Nailing Mr. Nasty (Campy Romances Series Book 2), page 13
“And you like to play it?” she asked, arching a brow.
“That’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“So you don’t regret this? You’re okay with it?”
A frown line appeared between his eyes and he stared at her breasts instead of her face. “No regrets. But they might creep in later.” He traced her aching nipples with his fingertip. “Do you regret coming here and jumping on me?”
She laughed, unable to refute his take on it. “No. I figured the only way I’d break you down was to take matters into my own hands.”
He chuckled. “Baby, you came here running hot after watching that fight. Let’s not kid each other.”
She eased away from his teasing fingers. “You’re a dirty fighter, Jack Nast.” She glanced at him and saw that he was grinning like a naughty boy at her. “I did get off watching Brad sob like a sissy girl in the parking lot.”
Bigger grin.
She touched a blue tinge on his cheekbone, his only mark from the fight. “Like shooting fish in a barrel for you, wasn’t it? They were totally unprepared for your fury. Did you fight a lot when you were younger?”
His grin slipped away. “No. Saw a lot of them, though. I went to the Salvation Army’s Boys’ Club and boxed. That’s where I learned how to make each punch count.”
Her hero. Her knight in shining armor.
She could hardly believe her own stamina, but her body talked her into pressing the heel of her hand against his shoulder to push him onto his back. She straddled him and his eyes lit up with instantaneous lust.
“Hello, cowgirl.”
“Hello, hoss,” she rejoined, grabbing a condom off the nightstand. She opened the foil and wrapped him up. Then she positioned him to slide inside her. He was already hard and getting harder. She lifted herself up and down, laughing lightly when his eyes rolled back in his head. “Ready for a ride?”
“Giddyup.” He met her as she came down, slamming into her and making her see stars.
“Ahhh, Jack.” She hitched in a breath, placed her hands on his muscled chest, and rode him until he bucked uncontrollably, cussed a streak, and exploded inside her. She draped herself on top of him, panting along with him, feeling the quick tap of his heart.
Muscles twitched inside her and her flesh stung. She would be sore and she didn’t care. His arms came around her, keeping her there. Relaxing, she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder and kissed the side of his neck. She heard him whisper her name – Samantha – before she slept.
Chapter 10
Shaky Foundations
With bacon sizzling in the frying pan, Jack asked himself again why he was preparing a huge breakfast to impress his overnight guest. Coffee and toast were usually what he offered a lady who spent the night, but he had bounded from bed with a desire to create a feast for Samantha Striker. He didn’t want her to feel awkward or embarrassed about launching herself on him yesterday. Because he didn’t.
Hell, no. He’d be forever grateful!
A grin curved his lips as memories of her perfect, soft, sweet-smelling body floated through his mind. His resistance to her charms had been impressive, but he’d been able to take only so much. When she’d wrapped around him and her tongue had mated with his, he’d been a goner. Hell, when he opened the door and had found her standing there, he’d surrendered. Maybe even before that.
In the deepest region of his heart, he’d known that they would fit together like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and they had. She was his dream woman – all natural, nothing fake about her. Her body was sinfully sexy, needing no man-made enhancement. Sometimes she came to work with very little makeup on, and he loved it. Her honey-colored complexion with a faint sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her nose was beautiful. A sweep of color on her dark-blond lashes and a glossy stroke of something on her perfectly-shaped lips were sufficient to bowl over any man. Touching her everywhere and plumbing her mouth while he’d delved into her warm, tight channel had been as close to heaven as he’d ever been.
They’d shared a pizza around eight o’clock and then had raced each other back to the bed for another rendezvous in the sheets.
He turned down the flame under the bacon and gathered in a couple of deep breaths to minimize the heat building in his body at the memories. Moving to the mixing bowl, he gave the batter a few more stirs before pouring some into the Belgian waffle maker. Yeah, he was going all out for her and she deserved it. He couldn’t remember wanting a woman as keenly as he’d wanted her and she had been more than he’d even dreamed she’d be. He’d always remember the way her face tightened just before her climax hit and how her eyes sought his as the tremors of passion consumed her. That look. It had shaken him to the core, made him feel like a king, and shackled him to her. In those magical moments, he’d been her willing and grateful slave.
Taylor trotted into the kitchen and sat back on his haunches, begging for a bite of something. Jack broke off a piece of the bacon and tossed it to the dog.
“There, you beggar.”
Shadows shifted and he glanced up in time to watch Sam slither down the fireman’s pole. She wore one of his t-shirts and lacy panties. That’s all. His cock stirred.
“Good morning.” She delivered a shy smile. “Something smells good. Bacon?”
“Bacon,” he confirmed, turning back to the stove and mentally telling his dick to stand down. “Waffles and eggs. How do you like your eggs?”
“Over easy or poached.” She came to stand beside him and sniff the irresistible aroma of frying bacon. “Can I help?”
“You’re my guest, so take a seat. There’s fresh coffee.” He nodded at the carafe on the bar. “Help yourself to some.”
“Okay. Thanks. I really didn’t expect this.”
“What?”
