Out of Control by Shannon McKenna Read Free Book Online Page B

lying to him wasn’t bad enough. Now she was flirting with him. Whoa, Nelly. Her inner devil slut was getting the upper hand, big-time.
    She broke eye contact with great effort, and rubbed the back of her stiff neck, groping for a swift change of subject. “Looking over my shoulder all the time is giving me knots in my neck,” she murmured.
    â€œI could give you a back rub,” he offered.
    She laughed right in his face. “Hah! I just bet you could.”
    â€œI wouldn’t grope you. Seriously. I’m very good at it.”
    She marveled at how the urban blight light accentuated all the stark planes and angles of his face, casting every stunning detail in sharp relief. It figured. Only Davy McCloud could possibly look good in that light. “An offer of a massage is never innocent,” she told him.
    He shook his head. “Don’t judge me based on your past experience. I’m not average. I mean what I say, and I keep my word.”
    She blinked. “Oh. Gosh. Excuse me for not recognizing your lordly qualities and your incredible moral superiority.”
    He inclined his head in a gracious nod. “You’re excused.”
    She simply could not tell if he was joking or not. The guy was unreal. He kept a completely straight face. God, she was sick of playing the cast-iron bitch, never trusting anybody. Hell with it. Being touched by Davy McCloud would be super deluxe. She was going for it.
    â€œOh, whatever,” she said. “But if your hands stray anyplace south of my thoracic vertebrae, I’ll have Mikey bite you in the butt.”
    The threat didn’t have much oomph, being as how Mikey was sprawled on his back, silently pleading for his belly to be rubbed.
    McCloud leaned down and stroked him, his hand tracing one of the shaved patches. “What happened to him?”
    â€œHe got mouthy in Washington Park with a big, mean stray dog,” she told him. “He never learns.”
    McCloud nodded, and got to his feet. He slid his hand beneath her hair and curved it around the back of her neck. Just that gentle touch alone made a delicious sensation ripple across her skin, all the relaxing comfort of heat, all the stimulating refreshment of coolness.
    â€œDo you want to lie down?” he asked.
    She slanted him an eloquent glance. “Yeah, right, and take off my shirt, too? Get real.” She fished in her pocket for a hair tie, and wound her hair into a lopsided ponytail. “There. Go for it. Dig deep. I’m tough.”
    He was fabulous. Neither a timid, irritating massage that just tickled the surface of knotted muscles nor yet a macho, insensitive attack upon them. His touch was slow, sure, sensual. His hands commanded her muscles to release tension, and they obeyed him, in level after level of helpless yielding and softening. Melting.
    She wished that she’d lain down after all. Sure, it would have been stupid, but letting him into her house had been stupid, eating his food had been stupid. Letting him touch her body was downright idiotic. What was one more level of stupidity in the grand scheme of things?
    Time slowed, stretched, and collapsed slowly back in on itself in great, pulsing waves. She forced her eyes open when she realized that his hands were cupping the curve of her waist. “You’re south of my thoracic vertebrae, buddy, and heading straight into no-man’s-land.”
    His hands lifted away from her body. “Sorry.”
    She missed the warm contact instantly. “Don’t sweat it. I know how it is,” she mumbled. “One vertebrae just leads to another, and hey presto, before you know it you’re giving me a foot rub.”
    He started in on her shoulders again, with a muffled crack of laughter. “I think I’d get distracted along the way,” he said.
    She had to struggle not to moan. It had been so long since she’d been touched at all, let alone with any real tenderness or