Locked and Loaded (Bullet, #6) Page 7

  And she knew that was why she had followed him home, in spite of her better judgment. As always, she wanted and needed him.

  He placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her up towards the front door. “After you, milady.”

  Jennifer smiled and shook her head but her focus was on his hand. It still felt as good as it always had...like it belonged on her.

  She kept her voice quiet, even though it wasn’t even ten o’clock on a weekend night, because some of the homes around them didn’t have lights on and the neighborhood was eerily silent. It made her feel self-conscious. “When did you move here, Zane?”

  “Couple of years ago. All the other guys in the band had houses and kept calling me Ghetto Boy because I still lived in the same shitty apartment I had since we first broke big.” He shrugged. “It was time.”

  He opened the door and held it for Jennifer to walk in. There was already a dim light on just past the foyer and, once he locked the door behind them, he touched her back again and led her inside. She was feeling more comfortable now and decided to tease him. “Zane Carson. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you do something due to peer pressure.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah. I was pressured into buying a home. Holy shit.”

  She didn’t know that Zane had ever been pressured into doing anything. He’d been a street kid and, if anyone was the bad influence, it would have been Zane. But he was also a good guy underneath it all, something he didn’t let the world see. She’d seen it many times, though, and she figured it was because he’d vowed to never be like his dad. Zane had been the one protecting his mom and sisters near the end, and he’d made it his life’s mission to be a good guy.

  It had been a struggle, because he might have been good to the rest of the world, but she knew he wasn’t so good to himself—and sometimes the shrapnel got in the people he loved. And, in the past, every time she would bring up the subject, Zane refused to talk about it. Off limits, he’d say, as though she’d thrown a ball out of bounds and the game was over. She’d learned early on that she couldn’t talk to him about himself and how to make himself happy. He would become like a statue—frozen expression and no more talk. They’d even fought over that on occasion, but she learned not to press him there. It was like an open wound that she was poking. He wasn’t ready, and she didn’t know that he ever would be.

  She laughed at his joke but her breath was taken away. The sterile exterior of his house hadn’t prepared her for the inside. It was huge—vaulted ceilings and hundreds of square feet in front of her—and beautiful. She was pretty sure her whole damned apartment would fit in the great room.

  It was simple—some furniture situated around a large fireplace that was as much art as function, and the wall directly in front of them only went up so high and didn’t touch the ceiling, so light from another room was spilling into it, making it seem warm and homey without being harsh. She couldn’t quite tell what the artwork on the walls depicted, but there were some vases on pedestals on the other side of the room as well. Not only was the room clean and open but it was tasteful.

  Beautiful...but it didn’t feel like Zane.

  “Like it?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grinned and led her through the room. There was a doorway to the left of the stunted wall that he took her through, and that was where the light was coming from. She was again blown away by the enormous kitchen. Zane walked toward the stainless steel refrigerator and asked, “Want something to drink?”

  She swallowed. “Just a glass of water.” Her eyes took in the white walls, oak cabinets, and dark marble countertops. “Do you actually cook in here?”

  He laughed again. “I have a microwave,” he said, pointing toward the appliance located over the stovetop. “But, really, not very often. I do have a woman who comes in three times a week when I’m not on the road and cooks for me. She needs a space like this, you know?”

  “It’s—wow.” Jennifer could barely imagine working in a kitchen like this. Her little apartment’s kitchen was almost the size of the island in the center of Zane’s. She would love to give it a try sometime. He walked toward her with two bottles of water that he’d fetched out of the fridge, but he set them on the island and got close to her. She felt like she belonged here, and she could see in her mind’s eye Zoe and Zane seated at the table next to her while they enjoyed some feast whipped up in his magnificent kitchen.

  Stop thinking like that, Jennifer.

  She couldn’t start imagining the two of them together permanently. She would only be setting herself up for disappointment.

