10 Ways to Steal Your Lover (19 page)

 
      
“Keep reading.”

 
      
He went back to the frame. “Ten: Declare
your love, preferably before she marries one your best friends… ” He took a
second to send a squinty-eyed, sideways glance at her.

 
      
“Well, you did. You just cut it really,
really close.”

 
      
“Smart ass.”

 
      
“Bite me.” The taunt had no teeth until
he kissed her soundly, nibbling once on her bottom lip. She giggled and
snuggled into his shoulder, arms wound around one of his.

 
      
“Nine: Listen to her discuss her hopes
and dreams without ever once telling her she’s crazy. Aww, Del—”

 
      
“Hint,” Delilah continued, not willing to
be derailed. “Try not to get too excited when they match your own—in case she
figures out too soon you’re in love with her.”

 
      
He groaned, but it was the laughing kind.
“I can’t believe you’re busting my balls in the middle of my own Christmas
present.”

 
      
“I’ll bust more than that if you don’t keep
reading.”

 
      
“Eight,” he said pointedly. “Marry her
under the stars in a crazy elopement where you present her your family heirloom
rings as a testament to your devotion. ”

 
      
His voice slowed down as he read, the
frown he got only when he was trying not to be emotional pulling his brows
together. “Seven: Make love to her like she’s the most important thing in the
world to you. Because she is.” He kissed the top of her head. “She really is.”

 
      
“She knows,” Delilah rubbed her cheek
against his shoulder.

 
      
“Six: Give her your last twenty bucks to
play on a one-armed bandit, even though she usually has the worst luck in the
world. Usually, huh?”

 
      
“Eh, luck changes. Hers sure did.”

 
      
“Maybe it’s not so much luck as it is following
her heart.”

 
      
“I’ll be sure to remind you of that the
next time I follow my heart to the tune of six-thousand dollars.” Not that he’d
care about the money too much, but he blanched at the thought of it all the
same. Nope, he’d never be the type to just throw it around without a purpose.
Or a dash of peyote.

 
      
“Five: When you wake up with her in a
hotel room with no idea how you got there, help her retrace her steps, even if
means you might lose her in the end. Brave heart wins fair maiden. I’m not
brave, I was scared out of my mind.”

 
      
“It’s not brave unless you’re scared,
didn’t anyone ever tell you that? Go on.”

 
      
He shrugged, still not comfortable, but
he continued. “Four: Defend her honor against a grabby boxer…and win! You’d
better win,” he added under his breath.

 
      
“Three—”

 
      
“Hey, my present, I get to read. Three:
Face her family with her when they realize what you’ve done and don’t take shit
from anyone. I take it your Dad won’t be reading this?”

 
      
“Oh, I’m planning on putting this up
right next to the front door.”

 
      
“That thong ought to have come with a
paddle,” he grumbled.

 
      
“How do you know it didn’t?”

 
      
“You’re evil, Delilah.” But he said it
with a kiss onto her upturned lips, so she didn’t mind. Especially since she
kind of was. “Two: Buy her a Ferris wheel and put it on the ranch so the two of
you can have romantic moments for the rest of your lives, whenever you want. I
did do that, didn’t I?”

 
      
“Why yes, I think you did.” If he wasn’t
so bundled, she’d pinch him in that ticklish spot she’d found under his ribs.

 
      
“One: Every Christmas Day, right at
midnight, share your Christmas wishes. Because this year, she has the most
important one of your lives to share with you.” His gaze as serious as she’d
ever seen it, he looked at her. Waiting. As if he were afraid to ask. When it
came, his voice was hoarse. “What was your wish, Delilah?”

 
      
The hope in his eyes would have been
painful if she weren’t about to give him the news they both had wanted for so
long.

 
      
“A safe delivery,” she answered softly.
Little more than a whisper, because her heart was in her throat.

 
      
She knew the exact second he registered
what she was saying. His entire body went still beside her. Tight as a bow.
“Really?”

 
      
She nodded, waiting for it. That small
smile that had marked all the moments in her life that mattered. That would
ever matter.

 
      
She didn’t wait long.

 
      
His hand pushed beneath the folds of the
blanket, searching and finding the flat of her belly, spreading wide in a touch
full of wonder and promise. Then it came.

 
      
That curve of his lips, so slight, so
secret. So special.

 
      
So hers.

 
      
What else could she do?

 
      
She stole it with a kiss.

Be on the
look out
for Craig's story,

"5 Secrets You
Never Tell"!

Convicted

Chapter One

 
      
The pounding on the door damn near
knocked Cade out of bed. He must have been more run down than he thought,
because he had completely slept through the

 
      
beeping blue light blinking madly on the
digital clock next to his lamp, which glowed an obscene time at him. He dragged
his hand down half his face, answering the knock with some obscenities of his
own.

 
      
“Someone better be fucking dead,” he
snarled as he dragged on a pair of sweats, then headed for the front door of
his cabin. He’d come here to leave town and all its bullshit frustrations—one
frustration in particular—behind. He was supposed to get two weeks of fishing
in a hidden cabin on a hidden lake where the only thing not hidden were the
goddamn fish. But here it was, three a.m. on his first night and somehow,
someone had already tracked him down.

