Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  I flattened my tongue, dragging it over the hardened bud.

  She hissed. “Stop.”

  The lust roaring through my veins turned to ice, and I froze. Shit. I hadn’t expected that. I took my mouth from her skin, backing away a few inches.

  Bryce sat up on the car, once again fisting my shirt as she pulled me close. Nose to nose, she whispered, “Stop warning me away. Haven’t you figured it out? That just makes me want it even more.”

  Thank fuck. “Then hold on.”

  Slamming my mouth back onto hers, we kissed through a frenzy of fumbling fingers and flying clothes. Bryce yelped when I jerked her off the car’s hood and onto her feet. I’d already tugged off her T-shirt and she’d done the same for mine. The bra was next. But as I reached for the clasp, a breeze drifted into the garage, bringing us both back to reality.

  One of the bay doors was still open. It was only eight and the glow of the sunset still illuminated the parking lot. This time of year, it didn’t get completely dark in Montana until well after nine. Not that it mattered. The shop’s lights were blazing. Anyone driving by would see us going at it on the Mustang.

  With a fast swoop, I picked Bryce up, one arm under her ass to support her as my other one dove into that soft dark hair, her legs wrapping around me again. I used my grip to tilt her head, then fused my mouth with hers, kissing her senseless as I walked us to the other wall.

  The pressure in my cock made walking uncomfortable, especially when she ground her center closer. I finally reached the control panel and punched the red button to shut the door. The outside light faded, leaving only us and the florescent bars beaming overhead.

  Bryce reached between us, her hand sliding down the bare skin of my stomach until it reached the waistband of my jeans. With a flick of her fingers, the button came undone. The zipper followed. Then she dove inside my boxers, fisting my shaft as I groaned down her throat.

  “Fuck.” I tore my mouth away, searching for a place to put her. My eyes landed on a tool bench. Two long strides and I set her down, shoving and pushing away the tools I hadn’t put away.

  Bryce’s frantic movements matched my own as she reached behind her and unclasped her bra. “Hurry.”

  “Condom.” I dug into my back pocket for my wallet and fished out a condom.

  Shifting her weight on the bench, Bryce struggled to get out of her jeans. They were too tight, goddamn it. I’d appreciated that when she’d walked into the garage earlier. But now?

  “Christ.” I picked her up by the armpits, her breasts bouncing as I set her down. Then I dropped to my knees, pulling the black denim and panties off her toned legs so fast that she had to steady herself on my shoulders. The sandals on her feet clattered to the floor.

  I couldn’t resist. Her bare pussy was right there and I leaned in, dragging my tongue through her folds.

  “Oh my God,” she gasped, nearly collapsing on me.

  I grinned and stood. I’d have my mouth on her again. Soon. But right now, I wanted to bury myself inside her.

  My boots and jeans were gone in a flash, the condom rolled onto my pulsing cock. Then I had Bryce up in my arms. This time, I spun us for the wall, her spine colliding with the cool concrete at the same time I lined up with her center and thrust deep.

  “Ahh,” she cried, the sound of surprise and pleasure echoing off the walls.

  I buried my face in her neck, sucking in a breath so I wouldn’t embarrass myself and come after just one stroke. “Goddamn, you feel good.”

  She moaned, her head lolling to the side. Just the slightest tilt of her hips told me she wanted more.

  I slid out, slowly, then pistoned forward again, earning myself a hitched breath and whole-body shudder. “Good?”

  “Uh-huh.” She nodded. “Harder.”

  “Fucking right, harder.” I obeyed, setting a steady rhythm. The sound of her tiny moans, the feel of her wet heat, the way she moved with me, thrust after thrust. The air around us was electric. The need to get more, be deeper, sent me into a blind animal state. Fucking this woman is incredible.

  We grappled, hands going everywhere trying to feel it all. We kissed, hard, bruising licks that didn’t satisfy the craving. We rebounded from surface to surface, abandoning the wall when it wasn’t enough. Discarding the tool bench when it wasn’t enough. Until we ended up on the Mustang again, both of our bodies glistening with sweat and steam condensing on the hood beneath us.

