You're the One (33 page)

Del’s hand
went to her forehead. “I have worry lines on my forehead?”

“Yeah, they
make you look old.”

“Dee?”

Her cousin
turned. “Yeah?”

Del flipped
her the bird.

With a snort
of laughter, Dee walked out.

Staring
unseeingly at the far wall, Del resumed nibbling her nail. Okay,
she’d give the same advice to any of her friends who asked her the
same question. So why was it so hard to do herself? She did a
mental eye roll. Because she’d never had to actually do it herself,
of course. Plus, truth be told, she’d been kind of hoping that Moz
would make the move, saving her from having to do it.

Geez, talk
about double standards. She was skimming along on both so much she
could just about put a foot on each standard and yodel. She hated
double standards. If she was hoping Moz would make the first move,
yet he was being decent and waiting for her to say she was ready,
then hell, she had to man - or woman - up and tell him she was
ready.

Right.

Gah!
She did a palm to forehead smack.
So glad Molly can’t see me
now. Ash would be sympathetic, Elissa would be surprised, Dee would
be rolling her eyes so much they’d fall out of her head and Molly,
holy crap, Molly would be having a field day.

And meanwhile
Moz would still have blue balls and she’d be on heat.

“Get a grip.
You’re going to do this. You can do it. You
will
do it.”
Before she could hesitate further, she grabbed her shoulder bag,
locked the shop and headed home.

The late
afternoon sun was just starting to cool down a little from the hot
day, but it was still a little too warm. Moz’s work ute was in the
yard, his own car parked to one side. Del pulled her Commodore in
beside his work ute.

Refusing to
think about anything, because, after all, doing was better than
fudging around like a ninny, Del locked the car and strode up the
steps, opening the door to - wait a minute.

She tried the
door again. The bloody thing was unlocked. Geez, after all the
grief he gave her about locking the door, he had the cheek to keep
it unlocked?

Opening it,
she strode inside, dropping her bag on the hall side table. “Hey!
Moz!”

“Yeah?” His
voice trailed back from the depths of the house.

“What the
heck, man? You give me grief over not having the door locked but
you have it open yourself?”

“I’m in the
kitchen!”

“Don’t think
cooking me food will save your arse.” Entering the kitchen, she
promptly forgot what she was going to say.

Moz turned
from the oven holding a baking tray full of scones in his hands,
muscles bunching powerfully in his arms as he moved. Dressed in a
pair of old boardies, long, muscular legs braced apart, big bare
feet planted firmly on the floor, his chest bare, all those
mouth-watering dips and swells naked to her gaze, his hair was
pulled back haphazardly in a ponytail, a smudge of flour was on his
cheek, and his smile was warm and welcoming.

God, the cook
was something else.

“Hi, baby.
What’s wrong?”

“I’m on heat.”
He nearly dropped the tray at the same moment she stammered, “I
mean, I’m hot.”

A little
startled, he brought the tray to the bench, using his oven mitts to
take the hot scones off to rest on a rack. “It is a little warm
still. Hope scones are okay?”

“Sure.
Fine.”

He looked at
her. “Everything all right?”

“Oh,
absolutely.” Going to the ‘fridge, she took out a Diet Coke, popped
the tab and took several swallows before rolling the cold tin
against her forehead.

“Rough
day?”

“You have no
idea.”

“Poor baby.”
Coming up behind her, he bent down to press a kiss on her cheek,
big hands on her shoulders smoothing down her arms before he moved
away. “Want to talk about it?”

Turning to
watch him, Del noticed that he’d fed Missy and Mozart already. Man
made a good house husband.

Rinsing the
tray, he set it in the draining rack and turned to face her,
flicking the tea towel over one broad shoulder and leaning back
against the sink.

How hot was
that? How could a half naked, deliciously dishevelled man look so
downright sexy when he had a smudge of flour on his cheek, a tea
towel over his shoulder, and smelled like fresh baked scones?

Wait, he was
half naked. And the scones did smell good.

One dark brow
quirked inquiringly. “Something wrong?”

No more
mucking around. She was definitely feeling the heat now.

Curiously, he
watched as she crossed over to him.

Del placed the
can of Diet Coke on the bench, stopped in front of him, hooked her
fingers in the front of his boardies and breathed huskily, “Come
here.”

