Dead Over Heels (wyndham werewolf) Page 11
“Don’t I know you?”
“I dunno. Do you?”
“You’re Cain, right?”
“Right.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it. He really was cute, with those sparkling green eyes and that big grin. And freckles!
“I’m Darrell.”
“Oh, God,” she groaned, and buried her face in her hands.
Chapter 12
I don’t have an STD. Contrary to rumor.”
“Well, that’s a relief. Buy you another one?” he asked, gesturing to her beer bottle, which was almost empty.
“Sure.”
“So,” he said, while they were waiting for the bartender, “Saul got it wrong, huh? That’s not like him.”
“Oh yes it is. He got it wrong on purpose. He’s been steering guys away from me for years. He just stepped it up this month.”
There was an awkward pause while the bartender plunked down their drinks, then Darrell said, “Jeez, that’s—uh—weird. Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s gone insane?”
“I dunno, sounds like a description of a man in love to me.”
“Please,” she said, furiously chomping on her lime.
“That would explain,” Darrell said thoughtfully, “why I also heard that you were anorexic, hooked on marijuana, and a nymphomaniac.”
She nearly choked on her lime. “I haven’t gotten laid in two years! And all that other stuff isn’t true, either,” she added belatedly.
“You’re right. He has gone insane. Saul, of all people! Crazy over you, at least.”
“Please,” she said again.
“Wow,” he said cheerfully, slurping his Bud. “I heard you were a little slow on the uptake, but does he have to paint it on your forehead?”
“I am not, either!” she said furiously, resisting the impulse to break the bottle over his stupid red head. “And he does not! And he better not. I can’t believe you’re on his side. Men,” she snorted. “You all stick together.”
“We sort of have to,” he said apologetically. “Mars and Venus and all that stuff, right? Guys have to stick together. Otherwise, you’d destroy us all.”
“That’s an interesting worldview. Creepy, but interesting.” She finished her beer and made up her mind. “So. You wanna go out? Tomorrow?”
“Yes,” he said, “but I won’t.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Because Saul’s in love with you and you’re probably in love with him, you’re just too pissed to see it. And I’m not getting in the middle of that. Although you are perfectly cute,” he assured her.
“We’re just friends,” she snapped, ignoring the niggle of doubt crawling up her spine. “But thanks for the cute thing.”
“No problem. But you’re one hundred percent deluded about his feelings.”
“Deluded?” she echoed disbelievingly.
“Oh, sure. He’s totally in love with you. That’s why he did all that research on every eligible male Pack member. Guy probably hasn’t slept since you got back to town.”
“He told me that was work!”
“Well, for him, it probably was.”
She banged her forehead on the surface of the bar. “Jerk. Jerk. Jerk.”
“Hey. Quit that.” Darrell shoved his hand between her forehead and the bar, so the next time her head banged down on his hand. “Seriously, stop! You’ll give yourself a concussion.”
“I never could read his writing. I saw the paperwork, it was all over the living room.”
“Well, you should quit bitching that you didn’t have any clues. You had tons of them, sounds like.”
“It’s possible I hate you more than I hate Saul.”
“Problem is, you don’t hate Saul. So why don’t you go see him?”
“Because he’s a treacherous, lying bastard?”
“Who’s been with you through—what’s the phrase? Thick and thin?”
“I have just decided,” she said, “that this is none of your business.”
“Oh, I love to meddle. Besides, you looked so cute and forlorn I couldn’t help coming over.”
“Puppies are cute,” she grumped. “Babies are cute. I am not cute.”
“Awww, don’t be so hard on yourself, cute stuff. And go see Saul!”
“Forget it.”
He cupped his chin in one hand and studied her. “Man, he’s a brave bastard. You’d be a handful.”
“Shut up. Go away.”
“If you promise to go see him, I will.”
“How about if I just beat the crap out of you instead?”
“Oh, no,” he said earnestly. “Then it’d be awkward if we ever ran into each other again.”
“What is with you?”
“I’m a huge fan of true love.”
Incredibly, she heard herself promise. Anything for some fucking peace and quiet.
Chapter 13
She charged into Saul’s living room, having rapidly metabolized the beer and deciding to get her promise over with as soon as possible.
“All right, you treacherous son of a bitch, you sneaky sly—shit.”
The house was empty. Which was weird; where was he at friggin’ midnight, anyway? He had no life outside of work! And her! And work!
Probably out spreading more odious rumors about her; she wouldn’t put it past him.
She settled down to wait. She’d wait all night if she had to. All week. And ooooh, she was going to give him such a piece of her mind, and possibly a concussion, and maybe even—
The front door swung open, and Saul staggered inside.
“Oh my God!” she cried, leaping to her feet. “What the hell happened to you?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, trying to limp past her, but she blocked his way. He had a bloody nose, the beginnings of two black eyes, and there was something wrong with his leg.
“Sit down, let me look at your leg.”
He tried to push her away and nearly fell over. She easily shoved him onto the couch, ripped his jeans open, and examined the bulge.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s broken.”
“Yeah.”
