Asking for Trouble Read online

  Yes. That described this moment. Perfect. With his hands on me, his muscular thigh brushing my cheek, the steam rising from the tub and the smell of vanilla blending with the hot scent of this man’s skin, I was completely inundated by sensual pleasure.

  He seemed to instantly know when I needed more. Because just at the moment I was ready to scream for him to increase the pressure—to stop the teasing, feather-light brushes of his fingertips against my nipples—he gave me what I hadn’t even had to ask for. Catching the sensitive tips of my breasts between his fingers, he rolled them, toying with them until spasms of pleasure washed from there straight down my body. Beneath the water, my toes curled. My thighs quivered. My hips bucked.

  An instant later, he bent farther and covered one breast with his mouth, sucking hard, sucking deep.

  “Oh, yes,” I groaned, wrapping the fingers of one hand in his hair. Raising my other arm, I draped it behind me, so it rested on Simon’s strong shoulder. I dug into his muscular skin, squeezing and scratching as he pleasured me.

  The position apparently wasn’t close enough for either of us. Without a word, Simon gently slid away, careful of my head and hair. Rising from the bench, he pushed it aside. Then he dropped to his knees at the side of the tub. “You’re sure about this, Lottie?” he asked, staring intently into my eyes.

  I nodded, lifting a hand to his face, touching his lips, his nose and the thin scar by his eye. “I am absolutely sure.”

  That seemed to get rid of any last inhibitions. With a half smile on his lips, he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me. It was sweet at first. And soft. Then his lips parted and our tongues met in a slow but hungry dance of give and take, demand and surrender.

  With my heart pounding wildly and my body almost quivering in anticipation, I shifted and turned so I could wrap my arms around his neck. Simon responded by sliding one hand down my body, stroking the bottom of my breast, then cupping the indentation of my waist, the top of my hip. Finally he reached my thighs and slid between them, his fingers brushing lightly against my swollen, aching lips.

  Gasping against his mouth, I arched toward his hand, wanting more. He complied, finding my clit and caressing it until I was almost crying at how good it felt. Keeping his thumb there to continue that pleasure, he moved his fingers down, exploring, playing. When he finally slid one finger and then another inside my tight body, I squeezed and clenched and came right there in the tub.

  Not even able to keep kissing him, I let my body sag back while it shook with slow bolts of hot pleasure that seemed to stretch and extend, on and on, more intense than any orgasm I’d ever experienced.

  “Oh, my God,” I whispered when I was finally capable of speech.

  Simon said nothing. Instead, he rose to his feet, then tugged me up. When I was standing, he bent and lifted me, one arm bracing my knees, the other behind my shoulders, carrying me over the side of the tub as if I were some petite fragile flower instead of a tall, buxom woman.

  I liked it. Oh, yeah, I so liked it.

  “I have to be in you,” he said as he stepped over to the bench he’d vacated minutes before. “Let me in.”

  Sitting on the bench, he turned me around—did I mention the man’s strength?—until I was facing him, sitting astride his thighs.

  When I glanced down and saw that he’d already taken care of the birth control issue, I wanted to burst into grateful song. Instead I simply writhed on top of him, sliding up and down, wetting his shaft with my body’s juices.

  He resisted for a moment—long enough to drop his mouth to my breast and suck my nipple back into a throbbing tip of sensation. Then, with a low, helpless groan, he gripped my hips tightly and slowly began to ease into me.

  I was dripping wet and more aroused than I’d ever been. But it had been a long time and he was of more than generous proportions, so I tensed a little. I savored the invasion—loved it—but I was also the tiniest bit tentative.

  He seemed to understand. Lifting a hand to cup my face, he brought me close for a sweet, drugging kiss that made so many promises, none of which I’d asked for, or even expected. I knew he would never hurt me. Knew he’d stop if I asked him to. Knew I could set the pace, take control. Whatever I wanted.

