A little on the wild sid.., p.22
A Little on the Wild Side, page 22
part #3 of Wild Thing Series
“You’re leaving again?” She pushed the door to the pantry open farther. Of course, she had to hold on to a shelf and lean to reach it. She had long arms, but they weren’t that long. “I’m right here.”
He stopped and turned slowly, looking directly into the pantry. It was as if someone took a flamethrower to the mask of distress and anguish that covered Trapper’s face—hell, his whole body shook with it—puddling like melting snow around his feet and morphing into relief. He took three deep breaths while she held hers, watching the transformation.
She stood perched on the chair in the pantry, waiting for him to say something, waiting for him to move, waiting for his smile. He’d been worried about her—not the babies. She knew he would have eventually gone down that road, but his first thought had been of her. He’d been afraid that she’d left him, and he looked as if he needed her. He wanted her. He loved her—really loved her.
She felt the heat of his gaze that raked from the top of her head to the socks covering her feet. All parts of her body fired like a jet engine set on a fast burn.
Then his eyes hit the chair, and the change in his expression was as swift as it was dramatic. In a millisecond the look of stunned relief was replaced by what could only be labeled as white-hot fury. If she’d blinked she would have missed it, but she hadn’t. She could do nothing but hold on to the damn shelf, her knees weak with her own sense of relief. Trapper had come home. He wasn’t lying dead in a ditch or in some strange woman’s bed. He’d come home to her.
***
“You’re leaving again?” Bianca’s voice cut through the static filling Trapper’s mind.
He had one hand on the doorknob, ready to run to Karma’s and knock down the door to find out what had happened to Bianca. Now he was afraid to move. He’d been crazy with worry, with grief, with fear.
“I’m right here.” Bianca’s voice—soft and gentle, and God help him, so fucking welcome.
His heart beat again, hard and fast. It was drowned out by the rush of blood flowing through his ears into his brain. He turned, needing to see her and afraid his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe he was hearing things.
His eyes locked on her—the overhead light shining on her golden hair, making her look like a tarnished angel. There was no white gossamer gown; she wore his beat-up, faded Dickinson Law sweatshirt over her nightshirt and a pair of his rag wool socks that slouched at the ankles of her million-dollar legs.
Relief swamped him, making it difficult to swallow past the lump of pain and fear he’d spent the last week trying to hold back.
Then she wobbled, and he felt his world tilt off its axis. “What the fuck are you doing standing on a fucking chair, in my fucking pantry? Are you trying to kill yourself?” The voice that rang through his ears didn’t sound like his—it was hot and cold and strangled with terror and rage. Rage he could handle—it was the terror that paralyzed him.
“Looking for chocolate. I’m hungry.”
She shifted again, and the chair wobbled. He didn’t even realize he’d moved until her weight filled his arms. He set her down and wanted to pick up the offending chair and break it into a million pieces to insure she would never stand on it again.
His breath, hot and painful, raked through his lungs and his throat. He grabbed the chair and slid it toward the table where it hit and fell backward onto the floor with a satisfying crash.
Bianca’s eyes widened. “What the hell is your problem?” She stomped toward him, her face red, her hair wild, and her lips so thin, he wondered if she’d swallowed them. “I wake up surrounded by four Kincaid women only to find you gone. You sicced the she-wolves on me without warning, without so much as a by-your-leave. You didn’t even have the guts to say good-bye. You just slithered out when your baby sister threatened you.”
He took a step back to avoid the finger she pounded into his chest.
“Oh, that’s right.” She stepped forward, going up on her toes to get into his face, pointing at his still healing nose.
He took another step back.
“Big, bad Judge Trapper Kincaid is afraid of his baby sister.”
She stepped toward him again, and the granite counter hit his back. “And you have the balls to stand here and yell at me?”
God she was beautiful when enraged.
“You want to know what my problem is? Fine. You’re my problem.” Her eyes went glassy. “I’m under house arrest. You took my phone and my computer away, punishing me like you would a recalcitrant child when I haven’t done a damn thing wrong.”
His mouth opened but said nothing—she thought he was punishing her?
She took a stuttered breath and blew it out. “All the while you’re God knows where gallivanting around until two in the morning. In the snow. For all I knew you were dying in a ditch somewhere or warming someone else’s bed.”
She thought he was with another woman? Was she mad? Okay, of course she was mad, but he hadn’t thought she was crazy.
“I’ve spent the last five hours worried about you. You…” Her voice shook so hard, he saw the movement in her throat. “Inconsiderate, thoughtless, self-centered, egotistical, narcissistic jerk!” She pounded on his chest like a battering ram hitting a door. “I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t think of who to call without sounding like a lunatic, and I couldn’t find any chocolate!”
God, then there were tears. His throat closed, and he fought back the helplessness he felt whenever Bianca cried.
“Then you stomp in here, and you have the nerve to be mad at me? Well, let me tell you, buster—”
She was worried about him. That was good, right? Maybe not good exactly, but it was something. And the whole part about him being with another woman—what man in his right mind would leave Bianca for another woman? She might be crazy—he’d chalk it up to pregnancy hormones—but it also meant she cared. A lot. He grabbed the hand headed right for his face and fought a smile he swore she was about to wipe off with her fist. From the sparks shooting from her eyes, he could tell he failed at the whole not smiling thing. “You were worried about me?”
