Caught Up in the Touch: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

They hit the blacktop out of town. Night air swirled through the cab from his cracked-open window, the noise negating the need for conversation.

  He rolled up his window as soon as he noticed her chafing her arms. She broke the loud silence. “Did you find Scott?”

  He gave her a brief rundown of his conversation with both boys, the retelling depressing him. He was good-time Logan. Charming, easygoing, funny. Except he didn’t feel like any of that tonight. He wanted to scream his frustration to the woods before drinking enough Jack to turn oblivious to the world. But mostly, he wanted someone else to see him. The real him.

  He turned onto a narrow dirt road. Branches screeched like fingernails against the sides of the truck. The track was bumpy and washed out—an unmaintained and seldom used path to the highest ridge in the county.

  She braced herself with a hand on the dash and her feet planted wide. Bugs swarmed his headlights, and an endless sea of trees stretched on either side of them. They climbed steep hills, his tires losing traction more than once in mud.

  Topping the last rise, the truck’s headlights swept down, illuminating a field overlooking the plains below. A few house lights twinkled in the black carpet. But that’s not what drew him to this place. On clear nights and without the light pollution of town, stars covered the night sky so densely a flashlight was unnecessary.

  He parked so they could enjoy the view from the tailgate. The engine sputtered off, and she hopped out. He found a country station on the radio and slid the back cab windows open. She stood at the edge of the ridge, wrapped in stars.

  His chest tightened, full of conflicting emotions. Anger at the unfairness of the situation, despair he might not ever be allowed to coach again, and gratitude she had never doubted him, but mostly a sad inevitability of the future.

  He lowered the tailgate and pulled blankets out of his storage boxes. They sat side by side, Jessica staring into the infinity of the universe and Logan staring at her. In a reverential church-quiet whisper, she said, “It’s beautiful.”

  “Yes,” he whispered back.

  She glanced over and caught him watching her. She didn’t turn away or even flinch.

  “My scars . . .” Her swallow was audible.

  “Listen, you don’t have to—”

  “No, I do. I’m not as strong as you think I am. It’s all a front. Inside, I’m”—she shook her head and looked back to the sky—“When I was a freshman in high school, I started stealing my mom’s Valium. Just every once in a while. Father was pushing Georgetown and Wharton since it was obvious there wouldn’t be a boy to take over Montgomery Industries. Then, it got to more than every once in a while.” She hopped off the tailgate and moved closer to the edge, chafing her arms.

  “You got caught.”

  She turned her head so her profile was half-illuminated by the night sky. “There was a big set-to. Ma-maw wanted me to move to Georgia with her. My father wanted to send me off to a very strict boarding school.”

  “I’ll hazard a guess and say your father got his way.”

  She tilted her head back. “Only because Ma-maw died suddenly. She was the only one who could put my father in his place. I was devastated she’d passed and equally devastated to be sent away. I have a hard time making friends.”

  Logan chuffed. “I don’t know about that. You’ve done a bang-up job in Falcon.”

  “Things are different here. I’m different.” She rubbed her left hip.

  The truth hit him like a punch to the chest, stealing the air from his lungs. “Your scars are from a blade.”

  “Thirty-eight scars. Criss-cross pattern.” She sounded like she was describing something as mundane as a painting, but she could hide the angst and pain that had gone into each cut. He’d self-destructed too, just in a different way.

  “You’re a cutter.”

  “Was. I haven’t cut in years.” A defensive edge snaked into her voice. Her hand hadn’t left her hip. “I’ve never told anyone except my therapist.”

  His mind buzzed. “Surely your past boyfriends asked you what happened?”

  “I lied. I’ve never trusted anyone enough to share the truth.”

  His heart accelerated.

  She continued. “I still deal with the occasional panic attack. I had one the morning I told my father I quit, but I’ve learned to mostly control them.”

  He came up behind her, slowly so not to spook her. He pulled her back into his chest and dropped his face into her hair, taking a ragged breath. She smelled like magnolia blossoms in the summer’s warmth. He covered the hand on her hip with his own, weaving their fingers.

  “You’re not freaked out?” Her voice was tinny.

  He gusted out a breath. “Darlin’, of course not. You overcame crippling anxiety to find amazing success. Honestly, I’m in awe of you. You’re the smartest, strongest, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met. Makes me wonder what you’re doing out in the woods with a disgraced loser like me.” He’d tried to keep his voice jokey, his specialty, but her trust rubbed him raw and the words came out anguished.

  “Logan, you’re not disgraced or a loser.” She turned in his arms and circled her arms around his neck. His favorite ball cap dropped to the ground, but he didn’t care. A combination of pleasure and peace coursed through him with every stroke of her hand through his hair and across his shoulders.

  All he could do was shake his head, afraid what he might admit if he spoke. Instead, he maneuvered her backward and lifted her to sit on the tailgate. Their faces were even, and she pulled back.

  The stars lit her in black-and-whites. Pale cheeks, dark lips, mysterious eyes. He framed her face with his hands, his thumbs gliding over the softest of skins. He could have stayed like that until sunrise, but she leaned in to kiss him, her touch soothing the demons of his past and present and waking a different sort of beast.

  While her hands grappled with his T-shirt, he deepened the kiss, his sexual need rising and washing away everything beyond this moment. The soft croon of a slow, sexy song surrounded them, the beat matching the erotic pulse of his blood. She arched her back, pressing her breasts into his chest and spreading her knees wide, welcoming him. The music fed his wild desire.

  She pulled his T-shirt out of his pants. He finished the work and tossed it into the truck bed. Her tank top followed, a splash of blue on his white metal utility box. The cut of her bra thrust her breasts high, her peaked nipples almost exposed. He left it on but tugged the lacy fabric down.

