Dirty Deeds

  dropped into the seat closest to the steering wheel. “I swear you’ll be the death of me.”

  “Not tonight.” She plopped right beside him, making sure her skin brushed his. “We’ll just sit here and moon-gaze. I’ll behave.”

  He grunted but didn’t retreat.

  They watched in silence as the moon arced across the sky, sending silver flashes of light rippling over the water. The boat rocked. A soft, warm, pine-scented breeze wafted over them. Nathan dropped his arm behind her neck and gently pulled her against his shoulder.

  Seemed they could just exist together—neither felt that odd compunction to destroy the serenity by filling the quiet air with chatter. Not that the previous conversation had been banal. His admission of envy over Val’s life had struck a chord in her. As did the underlying sense he too was following a career path that hadn’t been his first choice. Somehow she just knew he’d never shared that secret with any other woman. It gave her a newfound sense of purpose to share something equally intimate with him.

  Tate’s wiggling toes came in contact with Nathan’s bare foot. Was there anything sexier than the soft top of a man’s foot? Especially when every other part of his physique was rough and hard? She rubbed her big toe over his, across the bone, around his ankle before replacing her foot on the boat floor. He hadn’t moved a muscle. On the verge of expanding her tentative touches, Nathan stopped her explorations by picking her up and straddling her on his lap.

  “Trying to play footsie with me, Tate?” He held her captive with his hungry eyes as he unhooked the towel inch by inch. The moment she was bared before him he filled his hands with her breasts. “I don’t have a foot fetish, but you were right about one thing.”

  His warm palms on her chilled nipples sent her blood tripping. Tate pressed her hips closer, literally thanking the stars above. “Right about what?”

  “I have an obsession with your gorgeous breasts.” Dark eyes fixed on her chest, he pressed the mounds together, raising her torso higher so both nipples were at his mouth level. His tongue darted back and forth and he sucked at the protruding peaks hard, like a starving man. Lifting his head at her uncontrolled moan, he kissed her mouth with recklessness. His hands inched closer up her thighs to her core with each controlled thrust of his talented tongue.

  Rocking against him, she clutched his shoulders for support. She rubbed her breasts over his broad chest, desperate to feel the rasp of his hair and muscle against her ruddy, sensitized nipples. His mouth fed at hers. Insistent, then slow and languid, making her dizzy with desire, wet with need.

  “You drive me wild, Tate,” he groaned, scattering heated kisses across her skin, until his thumbs breached the line of curls.

  She pressed her thighs together, even when she wanted to leave them splayed open to his questing fingers. “I’ll show you wild,” she panted against his throat. Tate moved, but not the direction he’d expected. She slid down between his legs, hooking her fingers inside the waistband of his trunks. “Lift up.”

  He grasped her wrist. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you think?” She tugged, but the wet material wouldn’t budge. Damn. Val’s comment about erections and swimsuits had been right on target.

  “I don’t think—”

  “That’s right. Don’t think.” Tate brushed her bare breasts over his shin, loving the erotic sensation of running her tongue over the coarse hairs on his legs. Her teeth sank into his muscled thigh. “Time for your surprise. Your choice. Take them off or I’ll tear them off.”

  “You’re serious?” Nathan peered into her face, half-hopeful, half-afraid. “You don’t have to do this.”

  “I want to.” She kissed him, sucking at his tongue in a carnal preview. He groaned when she broke the kiss and licked a trail of hot kisses up and down the pulse quickening in his throat. “I really, really want to. So take them off. Now.”

  Another feeble protest tumbled from his lips before he disposed of his trunks with unsteady hands. His breathing turned rough when Tate dropped to her knees.

  She didn’t care that she was nearly crammed beneath the steering wheel. Her desire to finally touch him superseded all reason, even comfort. Her hands glided up the tops of his legs to pass over his narrow hips. She spread her hands wide, fingers squeezing the outside of his smooth, tight butt. Small yet firm. Unlike the rod jutting from the dark springy curls that nearly reached his navel. Not small at all, she thought wickedly, but definitely firm.