  “Dash.” She writhed as I laced my fingers with hers, holding them flush to the red metal. “I’m—”

  “Come, Bryce.”

  She came so hard I saw the white spots in her vision. As she pulsed and squeezed my cock like an iron fist, I let loose, pouring inside her and groaning to the ceiling.

  Limp and wrung out, I collapsed onto the car next to Bryce, my heart thundering behind my ribs. “That was . . . fuuuuck.”

  There weren’t words. Sex like that shouldn’t exist because now I wanted it every day. Bryce was more addictive than any drug on the planet.

  We heaved, coming back to reality, until our bodies cooled with the unspoken tension.

  We’d fucked. Hard. We’d exposed ourselves, bringing along a weakness neither of us could afford.

  “Oh my God.” Bryce shot off the car like a lightning bolt. I propped up on an elbow, my legs dangling to the floor. I’d never seen a woman dress so fast.

  Damn if that didn’t bruise my ego.

  “Thanks. I needed that.” I regretted the words instantly.

  Bryce’s arms stilled as she zipped up her jeans. The look she shot me had the power to kill, but she schooled the fury quickly and slid on her sandals.

  Maybe she should hate me. Maybe I should drive her away. It was probably better that way. So I might as well make it stick.

  I flopped back on the car, tossing an arm over my forehead to hide most of my face. “Side door leads to the parking lot. Do me a favor. Flip the lock on your way out.”

  Chapter Ten

  Bryce

  I should go inside. Except I was having a hell of a time getting out of my car.

  I was parked in the lot of the Clifton Forge High School, inspecting my nail polish. I’d spent two hours doing a home manicure last night. It was a comfort thing. When I had a lot on my mind, painting my fingernails was my go-to stress reliever. And considering what had happened with Dash in the garage last night, there was a lot on my mind.

  I’d gone straight home after he’d dismissed me. Well, not exactly dismissed. I was already leaving. His parting words had shocked me, enough that I’d obeyed and locked the side door behind me.

  Even after a hot shower, the manicure and a sleepless night, I couldn’t make sense of how it had happened. One moment, I was standing there, reveling in the honesty of his words when he said I couldn’t trust him. I went soft at the vulnerability in his voice when he asked that we work together. When his mouth touched mine, all rational thought vanished.

  Damn, what was I thinking? There was no question that Dash seduced me. And the fool I was, I’d let him. The sex, I would have been able to make sense of quickly. It was just sex. Two people coming together to scratch an itch. The tension between us was combustible, and it had only been a matter of time before we broke. The sex was not the problem.

  The problem was, Dash had cast me away, and I’d never felt quite so used.

  Flip the lock on your way out.

  Ouch.

  Hence the reason I’d gone straight for my tub of fingernail polishes at midnight.

  In the dim light of my bedroom, the red I’d chosen had looked darker. Now that I was sitting in broad daylight, the color was a match for the car Dash had fucked me on last night.

  Hot-sex red.

  When I got home tonight, I was throwing the nearly new bottle away.

  I should go inside. Twenty minutes had passed since I’d driven to the school and I wanted to get inside before the office closed for the day. School was out for the summer and according to their websit
e, office hours ended at three. I only had fifteen minutes left, but here I was, stuck staring at my nails.

  My sex nails.

  It was hazy, but I was pretty sure I’d scratched Dash a time or two during our escapade. Bastard. I wish I’d drawn blood.

  It bothered me beyond end that I felt slimy. Dash was a villain in every way, but had that stopped me from foolishly hoping he was more? Nope. I was ashamed of myself. Not for the sex.

  For the hope.

  I was no stranger to casual sex. Once, I’d gotten involved with a man from work, a junior producer who’d been as handsome as he was cocky. The two of us had started sleeping together, and weeks later, as we lay naked in bed, he asked if I’d put in a word for him with the executive producer. He was after a promotion and thought sleeping with the female anchor might improve his chances. The idiot actually thought I had some sway. He didn’t realize I was merely a puppet for the network, a pretty face to deliver bad news with a smile.

  I’d felt used then, but it was nothing compared to the way I felt now.

