He wasn’t a problem she had to solve on her own. But he’d already told her that.
“If we don’t switch up the mood, I’m going to be an emotional mess.”
God, he loved her. “You can be a mess with me.”
A reluctant, only slightly sad smile teased her beautiful mouth. “I’ve been a mess with you too many times already. For tonight, I just want to forget Carver and the past. I want to enjoy you.” Her heated gaze coerced him; her hands moved over him in irresistible ways. Lowering her voice, she whispered, “You can do that for me.”
Given there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her, how could he argue with that? He couldn’t. Whether she was flirting, laughing, crying or sick, she was his. He’d show her that, and maybe by morning she’d believe it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
STRETCHING AWAKE ON the narrow, uncomfortable bed, Carver glanced at the clock. Nearly 7:00 a.m. He should go back to sleep but he knew he wouldn’t. In the bed next to him, Mitty snored loud enough to rattle the windows and Gene muttered in his sleep.
But that wasn’t what kept him awake.
Off and on all night Cherry had plagued his brain, leaving him edgy, too hot.
And angry.
Between dark, stirring dreams, he’d awakened a dozen times to ponder her reaction to the surprise he’d left in her car. Did she scream? Cry?
Did her fucking boyfriend console her?
Carver’s hands fisted and his breathing deepened. Eventually, he knew, he’d make that guy pay. For interfering. For fucking her.
For having what Carver wanted.
Despite her hulking protector, it had been easy to pull the hoax. Too easy. He’d disabled the car to get her to leave it behind, and when she did, reacting exactly as he’d wanted, he, Gene and Mitty had slipped through the dead of night to dump in the snakes and various insects.
God, he wished he could have been there to watch her when she first opened that door. But even though he was a risk taker, he knew that’d be pushing the limits. On the quiet street filled with middle-class families, there’d be no place to hide, no place to wait and watch.
Staring up at the ceiling of the cheap motel room, Carver grinned. Cherry had always suffered a bone-deep fear of insects—a phobia he’d often used to taunt her. Once, when she’d been about fifteen, he’d dropped a big, juicy grasshopper down the back of her shirt.
Screaming as if he’d poured scalding water on her, she’d shed the shirt to free the hopper. Even then she’d had big tits. Didn’t matter that she wore a plain white cotton bra. He’d gotten a boner, as had both his brothers. Janet had come running, bitched them all out, and taken Cherry inside.
But not before he’d stomped the bug, squishing guts everywhere—and almost making Cherry barf.
From that moment on, he’d taken perverse pleasure in putting a centipede in her bed, a cockroach in her cereal. Once he’d pinned her down beneath him, a cicada in his hand, and made her kiss him.
She’d cried the whole time, but damn, she’d tasted good.
Fuck. Carver sat up in a rush and ran both hands over his face. A crying, closemouthed kiss from a schoolgirl, and it still turned him on to think of it. When he got her again, he’d tie her down and do whatever he wanted to her. He knew her secrets.
As much as she feared snakes and bugs, she feared rape more.
Mitty raised his head. “What are you doin’?” Eyes squinted, he checked the clock. “You okay, Carver?”
Face half smashed in a pillow, Gene sneered, “He’s thinking about her again.”
“Go back to sleep. Both of you.” Carver pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and sat back against the headboard. Yes, he was thinking of her. How could he not now that he was so close to getting her again?
“Let it go,” Gene grumbled as he rolled to his back.
Not a chance.
“The longer we stay here, the longer we’re neglecting business.”
“We need her to finish our business,” Carver reminded him. “Or have you forgotten that Janet hid our cash?”
Mitty got up, scratched his crotch, and lumbered into the bathroom. He left the door open while he drained his pipe and said, “We could just make Janet tell us.”
“We already tried that, idiot. With the security around her in the hospital, we can’t get a private word.” Gene looked at Carver. “But there’s no reason we can’t just shoot the damned fighter and grab the girl, then head home with her. She’ll tell us what we need to know.”
“No.” Carver refused to have his plans spoiled. “I want the fighter to suffer.”