  She laved his belly button and the sculpted ridges of his abdomen, letting her warm breath follow the wet path, evoking his tiny shudders and encouraging growls. When his erection nudged her breastbone, Tate abruptly changed tactics, desperate to feel every inch of that male hardness in her hands. In her mouth. She scooted back, dropping one hand between his thighs to fondle his balls while the other circled the satiny rigid length of his cock.

  He sucked in a sharp breath when the pad of her thumb swept across the tip to spread the single drop of fluid.

  An answering rush of moisture dampened her thighs. She bent forward and tasted him, reveling in the male scent pouring from his most private places. Places she intended to explore to her own curiosity and his satisfaction. She savored his salty, musky taste hidden under the clean tang of water.

  Tate looked up to see Nathan watching her with heavy-lidded eyes, turned black with desire. His face flushed, breathing ragged. Maintaining eye contact, she took him deep, hollowing her cheeks, opening her jaw fully until the tip of his penis met the back of her throat.

  A masculine hum of approval erupted from his lips. His nostrils flared.

  Slowly, she swirled her tongue around the silky length as she released him.

  One inch at a time.

  “Sweet Jesus.”

  Hiding her smile, Tate used the flat part of her tongue to stroke the thickly pulsing vein running up the front of his shaft. At the glans she flicked little whips of her tongue all the way around. Suckled the knob with just her lips. Repeated the process back down. Softly cupping his balls, she pulled his penis entirely into the wet heat of her mouth again.

  Nathan’s grip on the seat increased, and he hissed.

  Incredible, the power that rose inside her as she pleasured him. The twitches, the moans, the sexy sucking sound of her tease and retreat. The feel of him lengthening in her mouth. The trust he placed in allowing her this intimacy. Tate kept a steady rhythm with tongue, hands and teeth, loving the way Nathan’s tentative fingers had changed from gripping her shoulders, to fiercely digging into her scalp to hold her head in place.

  Not that she had any intention of leaving him high and dry. She silently marveled at his astounding control, then in a blink of an eye, it disappeared.

  His hips bucked twice and he groaned right before his balls lifted from her hand. With his cock curved against the inside of her cheek, his essence released in hot spurts.

  She sucked hard to his escalating thrusts, dazed by the way his ferocious orgasm had caused a throb in her internal muscles. She soothed his pulsing organ with her hot mouth and lips, tonguing the tip until the spasms slowed, then stopped completely.

  A contented gust of air released from his lips and his body trembled one last time.

  Tate swallowed, gradually easing back, letting a smile curl the corners of her mouth.

  As far as surprises went, she was pretty sure now she’d upped the ante.

  Darkness permeated the edges of Nathan’s awareness. He worried the fuzzy feeling meant it had been a fantasy: Tate’s blond head between his legs, working him with her hot mouth, cool hands and wicked tongue.

  He cracked his eyes open at a soft, feminine sigh. She stood by the bow. Her legs braced apart, arms high overhead in an indolent stretch. The taut muscles of her naked back gleamed from the moon’s reflection on the water, casting intriguing shadows over the curves and slopes of her lush body, bringing to mind her resemblance to a water nymph; sleek, luminous, beautifully uninhibited.

  Not a d
ream, thank God. Just the most stunningly erotic experience of his entire life. The unselfish show of Tate’s desire. He wanted to touch her. Taste her in the same mind-bending manner. Not because turnabout was fair play, but giving back to her even a smidgen of the passion she’d lovingly bestowed on him filled his soul with a sense of absolute rightness.

  “Helluva surprise, Ms. Cross,” he said raggedly, managing to stand and yank up his trunks on the first attempt. When he stumbled at the first step, he knew the reverberations coursing through his body weren’t from the rocking motion of the boat but the aftereffects from a near coma-inducing orgasm.

