The Lawson Boys: Marty (17 page)

Great. Just
great.

Crumpling it
up, she shoved it into the console and shut the door. Annoyed, she
started the car and pulled out of the car park.

Okay, she’d
made it through the shopping, she told herself. She’d made it
through, the whole sordid thing would blow over, and everything
would go back to normal. She just had to weather it a bit
longer.

Pulling into
her driveway, she entered the garage and the door rolled down
behind her. Unlocking the door into the kitchen, she proceeded to
unload the groceries onto the kitchen counter.

Cleo pranced
around, sticking her head into the bags and investigating the
smells. Belle opened a tin of tuna and put some into a bowl for
her. She was just starting to pack the food away when her doorbell
rang.

Ignoring it,
she continued unpacking, but when it proceeded to ring insistently
she finally grew annoyed enough to answer it. Stomping down the
corridor, she flung the door open. “What?” And then she nearly
swallowed her tongue.

Standing on her
doorstep with his sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, a
pair of jeans that fit snugly over his long legs, his brows raised
under his unruly mop of blonde hair falling over his forehead, was
Marty Lawson.

She stared at
him.

“Not a good
time?” he finally drawled.

“I -no. I mean,
yes.”

His
disconcerting gaze slid over her face. “Yes or no?”

“I guess…yes.”
Belle moistened her lips, still surprised. “What are you doing
here?”

“You wouldn’t
answer your phone.”

“My phone?”

“You didn’t
ring me back.” Hands on hips, he studied her. “You’re looking a
little pale. Are you feeling okay?”

Before she
realised what she was doing, Belle reached up to touch her cheeks.
“I feel fine.” Jerking her hands away, she frowned. “I don’t
understand. Why are you here?”

“I told you.
You didn’t answer the phone, nor did you ring me.”

Puzzled, she
leaned against the door. “Sorry?”

“Sorry as in
sorry you didn’t call me, or sorry that you don’t understand?”

“Um…both?”

Taking a deep
breath, Marty looked at her for several seconds in silence before
he asked, “Are you all right?”

“Well, yes.”
Belle started to gather her scattered thoughts into some semblance
of order. “But why are you here?”

“I said-”

“No.” She shook
her head. “I mean,
why
are you here?”

“I think we’re
circling the issue.”

“The
issue?”

“Are you going
to invite me in?”

Belle blinked.
“What?”

“Strange, you
seemed more able to grasp simple questions back in the city.” Marty
glanced around. “Must be all this fresh air.” Smiling suddenly, he
reached out, caught her shoulders in his big hands and turned her
effortlessly around. “Inside.”

Before she knew
it he’d crowded behind her and neatly pushed her into the hallway,
the door closing behind them.

Cleo stuck her
head around the kitchen doorway, her golden eyes widening at the
sight of Marty.

Curious as to
why exactly he was here, Belle turned to face him, only to find
herself looking directly at his upper chest. She looked up further
to the base of his throat. It was a strong throat, tanned, and when
she lifted her gaze it was to glide up past that now familiar
strong jaw and firm lips and higher until she was looking up into
brilliant blue eyes that held a touch of heat.

Heat? Oh yeah,
heat all right. The heat from his body seemed to swirl around her,
sucking her into his lethal zone. His clean, masculine scent
tantalized her senses, stroking through her, and she actually
swayed towards him before she realised in horror what she was doing
and jerked backwards in mortification.

“Tea,” she
almost stammered. “Yes, tea.”

One dark
eyebrow quirked quizzically and she blinked. Nope, no heat in his
eyes, just a - knowing? Shit no, please, not the knowing
expression. His lashes lowered briefly before lifting once more,
this time his eyes holding a glint of humour.

Great.
Wonderful. She’d made a fool of herself once more. All she could do
was brazen this out. Why not? She had to brazen the scandal out, so
what was one more embarrassment?

Swinging on her
heel, she hurried down the hallway and into the kitchen, moving
around to the other side of the counter and switching on the
kettle.

