Dead Man's Bluff (25 page)

She
hated that about him. How quickly he could take control of her and the
situation. “Why are you here anyways? Did you run out of hoes to sleep with?” She
used her free hand to shove against his shoulder as it shook with laughter.

“Now,
that’s not nice.” He seized her wrist with a hand, his grin widening. “You’re
not wearing the ring.”

“Of
course you and your big ego are going to take that as a sign,” she bit out, her
body already starting to melt into his.

“Thank
you.” he whispered.

“I
didn’t break up with him for you…”

“Then
why did you?”

“It
was the right thing to do.”

He
wouldn’t stop smiling. It was making her antsy, kind of squirmy underneath him,
like she was trapped. Wait! She was trapped! She was handcuffed to the bed!

“Unlock
…”

“No.
Not yet.” Kiss.

“Please.”
Kiss.

“No.”
His hands cupped her face and he kept kissing her, kissing her like he had all
day just to enjoy tasting her lips. The rest him matched the unhurried pace,
his erection stroking her center. He grinned, “I lied.”

Her
stomach plummeted. Lying never was a good thing. He must of noticed her sudden distress,
because his mouth quirked up at the corner, and he kissed her once more saying,
“I think your hair is sexy.” As proof he brushed her bangs out of her eyes his
fingertips continuing the motion to the tips of the hair falling along her
chin. The way he looked at her gave her chills and oddly turned her on more
than anything he’d ever done. The gentle, tender way he was touching her was an
aphrodisiac and she responded to his petting by slightly arching her body into
his.

“It’s
not too ‘anal, school teacher’ for you?” she teased.

“Not
at all. It’s sexy. Just like your ears are sexy.” He nipped her lobes. “And
your throat is sexy.” He nibbled his way down. “And your shoulders are sexy.”
His warm, wet mouth moved out over her shoulder. The slow simmer inside of her
ignited, blazing hot. His voice rumbled near her ear, hoarse, full of desire,
“Will you trust me enough to let me see the rest of you?”

Her
heart hammered in her chest. Her body screamed, yes trust him, TRUST HIM, but
her head was saying no. She shifted into defensive mode.  Her words came out in
a rush, “After the reconstruction surgery… the doctor says you won’t even be
able to tell I ever had a mastectomy. I’ll look the same as I did before.”

Perfect.

He
lifted his head, those dark eyes of his narrowing on her face. “What if they’re
wrong?”

She
sucked in a breath and held it and would have broken eye contact if he hadn’t
been holding her face, keeping her from looking away. Instead she frowned. “That’s
a horrible thing to say.”

“Don’t
get upset. I’m just asking if you can be happy with your body…even if it’s
flawed.”

“A
lot of women don’t like their bodies!”

He
actually had the nerve to offer a lazy grin. “A lot of women do.”

“And
I bet you’ve slept with most of them!”

Lazy
grin gone. “Filly, you’re being childish.”

“You’re
being intrusive!”

He
raised a brow. “You might as well get used to me seeing you. I’m not going
anywhere.”

Deep
breath. She was stalling, thinking of every excuse. Her green eyes flitted up
to the bedpost. “Uncuff me first.”

“Umm,
I don’t think so.” The cocky grin appeared. He chewed on the inside of his
cheek, giving it some thought. Her stomach fluttered. He added, “If you think
about it I can do anything I want and there’s really not a damn thing you can
do about it.”

She
returned the grin, realizing she had the upper hand.  “Okay genius…how do you
plan on undressing me WHILE I’m attached to the bed?”

Naturally,
there should have been a moment, a beat, where he had to give it some thought,
but there wasn’t. His hands left her face and the sound of satin being torn caused
a squeal to erupt from her mouth. The chemise lay gapping open to just below
her chest. Before she had time to process her thoughts his head dipped and his
lips gently brushed her scar. She flinched, but as his palms smoothed out over
her bare flesh in an accepting way she began to relax.

“Don’t
ever hide anything from me again,” he ordered, working to remove the cuff.
Finally free, what she wanted more than anything was to touch him, everywhere. His
words vibrated over her lips, “And don’t ever tell me I can’t do something. You’re
mine, and that means all of you.” His gaze bore into her very soul. “Do you
understand, Megan?”

“Yes,”
she gasped. And then he was kissing her roughly, passionately. Oh God! How had
she ever thought she could deny herself this feeling? In a matter of seconds
they were both completely naked, bodies entangled as he moved inside her.
♠

Her knee wouldn’t stop bouncing. Suddenly his hand was there to
still it. Her gaze slid to the chair next to hers to see him studying her. He
held up a hand as if to calm her. “Baby, it’s okay. Relax.”

She snorted. “That’s easy for you to say. It’s not your body.”

He grinned smugly, which only managed to piss her off. “What are
you smiling about?” she snapped, because honestly, nothing about what was
happening was funny!

“Umm you might want to…” his words were cut off as the door
opened, Dr. Murphy’s footsteps crossing the small office, papers shuffling.