“You cooking me breakfast.” She stroked a hand over Taylor’s head before sitting on one of the stools facing the kitchen. “You’re so domestic. I like it.”
He grinned, thinking she looked damn good in his t-shirt with her hair fluffed and her eyes a little puffy. “You’ve never had a man cook for you?”
“Besides my dad . . .” She angled a glance at the ceiling before swinging her gaze back to him. “Nope.”
He rested a hand over his heart and presented a goofy face. “I’m your first.”
She giggled, wrinkling her nose at him. “Don’t burn the waffles, Chef.”
“Oh. Right!” He flipped up the lid, glad to see the waffle was golden brown and not black on the edges. “How many you want?”
“One will do me.”
“How many eggs?”
“Two, thanks.”
He poured batter into the waffle maker again, then transferred the bacon to a platter, giving Taylor one more slice. When he set the platter on the counter near her, Sam looked at him all squinty-eyed.
“What now?” he asked.
“I was wondering . . . what did you say to Brad in the parking lot after you pounded him?”
He smirked, recalling the trembling fear in the coward’s eyes. “I told him that if I caught him anywhere near you again or if he kept messing with you, I’d go public with an excellent quality, security camera video I have of him and his goon demolishing your car. And you’d file an insurance claim with his boss.”
She plastered a hand over her mouth and laughed, her eyes dancing with light. “Brilliant!’
“I thought so.” He went back to the stove and broke open some eggs into a prepared skillet. “He ranks less than a zero. Hiring someone to whale on your car like that. I mean, that’s not what a grown man does.” He frowned, watching the eggs cook while his thoughts traveled back to the parking lot. “That little prick is all bluster and no brains or brawn.” He glanced over at her. “We’ll have your car towed somewhere today.”
“Ron’s handling that for me. He said he’d have his cousin tow it to the garage you use.”
“We’ll check on it later.” He delivered a dramatic sigh. “I imagine you’ll want to try to repair the heap.”
“Of course.” She folded her arms, giving him a defiant look that made him want to kiss her.
He tore his attention from her, having noticed her long, bare legs crossed and swinging under the breakfast bar. Those legs had fit around his waist and hips perfectly, hugging him, urging him to go harder and faster.
Forcing himself to concentrate on finishing the meal, he transferred the eggs and waffles to the counter and sat next to her. They dug in. As she lathered butter onto her waffle and added a stream of warm maple syrup, she smiled at him. The first big bite had her moaning in ecstasy and Jack shifting uncomfortably on the stool.
“You’re overdoing it,” he admonished. “It’s just breakfast.”
“I know, but it’s all so good.” She chomped on some bacon. “I’m ravished!”
He fingered his bristled jaw, studying her. “Yeah, well, I took it out of you last night. You have to replenish your strength.”
A puckish grin poked at the corners of her mouth. “It was awesome, wasn’t it? I mean, when you popped your cork, you roared like a lion! I’d be surprised if you didn’t wake the neighbors.”
“You weren’t quiet as a mouse either, sweetheart.” He linked his fingers with hers. “It was awesome. But did you doubt it would be anything but that?”
“No, so what now? You’ve broken your rule about screwing the help. Are we going to pretend nothing happened? Sneak around? Or be grownups and work at work and play after work?”
He knew this discussion would happen, but he’d hoped to put if off for a few more hours. He needed more time to sort through the possible repercussions. But she was looking at him, waiting for an answer that he wasn’t prepared to give. “Why don’t we take it day by day? We don’t have to set any hard and fast rules right now. This has been . . . well, great, but I’m not an easy guy to be around. Relationships tend to crumble with me because . . .” He shrugged.
“Because?” she prompted. “Tell me.”
He gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. He tossed a bite of bacon to Taylor. “Because I have other priorities and responsibilities.”
“Responsibilities like your family and your business?”
He nodded.
She tilted her head to one side and her eyes widened a little. “You don’t have children, do you?”
“Wh-what?” He almost swallowed his tongue. “No. No kids. No baby mommas.” He couldn’t help but smile at the relief that softened her features. “I have all I can handle with my parents and my sisters.”
“Your sisters seem to be doing well for themselves.”
“Sure, but I’ll always be their brother. They know they can come to me for anything.”
“Do they or do they depend on their husbands now?”
He bobbed one shoulder. She had a point. His sisters didn’t need his protection like they used to growing up.
“You’re talking about your mother and father’s problems now?” Sam asked.
Years of avoiding that subject with anyone outside his family had him automatically looking for an escape. He stood and gathered the dishes. “You want another cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks.” She rested her chin in her palms, those gray eyes focused solely on him. “Do your sisters expect you to run interference? You said something about you being the one that’s called on.”
“They have their own families,” he said, his hands full of dishes as he turned away from her. “I don’t want them to deal with him. They put up with his shit growing up and that’s more than enough.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah, but Mother depends on me. I’m the one she can call on.”
“He hits her?”
Glad he had his back to Sam, he froze and shut his eyes against the ugly truth. “Yeah. Sometimes it goes that far.”
“Has he ever been arrested?”