  Which made me only want him more. So wrapping my arms around his neck, I pushed against him, taking him all in one deep plunge that filled me to my core. It was like exploding and imploding at the same time, being filled and fulfilled. For the first time in my life I felt as if I was truly part of another person, joined in the most elemental way possible. I didn’t mean just the physical.

  With every slow, steady thrust he made, he was imprinting himself on me somewhere deep inside. Making a home, carving out a permanent position in my body, in my life and, I knew now, in my heart.

  “Lottie?” he whispered as he kissed my throat and continued those sweet, mind-blowing thrusts that went from short and shallow to slow and deep, then back again. “I don’t regret this.”

  I knew what he meant, and I knew why he’d said it. “Neither do I,” I replied.

  Wrapping my legs tightly around his waist, I kissed his cheek, his temple, his scar, letting him take us both higher and higher. And this time when I came in a shriek of pure bliss, he was right there with me.

  I WASN’T COLD ANYMORE.

  Sleeping in Simon’s bed, wrapped in his arms, making love long into the night and again first thing in the morning, well, I didn’t think I’d ever be cold again. In fact, it was amazing I hadn’t completely gone up in flames.

  Remember when I said I had only ever experienced meat-and-potatoes sex? Well, holy crap, last night had put me in the gourmet connoisseur category. I honestly didn’t know the human body was capable of experiencing so much pleasure in that short a time frame. Nonstop, watch-out-my-head’s-gonna-blow-off pleasure.

  I had more orgasms in one night than I’d had in my whole life.

  Even that wasn’t the best part, though. The best part was that Simon hadn’t pulled away this morning. He had not rolled over in the light of day, slipped out of bed, withdrawn into himself and ignored me. No, he hadn’t actually been Mr. Cuddles, either. Still, he’d kissed me sweetly, asked if I was okay, then he’d offered to make me breakfast!

  Shortly afterward, he’d gone back to work, with his office door closed as usual. I’d gone up into the attic again, as was becoming my habit, but at least three times, he’d come to the third floor and called up to check on me.

  The man had a protective streak. The weird accident with the carriage last night seemed to have really brought it out and I honestly think he was afraid something bad was going to happen to me.

  I still hadn’t entirely gotten over that near miss, but I wasn’t dwelling on it. And neither was he… He just wasn’t going to let too much time go by without making sure I was okay.

  I kind of liked being so cherished. Protected. Not in a bossy way, like my brothers had tried to do all my life. But in a good way, by a handsome, incredibly sexy man who had, truly, saved my life. Wow, that was a sobering thought.

  I really could have died, couldn’t I?

  I didn’t let myself think about it. What mattered wasn’t what might have happened, it was what had happened.

  As much as I wished I could just drag a few boxes of stuff down three flights of stairs and work with Simon in his office, I knew it wouldn’t work. He might agree—just to be nice to the woman he’d had sex with in just about every position known to man the previous night. I knew, however, he wouldn’t like the interruption.

  Besides, I’d reached the point where I needed more than what I was finding in the attic. I really needed to go into town, to check out the land records office. The paperwork I’d found made me very curious about the deal between Josef Zangara and Robert Stubbs, and I wanted to find the actual record of it.

  Unfortunately, however, I realized I had a problem. I’d used the broken-down-car excuse to stay here. Simon hadn’t asked why the car service hadn’t ever arrive
d, but I could practically guarantee he’d notice if my cheerful little PT Cruiser suddenly started right up.

  But I had no other choice. So sending up a mental promise to go to confession when I got back to Chicago, I went to his office and knocked on the door. Sticking my head in, I asked, “Hey, I need to run down to town, do you need anything?”

  At first I thought I was going to get away with it, that he wouldn’t even remember the car. He appeared deep in thought, focused on his computer, not even lifting his eyes when I entered the room. “No.” Then, as if suddenly remembering he had not a leg to stand on when it came to being standoffish with me, he looked up and gave me a sheepish look. “No, thank you.”

  Blowing him a kiss, I immediately slid toward the door, hoping to make a clean getaway, then Simon abruptly stood. “How are you going down to town when you car’s not running?”

