“Anytime,” he managed, wanting her hands on his bare skin, but he didn’t want to let go of her breasts long enough to take his shirt off. She fixed that for him, her nimble fingers pulling the buttons free and yanking the shirt from his pants until she’d bared his chest.
For a few seconds she simply stared while he wanted to shout for her to touch him, goddammit. Then her hands were back, gliding over his skin, gentle and almost reverent. It felt so good. She felt so good.
“Gideon,” she whispered. “Look at you.”
He’d rather look at her, at her face as she explored his chest. Her fingers were tracing the phoenix tattoo on his chest—the tat that covered the Eden tattoo. “Beautiful.”
Swallowing hard, he skimmed his thumbs over her nipples, cursing the soft wool that stood between his fingers and her flesh. She sucked in a breath, her eyes closing as her head fell back, her hands stilled, and her hips began a slow, subtle grind against his groin that was driving him out of his mind.
And then her hands were moving again, now mimicking his, her thumbs teasing his nipples. He groaned, his hips bucking up in a reflexive move that had her breasts bouncing in front of his face.
“Daisy.” His voice was hoarse. Ripped up.
“Mmm?” She didn’t open her eyes, her hips maintaining their slow rocking, adding in an occasional shimmy, like she was dancing. On his cock. God.
“I want to touch you.”
She opened her eyes. “Yes.” Then leaned in to kiss him again and his brain detonated. Crunching forward, he came off the sofa and rolled them until they were horizontal, and he was yanking the sweater up and over her head. She grabbed his shoulders as her hands came free of the sleeves, and then his mouth was on her breast, sucking a stiff nipple into his mouth.
A low cry escaped her throat and she arched against him, her hands in his hair, holding him close. “God . . . That feels . . . Don’t stop, Gideon. Not yet.”
Stop? He would in a heartbeat if she asked, but until then he had no intention of stopping. Ever? How far are you going to let this go?
As far as she’ll let me. She was sweet and hot, her body undulating against him, and for this moment she was his. And he couldn’t get enough. His hips rocked against her and her legs parted, letting him settle between them. He released her breast and took her mouth in another blistering kiss.
He lifted his head enough to mutter “I want you” against her lips.
She moaned again, deep and husky, and he shivered, head to toe. “Same,” she whispered. “But I don’t have anything.”
Anything? The word finally permeated his sex-hazed brain, bringing with it a hard hammer of disappointment. “Me either.”
Her fingers gentled in his hair. “Fuck,” she cursed, disgruntled.
He stiffened, then buried his face in her neck, snorting a surprised laugh. “Not this morning, apparently.”
She laughed, too. “Bad choice of words.” Her chest lifted and fell as she sighed, continuing to play with his hair. “Thank you.”
He lifted his head, looking down at her with a smile. “For what?”
“Making me feel good.”
“I think it was pretty mutual.”
Her cheeks pinked up. “I . . . I don’t do this very often.”
He kissed her forehead. “Neither do I. It’s been a while for me. Even if I’d had a condom in my wallet, it would probably have been expired by now.”
She smiled. “Is it horrible of me to be happy about that?”
“Not at all.” He lowered his head to her shoulder, kissing her chin. He traced lazy circles on her breast, simply because he could. He was still hard as a rock, but it wouldn’t kill him. Probably. “When do we have to leave for your event?”
“I have to be there at nine to get things set up, and you wanted to go early. To . . . scope it out or whatever. It’s after seven now, so we should leave in an hour or so. If you let me up, I can make you some breakfast before I take my shower.”
He groaned. “Stop saying that.”
“Breakfast?” she asked cheekily.
“Smartass,” he grumbled. “What if I don’t want to let you up?”
“I become hangry and possibly homicidal,” she said solemnly. “It’s not pretty.”
He nuzzled against her skin. “Five more minutes then.”
She kissed the top of his head. “Okay.”
“Daisy?”
“Hmm?”
He hesitated. Because he was nervous. He hated feeling nervous. “When anyone asks today who I am to you, what do you plan to say?”
