Enemy Lovers (13 page)

“Thanks for the pep talk. I've already started to change things in my life.”

“They're things you were planning to do anyway.”

A sigh whispered from her. “True. The real test is still in front of us.”

“What say we forget about everything and enjoy our time together? I intend to tease you until you're screaming for release. Then I'm going to dry every inch of your trembling body.” His hand brushed over her ear, his husky voice seducing her with little trouble.

She pulled back to stare at him.
When did she get so lucky?
“And then what?”

“And then I'm going to fuck you blind.”

Their gazes connected. Her tongue flicked out to moisten her lower lip and his eyes tracked the movement.

“What do you think about that?” he asked in the same tone he might use when inquiring about the weather.

“Yes.”

His brows rose. “Yes? I'm going to take what I need, demand everything.”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“Well, good.” And his lips crashed down on hers. Dominant and using every bit of experience he'd gathered over the years, he kissed her until she wanted to purr. He nibbled her bottom lip, giving a hint of pain. The sweep of his tongue soothed the sting, and she gripped his shoulders, clung, enjoying the ride.

Pleasure shimmered along her skin, rushed through her veins. Stole her breath. This was love, her mind screamed. This connection was more than lust. He was right. It was love and worth the fight.

When she shivered, he set her back in the water and turned on the tap to add more heat to their bath. He played with her breasts, shaping the weighty globes and tugging on her nipples. The hum of pleasure heightened, and she squeezed her thighs together in an effort to hold the buzz of enjoyment.

He laughed, watching her through lazy eyes. “Enough of that, sweetheart. Spread 'em for me. You're not ready yet.”

“Am,” she corrected. “I could get myself off in two seconds flat.”

“Ah, but the pleasure would be fleeting. This will amp up the sensations. And every time you think of our lovemaking, you'll recall this weekend. I'll spoil you for other men.”

“I don't want another man.” Nothing less than the truth.

In answer, he ran his hand down her calf.

“Isn't that going the wrong way?” she asked.

“My way or you'll strike enemy fire.”

“Well, since you put it that way.” She made a buttoning motion across her lips. His sexy lips quirked and she caught a flash of white teeth before he turned off the tap.

Clever, clever fingers rubbed her foot, hitting the right spots to make her sigh in enjoyment. She sprawled in the lavender scented water, letting him tend her while desire burst over her like a desert flower bloomed after the rain.

“You're very skilled.”

“I like making you feel good.” His gaze settled on her lips and remained until the urge to moisten them came upon her again. His eyes seemed to stroke her in a physical manner, making her aware of her body and heightening the rest of her senses. “When I please you, by extension, I please myself. I test myself by holding back my release, and when I allow myself to come, my orgasm is intense.”

Fascinated by the personal glimpses he allowed her, more questions bubbled to the surface. “Is that why you give me a climax sometimes and hold me afterward?”

He lifted her leg and tongued the dimple at the side of her knee. “Yes, that's why.”

“At the start, I thought you might be playing me.”

There was no mistaking the astonishment on his face. “Why didn't you ask?”

“I didn't want to spoil things. It was an ostrich-stuck-in-sand kind of moment.”

A delighted smile curved his lips then, and it was beautiful to see. She basked under the brightness of his blue eyes, his grin making her feel treasured and beautiful.

“You normally ask questions.”

“Yeah, I know.” Her breath stalled when his fingers teased the tender skin of her inner thighs. “Not far to go.”

“Quiet or I'll stop and make us both suffer.” His voice grew stern. “Close your eyes and imagine swimming in a warm pool. Think about a tropical forest and dappled sunlight on the ground. Imagine a waterfall and the silkiness of the water against your bare skin.”

“Yes, sir.” Her eyes drifted closed and she followed his orders, the change of his tone telling her he expected obedience or she'd suffer the consequences—a stinging bottom.

As soon as she settled, his fingers crept nearer to the prize. Heat prickled through her, over her. She held her breath, wanting to extend the heady pre-orgasmic thrill. His touch got to her, revved her until she wanted to howl like an overused engine suffering from a lead-foot driver.

After what felt like a perfunctory amount of touching and a protest burned her lips, his hands cruised to other erogenous zones. His touch still sizzled and pushed passion and heat through her, but it was a gentle flow, while she craved a hard, crashing pulse—the way an adrenaline junkie craved his next fix.