  As if he was reading her mind, he said, “Anytime you want, you can come over and we’ll cook together—just like we used to.” She looked up at him and, before she could protest or comment, he pulled her close, his hands around her waist, and he was gazing into her eyes.

  She’d known this was where it was going to go, right?

  Yes, she did, and she wasn’t going to resist.

  So, as Zane’s lowered his lips to hers, she parted them in invitation and placed her hands on his chest. His warm tongue entered her mouth and danced with hers, causing fireworks to explode inside her brain, and her body joined the celebration.

  All it did was confirm that Zane was the only man for her, now and for all time.

  Chapter Eleven

  JENNIFER HAD A way of making Zane forget about all the bullshit in life. When they were intertwined with each other—bodies, minds, souls—the rest of the world just melted away. She was better than any goddamned drug on the planet.

  All the negative in his mind washed away—the doubts, the realization that he was winding down a shitty path again—and he became cognizant of her hands, her breath, her soft body giving into his.

  Their kiss was magical, standing in his well-lit, pristine kitchen away from the rest of the world. He didn’t dare let his mind think it was going anywhere else, though, in spite of the fact that he could feel his blood pumping harder and hotter. He knew, from past experience, that Jennifer had to decide she was okay with moving forward—she had to call the shots—and right now her hands were on his chest, not exactly indicating she even wanted more. Their clothes were still on, so he had to be calm and humble. He couldn’t go in locked and loaded when the white flag was waving in the wind.

  But that wasn’t going to stop him from continuing to kiss her. He was going to do that as long as she’d let him, knowing that might be all it would take to make her defenses fall.

  He’d kissed a lot of women over the years, far more than he’d care to remember, but none of them had been as magical as Jennifer. There was just something about the woman that ignited all his senses, and he was remembering all the things he loved about her—how her skin smelled underneath the airy, citrusy scent she was wearing, how warm and delicate her tiny body felt against his, the taste of her mouth...and that made him eager to taste the rest of her to see how many memories would flood back then.

  His flesh tingled as she lost herself in him, sliding her hands up his chest to his neck, winding back to the nape until she drove her fingers into his hair, pressing against his scalp. There was the green light he’d been waiting for, a sign that she was giving herself to him...but he still wasn’t ready to let himself completely let go. That wouldn’t happen until he had her in his bedroom—or at least someplace more comfortable.

  He didn’t want to stop kissing her, but once he knew they were both heated up, he knew he had to break off the action now or they’d be fucking on the table...and he knew Jennifer wouldn’t care much for that. Maybe once they were dating regularly again, but for the first time together once more, the kitchen table wouldn’t do. She needed to feel like a princess, and much as he’d love to fuck the shit out of her any which way he could, anywhere he could, she needed to know she was special to him.

  So the bedroom it was.

  When he parted from her, simply removing his lips from hers, he saw that she took a few seconds to open her eyes, and he
knew that was a good sign too. She was reluctant to let the sensations go. He also couldn’t help but notice that her breathing was a little heavier.

  It was now or never.

  “Let’s go someplace more comfortable, okay?”

  “Like?”

  He grinned. “You still find beds comfortable?”

  She laughed and he saw her cheeks turn a little pink. “Yeah. Are you wanting me to sleep?”

  “Maybe after I wear you out a little...but there’s still the question of ice cream.” She shook her head but the smile was still on her face. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand and leading her out of the kitchen toward the back stairs.

  He still had a hard time believing he owned this gigantic house. He’d grown up in a tiny ranch-style house in a small town, and the only reason he’d had his own bedroom was because he was the only boy in the family. His two sisters had to share a room. He’d never had girls in his room as a kid, but he’d had plenty of fantasies, and by the time he’d discovered his fascination with the fairer sex, he’d needed privacy to indulge them.

  Now he had his own humongous home and could jack off in all the rooms if he so chose. An almost scary thought: he’d actually had sex in most of them.