 
      
He threw open the heavy wooden door and
stopped his mental bitching in its tracks.

 
      
“Not quite dead,” the woman with the
beginnings of a hell of a shiner and a smeared bloody lip managed to say with a
crooked grin. Tal by most standards, her ebony crown usually fit perfectly
under his chin. Tonight, the top of her head barely made it to the middle of
his chest. She wasn’t so much leaning on the lintel as she was slipping down
it. Leaving a streak of blood on the wood as she went. “For a minute there, I
gotta admit, it was kinda close.”

 
      
Cade caught her before she landed ass
first on the porch. Complaints obliterated, he lifted her, kicking the front
door shut before gingerly setting her on his couch.

 
      
She groaned as she settled on the rough
but serviceable cushions.

 
      
“How bad are you busted up this time,
Trina?” Old training kicked in and he went straight to the zipper on the chest
of her white and blue leather jacket, pulling it down quickly but carefully.
This had to be the third time he’d patched her up since they’d met—probably
because he’d made the colossal mistake of telling her that in his Marine days,
he’d been a medic. Left it behind after his last stint in Afghanistan without a
second glance, too. He’d washed too much blood off his hands to ever want to do
it again, but here he was, already checking her for broken bones and any
serious injuries as if he were back on the battlefield. all the while, his gaze
kept coming back to the long slash in her white shirt and the dark red stain
spreading under her breast and across her belly. “Any trouble breathing?”

 
      
“No. Can’t be too bad if I made it all the
way up here, right? The ribs are tender, but I don’t think anything’s broken.
You don’t have to worry about anyone following me, either. I left the bike at
that truck stop a few miles back at the highway junction. Didn’t want to lead
anyone back to you. Hoofed it the rest of the way up your mountain so I’m
pretty sure I’m gonna live.” Her arms sank to her sides, one hanging off the
edge of the couch, while she let him run his hands over her body.

 
      
His mind cut away to the last time they’d
done this. The situation had been completely different. His hands were shaking
then too, but because she’d been smiling, waiting for him to push her shirt up
over her breasts, to take what she was offering…

 
      
“I’m most concerned about the cut Frank
gave me. It might need stitches.” She groaned, oblivious to his memories.
“Asshole shredded my favorite jacket.”

 
      
He peeled the fabric of her T-shirt over
her ribs, baring a four-inch slice in her perfect, golden skin. Skin that
should never have been abused like this. Given the arc, she must have just
barely gotten out of the way of Carter’s blade. Not out of the way enough.

 
      
“I have to get my kit.” He kept the cabin
stocked for just about any emergency. There’d be a suture kit in there. He’d
know if she needed it once he got the wound clean.

 
      
Trina’s hand clasped his, dragging his
attention from her body and back to those deep blue eyes. “I’m sorry I dragged
you into this, Cade.” Her voice had dropped to that husky, raspy tone. The one
that always felt like a slow lick from the base of his cock to the aching,
sensitive tip. “You’re the only one I can trust.”

 
      
Just like that, she had him tied up in
knots all over again.

 
      
Cade grunted. It’s what she’d expect from
him. Inwardly, he was having a hell of a time not jumping up to get a gun and
hunt down the son of a bitch who’d done this to her. He knew Frank Carter well.
Had dragged him into the Sheriff’s Department often enough, not that anything
ever stuck. The sadistic bastard headed Wheels Of Pain, a biker crew that based
itself in the usually quiet rural California town of Marketta. Carter’s
offenses ran from domestic violence to drug running to suspicion of murder, and
he had the record elsewhere to support all of it. Everywhere, in fact, except
Marketta. As soon as he hit the town limits, suddenly Carter was so clean you’d
think he’d been shat right out of an angel’s ass. Him and every ex-con who ran
with him…

 
      
Including the impossible to resist
Katrina Kilian.

 
      
Tamping down a gurgling rage, Cade pulled
his hand free and went to gather his supplies. First things first, he grabbed
his T-shirt from the chair and dragged it on.

 
      
Being half-dressed around Trina was an
invitation to trouble. Next, the kit was easy to get. As big as a fishing
tackle box, he kept it under the bottom shelf in the pantry.

 
      
He stopped at the cabinet beside the
spartan dinner table and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. Catching his own
reflection in the mirror over the cabinet, he took another precious second to
pour himself a shot in one of the many glasses stacked there. He threw it back,
the fire spreading down his throat for long seconds before finally fading into
a warm, smooth aftertaste. Blinking his stinging eyes, he grabbed the bottle by
the neck and went back to the couch. More importantly, to the wounded woman
waiting there for him.

 
      
“Tel me I get a swig of that.” Trina
sighed. “After the day I’ve had, I could use some.” She raised a hand for the
bottle and, given he didn’t have much else to numb her pain, he handed it to
her readily. It had nothing to do with his appreciation of the way she gripped
the neck and slid her full pink lips over the rim to drink it down.