“Your breasts are beautiful,” he whispered against her ear.

She started, the flimsy jungle scene in her imagination busting apart.

“I could squeeze your breasts together and fuck them.”

“Yes.” Heck, she was easy. She enjoyed everything he did to her, everything they did together.

His chuckle was a burst of warm air, teasing her neck. His teeth fastened on her earlobe, and he bit down. “Almost done, sweetheart.” And he reached for a bar of soap, raising it to his nose to sniff. “This reminds me of summer. My mother loves to garden—not the nice neat rows some people favor. She fills every space with plants and mixes flowers and vegetables together in companion plantings.”

“Do you like to garden?”

“We used to help under protest when we were kids. I've been thinking about making some gardens now that the weather is warming. What do you think? Should we grow vegetables?” The entire time he spoke his fingers were busy, searching out tender spots. Dallas made it difficult to focus.

“Y-yes.”

“We can plant some lavender and mint.” Both scents swam around her in the cooling water and from the soap he was lathering onto a cloth.

“Lean forward and let me wash your back.” He suited actions to words, skimming the soapy cloth down her spine, moving onto her arms and legs, her stomach and breasts and last, a brisk, single stroke across her swollen sex.

She hissed at the strike of pleasure, groaned when the sensation didn't grow. Instead it faded away and settled back on her clit, like a promise for the future.

“Stand up for me.”

Strong hands assisted her to rise, and he scrubbed the soapy cloth over her bottom until her flesh heated. When her legs threatened to buckle, he held her upright and rinsed away the suds, then with a crack of his hand over her buttocks, he urged her from the water.

His wash took place at a much brisker pace, and she'd scarcely picked up a towel when he was beside her, water streaming down his sculpted muscles. Drying took an equally short amount of time before he turned to her with a fresh towel in his hands. He removed the one she'd picked up to blot off the worst of the water, and she stood quiet while he dried her. His cock jutted out in a full-blown erection yet he ignored his desire to focus on her needs.

As he'd promised, by the time they reached the bedroom, her body cried for release, and she was convinced the merest touch of her finger would send her into orbit.

He paused to grab a condom and ripped the packet open with his teeth. A tremor traveled her body as she watched him. He was a visual feast, and she didn't deserve the care he took of her. “On your hands and knees with your legs spread.”

“I thought the breast-fucking sounded interesting.”

“Another time. Promise, sweetheart.”

The blood in her veins thickened to syrup, slowing her brain function. She stared at him for an instant before swinging her legs over the bed and assuming the position he'd requested. Cool air surged across her swollen folds, the contrast with her hot flesh adding to her desperation.

She felt the weight of his stare the entire time, and when she turned her head, she was mesmerized by his right hand idly stroking his condom-clad shaft.

“God, you're beautiful. I'm a lucky man.”

“I think I'm the lucky one.” She watched his gaze travel her body and shuddered. Eyes front again, she shifted her weight, felt her liquid desire, her readiness for him.

Dallas crawled onto the mattress. He braced his body over hers, taking the bulk of his weight on his arms. She wanted to photograph him. She wanted to caress his body as he'd touched hers. But she remained on all fours as he'd instructed, her breaths coming in choppy pants.

He slid into her body. They both sighed, and Laura savored the flex of her sheath around his cock. He retreated, an easy withdrawal. This was torture, yet it sizzled, so explosive, so perfect, she couldn't find fault with his methods.

“Hell,” he muttered, withdrawing until the tip of his cock scraped her clit. Her entire channel gave a spasm, bearing down on emptiness.

“Please,” she whispered.

His hips snapped as he filled her, giving her both the friction and the fullness she craved. This time he didn't dawdle. Each hard stroke pushed her forward. A strangled cry burst past her lips as the first stirrings of excitement swept her with the force of a rogue wave. But he didn't slacken or break his pace. The pleasure swelled with each uncompromising stroke into her body. Their flesh slapped together while her spirit soared, gloried in Dallas. He plunged into her, gave a grunt and stilled. A ripple of pleasure came again, but not enough. She closed her eyes, unaccountably wanting to cry.

