Jeez, she had to go on vacation to wherever the hell Aidan was from. Obviously Hunkalicious on the porch was from there, too. Same brogue.
Same sword fetish. Same hotness level.
"I'm going to stay here until they get back," he pronounced, taking a step forward.
Stacey didn't budge. "No way."
He crossed his arms. "Listen, sweetheart, I'm not in the mood to play games. I feel like shit. I need to crash for a while."
"Listen, babe," she retorted, mimicking his pose.
"I'm not playing. Sorry you feel like crap, but my day sucks, too. Go crash somewhere else."
She watched his jaw tighten. "Aidan wouldn't want me staying anywhere else."
"Oh yeah? He didn't say anything to me about anyone coming by. I don't know you from Adam."
"Connor Bruce." He thrust a massive hand at her.
She hesitated a moment, then took it. The heat of his palm burned her skin and spread tingles up her arm. She blinked.
"Stacey Daniels."
"Hi, Stacey." He tugged her into his chest, lifted her feet from the tile, and stepped into the condo, kicking the door shut behind them.
"Hey!" she protested, trying to ignore how delicious he smelled. Musky and exotic. Male.
Sexual male. Dominant male. It made her want to bury her face in his powerful neck and breathe him in.
Wrap her legs around his hips and rub up against him. Absolutely bizarre considering how pissed off at him she was.
"It stinks outside," he complained. "I'm not standing out there anymore."
"You can't just barge in here!"
"Sure, I can."
"Okay, you can. That doesn't mean you should."
Connor paused in the living room and looked around. Then he set her down, lifted his sword-holder-thingy over his head, and leaned it against the wall near the door.
"I'm going to bed." He stretched his arms and back in a pose that made her mouth water.
"It's still morning!"
"So? Don't touch that." He pointed to his sword, then turned toward the stairs.
"Fuck you." Stacey set her hands on her hips and glared.
He paused with one booted foot on the lower step. His gaze dropped to her bare feet, then rose slowly and hotly all the way back up, stopping at the juncture between her legs, then her breasts, before lingering over her lips and meeting her eyes. She'd never been stripped bare like that before in her life. She swore he'd looked right through her low-slung jeans and tank top to the skin below. Her breasts swelled, her nipples hardened. Without a bra—hey, she wasn't expecting company—it was obvious his perusal had turned her on.
"I'm tempted, darling." His brogue was thick and warm. "But I'm in no condition to do you justice right now. Ask me again when I wake up."
Her foot tapped on the carpet. "I'm not your honey, sweetheart, or darling. And if you go upstairs, I'm calling the police."
Connor grinned, which transformed his features from too-hot-to-handle to absolutely divine.
"Sure thing. Make sure they bring handcuffs…and leave them behind."
"They won't be leaving you behind!" How in hell could
the
man
make
her
hot
and
bothered and hot under the collar at the same time?
"Call Aidan," he suggested, climbing the stairs. "Or Lyssa. Tell them Connor's here. See ya later."
Running over to the stairs, Stacey prepared to yell up at him. Instead she found herself admiring his perfect ass. Her mouth snapped shut. She hustled to the kitchen and picked up the phone. A minute later, the odd phone-ring-ing-in-a-bucket sound told her the call was connecting to the hotel in Rosarito Beach, Mexico.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Doc." Climbing on to one of the barstools, Stacey snatched a pen out of the pen holder and began to doodle on the drawing pad by the cordless phone's base. She had to flip past several flawless renderings of Aidan in order to find a blank page. Most doctors had the worst handwriting. Lyssa was a veterinarian, but she had an amazing talent for drawing.
"Hey, Stace," Lyssa greeted, sounding relieved.
Stacey still hadn't figured out what it was that had Lyssa so stressed out. After years of looking run down and emotionally bereft, Lyssa had blossomed after reuniting with Aidan. She'd put on much needed weight and seemed more rested.
But she also seemed anxious in a way that concerned Stacey no small amount. She worried that it might have something to do with Aidan.
Maybe the fear that he wouldn't stick around?
After all, the man had left Lyssa at some point and then come back for her.
"Are you okay, Doc?"
"Yes. Great. It's beautiful here."
Hearing the wary tone fade into dreamy, Stacey set aside her concern for her friend and returned her thoughts to her own dilemma. "Awesome.