“No,” he scoffed. “She would never press charges against him. She makes excuses, tells lies about how she got that bruise or sprained her ankle, broke her hand.” He shoved dishes into the dishwasher as anger churned in his gut. “Like I said, she’s an enabler.”
“And what are you, Jack?”
The softly spoken question felt like fingernails digging into his flesh. He straightened and pivoted toward her, finding her staring at him with a lift of her eyebrows. Instead of answering her, he slammed the door shut on the washer and grabbed a sponge to wipe down the counter. He knew exactly where she was going with this and it was a trip he wouldn’t take with her.
“Have you ever been to Al-Anon meetings?”
Damn it. He tossed aside the sponge and turned, leaning back against the counter. “Have you?”
“I have. A few times. T.L. was on the verge of alcoholism when I was first hired. I went with him to his AA meeting and later I went to Al-Anon meetings to get a better handle on how to help him and not give in to him.” Her smile was a mixture of nostalgia and sadness. “He tried everything. He wheedled, bullied, begged, insulted, and poured on the charm. When he was in the mood for a cocktail or one on the rocks, he’d move heaven and earth to make me agree that he should have one. At first, I found myself giving into him and agreeing with his excuses for why he was weak, how one drink wouldn’t be a disaster, and I even took the blame sometimes for his own decisions! Those Al-Anon meetings gave me the strength I needed to stand against him, instead of with him or even beside him. They cleared my head, too, and made me see my own faults and where I could improve.”
So, she’d helped a social drinker go sober. Whoopee. Now she was an expert? He knew what was coming, but he had no intention of being told how to handle his own affairs by a girl who didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. His old man was a lifelong drunk.
“Anyway,” she said, brightening. “Did you get some pointers from the meetings, too? You know, there are all kinds of enablers.”
He crossed his feet at the ankles and reined in his mounting temper. Taylor plopped down near him. “You’re saying I enable my old man?”
“No.”
He frowned. That wasn’t the answer he’d expected.
“I’m saying that you enable your mother so that she can protect your dad.”
Shaking his head, he made no sense of what she’d said. “Wait. So, you think that I help her protect my old man? From what?” He frowned, recalling that Natalie had said something similar to him.
“From him landing in jail and her being embarrassed by her husband drunk in a bar and having the cops called to deal with him. She can call you and you run and collect him, make sure he gets home, and their secret is safe. You’re in cahoots with her to make it possible for him to continue his bad behavior without any public consequences.”
“Nuh-uh.” He shook his head, infuriated with her take on how he dealt with his father’s problems. Taylor thumped his tail on the floor and whined as if sensing the gathering storm of emotions. Forcing down his ire, Jack managed to speak without yelling. “I make it clear that I think she’s wrong to stay with him.”
“But she never presses charges.”
“That’s right. She’s a grown woman. I can’t make her do something she’s not willing to do.” He shoved away from the counter, anxious to end the discussion. “I’m done talking about this. I’m taking a shower and then I’ll drive you over to the garage to see about your car.” He stalked out of the kitchen and took the stairs two at a time with Taylor hot on his heels.
“She’s a good baby,” Lucy said as she gently lowered Rose Rachelle into her crib. Rose whimpered a little, but drifted back to sleep.
Smiling and nodding her agreement, Sam stood just outside the nursery as Lucy soft-footed it into the hallway. She pulled the door almost closed, leaving it ajar a few inches, then motioned for Sam to follow her back into the living room where they’d left their cups of hot, apple cider and slices of iced, pumpkin bread. Sam sat on the sectional, getting comfy again, and Lucy flung herself on the other end of it.
“Whew! I never would have thought it would be such a workout to take care of a tiny human,” Lucy said with more than a dollop of drama. “What’s a killer is the ‘no sleep part’. Every night when I finally doze off, Rose wakes up. Never fails. I’m up and down, up and down. I don’t bother Chad because he needs to be cogent while he’s at work and he already looks like a raccoon with circles under his eyes.” She chuckled and reached for her cup. “It’s getting better, though. The past two nights she has roused at around three in the morning, and then after she has a snack, she’s good until around seven.”
“Does Chad change diapers?”
“He does and he does laundry and has even taken over vacuuming.”
“Oh, my God! What a guy!”
Lucy beamed. “I know how to pick them, don’t I?” She folded her legs under her and took a sip of the cider. “So, are you and Jack getting along okay?”
Sam munched on the dense, flavorful bread to give herself a few moments to form the right answer to that. It had been a week since she’d spent the night with him. At work, they had gone about their business as if nothing was different between them, but every so often, she’d catch his eye and he’d give her a smoldering look that made her short of breath and long on longing. She’d expected him to make dinner plans with her. He hadn’t. Friday night, she’d expected him to call. Not a peep from him. She hadn’t managed more than a few minutes with him at work and that was with some of the crew within earshot. True, it had been a busy week with Jack dividing his time between job sites and meeting with vendors and bankers. But, the lack of communication confused her. When Lucy had asked her to come by Saturday afternoon, she’d agreed so that she wouldn’t be moping around and wishing the phone would ring. She hadn’t done that since she was in college! She’d thought about calling or texting him almost every day, but her pride had kept her from it. He should reach out to her, damn it!