Dallas held her for an instant longer and withdrew. Immediately, she missed the fullness of his cock, his sheltering frame. And she'd absolutely missed out in the orgasm stakes.

Latex snapped when he removed the condom, while she flopped to the mattress, wondering if she should say something, complain, because she sure as hell felt let down, or rather left hanging.

The mattress moved a fraction and her eyes flew open the instant she felt him between her splayed legs.

“Your turn,” he said, promise shimmering in his sexy, blue eyes, and in that moment Laura toppled past the last of her fears and smack into the middle of love.

Chapter Twelve

“I'm going to swing by the pub and see if my phone is there,” Dallas said.

“You want to check on your brother.”

Dallas sent her a quick look before signaling a left turn. “That too.” Ten minutes later, he parked behind the pub and climbed out of his truck. “Are you coming?”

She nodded and joined him at the rear door. Gesturing for her to enter first, he silently applauded her courage. She had far more to lose than him. While his parents might express horror or anger at his choice of woman, they'd never reject him outright.

The pub wasn't open yet, and he led her up to the top floor apartment.

“The windows are still intact,” she said.

“We hired a security company,” Dallas said. “The regular patrol acts as a deterrent.” He let himself into the silent apartment.

“He must be in bed. You'd better wait here. I want to make sure Patrick is wearing clothes when he wanders out.”

“Spoilsport,” she said with a wink.

He was still chuckling when he tapped on the bedroom door. “Hey, Patrick. Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Patrick muttered. “I didn't get to bed until one this morning.” He shot upright in bed. “Bro, you left your phone here.”

“That's why I'm here.”

Patrick climbed out of bed, glowering at Dallas the entire time. “Why do you have a photo of a Drummond on your phone? A naked photo. Are you fuckin' crazy? Why would you hook up with a Drummond?”

“Shush,” Dallas said.

Patrick made a rude sound while he rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair. When finished he resembled a spiky hedgehog—a perfect match for his testy mood. “The mystery blonde. A fuckin' Drummond.”

“I was hoping you wouldn't recognize her.”

“I told you I saw her in the pub a few weeks ago. Fuck, Dallas. A Drummond. She'd better be good in bed, that's all I can say, because I can't think of any other reason for you to hook up with the enemy.”

Irritation swooped through Dallas, and he glared at Patrick. “Don't talk about her like that.”

“I'm very good in bed,” Laura said in a firm voice and stepped into the bedroom. “But I believe your brother likes my brain and my sense of humor too. Dallas looks better than you naked.” She sent Dallas a chagrined smile. “Sorry, I looked before I could help myself. I guess that means a punishment, huh?”

Dallas watched Patrick's eyes widen, and his mood lightened. Trust Laura to diffuse the situation with humor.

“Besides,” she said in a prim tone. “If he's seen me naked, it's only fair I see him. He can tease me about my knobby knees, and I can poke fun at his beer belly.”

“I don't have a beer belly,” Patrick snapped. “Christ Jesus, I need coffee.”

“I'll make it,” Laura said, backing out of the bedroom.

“A Drummond,” Patrick said again with a shake of his head. A lock of black hair flopped over his forehead, and he shoved it away with an impatient hand.

“Put on some clothes.” Dallas's glance drifted to Patrick's middle, and he smirked.

“Fuck off with your girlfriend and help make coffee,” Patrick snapped.

Chuckling, Dallas scooped up his phone and sauntered out to the kitchenette, good humor settling on his shoulders like his favorite leather jacket. The very first hurdle over, and the sky hadn't bombarded them with bolts from heaven.

“Okay?” Laura glanced over her shoulder, pausing in measuring the coffee grounds.

“Yeah.” Dallas went to her, gave her a hard, swift kiss.

“Aw, hell,” Patrick muttered. “You're making me accessory to the fact. How can I scrub my mind if you keep reinforcing images?”

“You will forget about seeing me naked or else,” Laura said.

“Or else what?” Patrick taunted.

Dallas hid his grin, happy for them to verbally deck it out.

“Not sure,” Laura said. “But keep looking over your shoulder 'cause I have a devious mind.”

Patrick sneered. “I wouldn't expect anything else from a Drummond.”

“I wouldn't hold that expression for too long. It makes you look ugly, although it does go with a beer pot.”

