Chapter Two

 

 

“I don’t know what to wear.” After work, Bellamy stared at her friend and neighbor Zoe Sinclair while she kept her company in the master bedroom.

Zoe currently lounged back on the bed, ankles crossed, while their other neighbor, drag queen extraordinaire Charisma Struts, rifled through Bellamy’s closet.

“That’s why we’re here,” Zoe said with a grin. “Well, that’s why Charisma’s here. She’ll figure something out. I’m here for moral support.”

“Girl, if he’s takin’ you to Sullivan’s,” came Charisma’s voice from the closet, “then you know you gotta rock an LBD.”

Bellamy blinked. Looking at Zoe, she asked sotto voce, “LBD?”

“Little black dress.” Zoe looked toward the closet and said in a louder voice, “I didn’t wear an LBD when I had my date with Griff at Sullivan’s.”

Bellamy had heard all about Zoe and Griffin Jericho’s reunion after spending nearly a decade apart. It had been hard going for them at first, but they’d made it. Zoe was actually in the process of moving in with Griffin, who was now her fiancé.

“Only ’cause you were adamant you weren’t going to have sex with him,” Charisma returned, a disembodied voice out of view. “And yet you still got laid, didn’t you?”

Zoe’s cheeks pinkened, but her grin was fit to split her face. “Yep.”

“Um, I don’t have a little black dress,” Bellamy confessed.

Mouth agape, Zoe sat up.

Charisma popped out of the closet, all six-plus feet of her in a sequined crimson gown and man-sized platform Mary Janes, an identical look of astonishment on her face as she stood in the doorway. “How can you not have a little black dress? Zoe’s got, like, ten of ’em.”

“Fourteen now, actually.” When Bellamy looked at her, Zoe shrugged. “Griff really likes taking them off me.”

“TMI, girlfriend,” Charisma said with a shake of her finger. “But maybe the Bellster here could borrow one for tonight?” She gave them both a once-over with an experienced eye. “You seem to be about the same size, though Bellamy’s a couple inches taller.”

Zoe popped off the bed. “I’ll go grab a couple of the longer ones.”

“Nothing too risqué,” Bellamy called after her.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Bellamy heard the front door close and looked at Charisma. “I’m really more of a jeans and tee shirt and work clothes kinda girl,” she said, feeling like she should apologize for not having even one LBD.

Charisma shook her head. “Girrrrl,” she drawled, waving one hand with red lacquered nails in the air. “We are gonna change that.” She walked out of the closet with much more grace than Bellamy would’ve been able to muster on platform shoes with five-inch heels. “Show me your accessories.”

Within minutes she was pawing through Bellamy’s limited jewelry collection. After Bellamy had stopped working as a cop, she’d determined she would only buy pieces made with real jewels, with none of that gold-plated nonsense that turned her skin green. Which meant that Charisma had slim pickings from which to choose because, while Bellamy made better money now, she had a hard time spending it on trivial things like necklaces and earrings.

At one point, Charisma looked up and shook her head. “Darlin’,” she muttered on a scowl, “don’t take this the wrong way, but this hoard of yours is paltry.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know that it can actually be called a hoard, it’s so paltry,” Bellamy responded, not bothered by the criticism.

She heard the front door open, and in a few seconds Zoe walked into the room, black dresses slung over her arm.

“Now we’re talkin’!” Charisma left the jewelry box and took the dresses from Zoe. She held one up and stared at it with a critical eye. “Nope,” she muttered and tossed it onto the bed.

“Hey!” Zoe grabbed the dress and shook it out, then laid it much more carefully across the bedspread. “Just hand me the ones you’re not interested in, okay?”

Charisma merely rolled her eyes. She handed over another one, holding up the one she had kept. “This one.”

Bellamy walked over and studied it. It looked kind of…skimpy. She winced. “I don’t know…”

“What’s not to know?” Charisma thrust it out at her. “Go try it on.”

Bellamy took it and went into the bathroom to change. She made a point of not looking in the mirror, because if she did, she knew she’d talk herself out of it. She’d never in her life been much of a girly-girl, and if she saw what she looked like in this dress, she might just lose her nerve altogether.

