CHAPTER 49
Frankie
“Welcome to Chez Special K,” he says. He takes my hand, walks me up the porch stairs, and opens the door. My mouth falls open. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a place of such simple, unfussy elegance. It’s warm and inviting, but lived in.
It suits him perfectly.
But damn… it’s reeeeeely clean. “So you’re a neat freak? Is that a Navy thing?”
He chuckles. “Nah. Remember—I don’t cook here and spend most of my time on the range. I’m mostly just here to shower and sleep.” He drops his lips to my hair. “I can give you the grand tour now or tomorrow, whatever works for you.”
“Tomorrow’s good.”
He walks me through the main room and down a hallway to a sprawling bedroom.
It’s more of the same simple elegance—lots of natural wood, huge windows, and fabrics in muted colors and patterns—and the overall effect is soothing and quiet.
This is most definitely the bedroom of a cowboy who wears expensive cologne and luxury wool.
He turns me in his arms.
“You smell nice,” he says, inhaling my hair.
“And you smell like horse, but in the best possible way.”
“You’re just trying to get on my good side.”
“Only because that looks like the world’s most comfortable bed. I don’t want you to kick me out.”
He pulls me into his chest and wraps me in his arms. “I know you just showered and changed, but would you be opposed to showering again… with me?”
“Well, I don’t know,” I say, sliding my hands across his hard ass and around to the front to unbuckle his belt. Then I unzip his jeans and slip my hand inside. I grasp his big cock, hot and silky in my hand, and smile when I feel it instantly get hard.
“Does that answer your question, cowboy?”
He lifts me from the floor and cradles me in his arms, carrying me into a wonderland of marble, glass, and chrome—and the biggest shower and bathtub I’ve ever seen in my life.
Yes, he can fit in that tub—three of him could fit in that tub. And that shower could probably hold an entire baseball team, but I’m glad it’s me he’s invited.
Special K gently sets me on the countertop, spreads my legs, and steps between my knees. He’s so sexy with his belt undone and his jeans half unzipped. I lick my lips at the sight of him.
His calloused fingers brush up my throat and he tilts my chin to look down into my eyes. There’s a slightly sad smile on his face, but when he lowers his mouth to mine, he delivers one hell of a slow and sexy kiss.
I feel that kiss everywhere, snaking hot into my chest, rolling down in waves through my solar plexus, and slipping into my pussy. I’m wet. One kiss and I’m soaking wet for him. One kiss and I ache and need to be filled.
With him.
I hear his moan of bliss. I hear my own. And we’re already here, that place we go when we touch. Instantly, we connect. We lock on to one another. I swear that at some point we reached an understanding, no words are needed.
We agreed to go wherever the pleasure leads, knowing that what we give the other becomes our own satisfaction.
We agree to discover more—about the other and ourselves—by giving what feels right and asking for what we need.
Kevin MacLaine is a big man—with powerful fists and a hunger to fight for what’s right. Yet he possesses a gentle spirit and loving heart, as well. I don’t understand how that combination can build a foundation in a single person, but I’m damn happy it does with him.
I’m grateful he found me. And was patient enough and determined enough to keep knocking until I answered.
And now I’m falling in love with him. Heaven help me, it’s true. And I don’t know what to do with that knowledge.
What am I supposed to do?
His hands are in my hair. He adjusts the angle of my mouth so that I give him access just how he wants it. He can have whatever he wants from me. He can take it all. I need him to because I’m falling in love with him. And I don’t know how much time we have left together.
I pull his huge torso closer and spread my fingers over the breadth of his back. There’s so much raw power in this body. And sexual hunger.
I melt into his kiss and his touch. I instinctively arch my back to offer myself to him. His hands slide down my back and grab my ass.
Special K gingerly ends the kiss and rests his forehead to mine.
“I need you, Boots.”
I swear I hear a break in his voice. And those simple words may carry more than one meaning. Is it possible he feels the same way I do?
How?
He’s an honorable man, smart and intuitive with a successful ranch and tech business, a much-loved brother, son, uncle, nephew, brother-in-law, friend.
I’m a stripper on the run from the mob. I belong nowhere and to no one.
Special K reaches the countertop and taps a remote control mounted to the wall. I hear the water turn on in the shower as the bathroom lights transform from bright white to a warm and relaxing, low-light yellow-orange. It reminds me of the firelight in the cabin.
His hands are on my borrowed clothes. I raise my arms as he lifts the cotton shirt and zip-up hoodie over my head. Then he reaches down to slip the tracksuit pants off my legs, his fingers trailing along my hips, thighs, and calves. He removes my boots and socks. And he stands.
A few blond curls fall over one eye. He’s breathing hard. And when I look at his face I’m suddenly on the verge of tears. I don’t want him to see me cry. I’m so sick of crying in front of him.
He’s so handsome, and my feelings for him are so strong, that it hurts.
“You okay?”
I nod, turning my attention to him instead of the stupid, crazy, pointless feelings that are bubbling up from my heart and heading for my lips. I’m dangerously close to telling him. I want him to know.
No.
I focus on how wonderful his hard flesh feels under my hands as I slide my palms up inside his T-shirt, over the ridges of his flat stomach, up to his magnificent chest. I push the shirt as far as I can get it and he takes it the rest of the way—ripping it off over his head and throwing it across the room.
What words would I use? “I know it’s not a good time. I know I’m leaving. I know we just met and I’m not exactly a great catch, but I love you. What the hell are we going to do?”
Nope.
It’s almost comical how rotten the timing is. I couldn’t have picked a worse time to fall in love if I tried. And if I tell him how I feel, it will only make my leaving messier and add to the pain I’ll feel when I go.
The truth is still the truth: I’m leaving without him.
My focus goes to Special K’s jeans, where his enormous erection pokes beneath his half-open fly. My hands tremble as I unzip him the rest of the way. His glorious cock springs free.
He kicks off his boots and jeans and scoops me in his arms. He carries me past the frosted glass dividing wall and into a shower that’s the size of a playground.
At least ten water jets. A huge teak bench. Several different marble niches built into the shower wall at varying heights. And a collection of luxury bath products worthy of the spa inside the Vegas Fontainebleau.
This is a sexual playground. And I can’t help but wonder…
“No one,” he says before I can ask. “Never. Not in this shower, this bathroom, this bedroom suite, that bed out there, or this house. Only you.”
His statement inspires me.
I use his body like the pole at Lynx. I press my hands onto his shoulders and rise up, then do a scissor swing, whipping my legs down and then straight out in front of me, one on each side of his body. I clasp my ankles around his back and let my body slowly relax backwards.
I reach over my head and wiggle my fingers into the hot spray of the jets, delighting in the feeling of warm water cascading all over my body. My hair sweeps the marble floor beneath me.
“This is a first as well,” he says.