  But his thoughts were on this perfect woman—and they were going to the room most customarily reserved for sexual matters. Thank the heavens he hadn’t fucked that slut in there earlier today, or he’d probably feel guilty and have a harder time climaxing.

  Up those stairs and down the long, wide hall. Jennifer was oohing and aahing at the place. He was glad his material possessions could at least impress her. Maybe it would be a way he could convince her to let him take her away from it all, all the bullshit she so obviously loathed about her life but, for some reason, refused to let go.

  He opened the door to his bedroom, turning the light on and then standing aside so she could walk through the doorway. Once inside, she paused and turned to look at him as he stepped beside her. “Zane, is it okay for this to feel weird?”

  He couldn’t help but smile at this sweet woman who meant more to him than anyone else. “I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to feel, babe. It just is...and that’s okay.”

  Zane saw her shoulders relax. “Good.” She looked back in the cavernous space of his room. “Wow.” Zane didn’t care much for aesthetics, but he’d paid a designer who did. He knew if he hadn’t gone to the trouble, then his house would have been a mishmash of yard sale furniture and crap from his starving musician days. Hell, he’d just as likely be living out of the cardboard boxes that he’d used to pack up all his stuff the last time he’d moved. His thought was that if he was going to own a home—a real home—then it needed to look and feel like one.

  And that was not his forte.

  So he’d hired someone.

  And now he was more grateful than ever that he had, because Jennifer was making it worth every penny Zane had spent on the guy. She took a few tentative steps inside the bedroom bathed in earth tones and let out another “Wow.” She was eyeing the bed...where he hoped they’d be spending their next few hours. Why chicks dug that set up, he’d never know, but if he ever saw his designer again, he’d probably kiss him for it. It wasn’t the usual four-poster canopy. Instead, it was a sheer, filmy beige fabric that hung from three points on the ceiling suspended from two posts created from bamboo that extended over the bed like tree branches, draped behind the head of the bed.

  It was the centerpiece of the room and everything else in there was dwarfed by it, so he didn’t know if she even noticed the artwork on the wall or appreciated the Persian rug in front of the picture window on the wall. He was damn sure she didn’t notice the design of the rich cherry wood furniture accessorizing the room.

  That was okay, though...her mind was all about the bed. That was good.

  She took a tentative step toward it, touching the mattress with the tips of her fingers but looking at the canopy. “So what inspired this, Zane?”

  He grinned, stepping behind her and pulling her close so that he clasped his hands in front of her belly while his body cradled hers. “I just figured it was time to grow up, you know?”

  Jennifer snickered. “So you’re telling me you make your own bed nowadays?”

  “I’ll let you wonder.” He was consumed by desire now, his dream woman so close once again. He bent his head and nuzzled her neck through her hair, breathing in the smell of her locks. Was it the scent of almond or something more exotic? He wasn’t sure, but it was intoxicating, and he was almost able to block out everything else having her so near.

  The way she tilted her head and sighed told him everything he needed to know.

  * * *

  If Jennifer had gone to Zane’s house with any pretension of keeping things strictly hands off, she’d been kidding herself. He was and would be the man for her for all time, and her subconscious desires for him rose to the surface when he put his hands and lips on her. She’d known how powerful her feelings were for him, but knowing and feeling were two different things.

  There was no resisting the man.

  Just being in his presence was difficult enough, but when he pulled her close so she could feel his warmth, smell his scent, remember his touch...she was done. She couldn’t put up any more of a fight.

  What Zane had said earlier in the week was true—that they always ended up fighting—but, until that point, they had great chemistry, every single time. In fact, it was because of her inability to resist his charms that she’d become pregnant last time. The tensions had been building, but they’d tried to hold on just the same, instead having one last night of amazing, mind-blowing sex. It wound up being a last hurrah, because it all came down to Zane not being able to overcome his demons.

  The problem was the man couldn’t recognize them for what they were.