  Maybe today was extreme because I’d let go of all my inhibitions. I’d given my body over entirely to Dash, letting him bring me to the edge and push me over. Maybe it stung more today because I’d never had such all-consuming sex before.

  It had been raw and rough and eviscerating. From now until the end of my life, last night’s orgasm would be the yardstick for all future comparisons.

  Stupid, Bryce. So fucking stupid.

  In all fairness, Dash had warned me not to trust him. The tenderness between my legs was a throbbing reminder of my mistake.

  I never should have gone to the garage. I never should have believed Dash wanted a truce. When Draven hadn’t been there last night, I should have turned tail and run.

  Except I’d underestimated Dash and his ability to charm. My eagerness had been my weakness and Dash had exploited it with precision. He’d even made me doubt that Draven was guilty of Amina’s murder.

  Draven was guilty. Wasn’t he? The man couldn’t be innocent, right? Unless this was all a setup.

  The doubts had been rattling around the corners of my mind all day. Damn it, Dash.

  I took out the yellow notepad from my purse and plucked a pen from the cup holder. Flipping it to a free page, I wrote one word in big capital letters.

  MOTIVE

  What was Draven’s reason for killing? We could place him at the scene of the crime. He’d had sex with Amina before she’d been stabbed. Chief Wagner was being extremely tight-lipped about the details of the case, but he had told me they’d found a murder weapon at the scene—a black hunting knife.

  That was means and opportunity. But what was Draven’s motive? Why would he kill Amina Daylee, a woman he’d gone to high school with and, from what I could tell, hadn’t seen much of since?

  Was it a crime of passion? Maybe Draven had used Amina like Dash had used me. But instead of leaving through the side door like I had, Amina had gotten angry. Maybe she’d ignited his rage and he’d killed her in the heat of the moment.

  As tempting as it was to go with that theory, it didn’t jive.

  I hadn’t spent much time around Draven, but I did have carnal knowledge of his son. Dash had the talent to rile me up. We stabbed at one another’s buttons and flared each other’s tempers. But he wasn’t a hothead. Dash was calculated and precise, traits he’d likely learned from his father.

  My eyes went back to the word on my notepad, spinning it around, looking at it sideways, backward and upside down.

  What was Draven’s motive?

  I’d hoped to ask him last night. Instead I’d let Dash get me naked in the garage. Truce, my ass.

  He’d seemed sincere. There was no way he’d faked that level of satisfaction with the sex. So why dismiss me? Surely he knew that would be counterproductive to the alleged truce.

  One thing was certain—Kingston Slater confounded me. Using him to glean Draven’s motive wasn’t an option now.

  So I’d have to find another way.

  There’d been two people in that motel room when Amina had been murdered: the killer and Amina herself. She was the key. If Draven was innocent, then her past might lead me to the truth.

  I donned a smile for the first time all day, slung my purse over my shoulder and headed for the school. Inside, the lobby was empty and quiet. My shoes echoed as I walked to the office, waving at the secretary stationed up front—Samantha, according to the nameplate on her desk. “Hello.”

  “Hi. How can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m Bryce Ryan.” I extended my hand over the counter. “I work at the newspaper and I was hoping you could help me.”

  “I’ll try.” Her cheerful smile eased my nerves.

  The secretary at my high school had been more terrifying than the principal, but based on the number of thank-you cards pinned to a corkboard on the wall beside her chair, I was guessing the students here adored Samantha.

  “I’m looking for any information I can find on a former student.”

  Samantha’s face fell. “Shoot. The principal is gone and she’s who you’d have to talk to about student records. She knows all the rules about granting permission and all that.”

  “Dang.” I drummed my hot-sex red nails on the counter. “Will she be in tomorrow?”

  “No, sorry. She’s gone for two weeks on vacation. We try to take advantage during the summer.”

  “I can imagine you’ve all earned it.” I scanned the hallway past the office. It was empty, all of the classrooms closed with the exception of one. The door beneath the Library placard was open. I pointed to the door. “I don’t suppose you have any old yearbooks in the library I could look at?”