“And it’s healing really fast.”
“Ye—aaaagggggghhhhhh!”
She had slammed her fist down on the bulge, straightening out the greenstick fracture with one blow.
“There!” she said with false cheer. “All fixed.”
Saul leaned over the edge of the couch and threw up.
“I’ll, uh, go get the mop.”
“Go away,” he groaned.
“Well,” she replied, “normally that would be tempting, except now I have to go kill whoever beat the shit out of you. But first I have to mop up the puke.”
So she went to get the mop. Thank God for hardwood floors.
Chapter 14
So who did it?”
“I fell down the stairs.”
She snorted. “How many times?”
“Look, aren’t you furious with me?” He massaged his temples and winced. “What are you even doing here?”
“Sure I’m pissed. But we’ll sort that out after I kill the guy. Which would be a lot easier if you’d give me a name. Hate to eat the wrong guy. So who was it?”
“I walked into a door.”
“A door made of metal spikes?”
He groaned as she shoved a hamburger under his nose. “This thing is burned black on the outside and I just know it’s raw on the inside.”
“You have to eat.”
“You’re a shitty cook.”
“Well, consider it your just reward for past treacheries. Eat!”
He scowled at her, snatched the burger away, and took a big bite. He masticated for a moment, then said, “Dead cold in the middle, I knew it.”
“Shut up.” She handed him a glass of milk, and he drained it in three swallows. “Who did it?”
“I was in a car accident.”
“With how many tractor trailers?” She whipped out th
e washcloth and set about cleaning the blood off of his face, ignoring his efforts to push her away while he gobbled the burger.
“Cain, stop fussing, it’s been a long damn day.” He batted her hand away like it was an annoying insect.
“Saul, for Christ’s sake, will you cough up already? You—wait a minute.” She leaned forward and took a sniff. He tried to inch away from her but the couch was at his back and he had nowhere to go.
She sniffed harder. “I know that smell! That’s Geoff the asshole! Oh my God! I will kill him! He is dead! So totally, stinking, fucking dead!”
“Actually, Ms. Nosy Parker, he’s back in the hospital.”
“Completely massively dead! Wait. What?”
“He got out today. So I went to have a chat with him about how not to treat people I’ve secretly been in love with for twenty-five years. He disagreed.” Saul touched his left eye, puffing and a hideous greenish brown. “Vehemently. But, as the saying goes, you should see the other guy.”
“You went after that guy? By yourself?” She threw up her hands and he flinched. “Sorry. But Jesus Christ, Saul! What has gotten into you this week?”
“I have no idea,” he said dully.
“If you had that big a beef you should have gone to the Pack leader! Or let me handle him!”
“Ha! Not likely.”
She ignored that. “Not picked a fight with someone like that. God, he could have broken your stupid neck.”
“So? That would solve a lot of problems for you, wouldn’t—aaaagggghhhhh!”
She’d punched his bad leg again. “Now you’re just sounding like a jerk. A pissed-off jerk.”
“Which is,” he admitted, “usually your job.”
“I just cannot believe you went after him!”
“I felt guilty,” he admitted. “Really, really guilty. You—I can count on one hand how many times I’ve seen you cry and he made you—he—y-you—and your shirt w-was all torn and he’d h-hit you a-and—a-and—”
She kissed him to shut him up.
Chapter 15
She kissed him as gently as she knew how, delicate butterfly kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, his swollen nose, his bruised eyes, his forehead, and he brought his arms around her with shocking strength and pulled her onto his lap. She gently parted his lips with her tongue and he sucked it greedily into his mouth, making her gasp.
“Wait,” she said, pulling back. “Not to sound like a cocktease, which I’ve already been accused of this week, but you’re awfully banged up. Maybe this isn’t such a good—”
“Are you kidding?” he said, heaving himself off the couch with her in his arms. “And let this chance go by?” And with that he actually ran with her to his bedroom, dropped her on the bed, then started pulling off his clothes as quickly as possible.
“If you don’t quit,” she said, trying not to laugh as a sock sailed past her ear, “you’re going to hurt yourself again.”
“Shouldn’t you be naked by now? No, wait. I want to do it.”
“Bossy.”
“It’s been a weird week.”
So she let him ease her shirt off, pull her shorts off, divest her of panties and bra. Then he was on top of her, his broad chest settling against hers as he kissed her, sucking her lips into his mouth and gently nibbling at the tender flesh. She groaned into his mouth—it had been two years—and arched against him when his big warm hands covered her breasts.
She ran her hands down his broad back, feeling the smooth muscles beneath the skin, praying Geoff the asshole hadn’t cracked a rib or worse. She ran her fingers through his black pubic hair and grasped his cock, feeling the velvety length pulsing against her hand. He was—my, my.
“Saul, you are hung like a horse.”
“Stop that,” he groaned, “if you don’t want to be done before we really get started.”
“I had no idea.”
“Please stop talking,” he begged.