Both eyebrows
shot up but he did as bidden, leaning down so she could kiss
him.

Del put every
nuance of what she felt into that kiss - attraction, heat, passion,
desire, downright lust, really.

By the time
she lifted her lips from his, looking up into his eyes while her
breath feathered across his mouth, he was looking down at her with
answering heat. Definitely answering lust. Downright carnal
lust.

“Del…” The
deep tones were filled with hidden meaning, his eyes already a
little hot.

“Less talk,
more action,” she managed, right before kissing him again.

Strong arms
surrounded her, gathered her close, firm lips moulding to hers. His
taste filled her, heady and all Moz, so welcome, so wanted, so
needed. Fire danced along her veins, sparked deep inside her,
flared hotly to dampen her secrets.

By the time
Moz lifted his mouth enough to gaze down at her, they both were
breathing heavily, his shaft was a hard press against her belly,
and her nipples were pebbling and begging for his touch.

“Am I reading
this correctly?” His breath puffed across her lips.

“Isn’t my hint
strong enough?” Emboldened by the desire in his eyes, she slid her
hand down to cup his hard, thick length in her palm. “How about
this?”

Holy heck, his
eyes went like dark chocolate, all hot and decadent. Next thing Del
knew, she was swung up into his arms and being born across the
kitchen in long strides.

Linking her
arms around his neck, she grinned. “What about the scones?”

“Right now I
have something else to put in the oven.”

“I love it
when cooks talk dirty.”

“Del,” he
said, voice a touch rough, “you do less talking, I’ll do more
action.”

A delighted
shiver went through her. “I thought this was a two-way affair?”

“Baby, you’re
not going to have any breath left to talk.” He threw her onto the
bed where she bounced a couple of times. Following her down to lean
over her, all power and heat, hot eyes on her face, hands already
busy divesting her of her clothes, he growled, “Save what you
can.”

She thought he
was kidding. Turned out he wasn’t.

Man totally
rang her bells.

Hallelujah!

Chapter 11

In the shade
of a big tree, relaxing back against the deck chair, legs stretched
out before him, iced coffee in hand, Moz watched Kirk, Scott and
Ryder deliberating over Scott’s big motorbike near the garage.
Several parts had been placed carefully on a canvas stretched out
on the ground. The carport provided shelter from the sun.

Moz looked at
Simon swinging lazily in the hammock nearby, his cap over his eyes.
“Are you going to help them?”

“Nope.”

“Feeling
lazy?”

“Studying the
backs of my eyelids.”

“Blank mind,
then.”

“You’d be
surprised.” The firies’s lips curved in a lop-sided grin. “The
image of your sister is up there.”

“Don’t make me
hurt you.”

“That’d upset
your sister.” The grin grew more crooked. “She’d have to kiss me
better then.”

With a
grimace, Moz took a sip of iced coffee, his gaze wandering to where
Grant was reading the newspaper, his glass of iced coffee on the
step beside him. Raggedy shorts, old t-shirt, thongs. Pretty much
the standard wear of the friends gathered in Scott’s back yard.

Tilly, Scott’s
beloved tabby cat, had her fat little bum firmly planted on the
step beside Grant, surveying her kingdom through narrowed eyes.

Dressed in
frilly pink knickers covering a nappy, and a pink frilly dress
which now sported a small oil stain, Lily was sitting at Kirk’s
feet, her bottom bouncing on the ground in the way that babies
sometimes did - totally weird - with one arm wrapped around her
father’s leg. Her other hand gripped a clean rag that Ryder had
given her. Her gaze was fastened on the motorbike.

“Bikie chick
coming up,” Simon murmured, though how he could see with his eyes
shut was anyone’s guess.

“Before you
know it, she’ll be on the back of some hormone-ridden teen’s
motorbike in no time.”

“No
hormone-ridden teen in his right mind will take on Kirk. No way
Daddy is going to let his little girl on the back of anyone’s
bike.” Simon cracked one eye partly open, studied Lily, closed his
eye again. “If Daddy isn’t around to sort out a hormone-ridden teen
with sex on his brain, we sure as hell are.”