  Instead of retreating, Nathan went to her, holding her face gently to let her see how profoundly she’d affected him. He dove into her mouth with a languorous kiss, tasting the remnants of her soda and his spent passion. “Thank you. I’d come up with something more original, but the synapses in my brain aren’t firing yet.”

  “M-m-my pleasure.” Tate smiled shyly then shivered.

  He rubbed his palms up and down her arms. “Cold?”

  “Yeah.” She wrapped the towel tight. “And it’s getting late.”

  Nathan pulled anchor, stowing it in the boat’s floor compartment. The throaty growl of the engine made conversation difficult, but he was so stunned by the turn of events he found himself speechless anyway. Once he safely docked the boat and secured the tarp, he looked around to see if the insulting man from the bait shop still lurked about. That had been humiliating. Fortunately the lights were off and his truck was the only vehicle in the parking lot.

  Tate’s flip-flops dragged as they trudged uphill to the pickup. Why did he have this urge to swing her into his arms and carry her tucked protectively against his body? “You tired?”

  Her smile was slightly embarrassed. “Must be past my bedtime.”

  “Sleep on the way home.” He unlocked her door. “I’ll take a rain check on dinner.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll cancel if I don’t get it in writing,” she teased without her usual gusto.

  “I promise to take you wherever you want to go.” He kissed the inside of her wrist, locking their gazes while he gentled a hand over her face. “You are beautiful.”

  “Thanks.” She closed her eyes, but a pleased smile remained.

  Half an hour later Nathan shook her awake. “Tate, you’re home.” Her eyes opened with that sexy, slumberous look he imagined she’d sport first thing in the morning. A whip of lust tightened his groin.

  She leaned over the console to give him a quick peck. “Thank you. I had fun. Good night.”

  He stopped her retreat with long, heated kisses. Her lips clung to his. “When can I see you again?”

  A low, seductive laugh emerged as she nipped his bottom lip. “Nathan,” she chided, “I am not the one with the overloaded schedule.”

  She had a point. He’d canceled two dinner dates with her this week. “Friday night? I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  “Pick me up?” she echoed. “Why do we have to go someplace? Why can’t we just stay in and…?”

  Have wild, screaming, raw sex that wakes up the neighbors?

  Neither had uttered that sentence, yet it hung in the dark confines of his pickup. Nathan cleared his libido from his throat. “Because I play in a men’s pool league on Friday nights.”

  Her eyes widened.

  She wasn’t one of those snooty types that thought league pool was hopelessly blue-collar? Or worse yet, had the encounter with the idiot on the dock seeded doubt about them spending time together in public? “You got a problem with that?” he asked defensively.

  “No.” She mollified his flash of temper with a sweet kiss. “But since we’ll be in public that means strip nine ball is out of the question.” She grinned saucily before jumping out of the truck.

  Nathan decided it was high time he stopped making any kind of assumptions about the very surprising, very engaging Tate Cross.

  Two nights later, feeling uninspired by her artistic attempts or the television, Tate baked a batch of her Aunt Bea’s famous sugar cookies. But the sweet confection didn’t offer its usual soothing properties nor did the baking process ease her restless spirit.

  She bit off a chunk and sighed. Sitting home alone wallowing in carbs seemed pathetic. But where to go on a Thursday night? Grace declined her offer of margaritas and Richard said Val was napping. She was sick of her own company. Her thoughts drifted to Nathan. What was he up to? No-brainer. He was probably still working.

  But the man had to go home sometime, right? She brushed crumbs from her chest. Speaking of home…why hadn’t he invited her over to his place? Visions of a swinging bachelor pad appeared, complete with satin sheets, mirrored ceilings and a pleasure swing. The more she considered his oversight, the more outlandish were the scenarios that developed. It became imperative that she discover just what Mr. Romance was hiding.

  Like most small-town people, she imagined Nathan didn’t bother to lock up his house. She’d sneak over to his place, leave a plate of warm cookies to tempt him and be back home in time to watch the end of Grey’s Anatomy.