“Yeah, that’s not really my style. It’s—” He kissed her, effectively shutting her up, and she wrapped her legs around his back as he eased into her, inch by delightful inch. He was panting, harsh gasps in her ear, and moving with maddening slowness. She beat his back with her fists but he ignored her obvious urgency and sucked a nipple into his mouth.
“Saul, for Christ’s sake,” she groaned.
“Please s-stop talking.”
“Saul, please!”
So he obligingly slammed into her and she screamed at the ceiling as sparks exploded in front of her eyes, as he thrust and shoved and pushed, as she tightened her grip on his hips and grabbed his ass and sank her fingernails into him.
Her orgasms were like fireworks—one, two, three, much better than anything she’d been achieving on her own in the last twenty-four months—and still he thrust, still he pushed inside her and withdrew and pushed again, and the sweet agony exploded through her again and she shrieked his name.
“Oh, God, Cain!” he cried, and then he shivered all over and she could feel him pulsing inside her, filling her up, warming her from the inside out, and she shuddered once more in answer to his pure male need.
They lay locked together, gasping.
“Oh my God,” she said at last.
“Please don’t spoil it,” he murmured into her neck.
“Saul, where have you been all my life?”
“Wherever you’ve wanted me to be.” Pause. “Idiot.”
She laughed. “Ooooh, love the sexy pillow talk. I may melt.”
“I actually don’t love you; now that I’ve had you I think I hate you.”
“Oh, you liar.”
“Yeah,” he sighed, and kissed her again.
Chapter 16
Now, don’t go getting a swelled head,” she told him at breakfast. He’d woken her up twice in the night, once to take her from behind, once to lick every inch of her body.
He peered at her over the paper. “No, not at all.”
“Just because you’re the most fantastic lover ever doesn’t mean I’ve magically fallen in love with you overnight.”
“Oh, you love me,” he said casually. “You’re just a little slow on the uptake.”
“That is just what Darrell said,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Never mind. Eat your eggs, you’ve still got two black eyes.”
“My eggs,” he commented, “are runny.”
“You think I cook for anybody, you ungrateful ass? Eat!”
“Runny and you put too much milk in them.”
“Shut up!” she howled, and threw an English muffin at his head. He handily dodged. She tried to calm down. It was difficult, when all she wanted to do was rip his clothes off and fuck him on the kitchen table.
Saul.
Saul, of all people! Who’da thunk it?
“What I am trying to say,” she managed through clenched teeth, “is that we should date.”
“I was thinking more like getting married.”
“Date,” she continued doggedly, “and on or around my birthday, if we think it’ll work out, we can get married.”
“Oh.” He chewed, blank-faced, then said, “I’d rather get married right now.”
“You ass! Jesus, I love you.” Then, horrified, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean it!”
“Yes, you did.” He looked unbearably smug.
“It just sort of slipped out! Like—like verbal diarrhea.”
“You,” he said, “should write greeting cards. You’ve got such a way with words.”
She threw another muffin at him, which he snatched out of the air and devoured in two bites. “Date!” she practically screamed. “We will date! And in two weeks, maybe we’ll get married.”
There was a polite rap on the door, and he instantly got up.
“No, stay put and eat. I’ll get it. Maybe Geoff’s back for round two.”
“Doubt it.”
She went to the front door, opened it, and saw her Pack leader, Michael Wyndham, stan
ding on the front step.
“Cain! Congratulations!”
“Huh? I mean, good morning, Michael.”
“As soon as I heard the great news I went to work.”
“Huh?”
“Jeez, you’re kind of slow on the uptake, aren’t you? I’ve got the paperwork all arranged.” He handed her a sheet on thick vellum.
A marriage certificate.
And Michael, of course, was licensed to marry them.
“Saul!” she screamed, almost crumpling the license in her fist. “You—manipulative—prick!”
“Wedding day jitters?” Michael asked kindly.
“Aren’t you going to invite him in?” Saul called from the kitchen.
She weighed the pleasure of slamming the door in his face against the consequences of slamming the door in his face, then grudgingly stepped aside so he could enter.
Then she trotted down the hall to the kitchen. “This doesn’t prove anything! I’m not signing that thing today!”
“Well, I am.” He was scraping the rest of his runny eggs into the garbage disposal. “You can sign it whenever you’re ready.”
“Which might be a long damn time, Mr. Planned Everything without Telling Me! Ever think of that?”
“Ticktock, Cain. You’re thirty . . . when?”
“You know when!” she yowled.
“So,” Michael said from behind her, “who’s signing this thing? Say, Cain, remember that bet we made when we were just kids, about how we wouldn’t get mated until we—”
She snatched the thing out of his hand. Saul handed her a pen. She signed it with an angry slash. Thrust it at her (groan) husband. Who also signed it.
“Okay,” Michael said, looking at them doubtfully and taking the certificate back. “As you know, you’re now legally married, but we’d love to have a formal ceremony for you at the Manor. When you’re, um, not so stressed. Maybe in a week or two?”
“I’m not stressed. I’m fucking married.”
“Well, ah, congratulations seem to be in order for the, um, happy couple.”
“You bastard,” she told Saul.
Her husband smiled and handed her a glass of raw eggs.