When she went back into the bedroom she was met with wide eyes and silence. She blinked. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. This was bad. She turned back toward the bathroom. “I’ll take it off.”

“Don’t. You. Dare!” Charisma came forward. Grabbing her by the hand, the drag queen led her over to her vanity. “Park your ass here,” she ordered with a gesture at the vanity stool.

“Um—”

“Sit down and let Charisma do your makeup,” Zoe urged from the spot she’d reclaimed on the bed. “Her contouring alone is to die for.”

Bellamy sat where Charisma wanted her. An hour and a half later, she was pronounced ready. Her makeup was amazing, and her hair was piled up in a complicated mass on top of her head. She stood and smoothed her hands down the dress.

“Shoes!” Charisma shouted and dashed into the closet, only to let out a wail a few minutes later. “Girrrrrl. You have no shoes.”

“Well, nothing that will go with an LBD,” she agreed.

“What size do you wear?” Zoe asked.

“Nine.”

She shook her head. “Darn. Charisma’s a size twelve, and I wear eights.”

“Cram her feet into a pair of yours,” Charisma yelled.

“And have her only thought during the entire date be how much her feet hurt? No.” Zoe got up and joined Charisma in the closet. “These will work,” she said and came back into the bedroom with a pair of black heels Bellamy thought she’d last worn about two years before.

“Oh, but—”

“Charisma,” Zoe muttered, cutting the drag queen off, “there’s no time to go shopping. These will do.”

“Fine.” Charisma flopped down onto the vanity stool while Zoe handed the shoes to Bellamy.

She slipped on the three-inch heeled peep-toe pumps and smoothed the dress over her hips again. “Well?”

“Oh, sweetie…” Zoe climbed off the bed and put an arm around Bellamy’s waist, drawing her to the full-length mirror adhered to her closet door. “Just look at yourself. You’re beautiful. Maddox won’t know what hit him.”

An hour later, when he stood in the doorway of her apartment without speaking but with heat flaring in his eyes, she figured Zoe knew what she was talking about.

~ * ~

Even though the heat remained in Maddox’s eyes, he nevertheless managed to set Bellamy at ease during dinner and kept the conversation flowing. As she pushed her plate away and leaned back in her chair, she asked, “So, what does JR stand for?”

“Joseph Rutledge,” he answered readily. He, too, had leaned back in his chair and brought his coffee cup to his lips.

“Family name?” she asked, dragging her gaze away from his sexy mouth. Somewhat thinner upper lip rode on top of a full lower lip that beckoned her.

He gave a nod. “Rutledge is my mother’s maiden name. I was named Joseph after my dad and his dad.”

“Little Joey the third,” she murmured, picturing this big, tough man as a little boy.

“Usually Joseph by my mom,” he said with a chuckle, “even when I wasn’t in trouble. But the rest of my family and friends call me Maddox. Have since I was just a wee little guy.”

Bellamy thought that was a little odd. She must have made a face, because he asked, “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“No, seriously. What?”

She huffed a short sigh. “It just feels so impersonal to me, calling someone by their last name. Especially between friends and family.”

“My dad and granddad both go by Joe. It’s too confusing to have all three of us being called the same name.”

She frowned. “Then they shouldn’t have named you Joseph. They could call you by your initials, JR, instead of using your last name.”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. I know they love me.”

She was glad he felt that way. She just wasn’t sure she could get used to calling him by his last name. “I thought maybe it was because of the time you spent in the military,” she said. “I know only the last name is on the uniform, so military members refer to each other by their last names, sometimes not even knowing the first names of the people in their unit.”

Maddox nodded. “That’s true enough.” He studied her a moment then leaned forward and said, “You can call me Joe if you want.”

Knowing she’d be the only one outside of his mother who used his first name gave Bellamy a glow of satisfaction deep inside. She felt like she’d been granted a boon by the king, then gave herself a mental kick for making such a big deal out of it. It was just a name.

The server walked up to the table. “Can I get dessert for anyone?” she asked with a big smile.

“Oh, not for me,” Bellamy answered, putting one hand on her stomach. She’d eaten until she’d been ready to burst, but it was so good she hadn’t been able to stop. “I feel like I’m going to pop as it is.”