Damn it, she
thought, watching him enter and squat down to pat Cleo, his firm
backside shown to advantage in those bum-hugging jeans, even her
cat couldn’t resist him. One sniff from her, one stroke from him,
and the little hussy was on her back with her stomach bared to his
long fingers.

Knowing
fingers.

Goodness, she
could remember what those fingers felt like when they’d stroked
down her own skin, sliding into her panties and lingering on her
backside.

Her very ample,
dimpled backside.

The thought was
like a bucket of iced water and she turned away to search for the
tea cups. Whatever Marty was here for, it wasn’t her. She didn’t
believe that for a minute regardless of what he said. He hardly
knew her, and certainly wouldn’t have come all the way from the
city to the country for anything more than probably making sure she
was going to keep her mouth shut and not mention that she’d been
staying with his parents. Or maybe he was here as a favour to his
Mum, seeing as how she and her own mother were best friends.

Damn it!
She shouldn’t have made that phone call to apologise.

Damn it!
She should have rung Marty’s phone number and assured him over the
phone that she’d keep her mouth shut.

Damn it! Just -
damn it!

“Cute cat.”

She turned to
see Marty standing with Cleo lying in his arms, her eyes closed
blissfully as he continued to stroke her tummy. Yeah, Belle had an
idea what that felt like.
Don’t think about it.

“Cleo,” she
informed him, “came to my door as a little stray with a bellyful of
kittens.”

“Oh?” Grinning,
he looked down at Cleo. “One for the boys, are you?”

“Not now.”
Needing something to do with her hands so she didn’t stand there
and stare at
his
hands - those strong, capable, calloused
hands - Belle started to unpack the last of the groceries. “She was
sterilised as soon as her kittens went to their new homes.”

“You didn’t
keep any?”

Opening the
pantry, she put the packet of spaghetti inside. “No. I wasn’t sure
I was going to keep her, but…” She glanced at Cleo, who was looking
supremely pleased with herself.

“But you
couldn’t part with her when the time came?” Marty guessed, tossing
a silky hank of blonde hair out of his eyes.

Oh, that was
such a wicked, bad boy gesture, especially when combined with those
blue, blue eyes. Belle cleared her throat. “Correct. Now she runs
the house.”

“All females
do.” Managing to swap Cleo into the cradle of one arm without
disturbing her position, Marty perched on a high stool at the
counter.

She remembered
Sugar, his little dog, lying back in his arms. She just bet a few
women had been swept up into those strong arms and cradled close,
too. Not that he’d be doing that to her unless he wanted to give
himself a hernia.

Stop it! Just
stop it!

Silence filled
the kitchen. Belle, not really knowing what to say, took the bag
containing the fruit and took it to the sink. After washing the
apples, she put them into a basket and put them back on the
counter.

Taking one,
Marty polished it on his shirt and took a bite. Chewing, his strong
jaw working, he studied Belle while Cleo lounged back in his arm.
How he managed to look so masculine and downright sexy with a cat
flopped back in his arm was beyond Belle, but he managed it
effortlessly.

The man really
was lethal.

And sitting in
her kitchen.

The question
was…why?

Picking up the
remaining fruit, she placed them in the ‘fridge and returned to the
counter to switch off the boiling kettle, only to find that Marty
had already done it.

Dropping a tea
bag into each cup, she poured the hot water in and jiggled the
bags. “How strong?”

“Black, no
sugar.”

Tough boy.
Figured. Taking the tea bags out, she pushed one cup in front of
him before pouring milk into her tea. Finally, she looked up at
him.

He quirked a
brow at her. Him and his damned eyebrows. She’d never seen such
expressive eyebrows, for God’s sake. One quirk could manage to make
him look puzzled, wicked, or downright hot. It wasn’t fair. The man
was lethal enough with his buff body and handsome face, to have
those eyebrows as well was just sinful.

Eyebrows.
Geez
. She mentally thunked her forehead with the heel of her
hand. They were just eyebrows, nothing wicked about eyebrows.

His eyes
twinkled suddenly. Yeah, that was it. Those eyes were lethal.

