More Blazing Bedtime Stories: Once Upon a Mattress (6 page)

“It really wasn’t the bump that conked me out. I’ve had a major thing with blood for as long as I can remember. Just can’t handle it—I tried to donate at a Red Cross blood drive once in high school and fainted in front of half the school.”

She spilled two tablets from the bottle, popping them into her mouth. Then the wicked wench bent completely over the sink, spooning water between her lips.

Wanton images flooded his brain. Was she trying to kill him? That deep, mind-numbing kiss, the wicked eroticism of her body, her passionate response, now a provocative position designed to drive him wild? If not for the leggings she wore, it would be so easy to slide the skirt up, grab her hips, and thrust into her from behind until they both howled with pleasure.

She seemed oblivious, straightening and continuing with her conversation. “I guess I used to be pretty clumsy. My Dad told me I fell out of a window and almost killed myself when I was a toddler. I’ve had a problem with blood ever since.”

Focus
.

“Where is your father, Penny?” he asked, never having gotten an answer from her earlier today.

“He died almost three years ago.” She waved toward the table
beside the bed, on which stood a framed image of a younger Penny with a smiling, middle-aged man. “There’s a picture.”

“He died before you turned twenty-one?”

“A few days before.”

“It all makes sense now.”

One angry brow shot up. “Makes sense that my father died of a heart attack before he was even fifty years old?”

“No, no. I mean, it makes sense now that he didn’t bring you to your mother’s people. He wasn’t alive to keep his promise.”

“Don’t go there again, please. Not right now.”

“All right. But we have to talk about it.”

Penny shoved a hand through her short hair, which had lost most of its jagged spikiness and fallen into short curls around her face. Everything about her, from her appearance to her mood, even the tone of her voice, had grown softer. More vulnerable.

“I miss him every day,” she admitted, glancing again at the photograph.

“I’m sure you do.”

He understood such grief. The loss of his sister had left a hole in him that he didn’t think would ever be refilled.

Still introspective, Penny tilted her head, glancing toward a shelf on the wall above the bed. On it sat a sizeable box wrapped in pretty paper, with a large bow on the top. The paper was faded, the bow dusty. The gift had remained unopened for quite some time.

“From him?”

She nodded. “Callie, my Dad’s girlfriend, gave it to me when I came back to town a few months ago. He’d had some stuff stored in her garage and she found it after I’d left to go…traveling. He must have stashed it there in case I went snooping around our place.”

“Why didn’t you open it?”

Her moist eyes tugged at his heart. “It hurt too much. Opening it seemed like the final step in admitting he’s gone.”

“I see.”

She managed a weak smile. “Anyway, I turn twenty-four in two weeks. I figured I’d hold out until then. It’ll be one last present from my dad on my actual birthday.”

She deliberately turned her back on the shelf, the photograph, the sad thoughts. “Look, I owe you big-time. And I have decided you’re not a serial killer, because you could have taken me out while I was unconscious a few minutes ago.”

“Thanks. I’d hate to think you go around inviting serial killers to kiss your pretty nipples.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “The point is, I will let you spill whatever it is you came here to say to me. But it’s late, and I’ve had a long day. Right now, all I can think about is taking a hot shower and eating food that doesn’t include gravy, breading or old grease.”

Though his stomach rumbled at the reminder that he had not had a meal since he left home, her words made him grateful he hadn’t ordered anything at the diner. “You have eaten nothing all day?”

“I serve that food, I don’t actually consume it.”

Nodding, he gestured toward her shower, squelching the image of her standing inside it, naked, steamy streams of water gushing over her beautiful body—making those little silver hoops glisten and shimmer. “Take your shower and I’ll make us a meal.”

“Us?” One delicate brow arched over her eye. “You’re inviting yourself to dinner?”

“It’s the least you can do,” he pointed out.

A small frown appeared, but she made no saucy comeback. Nor did she order him to leave. Nodding once, she said, “Deal. There’s tons of produce in the fridge. I am dying for a salad.”

He grimaced. Lucas was dying for a big, so-rare-it-was-almost-mooing steak.

“I’ll be done in a few minutes, okay?”

“Fine.”

Or lamb chops. Mmm
.

She probably saw a quick flash of hunger on his face.
Though, he’d been trying to hide such a look since the moment he’d laid eyes on her, so it shouldn’t have showed. “Just make enough for both of us. I’m starving.”

