Fighting Dirty. Lori Foster

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      But she didn’t want to dupe him into doing anything that he’d later regret.

      She gave him a long look and went into the bedroom.

      He laughed, rubbed his tired eyes and muttered, “I tried.”

      “Yes, you did.” To get him to join her, she asked, “Would it help you to relax if I told you all I want is to sleep? Beside you, I mean, because I honestly don’t want to be alone.” And she was pretty sure he didn’t want to be alone, either.

      Full of regret, he shook his head. “Sorry, babe, but I can’t. I’ll crash on the couch.”

      Babe? That was a new one, but again, he’d had too much to drink and wasn’t firing on all cylinders. “It’s going to be crowded with both of us out there.”

      When he stood there—neither leaving nor making a move to stay—Merissa decided to try to sway him. She reached for the snap on her jeans.

      Armie didn’t look away from her eyes, but he breathed harder.

      She dragged down the zipper, then slipped her hands into the jeans along her hips and slowly pushed down the tight material until she could step free.

      His nostrils flared.

      She dropped the jeans over a chair, pulled back the comforter on his bed and, full of uncertainty, slipped beneath the covers. To make room for Armie, she scooted over to the middle, looked at him and waited.

      “If I wasn’t drunk,” he whispered, staring at her, “I might be able to do this.” He edged closer, caught the comforter and dragged it away from her body. His blistering gaze surveyed every inch of her, leaving her singed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

      “You won’t.” He’d been prepared to die for her. She trusted him completely.

      A deep, harsh groan tore from his throat, and then he was in the bed, gathering her close, one hand in her hair, the other low on her back, almost to her derriere. Their legs tangled, his hairy and muscular, hers smooth and slim. She felt soft chest hair against her cheek, and the heavy bumping of his heartbeat.

      “Armie?”

      “Shh. Give me a minute.”

      “Okay.” He smelled so good and felt so nice, she didn’t mind just being close with him. But as the time slipped by, she started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. The bedside lamp was on and the comforter remained at the foot of the bed.

      Levering back from his hold, she tipped up her face and found his eyes closed, his brows lightly pinched.

      She scooted upward to kiss the injury to his head, and that’s when she saw the restraint hanging loosely from his headboard. She couldn’t quite look away from it, either, now that she’d spotted it.

      “Armie?”

      His dark lashes left shadows over his high cheekbones. “Hmm?”

      Now she frowned, too. “Are you playing possum?”

      “Concentrating.”

      “On what?”

      His hand slid farther down, over one cheek of her behind. He stroked with his thumb, fondled, then returned to the small of her back. Voice raspy, he said, “Not doing more of that.”

      After that sizzling, sensual caress, it took her a second to regain her voice. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Can we talk about this tie hanging from your bedpost?”

      His eyes opened, dark, compelling. “We could talk about you losing this shirt.”

      That low, rough voice enticed as much as the suggestion. “Oh, Armie,” she whispered. “If you weren’t drunk, I would.”

      “If I wasn’t drunk, I wouldn’t ask.”

      Probably true. She sighed.

      As if to convince her, he said, “I’m a better cocksman when inebriated.”

      The laugh almost burst out. “Cocksman?”

      He nudged his erection against her. “Like a swordsman, but with my dick.”

      “Yes.” She had to work at keeping the smile at bay. “I understood the reference.”

      The hand on her back began toying with her shirt. “Want me to show you?”

      “I want you to explain the restraint.”

      His eyes went heavy, sensual. “I use them to tie up frisky ladies so I can do as I please—and they love it.”

      “Is that one of the things women ask of you? To be tied down?” Being at Armie’s mercy—she wouldn’t mind that. In fact, her toes curled just talking about it.

      “Yeah.” He drew her down for a kiss. “They beg for it.”

      Merissa avoided his mouth and instead kissed his forehead, then the bridge of his nose. “The woman who was here tonight, that’s what she likes?”

      “She likes her bottom hot.” Armie turned his head and nuzzled into her neck. “But I shouldn’t be telling you that.”

      On the contrary, she found it fascinating. “So you...spank her?”

      “Yeah.” He lightly bit her shoulder, then stilled. “You into that?”

      Merissa gave an emphatic, “No.”

      Armie relaxed again. “Good. I would never want to hurt you. Not in any way.”

      Touched by that confession, Merissa hugged his head to her breasts. The way he’d said that though, not in any way, had her thoughts churning.

      He did a little more nuzzling, getting close to her nipples. She scooted back down so they were again face-to-face.

      Armie just looked at her, his gaze probing and aroused, but also slightly off focus.

      “I sort of expected your bedroom to be full of sex toys.”

      “Mmm,” he murmured with a smile. “Women bring their own.”

      That reply took her by surprise. “Really?”

      Trailing his fingertips down her arm, he said, “I figure they can handle their own cleanup.”

      Euewww. “TMI.”

      He laughed, kissed the top of her head. “How can it be too much information when you’re grilling me?”

      “I didn’t expect...”

      “Sex is a messy business.” His voice went deeper. “Women get nice and wet when turned on, and men come.” He stroked her hair back. “You know that.”

      She knew plain vanilla sex with men she hadn’t loved. No sex toys, СКАЧАТЬ