unwelcome emotions while in his bed—which she
would not be in because she was about to demand to be deposited on the couch
instead—but she would definitely not feel relaxed.
Lucy was prepared to explain this to Dalton and, if he didn’t
then deposit her onto the couch, she was prepared to throw herself out of his
arms and dive for the damned thing. Her nausea had subsided enough to let
reality creep back in and she did not want to curl up in Dalton’s bed and give
herself the idea that she might like to stay there.
“What. The. Fuck .”
Dalton’s angry words and his suddenly stone-hard limbs
wrapped around her brought Lucy’s thoughts back into focus. She tilted her head
back to scan his face before following his line of sight to whatever had made
him go all growly and clench his jaw until the muscle jumped.
Lucy’s breath caught and the nausea she’d ditched on the
porch made a swift comeback.
“I’m at your service, Sir. Here to tend any of your needs
that have been neglected since our last session was cut short.”
The nude woman kneeling inside the entryway kept her head
bowed, her gaze lowered, but the satisfaction and conniving in her voice,
though she attempted to sound simpering, made Lucy think the woman had a smirk
on her lips. Rachel.
Dalton’s chest vibrated against Lucy’s shoulder and he made
that scary-ass rumbling growl again like he had at the hospital. Only this time
he wasn’t furious with an insensitive, nosy cop. He directed the intense fury
at the woman sitting back on her heels, knees spread apart so all of her bits
were on display, hands palms up on her knees.
Lucy didn’t think Dalton would hurt the woman, they’d been
lovers, even though they’d apparently been rough ones. Anyway, he still held
Lucy in his arms and there wasn’t much he could do without setting her down.
Unlike Submissive Barbie, Lucy had curves and padding which
required the dedication of two arms, even on a man built like Dalton. Her
throat got tight the longer her eyes refused the order to move away from
Rachel. Rachel had small, pert, perfect breasts with tiny apricot-colored
nipples the likes of which someone above a size 2
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