“I don’t do salad.”

“Big bad wolf must have meat, huh?”

He let out a surprised bark of laughter, unable to help it. Damn, the woman had no idea what she was into here. Had no clue that being this close to her, especially now, with the fullness of the moon right outside, was filling his head with strange, dark, frenzied fantasies. Hunger. More intense than his need for food.

He didn’t want to hurt her, wouldn’t harm a hair on her head. He just wanted to devour her in the most sexual way possible.

He couldn’t stay here much longer. In fact, he should have left already, hidden nearby to watch over her for the rest of the night. That coward who’d accosted her probably wasn’t fool enough to stick around, but there was no telling.

But he didn’t want to leave yet. Her spirit was coming back, she was returning to her normal, feisty self. He wanted more time with her. “Actually,” he finally replied, “I could go for a steak. A very rare one.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Well, good luck with that. Because every store around here is closed.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him out of her bedroom with a smirk. Just before closing the door in his face, she added, “And I’m a vegetarian.”

“G
OOD GRIEF
, he must have a beard made out of steel wool!”

Wrapped in a towel, Penny stared down at her bare legs, which were flecked with pieces of tissue. The flecks had once been snow-white, but were now turning red as blood soaked through. She steeled herself against the queasiness and looked away.
Tiny flecks, that’s all. You’ve nicked your legs before
.

But not usually a dozen times at once.

She had been out of replacement blades for the razor. Since she’d only used the blade once before today, however, and hadn’t figured Lucas Wolf’s sexy face could do too much damage to it, she’d included a quick shave with her shower.

Bad move. She looked as though she’d lost a fight with a vengeful kindergartener armed with a sharp stick.

She should have ignored the feminine vanity and skipped the process. It wasn’t like he was going to get close to her calves or thighs, anyway. He’d had his shot and hadn’t taken it.

Maybe he will if you don’t take no for an answer this time!

She ignored the salacious inner voice that had sounded like Angie, a tattoo artist she’d met and befriended in Detroit. The woman had talked Penny into doing some crazy things.

“Forget it, he turned you down,” she reminded herself as she went into her room to grab some clothes. And she couldn’t take another rejection. Not when she wanted him so badly.

Thinking about it, though, she realized he hadn’t looked happy about stopping. In fact, he’d acted like someone had started pulling his fingernails out. So maybe he was being the gentleman who she suspected lurked within that big, sexy body.

Penny donned a Metallica T-shirt and another loose, elastic-waist skirt that wouldn’t brush up against the nicks. Giving her head a shake, she ran her fingers through her wet hair—one definite advantage of such a short do.

As she left her bedroom, she cast a quick glance toward the wrapped box on the shelf and was stabbed with the same mix of emotions she always felt when she looked at it. Amusement, grief, happiness, regret, love. Such love. Then she left her bedroom.

True to his word, Lucas had begun preparing them a late-night dinner. She entered the kitchen and found him frowning down at the stove, where something sizzled in a frying pan she hadn’t used once in the past nine months.

Yuck. “I said I didn’t want any fried….” Her voice trailed off and she came to a sudden stop as he looked over at her.

She’d been in the shower maybe fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. And yet he looked
so
different. “You must have more testosterone than an entire major league football team!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I massacred my legs with the razor you used, and here you are, looking like you need to use it again.”

He glanced away. “Did you use it anyplace else?”

Wicked man. Trying to change the subject. As if he couldn’t have found out for himself a little while ago, anyway. She’d been so turned on he could have stripped her naked and done her out in the street and she wouldn’t have objected.

Damn the man for starting something and not finishing it.

You started it
.

Well, there was that.

“Perhaps the blade was dull to begin with,” he added. “That must be why it wasn’t effective for either of us.”

Funny, she seemed to recall lying on the bed, looking up at him during their previous conversation about where she’d used the razor. And thinking how nice those smooth cheeks might feel on the inside of her thighs if he made good on his threat to tear off her clothes and see for himself.

Then, when she’d kissed him, touched his face, felt him scrape his cheek against her incredibly sensitive nipple, there’d been the tiniest hint of roughness, but that was all.

She shivered. Because now, those cheeks weren’t smooth. And while she couldn’t deny that the rough stubble would probably feel even better against her uber-sensitive skin, she just wanted to know why.

