Biting Me Softly: Biting Love, Book 3 Page 4

  A rustle right behind me turned my trembling legs to blocks of cement. “Logan? Is that you?” I inched my head around.

  Not Logan. Not by a long shot.

  The leatherette coat was sitting up. The headless body wasn’t headless anymore. Bald-and-bloody grinned—and jumped to its feet, grabbing for me.

  I screamed and ran. Pepper spray and black-belt kicks were fine against normal thugs. But no chemicals would work here and nothing in Mr. Miyagi’s martial arts curriculum had prepared me for ambulatory corpses. Maybe zombie-fighting was later, after we learned ninja invisibility.

  “You can’t outrun me, snack!” The voice behind me was gravel thrown on the tunnel walls.

  Snack? This kicked into beyond weird. Weirdness overclocked, dual-core weirdness. Weirdness with Service Pack 3. I put on a burst of speed. Feet pounded behind me.

  “Give up and die, snack.” Closer. Harsher.

  The ladder was in sight. I leaped for it. My foot landed on something round and rolly. I scrambled for balance. Stumbling, I hit another roller. It skidded out from under me. I tottered, arms windmilling wildly. I almost caught myself, hit another.

  My legs flew up. My butt struck concrete. Round and rolly impediments spit like a bullets. They skittered away, small, black and cylindrical.

  My own damned batteries.

  Boots pounded toward me. “Ha. Gotcha now—whoops!”

  Shit-kickers went by, scrabbling like Yogi Bear off the edge of a cliff. Batteries scattered like hail. I covered my head to avoid their spray. Furious swearing was punctuated by batteries shooting everywhere. I heard a smack like something big hitting the wall. Then another smack like fist on bone, followed by—silence.

  Slowly, I uncovered my head.

  A dark form loomed over me, blocking the light.

  I shrieked. Scrambled up. Would have run, but hands shot out of the shadows and grabbed me.

  They shoved me toward the ladder. I struggled wildly. The owner of the hands didn’t even notice, thrusting me inexorably forward.

  “Stop! Who are you?” And because maybe I’d popped over a dimension or two, I added, “What are you?” I twisted to see, caught only shadows.

  “What am I?” The shadows growled, pushing me up the ladder. “Pissed at you, that’s what I am.”

  Chapter Three

  I popped out of the manhole and sprang to my feet, prepared to kick the emerging monster…and saw waves of raw silk shimmering in moonlight. “Logan?”

  “You’re going home, Liese. And you’re staying there.” Logan rose from the hole, but not as I’d seen him yet. Not the lazy playboy, nor the unnaturally perceptive lover. Not even the fierce hunter.

  His eyes were fiery gold with determination, his jaw was clenched. His shoulders were set, his posture uncompromising. His easy charm wasn’t gone, exactly, but was hardened by a mantle of power and command.

  This was Logan the mover and shaker, the Fortune-500 CEO. This was the Logan Steel who commanded a firm with national and international clients.

  In the kingdom of business, this was Logan the Prince.

  I was so astonished that I let him drag me three blocks before I dug in my heels. “Just what the hell happened back there? First you went all red-eyed and face-plated and pointy-toothed. Halloween’s more than eight months away, buddy. And then—”

  “Not so loud.”

  I fired an incredulous stare around me at the utterly empty streets. “Who’s going to hear? And what was with that I’m ‘immune’ stuff? Immune to what sickness, you? Are you a fever and the only cure is more cowbell?”

  “Liese, hush.” Pulling me to him, Logan’s hand clapped over my mouth. “I’d kiss you to shut you up, but I don’t want to get slapped again.”

  Bodies and severed heads took a temporary back seat to pique. The best kisser on the planet had done it just to shut me up. I should have known better. He hadn’t kissed me because I was beautiful, or even because I reminded him of dinner. The lying fuck.

  I was so angry I bit his hand.

  “Kinky.” Logan’s breath warmed my ear. “But to break skin you have to bite harder. Liese, I didn’t kiss you in the sewer to shut you up. I did it because I wanted you so badly I couldn’t help myself.”

  He did? I let him drag me another block before I dug in my heels again. “And the red eyes and Batcave voice? What was all that? And where did you go? You were all—” gorgeous naked stalking me on hands and knees, “—Elena called, and when I looked, you were gone.”