  Samantha glanced at the clock. “There might be, but I’d have to look. And I was hoping to get out of here early today to get to the salon for a hair appointment. I’m the only one here. Would you mind coming back tomorrow? I can dig them up for you.”

  Shit. I’d wasted too much time in the parking lot staring at my nails and thinking about Dash.

  Infuriating, womanizing, sex-magician Dash.

  “Sure.” I nodded, forcing a wider smile. “Thank you.”

  Samantha waved. “See you tomorrow then.”

  “Tomorrow.” Except I really didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

  With one more longing look at the library, I turned and retreated to the front doors. On my left was a wide entrance to the bathrooms, boys on one side and girls on the other.

  An idea hit and my steps slowed.

  The bathroom.

  Behind me, Samantha was out of her chair, pulling a tote bag from a cabinet in the office. Her back was to me.

  Screw it. I ducked into the girls’ room and slipped into the second stall.

  Was I really doing this? I didn’t answer that question for myself. Instead I held my breath and didn’t move other than to blink. Maybe my ambition for the story had gotten out of hand. Maybe I was delirious from lack of sleep. Maybe I was desperate not to return to my car where I’d undoubtedly think of Dash. Whatever the reason, it was a stupid idea.

  But I stood there, unmoving and taking shallow breaths.

  Worst case, Samantha would find me and I’d lie about an overactive bladder. Best case, she’d walk out the door and I’d be locked inside the high school alone. Okay, that wasn’t great, but I’d find a way out eventually. Maybe.

  Hiding in bathrooms had worked for me at the police station. I might as well roll with it.

  The sound of flip-flops echoed from the hallway outside. I remained frozen in my stall, my heart racing and palms sweating. When the light that seeped into the bathroom from the lobby went out, my shoulders fell and I blew out a breath.

  I waited another five minutes before making a move. Then I tiptoed my way out of the bathroom.

  “My car.” I slapped my palm to my forehead. If Samantha noticed it in the lot, she might come back. But she hadn’t so far, so maybe I was safe. I spun in a slow circle, spot
ting small black orbs in the upper corners of the lobby. Should I wave at the cameras? Give them a smile?

  My commitment to the act was solid, so I walked to the front door, pretending to open it. Then I faked a dramatic sigh, pulling at the strands of my hair. I was kidding no one here, but it made me feel better. With a fast turn, I marched through the lobby, looking down all the hallways and mouthing a silent Hello? It felt as awkward as I assumed it looked—an actress I was not.

  Pretense over, I went right for the library. The room was dark, the only light coming from the windows along the wall. It was bright enough that I wouldn’t bump into a bookshelf but not enough to do any serious exploring, so I dug my phone from my purse and flipped on the flashlight.

  “Yearbooks,” I muttered, scanning shelves as I inched deeper into the room. “Where are the yearbooks?”

  I passed shelf after shelf of nonfiction books, followed by a few rows of young adult fiction. Five rows along the back wall held an ancient Encyclopedia Britannica. My parents had bought a set of those when I was a kid twenty-something years ago and these looked to be about that old.

  It was a waste of perfectly good library space, in my opinion. Wouldn’t those rows be better suited, for let’s say, yearbooks?

  “Damn it.” Time to give up and attempt to get myself out of this building. Samantha was expecting me tomorrow, so I’d wait. It’s what I probably should have done in the first place.

  I rounded the last corner of the room, passing the librarian’s desk. Behind it, the shelves were white, whereas the others in the room were wood. With a quick whip of my flashlight, I expected to find dictionaries and thesauruses. I did a double take when my light landed on tall, thin books, most with foil-pressed letters on the spines. All with a year and Clifton Forge High.

  “Bingo.” My smile felt borderline insane.

  I rushed to the shelves, my purse getting tossed to the floor as I dropped to my knees. I scanned the rows of yearbooks for the years when Amina would have been in school. I dragged a six-year span off the shelves and got comfortable on the carpet.

  The year Amina would have been a freshman had no pictures of her, so I moved on to her sophomore year and found her immediately. My light shone on her dim school photo, picking out shoulder-length blond hair. True to the style at the time, it was feathered away from her face.