the hell he was up to.
Slowly, he rose from bed and grimaced. He felt grimy, and couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept over with a woman. And he’d gotten soft since a damn toothbrush was pretty high on his list of must- haves.
Tossing on his jeans and the pistol he’d hidden beneath, he headed to the guest bathroom down the hall.
Inside, he flipped on the light. Bless Rachel. She’d thought of everything to make a guest comfortable. The vanity held a new toothbrush, fluffy towels, shampoo, and soap.
Decker made quick use of them, then wrapped the beige terrycloth around his hips. As he cracked the bathroom door, he heard a crash in the kitchen. His heartbeat kicked into high gear. Adrenaline ratcheted up, and he charged out, pistol in hand, ready to fight whoever had come for her.
As he sneaked down the hall, his back hugging the wall, he heard a feminine cry, then another crash. Fuck, what was going on?
Heart pounding, he forced himself to stay calm and crept closer, finger on the trigger, promising that any motherfucker who wanted to hurt her was going to find himself minus a head.
Fighting for calm, Decker clung to shadows until he rounded the corner and had a straight sightline into the kitchen. But he didn’t see anyone attacking Rachel. Rather, she attacked a plastic bin of flour and a couple of eggs while wrestling with a stainless steel bowl. A can of nonstick cooking spray rolled down the counter. She slammed down a wooden spoon, looking beyond frustrated.
Actually, it was kind of adorable.
Until she emerged from behind the tall counter and he realized she was wearing a frilly red apron, a pair of black stilettos—and nothing else.
He wanted to fuck her right now.
Darting back into the bathroom, he grabbed his jeans and flipped them over his pistol, hiding the piece, then sauntered down the hall and set everything down within easy reach—just in case—on the adjacent kitchen table.
“That looks mighty good,” he drawled.
She blinked up at him, flushed and flustered. “Pancakes will be ready soon.”
“I meant you, beautiful. Forget food right now. I’d rather fuck you.”
And he didn’t take no for an answer; snagging one arm around her waist and dragging her against his body, he dropped a hard kiss across her lips. Jesus, she smelled sweet. She’d brushed her teeth and pulled her artless curls into some half-up, half-down ’do that made him want to mess it up with his fingers.
He claimed her lips, sinking into her mouth and delivering a long, slow kiss of good morning. Rachel melted against him, opened wide to let him in, and gave as good as she got. Hmm, he could get used to this . . .
When he pulled back and sent her a steamy stare that suggested they get busy, she blushed a pretty pink.
With a laugh, he glanced down her body. “In fact, you look good enough to eat, beautiful. Did you dress up just for me?”
The blush deepened. “Maybe a little.”
“I like it. I’d like the shoes better if they were up around my ears, but . . .”
She rolled her eyes. “Is that supposed to be another pick-up line you found on Google?”
“Nope. That’s all me. Impressed?” He winked and found that he really liked teasing her. He adored the way she looked down demurely while giving him a flirtatious smile with a hint of the devil.
“Decker, you’re a wicked man.”
“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” he promised, then pulled her in for another kiss.
Sweet. Always so damn sweet. She didn’t taste like danger, betrayal, or another man, as the other women he’d taken to bed for the last decade did. She was warm and real and . . .
Shit, he sounded like some poetry-writing pussy. But it was all true.
With an arm around her waist, he didn’t have any trouble finding the big bow at the small of her waist and untying her apron. She barely had a chance to sputter a little protest before he yanked it over her head and tossed it to the ground, then silenced her with another kiss. A moment later, Rachel threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself close, rubbing against his nagging cock.
Decker thrust his hands in her hair, no longer giving a shit about her pretty curls arranged away from her face and all around her shoulders. “You keep doing that and you’re definitely going to get fucked.”
She gave a throaty laugh. “Promise?”
Fitting his hands around her ribs, under her arms, he lifted her onto the white tile of the kitchen counter. She gasped when her bare ass made contact with the cold surface. Rachel squirmed and tried to get comfortable. He just smiled. “Yes. Right here. Right now. Spread your legs and brace your heels on the edge of the counter.”
She blinked, looking so gratifyingly shocked, but she complied. “Just . . . like this?”
“Exactly like that,” he confirmed. “You make me ache for you every time.”
A fresh blush bloomed over her whole body.
“You ever had sex outside the bedroom?”
She shook her head, biting her lip and casting her gaze down again. “No.”
“Oh, beautiful . . . We’re going to have so much fun.” He grabbed her ankles and spread them wider, helping her anchor her heels on the edge of the counter, toes pointed down, leaving her pretty cunt completely open for his stare, his tongue, his cock.
Best breakfast ever, and he couldn’t wait to dive in. He was on his last condom, but after this, he’d somehow manage to drag himself out of her pussy long enough to feed her and run by the drugstore. After that, all bets were off.
Ready for a feast, he ran a finger down the inside of her thigh, skirting ever closer to her sensitive, swollen center. How fascinating to watch her folds grow slick and flush and pouty for his attention. Every part of her was beautiful.
He dropped his towel and took a few sidesteps over to his jeans, carefully removing the condom without disturbing the gun. Rachel watched, her breathing rapid, her lids heavy, her lips rosy and parted, her legs spread wide. When had he ever seen a sight more gorgeous? No doubt, he was a lucky son of a bitch that she was all his, at least for now.
And the thought crept back in that if he played his cards right, she could be his forever.
His teasing mien fell away. The inner caveman roared, wanting to break free, to claim, to take, to mark. He’d never, ever felt anything like this, but he wasn’t about to fight something that felt so right.
Decker stuck the condom wrapper between his teeth, ready to tear it open, roll it on, and sink so deeply inside her that she’d never think about walking away.
The thought was spinning in his head. Her heavy breaths, his pounding heart, the gravity of the moment—it was all broken by the ringing of a doorbell.
SIX
RACHEL GASPED AND STIFFENED, THEN SCRAMBLED OFF THE counter. Decker snagged his towel from the hardwood floor and blocked her. No way was she answering that door or talking to anyone unless it was someone’s ninety-year-old grandma. And even then, he intended to frisk her for weapons.
“Are you answering the door in nothing but high heels?”
Panic flitted across her face, then she cursed. “No.”
“Go put some clothes on. I got it.”
“You don’t have any clothes either,” she screeched.
Decker pointed to his jeans on the table, then turned her toward the hall, urging her back toward the bedroom with a little slap. “Go. You expecting anyone?”
“No.” She jogged down the hall, carrying her shoes. “No one ever rings my doorbell, especially this early on