  “You’re persistent, aren’t you? Probably what makes you such a good manager.”

  “Last I looked, manager implies underlings. I have two bosses. Three, if I count you. Why did you leave?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Did I leave?”

  Enough was enough. I hit him. Roundhouse punch to the gut. I knew it wouldn’t hurt him, given his iron abs, but I hoped it would leave a bruise.

  Lightning-fast, he blocked me. Caught my fist—and kissed it. I snatched it away.

  He gave me that knowing smirk of his. “The explanation’s simple, Liese. There’s a gang in Meiers Corners, and they’ve apparently made a base in the sewer. I surprised them vandalizing mannequins. I managed to drive them all off except for two, who I knocked unconscious.”

  “Dragging mannequins into the sewer to vandalize them, I see. Then you disappeared, why?”

  He shrugged. “I thought I heard something outside. I went to make sure it wasn’t more gang members. When I heard you yell I came back and saw one had moved. What did you do to him, anyway?”

  “Um, tripped over him.” I didn’t mention the creepy illusion that Mr. Eat-Me-For-A-Snack was headless. “Has hallucinations” didn’t look good on the ol’ resume. “Razor?”

  “No, Maim, one of the less pleasant members of Razor’s gang. You need to stay away from him, Liese. From all of them.”

  “Less pleasant? What would a more pleasant gang guy be like?”

  “Not joking, Liese.” Logan dragged me onto my stoop. “Stay inside.” Then almost reluctantly he added, “Please?”

  We were home already. I should have been relieved but wasn’t. I stuck my key in the lock. “I’ll stay home if you do.” It only occurred to me after it was out of my fat mouth that it sounded like I was inviting him to stay in the same home. Mine.

  He pulled me into a tight embrace. Kissed the top of my head. “If I thought it’d help you be safe, I’d stay in a heartbeat.” He kissed my forehead. “Who am I kidding? I’d stay just for me. Ah princess, what are we going to do?” It was apparently a rhetorical question because when I raised my face to answer, I got kissed soundly instead.

  Logan’s mouth circled gently, sweet and warm, nothing like the devouring he’d done earlier. This kiss was tender, his embrace sheltering. The silk of his hair brushed against my cheek, his body heat enveloped me. I felt warm and oddly safe in his arms. Instead of running in terror, I actually raised myself on tiptoes and skimmed my tongue over his luscious lower lip.

  His arms tightened. One hand slid up, cupping the back of my head, holding me securely. A deep rumble came from his chest. “Mmm. Do that again.” His interest stirred against my belly.

  So I did. His interest raised its head. I did it again and interest grew long and thick. I licked his lips open and his hard, thick interest began to pulse. As I tasted the dark, rich cinnamon of his mouth I could feel the growing length of him throb against my belly.

  His cock’s progress bar was inching toward impossible again.

  “Logan?”

  “Mmm?” He nipped down my jaw line, nibbled to my earlobe.

  Sweet jangles of need sang through me at the sharp feel of his teeth. “I was trying to…what happened in the sewer…oh, heavens above.” The last was from a particularly sharp nip to the throat.

  “I know, princess.” Logan licked where he’d nipped, a hot swipe of lust. “Think later. Pleasure now.”

  “But—” But I’d left my porch light on. We were out in the
open, lit like a theater stage. My ex-fiancé Botcher had insisted on under the covers with the lights out. This was raw, exposed. Frightening…and shamefully exciting.

  “No buts.” Logan’s nimble fingers unzipped my coat. Without buttons my shirt was no protection against the cold air hitting my skin, but his hot mouth, biting lightly down my collarbone, shot me back to broil.

  He nipped and kissed to the notch of my throat. There he lapped the soft, sensitive skin until I made a throttled sound, apparently his tongue’s cue to slide boldly down my breastbone.

  At the top of my sports bra he paused. He licked the edge then tried to worm his tongue under. The industrial-strength spandex didn’t give a millimeter. Stopped him. I breathed a mixture of relief and disappointment.

  He gave a cute little whimper, like a puppy wanting in.