“I’ll just take the check, thanks.” Maddox fished out his wallet while the server pulled a leather bill holder from her apron and placed it on the table. After giving a brief perusal of the receipt, he slid a credit card into the plastic pocket at the top and handed it to her.

They were back in his car and on the road in under ten minutes. As he pulled to the curb in front of her house, Bellamy twisted on the seat to face him. She’d had such a good time. She wasn’t ready for the night to end. “Would you like to come in for a drink? Or more coffee?” she asked. “I have pie, too.”

His lips curled up on one side, giving her girly parts a bit of a tickle in reaction. “I make it a practice to never say no to pie,” he murmured and shut off the engine. He climbed out from behind the wheel and walked around to her side of the car. She hid a grin as he opened the door and helped her out of the low-slung vehicle. When he asked, “What kind of pie?” it surprised a laugh out of her.

“Does it matter?” she asked with a smile.

He cupped her elbow as they went up the walkway toward the front door. “Not really.” He waited while she unlocked the door. They went inside. As she pushed the door closed and locked it, he murmured, “I’ll just have a walk around, all right?”

He went down the hallway before she could respond. Part of her immediately took offense, feeling as if he were treating her like a helpless female that needed taking care of instead of acknowledging she could take care of herself. Another part of her preened at the thought of being taken care of for once.

She turned and twisted the deadbolt into a locked position, then moved into the kitchen and turned on the light. As she began getting coffee brewing, she heard Maddox—no, Joe!—walking toward her but stopping on the other side of the kitchen island. She turned away from the counter to face him. “What’s the report, General?” she asked pertly.

He grinned and shrugged. “Captain, actually. And we’re clear,” he answered. “My walk-throughs are habit when someone’s under a threat.”

She frowned. “You’re saying you think I’m under a threat?”

“She referred to you in that one note,” he reminded her. “If she thinks you’re in the way, she could try to remove you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I’ve no doubt.”

She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee into each of them. “Sugar?” she asked. “Milk?”

“Black will do, thanks.”

Bellamy handed Joe his coffee. “Have a seat,” she said with a nod toward one of the island chairs, a wood-and-metal industrial-farmhouse-style stool. “Oh, the pie! I almost forgot.” Turning, she retrieved the dessert from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. After she brought down two small plates and grabbed a couple of forks from the silverware drawer, she cut two slices.

“Hmm. Is that mixed berry?”

“Yep.” She placed a piece of pie on a plate and slid it toward him. “Store bought,” she added and named a national food manufacturer. “But it’s really good.” She turned back to the fridge and pulled out a can of whipped cream. “Here.” She set it down on the island in front of him. When he squirted out an extremely large dollop, she grinned. “How ’bout some pie with your whipped cream?” she teased.

“I have something of a sweet tooth,” he admitted with a lopsided smile and speared a big forkful of foam-coated pie into his mouth.

That crooked grin drew her attention to his sexy mouth again, and she saw a smear of white on the corner of his lips. Without thought, she leaned forward and swiped her thumb across it. “Whipped cream,” she whispered when his gaze cut to hers.

He lifted one big hand and gently grasped hers, then brought her thumb into the wet heat of his mouth. When he lifted his head, he rasped, “Tastes much better this way.”

The desire that had been simmering since the moment she’d met him boiled over. Bellamy came around to Joe’s side of the island and gave his hand a tug. “Come with me,” she whispered.

He followed her down the hallway, a large, warm presence behind her. When they reached her bedroom, she turned into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, hard. Possessive.

She melted against him, lost in the passionate, drugging kiss. Every thought scattered from her head like dry autumn leaves blowing on a windswept street until nothing was left except instinct, a primal yearning for intimacy.

She pressed closer, breasts flattening against his firm, broad chest. Desire pooled in her belly, heating her blood, thrumming between her thighs. She slid her arms around his waist, beneath his suit jacket, and spread her fingers across the strong muscles of his back. She could feel his body heat through the fine silk of his shirt, and it wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

When he pulled his head back, she moaned her disapproval. She lifted weighted lids and stared up at him.