“Veggie burgers,” he muttered, staring at the pan in disgust. “Whoever created them ought to be put in the stockade.”

That didn’t distract her. Penny had been busy and distracted this morning. Injured and woozy, and eventually horny, tonight.

Now she was clear-headed. Fully cognizant that something about this man didn’t make sense.

It wasn’t just the beard. She also wanted to know why his speech sometimes sounded so odd. Why he insisted on taking her with him somewhere, refusing to name the place. Why he had been following her tonight. What the hell the reddish eyes and the sharp-toothed growling had been all about.

And, damn it, why had he stopped when everything from his eyes to his mouth to his hands to that big ridge against the seam of his jeans said he was dying to screw her brains out?

Penny had never read fairy tales as a kid, but that didn’t mean she had no imagination. While she might not believe in unicorns or fairies, she was open to other possibilities. Her good instincts had told her on occasion that she was meeting someone…different. Out of place.

Once, at around age eight, she’d come home early and found her father talking to a strange-looking man, small of stature, long of face. She had immediately felt that he didn’t belong here. Not just in Louisiana, but
anywhere
she’d ever known.

There had been other occasions. Only a few, but each time, her inner voice told her she was meeting an outsider walking a lonely path where he did not,
could
not, ever fit in.

She saw that now in Lucas Wolf. Maybe she’d seen it from the start, but her attraction had kept her from dwelling
on it. Penny was still attracted. But now she was determined to know more.

“I asked you something earlier,” she said, piercing him with a stare. “I’m asking again, and I want to know the truth.”

He adjusted the burner on the stove, then turned to give her his full attention. She thought she heard a sigh, as if he’d resigned himself to something unpleasant. And for a second, she almost didn’t want him to answer.

Instinct told her the truth might be harder to handle than the curiosity. But curiosity won out.

“Tell me, Mr. Wolf. Who are you?” She took one small step closer. “Who are you,
really?
”

He didn’t move, never shifted his gaze. Instead, after the slightest hesitation, he baldly answered her question.

“My name
is
Lucas Wolf. I am a lawman from Elatyria, a place you’ve probably considered fictional all your life. I’m one-quarter Wolf. And I’ve been hired by a queen to find you and bring you back to Riverdale.”

She didn’t respond. Didn’t gasp. Didn’t laugh in his face.

To be honest, she didn’t react at all for a second. She merely stared at him, noting the stone-cold seriousness of his expression, replaying his voice in her head, trying to decide if he was delusional or merely pulling her chain.

Finally, though, she had to admit he wasn’t playing some crazy joke. He might be nuttier than a jar of Skippy, but he believed what he was saying.

“Okay,” she muttered, putting an end to an internal debate over whether she should call 911 or run out into the night. Doing neither, she instead walked over to open a kitchen cabinet and said, “I think we’re going to need some tequila to get through the rest of this conversation.”

H
E KNEW
from experience that this tequila she craved was a weak brew. Yet it seemed to brace the princess. Before she even opened her mouth to discuss the matter, she tossed back two small shots of the stuff. She shivered once, then dove right in.

“You’re an escaped mental patient, right? Damn, I knew it.”

He merely smiled.

“Come on, you
can’t
expect me to believe this.”

“I don’t expect you to, which is why I wanted to take you and show you the proof rather than trying to explain it.”

“Take me where, to this imaginary place called Riverdale? Or is it Elatyria?”

“Riverdale is a territory, what you’d call a country. Like these United States. It exists in the world of Elatyria, which borders this one that you call Earth.”

“Oh, right.” Sarcasm saturated her words. She was humoring him. “You’re from another planet?”

“Hardly. Just because you Earth dwellers have explored space doesn’t mean you know all there is to know about this world.”

She merely stared.

Trying to put it simply, in the terms he’d first heard a few years ago when his completely unknown half-brother, Hunter, had come looking for him, he explained. “Think of it like this. Two lands occupying the same space, only…”

She interrupted again with a snap of her fingers and a grin. “Wait. You’re telling me you’re a time traveler? From the past?”

His eyes narrowing, he held back an instinctive growl. The woman was a pain in the ass. But damn, how he liked her.

“Do you want to hear this or not?”

