At His Mercy (5 page)

"Anything you want," she told
him.

That laugh again, though this time he
cupped her face, his gaze fiery and more than a little bit
fearsome. "Turn around. Hands and knees."

She did his bidding, waited with her
breath held as he sheathed his cock and positioned himself behind
her. She wiggled against him and he slapped her on the ass,
laughing a third time before testing her wetness with two
fingers.

"Feels like your more than ready," he
said, one hand on her rump as his cock pierced her slit and slid
inside to fill her. "Oh, yeah. So good. So, so good."

He began to move, long pulls of his
flesh from hers, exquisitely slow pushes as he drove himself deep.
Her body sizzled, nerve endings singing louder with each
stroke.

The braided rag rug on the hardwood
floor padded her palms and knees, and as his rhythm increased, she
dropped to her elbows, her forehead on her joined hands. He was
rough, he was gentle. He pounded into her until she felt broken. He
fucked her as if she were glass.

Her skin buzzed with electricity. Her
nipples scraped against the knots on the rug. Tension began to
pulse in her core to the beat of Donovan's thrusts. She reached
between her legs and tweaked her clit. He slipped his hand beneath
hers and took over.

"Come for me, baby. Let it
go."

She was so close, her whole lower body
alive and on fire. His thumb teased her. His words, too. His cock
brought her to the edge, but she wanted him to be the one to lose
control.

And so she pushed up onto her hands and
used her hips to make it happen, grinding against him in a tight
figure eight and stealing his breath along with his upper
hand.

"Lord, woman." He grunted as he thrust,
both hands now on her hips, his fingers digging in and bruising
her. "You're not playing fair."

For a moment, that stopped her. She'd
thought the same so many times when her ex had used sex to get his
way. But that wasn't what was happening here. If she was using
Donovan True for anything, it was only this.

She wasn't hurting him, or mocking him.
And as much as she was taking from him, he was taking from her the
same. They were equals, each at the mercy of the other. This wasn't
a game. It was pleasure, and wanting him to get his didn't have to
be fair.

Smiling discreetly, she savored the
power she wielded, rocking into him until his will vanished and his
cock became the center of his world. Nothing else mattered but his
body and hers, his strokes and her matching thrusts.

It couldn't last, this frenzy. They
were both wild with need, each focused on the other. Neither one of
them, she knew, wanted to burst until the other had done so. But it
didn't happen that way, it couldn't have.

They came together, his first ragged
exhalation and sharply whispered, "Fuck," setting her off like
tinder.

She burst, sensation slamming into her
and nearly taking her off the floor. She tossed back her head,
cried out, shuddered as Donovan banged into her, furious and primal
and all too soon spent.

He pulled free and dropped to his hands
beside her, looking over, his expression one of sated exhaustion,
but one questioning what it was they'd just done.

She couldn't give him an answer. She
was asking herself the same thing.

Chapter Seven

When Lise finally woke the next
morning, reality wasted no time slapping fantasy down to size. She
didn't mind so much that she'd overslept and missed breakfast, even
though she was starving, but her car keys were nowhere to be found,
and no one answered at The Swamp Pit when she called.

If she left Donovan's room to hunt them
down, she had no way back in, meaning she had to gather her
belongings, triple check nothing was forgotten, and store
everything across the hall until she could get into her
SUV.

Most likely Donovan had picked up her
key ring with his by mistake when he'd left her alone this morning.
He hadn't written her a note saying so, but she assumed she'd find
him at the restaurant. He could've been outside when she called and
not heard the phone. Or with a delivery driver. Or on the other
line.

Honestly, she didn't remember if she'd
dropped the keys into her purse last night or not. And that wasn't
like her. Nothing about this trip had been like her, but then she'd
never run from an ex before. And on the heels of that realization
came another.

Getting to New Orleans
couldn't wait. Divorcing Mark and starting over did not give her
license to lose all common sense. But wasn't that exactly what
she'd done? Been so anxious to flee that she'd trusted that
his
mechanic was taking
care of
her
vehicle's maintenance?

Yes, Donovan had determined that she'd
run over a nail, but what if it hadn't been a tire but a hose?
Something her naked eye wouldn't have noticed while packing up to
go? And now she couldn't even find her keys and was
stranded.

She wasn't thinking straight. And the
fact that the stranger she'd slept with was a celebrity author was
nothing but dumb luck. She could just as easily have been rescued
by a rapist.

Great, she mused, pulling her room's
door closed and heading down the hall to the B&B's lobby. She
was going to scare herself into a nunnery before she even made it
to New Orleans. Not exactly the new life she'd imagined.

The lobby was empty when she reached
it, though she could hear voices coming from the kitchen. Before
she hunted down one of her hosts, she'd see if she'd left her keys
in the ignition. Or dropped the ring while juggling her bags to the
porch.

Uh, no. Her SUV was gone. The guest
parking lot was empty except for a bells-and-whistles pickup that
hadn't been there when she'd pulled in last night. So much for
Donovan taking her keys by mistake.

Son of a bitch. What he'd done was take
her vehicle, and she had a good idea where she'd find it. If he
thought for a minute she was going to let him pay for last night by
buying her a new tire—

"Hey, Ms. Kimball."

Hearing her name, she turned to see an
older man coming around the corner of the house and waving her
down. He wore a ball cap and overalls, and was as wiry as Wayne,
who from the resemblance had to be his son.

"I'm Wayne's dad, Ken Barrett. I tried
to catch you at breakfast."

"I slept in. Yesterday was a long one."
And God she hoped he didn’t know where she’d spent the night. "I
don't suppose Danport has a cab? Looks like I'm going to need
one."