  My breasts poked their heads up. I could practically hear their nipply voices—“Here boy, here! Kiss here!” Breasts are so not picky.

  Of course Logan heard them too. With a growl of satisfaction, his mouth closed over one tip and he began suckling. Through cloth, but the man’s middle name was Hoover. At the deep tugging I nearly shot through the top of my head. I could only imagine what that hot mouth would do to a bare nipple. Licking, sucking naked pink skin, my breast swelling, tightening…steam began to blast out my ears.

  “Logan…uhngh…we’re outside…oh, damn.” He had added teeth.

  His hands clenched around my hips, yanked my pelvis in tight. OMG. Who made this man’s zippers—Pyle Driver and Sons? I tried to wrench away but our skin had some sort of covalent bond going. Only a nuclear explosion could have pried us apart. I had to stop him before someone got caught in the fallout—like me.

  “Logan,” I said, only it came out “Uhhh.” So then I tried to slap him, but someone had cooked my arm when I wasn’t looking.

  Logan, intent on suckling my breast, ignored all of this. He suckled until I wanted to scream—or maybe rip his face off and shove it down my bra where he could do some real good.

  Instead I grabbed his head and pulled up. He popped off my breast and I thought yay until his mouth landed on mine in a kiss so deep he excavated my tonsils. I groaned and thrust my tongue back in self-defense, swiping his lips and mouth and his sharp teeth. He tasted so good I licked everything I could reach, including the length of one—fang?

  Like I’d punched his On switch, Logan growled and crushed me to him. “You drive me wild, princess. The way you smell. The way you touch me.” His lips left mine to burrow into my neck. “I’m insane with wanting. Let me taste you.”

  Teeth nipped my neck until I shuddered. A warm tongue smoothed over the irritation. My pulse throbbed in my throat, thickening it. I couldn’t say a word.

  “Just a taste.” He breathed in like he was scenting heaven. His nuzzling was punctuated by urgent nips. “Please, Liese. Just one taste.”

  He wasn’t the only insane one. Caught in a sensual haze, I lifted my chin. He groaned, “Bless you, princess,” and I barely noticed when something pressed into my skin, needle-sharp.

  “Get away from her, you slime.” A man’s bellow cut through my daze.

  Running feet neared. “I’ve got a bazooka,” a second, feminine voice called. “And I know how to use it.”

  A low, warning growl slashed the air in response, a feral rumbling—vibrating against me. From Logan? Was Logan growling? I looked up. His eyes were shut tight, his jaw working. He took a deep breath, and another. Slowly the growl died. He opened his eyes and gave me a small smile, tucked my coat closed before turning.

  “Hello, Viking, good to see you again. How are you and the esteemed Mrs. Viking?”

  “Steel? What the fuck’s going on?”

  I angled around Logan to see a muscular mountain of Scandinavian incredulity, truck-sized fists on hips. Bo Strongwell.

  Next to him his wife Elena was stowing a super-deluxe roll of Christmas paper, if Christmas paper came in gunmetal green. “Liese!” She hopped onto the stoop. “Why didn’t you tell me Steel was with you?” An affectionate slap on the head was followed by a somewhat desperate hug. “Then I wouldn’t have worried.”

  “You were worried? I wouldn’t have guessed, with the phone call and you showing up on my doorstep.”

  Instead of zinging me back, she flicked a look at her husband. “The gang trouble’s had me on edge.”

  “I met one of those gang guys. Pardon me if I don’t think vandalizing mannequins is quite something to fret over.” Although Maim had scared me at the time. Give up and die, snack.

  “You met a gang member?” Elena said at the same time Bo said, “Vandalizing mannequins?”

  Logan cleared his throat. “I surprised Razor in the sewers.”

  “Razor?” Elena’s expression zoomed from worried to alarmed.

  “Petty vandals, nothing to worry about.” Logan flicked eyes to me. “Tearing heads off mannequins, that sort of stuff.”

  “Mannequins.” Bo raised an eyebrow at Elena.

  “Oh, right,” she said after a moment’s pause. “So Logan, did you take care of Razor and the, er, mannequins? Or is there cleanup Bo and I have to do?” She put a strange emphasis on cleanup.

  “No, no, everything’s taken care of.”