“I don't—” began Patrick.

“Enough,” Dallas said, deciding it was time to step into their verbal fracas. “Truce. I think it's a draw.”

“Does your family know about the two of you?” Patrick asked.

It was like watching a balloon pop. Laura's teasing expression faded, and her shoulders slumped. “No, they don't know.”

“They know Laura isn't staying in their apartment any longer. They threatened to get her sacked from a charity job.”

“That's low.”

“Yeah, not their finest moment,” Laura said. “I try to remember they care for me.”

“That's micromanaging,” Patrick said. “What are you going to do? Your relationship
will
explode right in your faces. Quinn won't like it. I doubt you'll get to see him naked, and there goes your leverage.”

“Pooh,” Laura said. “Where's the fun in that?”

“No seriously,” Patrick said. “Quinn had a run in with one of your sisters. He hates your family.”

“My parents will be worse,” Laura said. “I feel it in my bones.”

Dallas agreed with their conclusions. “We'll take one day at a time.”

“But are you sure… You know. You haven't known each other for long.” Patrick frowned at Dallas.

“Our relationship isn't casual.” Laura spoke for both of them, and the budding tension in Dallas receded.

“No, it's not. We're living together, or we will be as soon as Laura moves in.” He reached for her hand, needing the physical contact. Her fingers curled around his, and when she moved closer, it felt natural to put his arm around her, even with Patrick studying them like a curious kid. “Are you going to tell Quinn?”

“Hell no. He'll shoot the messenger.” Patrick held up his hands, palms facing them as if warding off the suggestion. “You do your own dirty work.”

“I vote for a need-to-know basis,” Laura said.

Patrick nodded. “She's right. Why borrow trouble? I can keep a secret.”

Once the coffee finished dripping through the filter, Dallas grabbed three mugs from the cupboard. Laura opened the fridge and handed him a bottle of milk.

Patrick's brows shot toward his hairline. “You two are good together.”

“That's what we've been trying to tell you,” Laura said.

Lazy contentment flooded Dallas. He hadn't been too worried about Patrick's reaction. Quinn was the one who'd shit a brick about having a Drummond in the family. Their parents would have reservations, but they wouldn't arrive home for six weeks. “Laura will be around the pub a bit more in the future.”

“Fine with me. If she acts the Drummond princess, you can deal with her.”

“I don't own a crown,” Laura said. “Didn't even have one when I was a kid. I wanted to be a fireman,” she said. “No princesses in my fantasies.”

Dallas pressed a kiss on her upturned face. “Good to know, sweetheart.”

“You're thinking about Drummond sex,” Patrick said. “Don't do that in front of me.”

Laura smiled—sugar-sweet—at his brother. “Noted, but if you visit us at home, all sexy bets are void.”

Two weeks later

“Two steak pies, two fish and chips and one Thai chicken salad,” the head cook called.

Laura shouted the order back and started plating the requested meals. She'd discovered she loved cooking simple, tasty meals with none of the prissy sauces her mother insisted their housekeeper produce at home. Fresh and local ingredients, cooked simply were popular at
O'Grady's
.

Not even her tired muscles or her tender backside, courtesy of Dallas, took away from her pleasure in the honest labor. And the paycheck each week made her smile. She insisted on contributing to the household expenses and combined with her temp office jobs, she still managed to save a portion of her wages. The sense of satisfaction far outweighed the loss of her allowance from her family.

“Four soup, three garlic bread,” the cook shouted.

Laura reached for soup bowls and ladled out chicken and vegetable soup.

“You can go for a half hour break once you're done with those,” the cook said. “Dallas asked if you'd grab him something to eat. He's nipping out to see if the club down the road can spare some change.”

“Soup up.” Laura grabbed garlic bread from the warmer. “Bread up too.” Wiping her hands on her apron, she decided on Thai chicken salad for their dinner and plated the meals. She whipped off her apron and stowed it where no one else would steal it. A lesson learned early in her new job. A phantom apron thief haunted this kitchen.

The pub was busy, but she commandeered the small table near the bar, one reserved for staff, and started her dinner. Patrick plonked a beer and a glass of water on the table, dashing off before she could thank him.

Ten minutes passed and another ten. She finished her dinner, went to the bar and waited for Patrick to catch her wave.