“You’re so beautiful.” One lean hand lifted to sweep a few strands of hair from her cheek. His gaze drifted over her face before settling on her swollen lips. “So beautiful,” he muttered and lowered his head again.

His hands moved on her back, her hips, drawing her close to the hardened contours of his lower body. Passion flared. She clung to him, hungry for more, her hands leaving his back to slide to his shoulders, shoving at his jacket. He let go of her long enough to shrug out of it, letting it fall to the floor. He jerked at his tie, letting it fall to the floor, too. As she buried her fingers in the thick, dark hair at his nape, he lifted her and carried her to the bed. Lowering her onto it, he followed her down, bracing himself on his forearms.

His body lay heavy against hers, long legs tangled with hers. His lips ate at her mouth as if he couldn’t stop kissing her. Somehow, she managed to wedge her hands between them and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, the backs of her fingers brushing against warm, hair-roughened skin, eliciting a deep groan from Joe.

Bellamy’s heart thudded like a mad thing against her ribs. She ached for more, but for a moment sanity returned. “Wait…” she breathed against Joe’s mouth. Even as the word left her, she was arching into him.

“I want you.” Eyes dark with need stared into hers. He placed a soft kiss on the hinge of her jaw then lifted his head and met her gaze. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll stop.”

She should. She really should tell him, it was too soon, but, dear God, she wanted him. Denying him was out of the question. It might come back to bite her in the rear, but right now she was going to live in the moment. Looking up into his angular face, dark with carnal need, she could do nothing less.

She knew the same desire was reflected in her expression. Staring at his muscular chest, she was entranced by the sight of his tanned skin and black hair scattered across his pecs and trailing down his taut abdomen in an enticing trail. “Yes,” she murmured, reaching out to touch him, letting her fingers stroke over his chest. “I want you.”

He reared back and moved her hand to the bed next to her hip. “In a moment you can touch me,” he husked, his voice deep. “For now, though, let me do the touching. I don’t have much control right now.”

He didn’t look happy with that admission, but before she could comment he lifted her enough to reach the zipper of her dress. With a deftness that stole her breath, he removed her clothes, then his. She drew in a breath upon seeing the rampant erection he smoothly rolled a condom onto. As he came back down over her once more, he murmured, “Keep your hands where they are, sweetheart, until I say otherwise.”

His mouth returned to hers, tongue sliding along hers in a kiss so carnal it made her shiver. He kissed his way down her throat, pausing over her pulse then lingering on her breasts. “Lovely.” He suckled and nipped the sensitive tips until she undulated beneath him. Her hands went to his head to hold him and he immediately grabbed them and put them back at her sides. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep them there.”

He went back to her breasts while one big hand cupped her between her legs. As his long fingers delved into the hot, slick readiness he found there, she gasped and shuddered with need. He licked the tip of one breast and continued his sensual torment at the heart of her femininity, driving her pleasure higher.

Bellamy whimpered, bucking beneath him, trying to get closer. Needing to get closer. “Let me touch you, Joe,” she pleaded. “I have to…”

He eased into her, his hardness piercing her softness. “Yes, now. Touch me.”

She wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and ran her hands over his massive chest, making sure her nails grazed his hard nipples. He bucked against her, his eyes flaring with heat. He began moving within her, his thrusts hard, sure, his mouth returning to her breasts.

Her body began to tighten, the exquisite tension growing and growing until it snapped, toppling her into a forceful detonation of release. She vaguely heard his shout of completion, and after a few seconds he groaned and collapsed onto her. His heavy breath gusted against her neck, his chest rose and fell against her as he came down from his own climax.

Bellamy kept her eyes closed and rubbed her palms up and down Joe’s back, acutely conscious of each muscle of the powerful man under her hands. She relished his heavy body on top of her, his head on her shoulder, his raspy breathing evening out. He pulled away, sliding out of her, and lay on his back next to her. “That,” he muttered, “was much better than store-bought pie.”

She came up on an elbow and smiled down at him. Reaching out, she sifted her fingers through his hair, causing several strands to flop onto his forehead. Discounting the gray at his temples, the fringe made him look younger. Not as tough.

More like a Joe and less like a Maddox.

She had a feeling she was going to like both of them, though. Very much.