Hey, I've got a problem. Do you know a guy named Connor?"
"Connor?"
"Yeah, Connor. Big, blond, bad attitude?"
"Oh my god… How do you know what he looks like?"
Stacey sighed. "So you do know him. I don't know if I'm relieved or bummed."
"Stacey. How do you know what Connor looks like?" Lyssa's voice now sounded the way it did when she had to explain a terminal illness to a patient's owner.
"He's here, Doc. Showed up about ten minutes ago and made himself at home. I told him to find another place to shack up, but—"
"No! Don't let him out of your sight!"
Jerking back from the handset, Stacey scowled down at the receiver, listening to the conversation from a safe distance since Lyssa was now shouting excitedly.
"He's Aidan's best friend… might get lost… don't let him leave… Stacey, are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here," she replied, lifting the phone back up to her ear with a harsh exhale. "You know, the guy is hot as hell, but he's a real pain in the ass. Bossy and arrogant. Rude. JB is tough enough to live with, but two jerks at once?"
"I'll give you a raise," Lyssa cajoled.
"Right. I'm making more money than you now, I think." Not really, but they both knew she was overpaid. Lyssa was way too generous. "Seriously, I can handle him." I want to handle him, all over.
That was part of the problem. She was always attracted to the wrong sort of guys. Always had been.
"Don't take it personally. They're all kind of… abrupt where Aidan comes from," Lyssa said.
"Which is where exactly?" Stacey had been trying to pin down a location for months.
"Somewhere by Scotland, I think."
"You still haven't asked him?"
"It's not important," Lyssa dismissed. "Aidan ran up to the liquor store for a six-pack, but when he gets back, he'll call and talk to Connor. I'll ask him to speak to him about proper politeness, okay?"
"Yeah, I can see that working." Stacey shook her head. "Connor's taking a nap now. Said he felt like shit or something. He showed up in some getup with a sword, looks like he came from a Star Wars convention or something."
"Oh. Crap." There was a long pause. "He's going to be sick for a bit, Stacey. Not long, several hours or overnight. He'll run a fever, get the chills."
"Huh? How do you know?" Lyssa was good, but come on. No doctor could diagnose a patient she hadn't seen or talked to.
"It's some freaky acclimation thing when they get off the plane. You know… new world and all that."
"New world?"
Lyssa cursed under her breath. "As in the-pilgrims-and-conquistador-type New World, not new world as in distant planets."
"Sure, Doc." Stacey tapped the pen against the tile countertop. "Whatever you say. Drink bottled water in Mexico, okay? I think they have nasty stuff in the taps down there."
Laughing, Lyssa said, "No worries. I'm not stoned."
"Uh huh. So, do you have a suggestion for the flu-like thing?"
"Tylenol, if he needs it. Otherwise, just let him sleep until he gets up on his own."
"That's easy enough."
"Great. Thank you for being so understanding about this. You're the best."
Stacey said good-bye with a promise to keep the handset nearby in anticipation of Aidan's phone call. Then she sat there for long moments, thinking back over her day, lingering over the moment she'd opened the front door and found Connor standing there. At least she wasn't concentrating so heavily on Justin and Tommy, but she shouldn't be thinking so hard about Connor either. She was hard up, that's all. She was not reverting to her tried-and-true pattern of being sexually attracted to a bad boy who would totally screw up her life.
Pushing off the stool, Stacey moved to the nearby dining table where her textbooks were spread out. She had finally gone back to college. The first time, she'd planned to be a writer and had been taking English and creative writing courses. Now, thirteen years later, she was fulfilling the requirements to become a veterinary technician.
She was content with that decision and proud of herself for going back to school. Dreams had to grow up just like people did. Raising a child alone had changed the nexus of her life.
That's where her focus should be. Not on the hunk in bed upstairs.
Easier said than done, of course.
The lushly curved redhead crossing the street wasn't human.
If Aidan Cross hadn't spent centuries killing Nightmares he might not have been observant enough to notice, and if he hadn't been deeply in love, he might have been more interested in the woman's
body
than
her
boots.
But
he was observant and firmly on the shelf, so while it was her crimson hair that caught his eye—and the eye of every other man walking the street—it was her combat boots that held his attention.