"Fred Shine at Shine's Auto gives folks
a ride when they need one. But with Nova leaving you his truck, I'd
say your all set."

Wait a minute. What? "His
truck?"

"Yes'm. I've got the keys for you right
here," he said, digging into his pocket and offering her the fob.
"He said for you to come on down to the Pit when you were ready and
you two could switch out."

Her mind raced. She needed a shower and
a change of clothes. But first she needed to get her hands on her
SUV. "Would it be all right if I do the switching out then return
for my things? I'll be happy to pay you for a second
night."

"Stay as long as you need. We've got
three empty rooms and no reservations. We don't book up fully till
summer with family reunions and all."

"Thank you so much," she said, heading
for Donovan's truck and using the fob to unlock the door. "I'll be
out of your hair as soon as I can. I don't want to wear out my
welcome."

"Like I said, Ms. Kimball. Stay as long
as you'd like." Ken hooked his thumbs in the bib of his overalls
and rocked back on his heels. "Any friend of Donovan True's is a
friend of Danport's. And mine."

Chapter Eight

Donovan was standing behind the desk in
The Swamp Pit's office, opening the mail he hadn't made it through
yesterday, when the door flew open and Lise burst
through.

She was wearing the same clothes he’d
stripped her out of last night, and her face was washed clean of
makeup, her hair caught at her nape in a band. She was scattered
and flustered. She was gorgeous.

She was also mad as hell. "What did you
do with my SUV?"

It was less of a question and more of a
demand, and her fury punctuated each word. He'd been expecting
gratitude, maybe a smile and another slow dance. Not …
this.

"It's at Fred Shine's. He's having to
get the tire in from Hattiesburg. It'll be here around two, so you
should be on your way by three."

"Did you pay for it?" she asked, still
standing inside the door, still furious, her arms crossed tightly
over her chest.

Was that what this was about? He'd
stepped on her independent toes or something? "I did, but only
because it was a special order. Feel free to pay me
back."

"Count on it." Seconds clicked, as did
her mental gears. Then her gaze dropped from his, a frown drawing
her arched brows together. "Or I will as soon as I can get to an
ATM. I wasn't expecting to stop until New Orleans and used most of
my cash on the room I didn’t use."

He knew she had credit cards. He'd seen
them last night at the bar when she'd offered to pay for her drink.
He knew, too, that the Barretts had no problem accepting credit
card payments, and yet she'd paid cash.

All he could think was Lise wanted to
keep her flight from Atlanta off the grid. He didn't like the
implications.

He circled the desk, coming nearer but
staying out of contact range. He'd let her close the distance when
she was ready. If she ever was.

The uneasiness tripping down his spine
left him doubting.

"Will your ex be watching for activity
on your accounts? Does he have those kind of
connections?"

She nodded, toying with the strap of
the bag hooked over her shoulder. "Knowing Mark, he reported my SUV
stolen the minute he realized I was gone."

Christ. "He'd do that? Have you
arrested?"

She looked at him then, her expression
having gone nearly blank. Even so, emotion seethed in the air
around her, thick and palpable and panicked. "He does what he has
to to hold onto what's his."

Donovan jammed a fist to his hip,
rubbed his other hand over his forehead. This was the fiction he
wrote about. The fiction of television, of movies. And yet, no
fiction could ever be as strange, as real, as the truth.

He took in her vulnerability, weighed
it against the taste of last night that still lingered, and swore
he’d do what it took to make sure she was safe. "Will he look for
you in New Orleans?"

"Sooner or later, sure. But I'll be
okay there. My brother's not a fan."

Her brother wasn't the only one.
Breathing deeply, he curled his fingers over the edge of the desk
and leaned back. "Forget the ATM. Write me a check. I'll cash it
and hold it as long as you need me to."

The bluster left her and she collapsed
into the corner of the big leather sofa where he'd spent more than
a few nights. Seeing her shattered lit a protective fire in his
gut, but he stayed put, waiting.

Her voice, when it finally came, was
barely a whisper and a broken one at that. "Why? Why would you do
that for me?"

The fire burned hotter. "Because I'd
like to help you out."

"In exchange for sex?"

"No, Lise," he said, pushing straight
from the desk. "Not in exchange for sex."

She stared at him. Studied him. "Then I
don't get it. You don't even know me."

Had no one ever done anything nice for
her before? "Maybe that's why. Maybe I'd like to get to know
you."

"Because of the sex."

"Criminy, Lise! What the hell did your
ex do to you?"

He hadn't meant to yell, and
immediately regretted it. He didn't want to run her off the way the
bastard she'd left obviously had.

But as he watched, the remnants of
bravado holding her up fell away. Tears welled to redden her eyes,
and she dropped her gaze from his. She didn't move. She just sat
there. Silent. Shaking. Crying, and not wanting him to
see.

He didn't have to see. Or hear. From
the moment she'd burst into the office, he'd known something more
than his replacing her tire was eating at her. And her questions
made it pretty clear what it was.

"Your ex. He turned your sex life into
a joke, didn't he?"

"Not a joke," she said, shaking her
head. "There wasn't anything funny about it."

Bad choice of words. He walked to the
door, shut it. "Tell me."

She shrugged, twisted the fabric of her
skirt. "What's to tell? We had sex when he wanted something. End of
story."

Fucking ass. To do that to this woman?
To manipulate her with something she so obviously loved? "That
shouldn't have happened. To you. To any woman. But especially to
you. I'm sorry."

"No," she said, inhaling deeply,
blowing out the breath before going on. "I'm the one who owes you
an apology. You're not Mark."