Her fingers faltered, lying still in his hair. “What do you want me to say?”
He opened his mouth to speak, but the words were stuck in his throat. Dammit. He hated this. He wanted to say Never mind, but she’d gone abruptly stiff, like she was on her guard, too.
Way to fuck this up, he growled at himself. He’d managed to fuck it up without actually fucking.
It wouldn’t have been fucking. And dammit, the little voice in his head was right. There would have been nothing hurried or rushed or . . . temporary about sex with Daisy.
Because he cared. Which made his brain stupid.
“Well,” she started when he said nothing. “We could say you’re my cousin, but I’d get called on that, because I’d forget to not look at you like you’re not my cousin.”
He scrunched his brow as he considered the construction of that sentence. “Meaning you’d look at me as something other than your cousin.”
“Yes,” she said, sounding relieved.
He smiled at that and relaxed. And when he did, she did.
“I could say you’re an old friend, but . . . same issue,” she added.
“So . . .” He kissed across her collarbone. “You’re left with bodyguard or boyfriend.”
“I don’t want to admit I have a bodyguard.” Her voice was amused as she continued the game. “The reporters will keep following me.”
“All right, then. Boyfriend it is.”
FOURTEEN
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1:35 P.M.
“Back again this month?” Daisy smiled up at the couple with the four-year-old boy. She’d been sitting at the table where she was processing adoption applications since ten A.M.—after Gideon had moved it so that her back was against an interior wall of the pet store. It left one less area he needed to protect.
“We keep looking for the right fit,” the man said and his wife rolled her eyes.
“He keeps looking for the dog that won’t shed on the rug,” she corrected tartly.
“That’s an important consideration,” Daisy said. “If shedding is a deal breaker, you need to make sure it’s a dog that is less likely to do so, otherwise you’ll end up getting mad at him for something he can’t help. You might check out the shih tzu–poodle mix. He’s a real sweet dog. Already housebroken.”
The family went off to meet the dog in question and Gideon perched on the table’s edge. The clinic was nearly finished and so far, so good. No one had shown any animosity toward Daisy. There’d been some attention that Gideon had considered unwanted, but that was because one man couldn’t keep his eyes off her breasts and another kept wanting to engage her in conversation.
“Will those people adopt the shit-poo?” Gideon asked in a whisper.
Daisy laughed. “It’s shih-poo. Although your way is funnier.”
He scanned the people in the store, watching the crowd of both potential adopters and Saturday shoppers. “Where’s that guy?”
“Which guy?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she knew.
“The one who was trying to pick you up.” He lifted a hand when she started to protest. “He asked you out for coffee. Twice. He is trying to pick you up.”
She shrugged. “He’s an out-of-work drama teacher trying to get a job in radio, but whatever. Besides, he has a really nice dog. He can’t be that bad.”
Gideon snorted. “Do you really mean that?”
“What, that killers can’t love dogs? No, of course not. But I do think you’re overreacting. However—” It was her turn to raise her hand. “You are here to keep me safe. I will not meet with him alone, if at all, if that makes you feel better.”
“It does,” he said grumpily, scowling until she smiled at him again.
“I’m not stupid, Gideon. I promise. I’ll take your advice. At least for now.”
“That’s honestly more than I thought I’d get.” He leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. “I’m going outside for a few minutes. I’ll be back.”
He’d been going outside periodically to check for anyone suspiciously loitering outside. So far, the coast had been clear. Daisy didn’t think her attacker would bother them here. There were too many people milling around. No deserted alleys to yank her into. But she appreciated Gideon’s vigilance, all the same.
“We love him,” a man said, and Daisy jerked her gaze away from Gideon’s retreating back—and backside, because it was very nice—to see that the young couple and their son had returned. The husband held the white curly shih-poo in his arms, the wife beaming as she tried to keep the little boy from grabbing at the dog.
“He’s perfect,” the wife added.
Daisy leaned over the table to smile at the little boy. “What’s his name?”