“Dallas isn't back.”

“But he went ages ago,” Patrick said. “I assumed he was eating his dinner. He knew we were busy. I doubt he'd dally at the club.” Patrick handed over three beers and took the money. “Jump behind the bar and cover for me. I'll go and find him.”

“But Dallas doesn't—”

“This is an emergency,” Patrick snapped.

Laura nodded and took her first official order. She fumbled at first, but her confidence grew and her nerves subsided. She served beers, glasses of wine and mixed drinks, her gaze straying to the door as her stint behind the bar grew to half an hour.

Patrick burst through the door, blood splattered across his face.

“What is it? What's wrong?” Laura's hands fisted in his shirt as she prepared to shake truth from him.

“Someone mugged him on the way back from the club. I waited for the ambulance to arrive before I came for you.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“He's breathing, but he wasn't conscious when I left.”

“Wait, what about the bar?”

“Gloria is on her way, and she'll take over as soon as she gets here. I'll sort out the rest later tonight.”

Once Gloria arrived, Laura grabbed her phone and wallet plus a jacket before following Patrick from the pub. He hailed a cab, and fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the hospital. It was another long fifteen minutes before they were allowed to see Dallas.

A sob escaped Laura when she caught her first glimpse. His features were swollen, angry marks that would probably bruise already forming on his left cheek and along his jaw line. A neat line of stitches marred his forehead above his left eyebrow. His top lip was thicker than normal and several cuts and nicks decorated his jaw and cheeks. One arm was covered in heavy bandages. His face was pale, and lying in the hospital bed, he seemed less
Dallas
than usual. Patrick slipped an arm around her shoulders in silent comfort.

Dallas's eyes fluttered open when she sobbed again, unable to halt the slide of tears down her cheeks.

“Sweetheart.” His speech was hard to decipher because of his puffy lip.

“You're awake,” Patrick said. “The nurses said to call them if you woke.”

Laura crept closer and traced an uninjured part of his cheek. “What happened?”

Dallas frowned, his brow knitting in fierce concentration. “Someone jumped me.”

A short, dark-haired nurse bustled past the curtain surrounding his bed, and Laura retreated to join Patrick.

“He looks terrible,” she whispered. “Have you rung Quinn?”

“Not yet. I thought I'd wait until I'd seen Dallas again and could tell Quinn more about his injuries.” He glanced at his watch. “It's almost midnight.”

“Ring him anyway. If it was me I'd want to know,” Laura said.

Patrick picked up his phone. “Me too.”

“No phones in here please,” the nurse said in a crisp voice. “You have five minutes, and then you'll have to leave. Mr. O'Grady needs rest. You can visit him tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Laura said, bowing to the nurse's authority even though she wanted to protest.

Dallas caught her hand when she neared the bed. “Stay with Patrick in apartment. Safer.”

“All right,” she promised.

“You're going make me consort with the enemy,” Patrick said with a note of horror.

“Yeah.” Dallas tried to smile, and that reassured her.

“Did you see who did it?” Patrick asked.

“Yeah. Told the cops. Never seen them before. Bit hazy.” Dallas yawned and winced as the move pulled his facial cuts.

“Time to leave,” the nurse said.

Laura squeezed Dallas's hand and stooped to place a careful kiss on his lips. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

She had a job the next day, but she'd ring the agency as soon as she arrived at the apartment and leave a message on the machine. They'd understand, given the circumstances.

“See you tomorrow, bro,” Patrick said.

Laura didn't sleep. It wasn't that the couch was uncomfortable. It was fine, but her mind wouldn't let go of her worry for Dallas. By six, she gave up the pretense and rose, dressing to start a pot of coffee. She felt grungy and in need of a shower but didn't like to make free with the bathroom.

Halfway through writing a note for Patrick, he appeared dressed in jeans and a T-shirt poking fun at the Australian Wallabies. His dark hair stood up in its usual disarray and combined with the dark stubble on his cheeks, he resembled a roguish pirate. Laura bet the girls begged for his attentions.

“I was writing you a note. I need to go back to the house to get some clean clothes and a few things for Dallas.”

Patrick poured them both a cup of coffee before answering. “I'll take you. We can grab breakfast too.”