  Busted. Man. It was one thing to plan to tell another little fib when I wasn’t face-to-face with my intense, sometimes dangerous-looking lover. It was another to actually do it.

  I guess it had been easier faking the breakdown because I’d never actually told Simon a lie. I’d told him the car wouldn’t start. True, it wouldn’t. Because I’d disabled it.

  I hadn’t exactly lied.

  And I wasn’t going to now. “It’s running again. I just started it up.”

  His eyes practically glittered as he came out from behind the desk and approached me, walking slowly, sinuously.

  Oh, the man could move.

  “How surprising.”

  With a weak laugh, I said, “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Maybe the heavy rain did something to the engine the night you arrived,” he murmured, coming closer still until his arm brushed mine.

  “Umm…I don’t know.”

  A tiny, nearly imperceptible smile tilted the corners of that incredible mouth and he never broke the stare, silently challenging me to keep up the facade. It was as if he knew.

  But that was impossible. He would have tossed me out on my butt the other morning if he’d had any idea there was nothing wrong with my car. And if he’d found out later, he’d have been so mad, he’d really have tossed me out on my butt.

  “Or maybe,” he said, his hand slowly reaching for mine, in which I clutched the car keys, “you simply pushed this nice little button and got it running again.”

  My jaw dropping, I just stared as he tugged the keys out of my hand, holding the remote locking device up in front of my face.

  “I saw the sticker on your window about the anti-theft system. And the brand name.” Shaking his head and tsking under his breath, he added, “You’re not the only one who knows how to do a little research, Lottie. A quick Internet search this morning told me all about the kill switch.”

  He…my God, he was on the verge of laughing. Which both relieved me and made me want to punch him for keeping me in suspense. “And you didn’t say anything at first? You just let me dig myself in deeper. Jerk.”

  Dropping his arms across my shoulders, he tugged me close. “You’re a sneaky woman, Lottie Santori. And if I’d figured it out sooner, I would have tossed you out on your gorgeous little ass.”

  Little? That was a stretch. But it was nice to think he thought so. Especially because, at one point last night, I’d begged him to take me from behind, so he’d had a pretty good view of that ass.

  “I was trying to stall for time. To get you to see I wouldn’t be any trouble, so you’d let me stay.”

  Throwing his head back, he laughed, long and deep, a laugh I’d never heard coming out of this man. One I liked very much.

  “You, no trouble? Oh, that’s a good one.” Shaking his head and dropping his hands to cup my waist, he dragged me even closer, until our bodies met in all the good places. “Angel, you are trouble with a capital T. I imagine you’re going to fit in quite well with that crazy little town at the bottom of my mountain.”

  Then he kissed me deep and wet and I forgot that I’d just been insulted. After he pulled away and told me to drive carefully, I went out to my car. Blushing a little as I remembered the man had caught me in a big, fat, desperate lie, I marveled again over how surprising he could be. Laughing when I’d have expected him to be angry. Making passionate love to me when he’d seemed to want nothing to do with me.

  I wondered, deep down, if he might be as mysterious emotionally as he was in so many other ways. If, perhaps, my fears that the man would never open up and allow himself to genuinely feel anything for anyone could perhaps be wrong.

  I hoped so. Because I was already feeling something for him. Something very strong, very deep and very unique.

  I was falling in love with Simon Lebeaux. I had no doubt about it.

  That cheerful thought and the happy mental pictures that went along with it occupied my mind during the drive down to town. Once I reached its outskirts, though, I began paying attention to my surroundings.

  At the edge of Trouble, two enormous, paint-chipped old Victorian homes that had probably once been magnificent hovered like a pair of dark birds of prey. As I drove past them, I saw two elderly women sitting on rockers on the porch of one. They both eyed me suspiciously, turning their heads to stare at me well after my car had continued by.

  “Small-town people,” I muttered, already comparing the place to Chicago. I was a big-city girl, born and raised. Little towns like this made me itchy.

