Shayla Black: Wicked and Dangerous

The sweetest little blush crept up her cheeks. “That’s one way of putting it. But it’s . . . um, never been like that for me.”

Decker frowned. The last thing he really wanted to do now was talk about her bedroom gymnastics with the ex, especially when he felt sure there was a whole naked wonderland under that robe waiting just for him. Sadly, she’d given him an opening, and this might be the only time to gracefully dig information out of her about Owen. He had to nail down a better motive . . . or see if he could take the douche off his suspect list. It was possible that someone else had it in for her, though he couldn’t fathom why given how sweet she was. And she wasn’t going to relax until she felt more comfortable with him. Her lack of experience, while weirdly endearing, was a hindrance.

He grabbed her hand and led her from the foyer, through the kitchen, then down a couple of steps into a sunken living room area that he could finally take the time to observe since he wasn’t focused on finding clues. Easing back into the beige velvet sofa, he glanced over the patterned rugs and mirrored accents that gave the room with the yellow-cream walls a light feel. Built-in shelves overflowed with books of all kinds, along with more pictures and tchotchkes. Shimmery drapes, the same tone as the walls, covered big windows that overlooked the oasis he’d seen out back earlier. Overall, the place was light, happy, homey—somewhat like her.

The few places he’d called “home” over the years had been mostly shitholes, barracks, or transient motels. He’d usually gone wherever duty called, without any thought to putting down roots or building a future, but now . . . Xander and Javier had obviously planted themselves in Lafayette to play house with London, so he suspected he was here for the duration. Other than the humidity in the summer, here actually wasn’t bad. He’d grown used to the freeways and skyscrapers of Los Angeles over the last few years, but Decker was thinking that he could kind of get used to a place like this, even having a home for once. The faint scent of vanilla lingered, like Rachel had baked or burned candles or something equally feminine. He liked it.

He liked her.

With a tug on her hand, Decker prevented her from sitting beside him. Instead, he pulled her onto his lap. She wriggled, as if trying to find a comfortable spot. Her lush ass rooting around on his cock nearly had him groaning and tearing into her clothes like a beast, but he managed to refrain.

“I can’t wait to get this robe off of you and do things to your delectable body that are probably only legal in foreign countries.” Decker winked, then stroked his knuckles along her exposed skin beside the lapel of her robe, over the swell of her breast. “But when you tell me it’s never been really good for you, I want to know what disappointed you in the past. Tell me about the last time you had sex.”

RACHEL’S BIG, DARK EYES WIDENED WITH SHOCK, AND SHEshook her head. “I’d rather not. You’re going to let me ‘steer,’ so it won’t be an issue.”

As she moved in to kiss him, Decker turned his head just enough to graze the soft skin of her neck with his lips, then he rested them on her lobe. “Even so, you need to give me a little information so I understand what you don’t like.”

She eased back and met his stare, then tried to wriggle off his lap. He tightened his arms around her, and finally, she sighed.

“It was with my ex-husband,” she murmured, looking away. “Owen was always just so . . . serious. I don’t know how to put it. It seemed like something he tolerated more than loved.”

“Which made you feel somehow responsible, so you didn’t enjoy it either?”

Her gaze bounced back up to his, as if he’d surprised her with his perception. It didn’t take a rocket scientist . . . but that deduction was apparently beyond a physicist. Go figure.

“Yes.” She nodded, and he saw a sweet little flush spread across her cheeks. “He didn’t ever want to talk about it.”

Then Owen deserved lousy sex. Dumbass . “Anything else?”

“It’s water under the bridge.” She squirmed uncomfortably.

“I don’t think so. Your last time in the sack sucked. Communication is key. We’ve got to have some if you want me to give you a better time. Besides, how are you going to tell me what you want when we’re naked if you can’t say it now?”

She chewed on that plump little lip for a moment. “All right. I don’t think he knew where I was . . . um, sensitive.”

That didn’t surprise Decker, but he had to rein in a laugh at her delicate phrasing. “You mean he didn’t have a clue where your clit was and you wished like hell he did?”

Her blush deepened. “Are you always this direct?”

“I don’t see any sense in beating around the bush.” He grinned. “Especially yours. It sounds like you’d be pretty happy if I could shake it once or twice.”

Though her jaw dropped and she smacked his shoulder, she was smiling. “That’s crude!”

“But honest. How was the rest of your relationship?”

“Well, not too good or we wouldn’t be divorced.”

Oh, sass. How much fun would it be to silence her bratty mouth with a kiss that made her toes curl before he turned her into a pile of goo? “Are you two still civil or did it end too ugly?”

“It’s mostly polite. Owen sometimes loses his temper. I just ignore him.”

And that might really be pissing the ex off. Definitely, he wanted to keep digging here, but couldn’t go too deep now without making her suspicious. When he got a free moment, he’d look up the asswipe and see if his face matched the guy who’d solicited him to commit murder. Until then, he had to tread lightly with the questions about her ex—except sexually. Rachel hid a wealth of repressed desire.

“Did he ever do anything in bed that you liked?”

“Not really. You’re probably wondering why I married him. My friends back in Florida, where I’m from, asked me that all the time. Owen is eight years older than me, and at first I liked how knowledgeable he seemed, but that didn’t extend to sex. It took me years to realize that he liked to hear himself talk more than listen. When the topic was something he couldn’t pontificate about, he changed it.” She cocked her head and stared. “Do you psychoanalyze every woman before you sleep with her?”

Decker figured that was his cue to shut up. “You said you want a man who listens. I’m trying. How do you think I can give you what you want if I don’t understand you even a little? Do you know what you want?”

Rachel reared back. A million thoughts flitted across her face. She looked angry, then sad, then downright confused. Decker held her tighter. She didn’t have a clue what her true desires were, but he’d show her as soon as she got over this ridiculous notion of being in charge.

“It’s orgasm. It shouldn’t be this difficult.”

Was she saying that a man had never given her one? The idea of being the first to succeed damn near made him salivate. Yes, it was probably stupid and unnecessarily territorial, but attraction wasn’t logical. And he didn’t think it was logic she needed as much as a hot, ripe, raunchy fucking. And then to be held.

He smiled. “That depends on you. If you really know what flips your switch and can express it clearly, we’ve got no worries. If you don’t, you may not enjoy sex with anyone until you figure it out.”

“What about you?” she challenged. “You seem like you don’t have any problems just . . . blurting what you want.”

He didn’t blurt, just usually commanded. That wasn’t relevant to the conversation now. She was getting worked up and worried. Time to calm her down.