Or maybe she
just needed to pull her skittering hormones in order and just get
to the point. “Why are you here?”

There went
those eyebrows again, this time registering polite surprise. “I’d
have thought that was obvious, now you’ve had time to think about
it.”

“Enlighten
me.”

He took another
bite of apple, chewing thoughtfully while studying her
intently.

Picking up the
cup, Belle pursed her lips and blew lightly on the hot surface of
the liquid. His eyes darkening just had to be her imagination. The
stress was really getting to her. Big time. Rattled all over again,
she put the cup down and proceeded to gather up the empty grocery
bags, anything to keep herself busy and not looking at him.

“I was worried
about you,” Marty said.

It was her turn
to be surprised. “I’m fine.”

“You cried the
other night when I rang you about the photo.”

She flushed.
“No, I didn’t.”

He looked her
directly in the eyes. “Your friend said you did.”

“Holly
exaggerates.” Crossing to the pantry door, she stuffed the plastic
bags into the storage container for later use.

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, she glanced over the pantry shelves.
“Would you like something to eat with your tea? A biccie?”

“No.”

This was
getting them nowhere. “Look, Marty, why are you really here?”

“For you.” His
voice was directly behind her.

Swinging
around, she gaped up at him standing so close to her. She hadn’t
heard him move.

Cleo was
sitting on his vacated stool with a disgruntled look on her furry
face.

He stood
directly before her, so close she could feel the warmth of his
body, his gaze intent, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his
jeans.

Stay
calm!
She cleared her throat. “You’re here for…me?”

“Yeah.” His
gaze slid slowly over her face, lingering on her lips before
sliding down further, over her throat and shoulders, stopping on
her breasts.

“Oh God!” It
hit her hard, like a bucket of iced water, and she fisted her
hands. “I don’t believe you!”

There went
those damned eyebrows again, arching up in query.

“You think I’m
a slut!”

Any hint of
wickedness disappeared from his widening eyes. “I what?”

“You think I’m
an easy lay, a woman who puts out!” Placing one hand on his chest,
she shoved hard, pushing past him at the same time. “What’s the
joke? Is this a dare?” Refusing to look at him, she stormed back to
the counter and braced both hands on it, glaring at the now empty
stool which Cleo had quickly vacated. “Go home, Martin. I’m in no
mood to be made fun of.”

“I’m not
making-”

“I’m not a
slut!”

There was
silence for several seconds before Marty said in a dangerously low
voice, “You better not be saying what I think you are.”

“Then let me
make it easy for you to understand. Just because I was stupid
enough to tell the whole world that I let Trevor bed me doesn’t
mean I’m spreading my legs for anyone else, and that includes
you!”

Yeah, that was
telling him. That was laying down the law, letting him know exactly
what she thought of him.

Yeah.

Only as the
silence grew longer and heavier and a whole hell of a lot tenser,
she started to get a little nervous.

“Is that what
you think?” The words were silkily dark.

Was it her
imagination or had he just invaded her personal space, because sure
as God had made green apples her nerves were tingling. Heat
prickled along her spine and she could swear that his lethal zone
had just collided with her aura. It made her fury sputter
weakly.

Swallowing, but
still angry, she replied tersely, “Yes.”

“Know it for a
fact, do you?” Those words slid across her skin like the lick of
black leather, threatening, promising all kinds of punishments.

“Yes.” The
answer came out shakily.
Oh God, get a grip!
She didn’t know
if the shivers going through her were of fear or a delicious
reaction to his words and tone -
oh geez! Not delicious! No no
no! Definitely fear! No, anger. Yes, anger!

“I see.” There
was the brush of warm breath across the nape of her neck and she
jumped, but before she could swing around to face him and assure
herself that he was just a horny bloke and not in a million years a
threat to her senses, two heavily muscled arms appeared each side
of her and two big hands slammed down on the counter top right
beside her much smaller ones. The heat of his muscled chest was
against her back as he leaned over her, caging her in with his
body, his ribbed stomach against the small of her back, his groin
pushed against her bottom, the fronts of his hard thighs aligned
behind her softer ones.