When he dodged the blade, just barely, I shrieked in surprise and flipped on a light.
Mac looked at the blade embedded in the wall behind him, and then at me with a raised eyebrow. “Where the hell did you learn to throw a blade like that?”
I did the only thing that I knew would distract him from an answer I couldn’t give him—I freaked the fuck out.
“Oh my God, what the fuck are you doing? I was fucking attacked by a rando in my apartment not even five months ago! Are you crazy?! Sitting in the damn dark, lurking like some serial killer!”
He stood quickly. “Shit, Vixen. I’m sorry, I wasn’t even thinking about that. I should’ve turned on the light or waited outside, but I just wanted to see you. Fuck.” He rana hand through his hair, and then reached for me.
I buried my face in my hands and tried to breathe. One, I had almost skewered the man I loved. Two, I had defended myself a little too well. I tensed when Mac wrapped his arms around me, but he pulled me close, whispering soothing words and desperate apologies in my ear. When I finally started to relax, I looked up at him.
“Have you not heard of a little thing called texting? Or calling? Carrier pigeons?”
His mouth quirked up in an amused, crooked grin, and I found myself staring at his lips.
“Carrier pigeon?” he teased.
I shoved him, but he didn’t budge. “Anything is better than scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I know, Vixen. I will be more careful, promise.” I stepped away from him and frowned at the knife. His gaze followed mine, and I swear he chuckled. “Go upstairs, gorgeous. Take a shower, relax, and I’ll be up in a bit.”
I raised a single eyebrow at him. “You sure?”
He shooed me towards the stairs, spanking me on the ass as I walked away. I laughed, and ran upstairs before he could get me again. I grabbed my dress on the way up, and shut myself in my bedroom. I stashed the gown in the far back corner of my closet, then grabbed a pair of pajamas. Just as my hand closed on the knob, I hesitated. Mac was here for a reason, and I was no virgin. I finally,finally, had this man all to myself, and nothing else to do. Fuck the fuzzy pants—this called for lace. After making the switch, I headed to the bathroom.
I took my sweet time in the shower, relishing the hot water soothing away the aches and pains that, unfortunately, came with adulthood and recovery. I paused when I heard a knock on the door as I was toweling off, but Mac hollered, “Got it!”
I ripped the tag off the bundle of lace, stuffing it deep inside the trash can. Twisting my hairin a messy knot on top of my head, I surveyed my reflection. The dark green lacy nightgown had two thin straps holding it in place over my breasts, which were threatening to spill out of the top. The bottom barely covered my ass, and the satin material clung to my curves. I wasn’t nearly as voluptuous as Maria, but I could still make heads turn when I tried.
I poked my head out the door and looked around for Mac, but I could still hear him fiddling around downstairs. Before I could second-guess myself, I headed downstairs, trying to do that sexy down-the-stars walk I had seen on some of Maria’s favorite telenovelas. Instead, I felt like an absolute idiot and nearly broke an ankle. Sigh. As I rounded the corner, I could hear the faucet running. It was now or never. I really hoped I hadn’t read the situation wrong.
I decided to go for the casual approach and leaned against the wall, watching him at the sink before saying, “Thank you for cleaning up the mess.”
“Vixen, I thought I told you to wait—” He turned as he spoke, and seemed to lose his train of thought when he caught sight of me. “Fuck me.”
Well, that’s the plan.
I batted my eyelashes innocently. “What?”
Dark blue eyes roamed my body, and I swear I felt them like the sweetest of heat on my skin. I smiled at him, and his returning smile was all sinful promise.
“I thought you said lace isn’t worth the time if you don’t have a good man with rough hands to take it off you.”
“Mm, I did say that. I’m surprised you remember. So, I guess that begs the question…”
He took a step closer to me. “What question is that, Vixen?”
“Do I have a good man to take it off of me?”
He closed the distance between us with liquid grace, picked me up, and carried me to the counter. His hands nearly encompassed my thighs, and I wrapped mylegs around his waist, using them to pull him closer to me. He pressed his face into my neck, kissing the sweet spot there and nibbling at the tender skin. He ran his hands over my nightgown, a ravenous look in his eyes.
“I don’t know aboutgood, Vixen, but I can tell you the chances of this little thing you’ve got on surviving the night aren’t all that high.”
“Ruin it, baby,” I whispered, and then I slid my hands under his shirt and caressed the hard ridges of his abdomen, wishing I could trace the tattoos I knew were there. “Ruin me.”
That was all the encouragement he needed. He bunched the material in his hands and ripped it with one smooth movement. My poor gown—still, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to miss it too much. His hands cupped my breasts, and he pressed his knee against my center. I ground against it, but he withdrew despite my protests.
“No, Vixen. Tonight, you’re going to listen to me. You’re going to take exactly what I give you. Understood?”
