Ann Major - Wild Enough For Willa

Safe? With him? If he thought that, then he was even more clueless than she’d thought.

The impossible devil laughed, the pleasant rumble deepening the grooves that bracketed that beautiful, ever so sensual, male mouth.

Safe? She hardly knew him, but the chemistry or whatever it was that was between them was so volatile they’d almost had sex twice. She felt as if she were a delectable mouse waiting for some big cat to pounce. After Brand, she was afraid of sex.

She stared up at McKade, and was aware of harshly carved features, of his animal white smile, of that unruly lock of midnight-black hair that tumbled over his brow. A sensible woman would be terrified to bump into a man like him in a dark alley.

Sensible? Nobody had ever accused Willa of that failing.

Safe? The sooner she outwitted this beguiling devil and got out of his clutches, the better.

“Thirsty,” she whispered, shuddering against his chest so he’d go, so she could think, if that’s what her churning mental processes could be called.

He left her, splashed water into a glass in the bathroom, but returned too soon, the mattress dipping beneath his weight once more.

He lifted her into a sitting position again, holding her against his heated length while she sipped from the glass. When she’d gulped it all down, he set the glass aside and continued to hold her.

Leave. Leave.

Of course, he didn’t. His head was too thick-boned and dense for telepathy to work. Slowly, shyly, she became aware of that heavily muscled, big-boned body against hers, aware of his heat seeping inside her, aware of her nipples hardening against his massive chest. Meltingly pleasant sensations rippled through her.

She sighed blissfully. Then she caught herself.

Aware of her response, he tensed.

It was just the terror of her nightmare that made her so vulnerable. That made him feel so good…so natural. So right. She’d been shy about sex…even with Brand, only letting him because she’d loved him so much. Only playing the games he’d wanted later because she’d wanted to win his love.

Letting a man hold her like this wasn’t sex. Still, it was exciting. Her feelings were like those of a seventeen-year-old girl with a first crush. How, after all she’d been through, all he’d put her through, could she feel…It was too soon after Brand.

He saved you.

McKade.

The clever rascal was using that to his own advantage.

“I’m okay,” she said, so he would leave.

“Good.” His voice was gruff. He almost pushed her away as he shoved himself up from the bed. “No more bad dreams, promise?”

The minute he stood up, his wide muscular shoulders were silhouetted against the light from the window. Suddenly, irrationally, she ached to have him back. “What do you want from me?”

“Sex. A thousand dollars’ worth.”

“And that’s all?”

“Of course.”

“Then why didn’t you take—”

“All in good time. When you feel better.”

“I’m surprised you have any qualms.”

“I want to get my money’s worth.”

“You’re vile.”

“And you’re such an excellent judge of character.”

She drew a sharp, little breath. She was stung, but she liked sparring with him. It distracted her from her more serious problems.

“If you’re disappointed we didn’t…” His suggestive voice was low and hoarse. “If you’re feeling lusty…just say the word. I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Go back to your chair.”

He laughed but obeyed. She clutched her sheets and was secretly bereft and disappointed.

As soon as he was safely ensconced, she said, “McKade, if you were the last man on earth, I wouldn’t want you.”

“Then, pretend, the way you pretended when you danced. If you’re half as good at sex as you were at stripping, we’ll be dynamite together.”

“Good night, McKade.”

“Good night, Willa.”

He snapped out the light and fell silent. Suddenly, the darkness and the walls seemed to close in on her. She was a little girl tied to the mast again. She was a woman tied to that bed in that fetid shack.

He’d come, saved her.

Saved her baby.

No matter how she tried, she couldn’t seem to get over that.

“McKade?”

“Change your mind about sex?”

“Is that all you think of?”

“When I’ve got a thousand bucks of my money on the line and a girl like you in my bed—”

“I’m beginning to think your bark’s worse than your bite.”

“I’ve got a helluva bite. I promise you’ll love it.” His voice was a soft, sensual rumble. “Just say the word and I’ll nibble you all over.”

“Would you quit!”

When he fell silent, the shadows in the room seemed to darken. When she’d been a little girl, her aunt had told her the witches lived in the closet and they’d get her if she got out of bed.

Willa had thought the witches had yellow eyes and long black fingernails. On a shudder, she closed her eyes. Terrifying darkness enveloped her. Instead of witches she saw Brand. Her eyes snapped open.

Willa got out of bed and scrambled across the floor to McKade’s chair. Her hands climbed his jeans, fingernails clawing the denim. Huddling at his feet, she seized his long fingers and held on tightly. His long, brown fingers closed over hers.

He drew a breath. So did she.

“I’m scared of the dark.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

So, she told him about her parents, about the accident, about the two days and nights before she was saved.

“I was dehydrated and sunburned, but most of all, ever since, I’ve been terrified of the dark. Tonight when I was alone in that shack, it was like that storm. I had lost everything…all my illusions. The shack was so dark. I—I could hear things crawling. I—I couldn’t have stayed there two days…and two nights…wondering what would happen to me.…I would have gone really mad, died of fear. I know I would have. You came. You saved me.”

He stood up. Slowly, he pulled her up with him. He said nothing, he just held her, and never had rougher hands felt more gentle. After a long time, he lifted her into his arms and carried her back to the bed where he tucked her under the crisp sheets.

When he rose to go, she blindly circled his neck with her arms and held on. “Move your chair closer.”

His fingers tightened on hers. “Be careful what you ask for.” His eyes blazed.

She let him go.

When he’d scooted the wooden legs across the floor and sat down, she fell asleep almost instantly. This time, because she knew he was there to keep her demons and her aunt’s witches at bay, her dreams were pleasant.

“I’m going to kill me a bastard.”

Willa’s eyes slitted open. Blearily, she fought to focus on the blaze of pink splashed on the far wall. Through the screen of her dense lashes, she saw that the fake leather chair beside the bed was empty.

McKade. He was gone. He’d left her. But her fuzzy thoughts were brain chatter, delivering no emotional punch. Then she heard more chatter. No, raised voices from the next room!

“You can’t tell me what to do, you bastard. You’re nothing to me. Nothing.”

“Ditto, you histrionic, self-destructive…punk.”

“You’d give anything to be me, to be his real son.…”

“You’re wrong.” But McKade’s voice was soft, and strangely hoarse.

“You don’t like being our bastard, do you?”

“If you shot him, you sorry sonofabitch, and talked to the press about me, my name might get in the papers.”

“Your precious name? What a laugh.”

For an instant, Willa was back in the shack. The redheaded man, no boy, the redheaded boy with the scary eyes was waving his gun and acting crazy. He was here, threatening McKade of all people.