“Aw, ain’t
that sweet.” Grant turned a page of the newspaper, gave it a shake
and resettled it. “Three big uncles to see off the slathering horde
of boys coming to court Lily.”

Lily chose
that moment to squeal in delight as she reached for something that
Scott immediately moved safely from her reach. She looked up at him
with big eyes filling with tears.

“Oh, baby
girl, don’t look like that.” Scott scooped her up to blow
raspberries on her belly.

Tears
forgotten, she squealed and kicked. Scott mock threw her to Ryder,
who waltzed her away, dipping and swirling as she giggled and waved
her arms. Straightening, he came back to the blokes surrounding the
bike, Lily perched on his hip, where she leaned down to study the
parts with interest. When she couldn’t get down, she held her arms
out to Kirk, who took her, kissed her cheek and snuggled her
against him. Lily laid her head on his shoulder.

Then they all
went back to discussing motorbikes and whatever the heck was wrong
with Scott’s bike.

“You know
they’ll end up calling Ben,” Simon said.

“Oh, I don’t
know.” Grant turned another page. “They got Old Jack Stanton’s ute
going the other day.”

“Really?”

“Yep. And
Scott got Mrs Preston’s lawnmower going again, too.”

Simon turned
his head to glance at the vet. “How do you know these things?”

Grant
shrugged.

“He sees
things.” Simon looked at Moz. “Like ESP or something.”

“Like being
observant,” Moz replied. “Man has his eyes open and mouth shut.
Total opposite of you.”

“I’d give you
a rude gesture but I’m way too comfortable to move.”

Figured. Simon
in a lazy mood was a total sloth.

Grinning, Moz
tipped his head back to study the blue sky. It had been a
wonderfully lazy Saturday. No phone calls, no call-outs.

“So, how’s it
going with Del?” Simon queried.

“Good.”
Fantastic. Hot. Woman was a ball of hot ardour and funny
comments.

“Mozart
settled in well, I hear.”

“Mozart’s the
happiest I’ve seen him since we came here.”

“Missy doing
well?”

“Growing fast.
Growing sassier.”

“She belongs
to Del, what did you expect? A demure little maid?”

“Definitely
not.”

Simon grinned,
the hammock swung, and the voices of their friends drifted in the
air. The sound of newspaper rustling as Grant turned the page.
Kids’ laughter in the distance, a car passing the house, a dog
barked.

Closing his
eyes, Moz took a deep, satisfied breath. It was perfect. The only
thing better would have been if the girls were there, their
laughter and wry comments joining the men’s, Del by his side. Yeah,
especially Del by his side, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth, her
mouth shooting off off-colour quips. The banter of friends and
lover.

Several months
ago he’d never have thought his life would take such a turn, but it
had. Shifting away from his rarely-seen and uncaring parents,
seeing Elissa so happily married to Simon, making good friends, a
job he loved, Mozart settled, and most of all the woman he loved at
his side, to wake up with, make love to, share the day. Life was
good.

Except for the
dog fighting ring. The investigation seemed to have stalled,
nothing happening, no dogs barking from Harding’s place, no trucks
at night, no gathering of men. Not unexpectedly, really,
considering the local RSPCA inspector had moved in right across the
road.

One thing,
though, Del was safe. That was important.

Grant laid the
newspaper down, whereupon Tilly instantly parked her bum on it and
looked around in satisfaction. “Your arse is huge.”

Scott looked
up from where he was bent over the parts.

“Not you,”
Ryder said. “Tilly.”

“Tilly’s not
fat, moron.”

“Hey, Grant
said it, numb nuts, not me.”

Scott shot
Grant a look.

“Slip of the
tongue,” Grant assured him. “I meant cuddly. Tilly’s cuddly.”

With a grunt,
Scott returned his attention to the spare parts.

Kirk grinned
at Ryder.

“Wow,” Grant
said. “Touchy.”

“Tilly’s his
pride and joy,” Simon murmured. “Cast slurs on her if you don’t
value your life.”

“I get that.”
Grant stroked Tilly. “Cute little skinny girl.”

Ryder
snorted.

Scott shoved a
bunch of oily rags at him. Ryder had no choice but to grab them,
only to hold them away and scowl. “Jesus, Preston, now I’ve got oil
on me! You have to learn not to be so sensitive about that fat,
furry, little fart.”