Page 72 of Forbidden Want

“You don’t need to shave my legs, I can—”

“I’m gonna shave more than that.”

“Oh, God,” she whined, her head bumping back against the wall. “Conn.”

“Enough,” he said, the whisper of his lips touching the inside of her knee as he propped her instep on his shoulder.“Are you afraid?”

“I’m not afraid of you, Conn. I’m never afraid of you.”

“Where are you always safe?”

“With you,” she said, surrendering on a sigh.

His lips caressed her skin again. It didn’t feel sexual; he took care of her, probably out of necessity. After she relaxed, it felt good to be completely in the care of someone else. While he was in control, she was calm, relaxed, completely content. There were no worries. Nothing to fear. No insurmountable problems. She was his, in his power, under his management. Connel McDade had the wheel. All she had to do was enjoy the ride.

TWENTY-SIX

“WHAT TIME IS IT?”

How long had she been lying there looking up at the ceiling far above? In the bed, alone, the luxurious comfort tempted her to stay. Except she was in someone else’s home… and thirsty.

She got to the edge of the bed, his side probably because there was a phone dock and a lamp right there. The light was off and the dock empty, just like the bed.

Two guitars stood in the corner. One acoustic, the other electric. Did he play the guitar?

It was no mystery why he hadn’t brought her there before. Just being around his things revealed so much of him.

She couldn’t go wandering around without clothes and wouldn’t call out to him like he was her butler. They’d gone through the closet on the way to the bathroom when they arrived. She went in there seeking something to wear. The first thing she snagged was a shirt. One of his, so the arm was big enough for her splint. Thank goodness. While buttoning it, she noticed…

“Is that my…?”

Women’s clothes hung at the other end of the closet. Her clothes. When the hell had…? In the drawers, there was underwear, socks, all hers.

She put on a pair of her panties and forgot about looking for her sling. If they’d had time to get things from her apartment and put them in his closet, she must’ve been out for hours.

No wonder she was so thirsty, though even that was taking a back seat to finding her host. What had they talked about? Had she agreed to…? Were they living together? She remembered the shower, how he towel dried her whole body and moisturized her skin. Then he’d… She stopped on the threshold of the bedroom. He’d blow-dried her hair. It was surreal. That had to be a dream… didn’t it? Except when she touched her locks, they were sleek. As they would be if blow-dried, rather than just left to dry as she slept.

“The thirty-eight?”

A male voice. Somewhere. Where?

There were only a dozen stairs up to the bedroom. Beneath was the living room, all open, airy. The ceiling towered above, and windows dominated the back wall. Dark furniture and metal accents made it all very industrial, very masculine, very Connel.

Male voices carried again. But from where? No one occupied the living room below.

Going down the stairs, she peeked into the perpendicular hallway. Geez, a square tunnel to another big room with an oval dining table and chairs around it.

“No,” Connel said in that room. “Less than an hour… no.”

Was he on the phone? She’d thought there were other voices. Someone crossed the other end of the hallway to go sit at the table.

Strat. Daly wasn’t far behind.

“No,” Connel again. “Make me say it again.”

She shivered. Did he have to use that growly voice when her defenses were low?

Rolling on the wall, she rounded the corner to traverse the hallway.

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