She waved an expansive hand. “Oh, by all means! I’m truly fascinated, hanging on every word.”

She couldn’t have sounded more disbelieving if he’d told her he needed her to help calm a raging dragon hungry for a virgin princess. Not that Lucas necessarily believed that legend. He had always suspected the whole thing had been made up by some horny guy trying to get a princess to give it up. And though Penny was indeed a princess, he doubted she satisfied the other requirement.

That didn’t thrill him, since he considered her his. Yet not being her first didn’t enrage him either. He certainly couldn’t
claim inexperience. Only a hypocrite would blame her for being what she was—a passionate young woman—up until now.

Only one thing truly mattered. That he would be the
last
man ever to possess her.

“Hello? Taking a break to think up the rest of your tall tale?”

He blew out a harsh, frustrated breath, wondering how this woman had already worked his brain into a knot of confusing thoughts. “What I’m trying to say is that your world and mine co-exist, that they’re simply separated by a few degrees of reality.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, I think you’re separated from reality by about a hundred and eighty degrees, my friend.”

Turning away from her, he grabbed the tequila bottle from the counter. He lifted it to his mouth and drained half of its contents into the back of his throat.

Not much better than water. But it had given him a second to keep himself from throwing the woman over his shoulder and kidnapping her in order to prove that what he said was true.

Calmed, he turned to face her again. “Neither Elatyria or Riverdale exist on any map in your world. Those who move back and forth between the lands don’t speak of their travels for fear of being thought mad.”

She mumbled something under her breath. Seeing his clenching jaw, though, she didn’t repeat herself.

“But they do exist. Your own father lived at least ten years of his life over there.” Lucas had done research on the family before he’d come here to track her down.

For the first time, the disbelief was replaced—briefly—by a hint of wonder. “Ten years?” She glanced past him, mumbling something under her breath. “He was missing for ten years….”

Sensing an opening, he pressed on. “You don’t remember, but you’ve been there, too.”

“What?”

“Your father never told you a thing about your childhood? The two of you lived in Riverdale until you were almost three.”

She plopped onto a chair. “
Lived
there? Me and my father?”

“And your mother, of course. Where do you think they met?”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking about it. Finally, she admitted, “He always said they met at NYU.”

He tilted his head in confusion.

“New York Univ—Look, it doesn’t matter. I went there. It wasn’t true. There was no record that either of my parents studied there.”

“Not surprising. I don’t imagine there are any official documents about your mother in this world at all.”

Her mouth dropped open in confirmation, but she just as quickly jerked it closed. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It’s one more piece to the puzzle you’ve always wondered about, though, isn’t it?” he asked, his tone reasonable, unthreatening.

She wasn’t in the mood to be reasoned with. She shook her head, as if shaking off a hint of doubt. “You do know I’m on the verge of calling someone to take you to one of those places with rubber-walled cells, right?”

For all her protestations, Princess Penelope’s eyes could not lie. They betrayed her. Right now, they swam not with disdain and disbelief, but with wonder. She was considering his story. Opening her mind. Perhaps because she’d already had questions about her parents, her mother. From the sound of it, she had gone looking for her history and hadn’t found it.

Because it wasn’t there to be found. At least, not in this world.

“According to legend, your father stumbled into the outer territories, a desert which bordered Riverdale. He was brought before your mother, half-dead, accused of being a spy. They say it was love at first sight.”

Penny swallowed visibly. Then the hint of wonder left her. Correction: she forced it away, he saw it in the deliberate tightening of her lips. “This is such a load of crap.”

“I know how it sounds,” he insisted. “That is why you must come with me and allow me to prove it.”

“Prove some other dimension exists? Yeah, right.” He’d already noticed the way she immediately relied on sarcastic humor when she began to doubt. Now was no exception. “Are we going to run into the Jolly Green Giant there?”

“Giants aren’t green. Nor are they
ever
jolly.”

She leapt from her chair. “Oh, give me a freaking break.”

He thrust a frustrated hand through his hair. It was like trying to tame a unicorn, leading her one step forward only to have her pull two steps away. “Princess…”

“What’s with the princess stuff?”

“Your mother was Queen of Riverdale. You are her only surviving child. Her only heir. You
are
a princess.”

Her lips twitched. Relieved laughter spilled out. “Oh, God, this is a joke! Who set this up, that witch Angie?”