  “Except the Maim guy,” I said. “And Razor. Logan knocked them unconscious, so we probably should call an ambulance.”

  Logan opened his mouth like he was going to contradict me, then smiled his brilliant smile. “Thanks for reminding me, Liese. I’ll just go back and see to that while Bo and Elena escort you inside.”

  All three exchanged a glance I can only call conspiratorial. My key was already in the lock, so all Elena had to do was turn it. She latched onto my arm and Bo snagged the other. I now know what frog-marching is. Elena’s five-nine and Bo’s six-four made my little old five-six barely touch the ground. I hopped between them the best I could. “Stop! Or at least, slow down.”

  Elena released me to shut the door behind us. “Liese, with Razor’s gang loose, you might want to take a few days off. Until the new security’s online at the Blood Center.”

  If I didn’t go back tomorrow, I might not get to return at all. “I can’t.”

  “Then be careful, okay? If you’re out after dark, you might want Logan with you.”

  “You trust him?” I stared at her. As a cop, Elena trusted even fewer people than I did.

  “You don’t?”

  “Not any farther than I can throw him.” Which, considering all his muscled height, might be no further than on top of me. Ooh.

  Elena’s phone rang. Flipping it open, she listened for a moment. “We’re on our way.” She turned back to me. “Liese, I’m just saying being with Logan might be safer.”

  I watched out the window as the Strongwells disappeared into the night. “Safer than what?” I asked, but no one heard me.

  Nervy and irritable, I paced my apartment. Not because of Logan Steel—despite certain body parts voicing their opinion of letting him get away. What did they know? He was simply the first male to be interested in said body parts since Bernie Botcher. Although comparing Logan to the rat-bastard, well, there was no comparison. Logan was sex poured into a pair of yummy-tight jeans. Botcher was…the name said it all.

  No, I was not nervy because Logan punched me on but never logged in. Ooh, logging in…and out…and in…shizzle. No, I was nervy because of the episode in the sewer. What had really happened down there? Was that a headless mannequin I’d seen? Maim had worn the same thing as the mannequin. Was that a coincidence?

  Well, one way to find out.

  I had my hand on the doorknob when my land line rang. I nearly didn’t stop—it was after nine, and though the rest of the world was just popping its first Miller, Mr. and Mrs. Meiers Corners were rolling up the sidewalks and turning off the dog.

  But caller ID was a Chicago number I recognized. I snatched up the handset. “Mom? Is something wrong? Are you okay? Did something happen at your radiation treatment?�
��

  She laughed, a little weak. “Settle down, honey. The treatment went fine. I’m a touch tired, but we expected that.”

  “How tired? Shouldn’t you be resting? Why are you calling if you should be lying down?” Despite the doctors explaining everything that would happen after the lumpectomy, including the radiation and its side effects, I was suddenly afraid. Her fatigue was how we’d figured out she was sick in the first place.

  Fear, like an unwelcome houseguest, is bad no matter how long you’ve been expecting it. In fact sometimes the anticipation makes it worse.

  “Liese. I’m fine. The medical staff is wonderful. And Cousin Rolf and his wife are taking good care of me. I’m calling to check in so you wouldn’t worry.” She laughed again, more her old self. “So don’t worry.”

  “I just wish you were home where I could take care of you.” Yes, guilt was another of my issues. Sometimes I felt like a mass of issues. But I loved my mother, would do anything for her.

  “You are taking care of me, honey. I couldn’t afford the Chicago doctors without your health insurance. Not many companies cover dependent parents, you know.”

  My wonderful health insurance, which I might not have much longer. “I would have driven you in for your treatments.”

  “It’s your job to be at the Blood Center, honey. And I need you to keep your job.” In a lighter tone she added, “Besides, this gives me time to win back my money. We play three-handed sheepshead every night and I’m down fifteen cents.”

  Attitude was half the battle. If she was joking, the least I could do was stop worrying—on the outside. “Don’t tell me you let Cousin Rolf talk you into a nickel a point. Now I know you’re not well.”

  She snorted. “Well enough to take him for a dollar fifty day before yesterday. And once I get past the nausea… Now, you’re not to worry, Liese. I’ll be winning Rolf’s money again in no time.”