  But those thoughts lost their hold on Jennifer’s brain as Zane’s lips became more zealous. She felt her nipples grow rigid in response, and she tilted her head to reap the full benefit of the touch of his lips on her neck. She even heard a soft sigh escape her mouth, but there was no stopping it.

  Mmm. No one had ever felt as good to her as Zane, as real or as irresistible. There was something about the man—it was almost like he was a part of her. She would have thought that would be more likely to happen with the boy she’d lost her virginity to, but that guy had long left her brain—and it wasn’t because the two of them shared a child together, either. She’d felt this bond for him long ago, long before Zoe had ever been part of the picture. She’d even analyzed the crap out of the notion that maybe it was because he’d given her her very first orgasm.

  But that wasn’t it, either. She’d felt a deep connection to him long before that.

  Maybe he was her soulmate, if there was such a thing. Yes, if there was, Zane was it, because she’d felt a connection to him from their first date. They’d somehow clicked. What sucked was that they would eventually and always return to bringing out the worst emotions in each other—jealousy, rage, anger, despair. If they could get past that, they’d be perfect.

  But Zane would probably have to become a different man for that to happen...and, so far in this life, she saw that he hadn’t been able to change his stripes.

  Chapter Twelve

  JENNIFER WAS RESPONDING to his advances, but she seemed a little distracted. Zane knew from past experience that her ultimate sexual pleasure depended upon her ability to let go, to let everything just wash away and give in.

  Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Sometimes they’d have angry sex in the past and that too made for some explosive endings.

  He brought his lips to her ear and whispered. “Do you want a glass of wine?”

  “Mmm...no.”

  The tone of her voice was promising. “Some mood music?”

  “Hmm-mm.” Another quiet negative...which meant that it was up to Zane to find a different way to transport her. He had two options—one was to shock the hell out of her, pull her t
o the present. He could do that by changing gears and speeding up the action—throw her on the bed, rip her clothes off, all while kissing her aggressively, so hard he’d bruise her lips. Sometimes in the past that had worked, but he didn’t think that would be a good way to start fresh. She might take it wrong.

  The other way was to make her feel so good she couldn’t possibly think of anything else. Yeah, he had a feeling that was the way to go tonight.

  So he continued nuzzling her neck, pushing her hair away with his chin so he could begin open-mouth kissing the flesh there. When he was able to touch her skin with his tongue, he heard a light sigh escape her mouth, and he could see her chest begin moving as her lungs filled with air, and she brought a hand up to shove in his hair.

  Jesus. That felt insanely amazing.

  Even more amazing was when she turned around so she could press her body into his. She started kissing him with force, as if her seeming nonchalance was turning to desperation in the blink of an eye. It was then that he felt his blood rushing to his cock as he was willing to believe that this was no longer a mere possibility or a tease. And somewhere, in the recesses of his brain, all the times they’d ever made love fueled the passion and emotion in him now.

  He slid his hands up underneath her blouse, relishing the feel of her smooth, soft skin against his palms. He paused below her bra as he felt her tense up. He was trying to decide if the tautness in her muscles was due to anticipation or fear.

  Maybe a little of both.

  Because he too had a little fear—he was afraid that this time would eventually lead to ending like all the other times...and he didn’t know that his heart could take it again. Somehow, he knew it was just as hard on her, and it was no surprise. They knew they loved each other, but they just couldn’t figure out how to get along.

  Or he couldn’t figure out how to treat her right.

  Where the fuck had that come from? Truth found a way of seeping into reality, and it made it hard for him to focus on what was happening in the here and now. But when he felt her nails dig into his neck, pulling him into the moment, all thoughts left his brain then. From that point forward, he was moving on animal instinct. He slid his right hand up over her breast, and he could feel the tight nipple underneath the lacy fabric, where he teased it with his thumb. Her nails dug in again but she paused in her kiss. Good—he was distracting her with pure pleasure, and there was plenty more where that came from. He pulled his left hand out from under the blouse and began using his index finger and thumb to work on one of the buttons.