  Trouble, especially, was a strange one. The narrow village seemed to be comprised of one main thoroughfare and a few offshooting streets. Oddly, some of the buildings downtown were quaint and in beautiful condition. An old-fashioned movie palace was obviously undergoing renovation. Construction trucks lined the curb out front and bricklayers were busy rebuilding a corner wall. I assumed there were even more of them inside bringing the tired-looking structure back to life.

  There were other surprises too, the biggest being the juxtaposition of the beautiful, newly renovated buildings with some of the decrepit, sorry old ones. I couldn’t even see into the dirty windows of a diner right on the main street. The grocery store sign was missing a few letters. Weirdest of all, the car dealership apparently doubled as a taxidermy shop. Because perched on top of every banged-up, dingy, dented Ford and Chevy parked in the knee-high grass was an odd menagerie of stuffed squirrels, raccoons and other small mammals.

  “Freaky,” I muttered.

  The town did apparently like Halloween. Orange-and-black banners hung entirely across the street, from lamppost to lamppost, in a one block section of downtown. Being locked away up at Seaton House, I’d nearly forgotten the holiday was just a few days off.

  Scarecrows sat on bales of hay outside a few stores. Bats and witches flew in black silhouettes across several plateglass windows. And just about every business establishment had a sign for a Halloween costume dance, being hosted by a Mr. Mortimer Potts, scheduled for this Saturday.

  Parking in a public lot next to a small playground with shiny new slides and swings, I got out to walk around. The rain of the past several days had finally eased and sunshine washed the streets in light and the town’s residents in smiles. Several nodded pleasantly and murmured hello as I passed.

  “It’s not so bad,” I whispered, regretting my snarky attitude about the place. “Simon might actually like it.”

  Okay, that was probably a stretch.

  Finding the courthouse, I went inside and was shown to the records office by a helpful receptionist. “Mr. Billows,” the woman called as we approached an open door, with a cracked sign marked Records.

  An ancient man’s head popped out of the doorway. “Eh?”

  “This young lady would like to see some of the land transfer records.” Smiling pleasantly, the woman left me alone with the hundred-year-old city worker, whose gummy smile told me he was happy to have the company.

  “Don’t get many visitors,” he said as he ushered me in. I thought for a moment I felt something brush my bottom, but figured I must have been mistaken. If I had just been goos
ed by a centenarian, I really didn’t want to know about it anyway.

  The old man looked as dusty as the piles of books stacked on every free surface in the place, but he was able to quickly retrieve the information I’d been after.

  “You find what you’re looking for?” he asked after I’d flipped through the 1938 journal for several minutes. He hadn’t even protested when I pulled out my small digital camera and took pictures.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I murmured, nodding. Then, speaking mostly to myself, I said, “So Stubbs was able to buy Zangara out for thirty thousand dollars.”

  The old man appeared startled when he realized which record in the leather-bound journal I’d focused on. “Zangara. You know about Zangara?”

  I nodded. “I’m doing some research on him—and on Seaton House—for my professor. He’s writing a book on the case.”

  The old man’s eyes bugged out, reflected a couple of times over by his thick glasses. “You’re looking into the goings-on at Seaton House?”

  “Well, the goings-on from the 1930s.”

  The man didn’t look mollified. “Have you been up there, then?”

  “I’m staying at the house,” I admitted, lifting my chin pointedly. “The owner has been a tremendous help.”

  The old man sputtered, his jaw shaking as much as his palsied hands. Then, without a word, he grabbed the ledger book away from me and slammed it closed. “Out you go.”

  Stunned, I just stared.

  “Out, out. It’s my lunchtime.”

  I glanced at my watch. “It’s three p.m.”

  “It’s my dinnertime, then. Goodbye.”

  I couldn’t voice a word of protest as the old-as-dirt guy put his hands on my back and literally shoved me out of the room. The door slammed shut behind me, punctuating the man’s distress.

  “Crazy,” I whispered as I left the building. Did everyone in town have this horrible opinion about Simon? How could they when none of them appeared to even know him?

  I was still muttering about it when I walked over to the pharmacy, deciding to see if they had any good vitamin supplements. Simon could use them.