“Of all the things I said, that’s the only one that registered?”
“Well, yeah. That—and you didn’t find the chocolate.” He held her close and slid around the island. “If I let your hands go to get the chocolate, do you promise not to hit me and swear you will never again climb on another chair for as long as you live?”
He actually felt a shiver run through her. “You have chocolate?”
“Of course I have chocolate. I’m not a complete idiot.”
***
Trapper had chocolate, so she might just let him live—at least until she ate her fill.
He pulled down a decorative canister and removed a handful of Dove Dark Chocolate Promises—the ones with the sayings in the wrapper.
She was toast. “I promise not to hit you if you give me chocolate.”
He held up a piece. “And?”
She blew out a breath and wondered how hard she’d have to kick him to get the canister out of his hand. “And I promise not to climb on chairs.”
He wore that cocky-ass smile of his that made her tingle and pissed her off at the same time. “I love you too, sweetheart.”
She snatched a chocolate out of his hand and didn’t bother to hide the moan when it melted against her tongue. God, it was heaven. Even “I love you” couldn’t spoil this moment. She took another without even reading the message.
“I was playing poker with Fisher, Hunter, and Gramps. Gramps was in a lecturing mood. I didn’t mean to worry you.”
“You didn’t even think about me,” she said around a chunk of heaven. He’d left her all alone, and dammit, she’d missed him.
“I thought about you so much, I couldn’t even concentrate on the game.”
“Not enough to come home.”
“I lost over a hundred bucks. I never lose—you’re hell on my poker game. But I love that you’re calling Boise home.”
She didn’t say anything. There was no reason to argue. Maybe she should take a page from Karma’s book. Besides, it was difficult to speak with her mouth full of chocolate and Trapper’s tongue. She was in a chocolate fog and couldn’t believe even Trapper could drag her out of it with a kiss. But he could. He did. And God help her, she liked it. Who needed chocolate when she could have Trapper?
She didn’t know how many times he’d kissed her, but every time, she was surprised by his effect on her. She melted faster than the chocolate in their mouths. Her hands dug into his shoulders because if she didn’t hold on for dear life, she’d end up in a puddle on the floor.
She dragged her mouth away from his and was caught in his gaze, so intense, so hot, so damn volatile. Sparks of need clawed at her. Even the soft fabric of her nightshirt against her nipples had her shuddering.
His hand lifted her thigh, his other arm held her against his hard body, and damned if his erection didn’t hit the exact right spot. “I came home, and all I wanted to do was hold you. Feel you against me.”
“And now?”
“Now I want to make love to you, spend the night holding you, and wake up with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. What do you want, Bianca?”
She remembered how she felt trying to visualize leaving Trapper. She remembered how she felt when she didn’t know where he was. She remembered the feeling she got when she thought he could be hurt. “I want that too.” She swallowed hard and felt just a little sick. “I want you. I want all of it.”
“All of it?” His voice was soft, but for the first time she thought she heard some vulnerability. “What exactly does that mean?”
She needed to tell him. God, she heard James’s advice on how to handle Trapper. Let it fly. Tell him everything. It’s the only way you’ll know if he’ll stick, or if he’ll run like you think he will. “It means I want to make love to you. Then I want to sleep in your arms and wake up with you in about eight hours.”
He kissed her neck, breathing deep against her. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s late. You’re probably exhausted. You should be sleeping.”
“No.” She held him closer, not wanting to leave the warmth of his arms, his home, his love. “We should be making love. The rest will wait until later.”
“The rest?”
She didn’t want to talk—the morning would come soon enough. Right now, all she wanted was to feel. If everything was going to fall apart, she wanted one last night with Trapper. She wanted to make love with him one more time when he thought he loved her. She wanted to grab one last bit of heaven before reality invaded. Before she told him. Before she had to watch all the hopes and dreams she’d tried desperately not to dream, crash all around her. She wanted to love him once without reservation. She wanted to show him everything. And then when she lost it—lost him—at least she could claim to have had it once, even if it was only for a few hours. At least then she’d have the memory—something to hold on to when he went back to being nothing but the father of her children.
Chapter 17
Trapper carried Bianca into the bedroom. He knew he should lay her down and leave her the hell alone. She needed sleep. She’d obviously been upset, and that wasn’t good for her or the babies. But, shit, he was a man, and she said she wanted him. And damn him to hell, he needed her. It was the need running through him that killed any trace of gentlemanly behavior he’d held in reserve. It was the need that drove him. The need to mark her heart, her body, her soul.
Bianca had pulled his shirt out of his jeans before he even got her out of the kitchen. She was a master in the art of the quick change and could unbutton just about any piece of clothing in record time. He wasn’t sure how she managed it, but by the time he set her on her feet in the bedroom and made sure she was steady, she had his shirt unbuttoned, his belt unbuckled, and his jeans hanging off his hips. He loved a woman with talent.