  Tate zipped across the quiet town in her yellow VW, cruising his street slowly so as not to miss his house number. There it was, a small, deserted-looking gray one at the end of the cul-de-sac with a three-car garage surrounded by a six-foot-high chain-link fence. No lights on inside or outside.

  She parked in the driveway and debated. Should she knock first? Nah. That might ruin the surprise. She grabbed the plate of cookies and hurried to the gate on the other side of the garage. She shivered when the latch squeaked loudly in the too-still darkness. As she rounded the corner for the back door, a huge black muzzle materialized from out of nowhere.

  The beast snarled, spit frothing from a cavernous mouth that snapped sharklike teeth. Black fur stood on end. Growls alternated with low, menacing barks. It lunged, sporting razor-sharp incisors that gleamed in the dark. Tate screamed and froze in terror, imagining those fangs sinking into her throat or ripping her leg from the hip socket.

  The chain clanked, jerking the monster back.

  She breathed again without moving, afraid her heart would leap from her chest and the blasted animal would gobble it up for sport. Fat lot of good it did the beast was shackled. She couldn’t move forward or back to the gate without knowing how far the chain reached. He’d lured her with his silence. Seemed they were at a standstill.

  Stay calm. Think. Granted, she didn’t know much about animals. The phrase “they sense fear” popped into her head. If she acted like she was in control, the demon might believe it. Tate stared at the two eyes glowing red in the darkness. After a few minutes, the beast whimpered. It whined. The tail wagged.

  The tail wagged?

  Her ruse had worked? Praise cable TV and the Discovery Channel. With an alpha-leader attitude, she commanded, “Sit.” Miracle of miracles, it sat. And looked at her expectantly for some kind of reward. A long string of drool plopped noisily on the ground. Eww. She tossed over a cookie. The beast practically swallowed it whole. She threw another toward the cacophony of slobbering and chomping.

  Tate sighed. Why hadn’t Nathan told her he owned a trained attack monster?

  Because you don’t want to know anything about him besides his endurance in the bedroom.

  Not true, her subconscious argued. This arrangement—for lack of a better term—was turning into something neither of them expected, a relationship of sorts. So why was she skulking around in his backyard in the dark, lobbing cookies to a creature that’d like nothing better than to tear her to shreds?

  Because she had missed Nathan, plain and simple. Not in a tear-his-clothes-off-and-ravish-him way, but in a snuggle-up-and-talk-about-our-days way.

  Somehow that was a much scarier thought than being eaten alive by this beast.

  Tate nibbled on a cookie and considered her options. The beast whined. Sat. Begged. More amused than she’d admit, Tate said, “Roll over.” The animal complied. She flipped it another c
ookie, grumbling, “He probably gave you some stupid name like Sweetheart or Tiny. If you were mine, your name would be Killer.”

  It barked in agreement.

  “My God. I’m actually holding a conversation with a dog.”

  Headlights swept the garage. An engine idled briefly before a door slammed shut. A dark shadow raced through the open gate. The beast yipped and jumped, nearly choking in its joy for its master. We’ll see who’s the master now, Tate thought, chucking another cookie on the ground. The happy barking turned into loud crunching.

  “Tate? Where are you?” Nathan sounded panicked. “You okay?”

  “Peachy.” Warmth flooded her and a reluctant smile broke forth. “Afraid I’m trapped over here.”

  At once she was crushed into his arms, then he wildly searched her body for…what? Bite marks? Missing limbs? Signs of demon possession? “What are you doing here?” he asked, peppering her face with kisses.

  “Short version?” Tell him you missed him, her conscious prodded. She ignored it, not wanting to seem lonely and pathetic. Although she definitely fit that description and she suspected Nathan did too. “I baked you some cookies, but I’m afraid I sacrificed some of them to the beast so it wouldn’t attack me.”

  “What beast?” He turned and pointed at the dark shape jerking the chain. “You mean Duke? He’s just a dog.”