Drew’s dark eyes widened still connected with hers, one last
effort to tell her something. He quickly gestured at her shoulder, biting into
his bottom lip to keep from laughing. Dr. Murphy took a seat behind his desk,
scraped his chair closer. Megan’s hand flew to her shoulder to find a burping
cloth draped over it. Oh shit! She’d been in such a hurry when her mother had
come in immediately cooing and taking over like any thrilled grandparent, Megan
had completely forgotten. She jerked the burping cloth from her shoulder, her
cheeks heating miserably as she snarled low, “It’s not funny! I haven’t been
away from her since she was born!”

“Okay, “Doctor Murphy was saying. Drew’s hand covered hers on the
arm of the chair, his finger threading with hers and he squeezed letting her
know he would be there no matter what. Doctor Murphy folded his arms on top of
the desk and gave her the same ‘this is bad news’ look he gave her the first
time around. “The biopsy confirms my suspicions, Megan; the tumor in your right
breast is malignant.”

Megan shot straight up in the bed; covered in sweat, gasping for
breath as her heart pounded in her chest. She must have cried out at some
point, because Drew’s strong arms were there immediately, protecting her,
sliding around her waist, a delicate kiss being placed in the curve of her
neck. “Shh…it’s okay. You feel asleep.”

She collapsed back down on her side facing away from him,
trembling inside and out. He scooted up against her, shoving a leg between
hers, his chest warming her back “Tell me about the dream.”

“I can’t,” her voice shook.

“No more hiding. Tell me.”

She swallowed hard. “I dreamed the cancer was back, only this time
it was in my right breast.”

No need to mention the part about the baby. “You were there…with
me.”

He chuckled softly, pulling her tighter to him. “At least you
included me this time.”

“It’s not funny, Drew!”

“I know, but it was just a bad dream, baby.”

“What if it was a premonition?”

There was the soft touch of his lips on her shoulder. “There’s no
such thing. It was just your subconscious dealing with the past.”

Her hands were wedged between her cheek and the pillow, tears
wetting them. “You know what the worst part is…”

“What?”

“Going through life thinking something like that
can
never
happen to you, and then it does…it leaves you with a sense of dread…of knowing
how easily it
can
happen to you. It’s a wakeup call and you spend the
rest of your life knowing how quickly bad things can happen …that’s the worst
part. The unknown. I’m sorry. I’m probably not making any sense?"

“You’re making perfect sense and if something unforeseeable did
happen… we’d face it together. I love you more than you can imagine,” he
whispered.
♠

Epilogue

Paul
Stratford had sold his soul to the devil.

Jonathan
Mackenzie was a curse. An addiction. The desire to beat the man was stronger
than any craving and would most likely be the end of Paul’s marriage.

“Good swing, ol’buddy, but step back and watch a pro.” Wack!
Squinted eyes. A perfect hole in one. “Don’t look so gloom. I tried to tell you
my son could get that stepdaughter of yours into his bed again,” Mackenzie
turned, his iron nonchalantly propped over a shoulder, the smugness in his
smile practically blinding as he held up two fingers, “Twice now, I’ve beat you
with the same bet. Hell, I even had the odds stacked against me the second time
around…an engagement, sickness, resentment, lies, pride…shit I could go on and
on…but it wouldn’t matter the endings still the same…I WIN!”

He clamped a hand on Stratford’s slumped shoulder. “On top of
everything else, I had to let Blackwell think he was controlling the entire situation.
Now that showed real restraint on my part. Oh, don’t worry…I’m sure Lillian
won’t really snip off your nuts. She just says that shit to keep you in line,
you know that right?”

Every muscle in Stratford’s body tightened.  “Have you ever lost a
bet?”
 

Mackenzie grinned, “Come to think of it, no, I don’t believe I
have. You know success runs in my family.”

So does pompous ass smugness, but they’d already established that.
 

Jonathan’s bottom crushed the air out of the leather seat of the
golf cart. He slid on a pair of dark sunglasses. He chuckled. “
There’s always
tomorrow old friend.”

“What’s
left to bet on?”

“Let’s
see…how about I bet you I can make that pretty little Emma wife number eight?”

Stratford
snorted, “She’s young enough to be your daughter.”

“So
was wife number seven.”

“Yeah,
look how well ‘lucky number seven’ turned out. I think you better stick to
women your own age or at least close to it.”

Right
then Mackenzie’s cell vibrated in the pocket of his dress pants. He dug it out
and smiled. “Hold that thought…It’s Drew.  I knew he couldn’t stay mad long. ” Mack
held the cell to his ear, settling into the leather and propping a foot on the
dash.  “What’s up, son. Are you missing me already?” Silence on Mackenzie’s end
then... “What the hell are you talking about?”  Mack’s face turned kind of
green. He reached up tugging at the collar of his sweater as if he was having trouble
breathing. “…a damn baby? HOW?”

Paul
Stratford burst out laughing.

How?
 

That
had to be the craziest thing he’d ever heard come out of his Ol’ buddy’s mouth.

             
     
♠