He struggled with his boots and tossed the last one over his shoulder desperate to get to her, only to find her laid out on the bed like a vision. A goddess. A woman in love. God help him, he prayed he wasn’t imagining it.
He stared at all those curves, the way her breasts rose and fell with each breath, the ridges of her ribs, the nip of her waist, her still evident hip bones, and the gentle swell of her belly. He let the vision of her burn into his memory—not wanting to ever forget how she looked at that moment. Because tonight was different than all the nights they’d had before. She’d always been beautiful—that was a given, but never more beautiful than she looked right now. It wasn’t so much the pose. Bianca didn’t have to try for provocative—it was just her natural state. Tonight it was her eyes that got him. She looked at him with an openness he’d never seen in her before. For the first time, she wasn’t hiding, and she wasn’t holding anything back. It was as if she’d finally taken down all the barriers she’d built between them.
Trapper didn’t register moving, but he must have, because before he knew it, he was lying beside her, his arms wrapped tight around her, his face buried in her hair, drinking in her scent, losing himself in the feel of her body against his. Home. With Bianca, anywhere they were was home. “I love you.”
Her body tensed against his.
He pulled away and looked into her eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“I just hope to God you know your own mind. I hope you’re right, because I’m beginning to believe you. So help me, Trapper, if you’re wrong—”
“I’m not wrong. I’m not going to change my mind. Bianca, I’m going to love you for the rest of my life.”
“I—”
He cut off whatever she was going to say with a kiss. He didn’t want to hear her say she didn’t love him—not again. It might just kill him. Instead, he poured everything he felt into the kiss. He made love to her mouth like he planned to make love to her body. All he could do was show her how he felt and pray she believed him.
Bianca pushed away. “Trapper, wait.”
He focused on her eyes. Damn, he was beginning to recognize her we-need-to-have-a-talk look—the one she was currently drilling into him. “You want to talk? Now? Sweetheart, there’s a lot I want to do with you involving your mouth, and none of it has a thing to do with talking.”
“Are you trying to make this hard for me?”
He didn’t think anything could be harder than he was at that moment. Her body pressed against his, and everything in him wanted to get inside her. Bad. “No.” He blew out a breath and prayed that a really bad case of blue balls wasn’t fatal. If it were, he’d be toast. “I’m going to have a really difficult time concentrating on talking while you’re lying in my arms naked, looking and feeling like my every wet dream.” He removed his hand from her ass and put some space between them before tugging the sheet over her. Covering her didn’t help much because knowing she wore nothing but a sheet only made her that much hotter. He lay on his back and stared at the ceiling while silently reciting the Idaho Penal Code—again.
Bianca rolled onto him—her breasts resting on his chest, her face inches above his, wearing her we-seriously-need-to-talk expression. “You’re not even going to look at me?”
“Not looking at you would help if you want me to concentrate on what you’re so intent on saying instead of what’s under that sheet. Namely, you. Naked.” He snuck a glance. Her fist clenched the sheet at her breast. Was she getting ready to hit him? Her lips were disappearing faster than his erection—which probably wasn’t a good thing. “Damn, Bianca. I’m a guy. In case you don’t know already, let me clue you in on a fact of male anatomy—when a man’s big head is in competition with his little head, the little head usually wins.”
Her eyes stared into his and started glistening in the low light.
Oh shit, not tears. Not again. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry. What do you want to talk about?”
“It’s nothing.”
“Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He was so screwed. Every man in existence knew when a woman said it was nothing, it was something—usually something big—and not in a good way. “I’m looking at you, and I’m listening. I want you to tell me. Really.” Her use of the word “nothing” had the desired effect on his libido—it squashed it like a bug under one of her five-inch heels.
Bianca raked her hands through her hair, making it even more of a mess than it was before—but then she’d also forgotten that she had been holding the sheet.
Trapper knew when he was in deep shit, and he didn’t want to make it any worse, so he made an exerted effort to keep his eyes on her face. Staring at her breasts like the animal he was definitely wouldn’t help matters.
Bianca’s hands flew through her hair and then curled into fists—not a good sign. “I’m certainly not going to tell you now.” She remembered the sheet, pulled it up to her neck, and sat, putting more distance between them.
“Why the hell not?” Frustration colored every word. This was just great. He sat and tugged what little sheet was left over his lap—his hard-on was history. “You might as well just tell me because fighting with me has made sure that the little head is no longer a variable in the little head/big head equation.”
“I’m not telling you because I refuse to tell someone I love him for the first time in the middle of a fight! That’s why.” She wasn’t crying now. No, she was pissed. She was yelling. And damned if he wasn’t the happiest son of a bitch on the planet.
She scooted away, and Lord knew, she was fast, but he was faster.
He grabbed her before she could get her cute ass out of bed, did a little wrestling move to get her hands safely under his control and her body beneath his, careful not to disturb the babies too much. He didn’t bother trying to hide his smile this time. Hell, it would have been a lost cause anyway. “You love me?”
Her eyes spit fire, and she tried her damnedest to get out of his hold. “Let me go.”