  A long, visceral moan escaped his chest. The moon and stars emphasized the pale fullness of her breasts. He dropped his head and tongued one peak while his trembling hand covered the other.

  Her head fell back, her body following. She propped herself on her hands, the thin black strap of her bra falling off one shoulder. He ran his thumbs over her nipples.

  Together they got her jeans and panties off. He stepped back to strip, but stopped mid-zip, mesmerized by the sight of her.

  “Don’t fucking move.” He barely recognized the guttural rough voice he used.

  With her bra hanging by a strap and her legs splayed open, she was a goddess. He’d never seen anything as erotic and beautiful as Jessica Montgomery in the wild.

  She dropped to her back and covered her eyes with an arm.

  “Don’t you dare.” He grabbed her wrist and pushed her hand over her head. “You are beautiful. Inside and out. I’m going to keep telling you until you strut around buck naked.”

  She huffed a laugh. “I’m pretty sure that would get me arrested.”

  “Not for everyone. Only for me at home.”

  Her lashes lowered. The realization of what he’d said tied his stomach into a hundred knots. Home.

  He waited for her move.

  19

  Her heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest. He loomed over her, his pants half-unzipped, emphasizing the bulge of his erection.

  Home. What did he mean? Or had he meant to imply anything at all? Lying nearly naked while his gaze se
t her on fire was not the moment for logical deduction. Later, alone, she’d attempt to dissect his meaning. For now, she could focus on only one thing. Getting him naked and inside of her.

  “Are we doing this or what?” She sent him a teasing smile.

  With his hair tousled from her fingers and his broad chest kissed by starlight, he was the sexiest man she’d ever seen and that included all the covers of the romances she’d been devouring lately.

  “I know what I’ve been dying to do.” He grabbed her ankles, spread her legs, and squatted.

  She stared at the top of his head, unable to produce anything beyond a gasp. It had been a long time since a man had gone down on her, and an even longer time since she’d genuinely enjoyed it. His tongue danced and explored, teasing her mercilessly until she let go of her self-consciousness and concentrated on her pleasure. She ached and throbbed and bucked her hips in an attempt to get closer. His soft laugh was one of delight, and he rewarded her by his finger a few inches inside of her. The driving rhythm he started matched the faster flicks and sucks at her clit. He wasn’t going to be satisfied until he drove her wild.

  She dug her heels into the tailgate and clutched the blanket. Breathy moans that she dimly recognized as hers accompanied his soft hums. A cluster of stars overhead seemed to brighten the longer she stared. Her climax tossed her into the light.

  After her hips settled and her moans faded, he rose and ran hands up her legs. Out of habit, she covered the scars on her hip, her fingers tracing a particularly long, raised one. Her first cut.

  He pulled her hand away and brushed kisses over her hip. After a dozen passes of his lips, she realized he was giving her thirty-eight, a kiss for each scar. Long after his lips left her skin, his touch resonated. Years of shame and embarrassment turned to ash with his sweet acceptance.

  A tear slipped out to trail past her temple and into her hair. Swallowing past a lump of emotion, she pushed up on her elbows. He shucked his jeans in record time, his erection jutting out. Instead of pushing into her, he crawled past her to the back of the truck bed and leaned against the utility box.

  “Come here, Jessie.”

  On legs that still trembled, she positioned herself astride him. Even though she’d had the most amazing orgasm of her entire life and his erection was prominent between them, tears clogged her throat and threatened to turn her into a pitiful soggy mess. She pressed her cheek against his, kissed the shell of his ear, and whispered, “Thank you.”

  He ran his hands from the curve of her buttocks, up her back, and into her hair. “Wow. I’ll do that every night if this is the kind of thanks I get.”

  She pulled back with a waterlogged giggle. “Not for . . . I mean, don’t get me wrong, that was . . . You know you’re amazing. I meant, thank you for accepting me, scars and all.”

  Before her hand could fall to her scars, he cupped his hands around her hips, his thumbs stroking, one side smooth, the other marred. “You act like you’re damaged goods. That’s bullshit. You’re sweet and sexy and smart. Anyway, everyone has scars, it’s just sometimes they aren’t as visible as yours. Yours are a badge of survival.”

  Could the man be any more incredible? Her heart did a jig. Words hovered at the edge of her consciousness, but she let her actions speak for her and rubbed herself against his erection. “I want to make you feel good. Is this how you want me?”

  “Darlin’, I’ll take you any way I can get you.” He flicked her nipple with his tongue and unclasped her bra.

  The play of his hands on her breasts rekindled the fire between her legs. She arched her back, pushing her breasts closer to his mouth and circling her hips. She ran her hands across his shoulders to his biceps, the corded muscles jumping. Her next destination was his chest. She tugged at the hair across his pecs before heading south. The tip of his erection was wet and pulsed under her fingers. She traced the flanged head and down a prominent vein, shifting her hips back until she could stroke the slick, thick length.

  He dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her hips and lifted her higher. She fit him at her entrance and took all of him in a rapid plunge. They breathed out in synchronicity. As much as she enjoyed giving him control, she reveled in her ability to drive him crazy.

  Her pace was languorous, and she shimmied her hips on each plunge. He was so deep, a pressure at once pleasurable yet slightly uncomfortable built low in her belly. She ground against him, his pubic hair tickling her.

  On her next slow bump and grind on his erection, he caught her nipple between his teeth. “You little tease.” His warm breath and the pinch of his teeth sent shockwaves through her body.

  “You’re one to talk. Do you want it faster?” She’d tried to sound like a worldly seductress, but instead the question emerged on an out-of-control moan.

  “Ride me hard. Make yourself come on my dick.”

  She wanted to hold out, torture him a little longer, but instead she was powerless to deny the primal need he inspired. He scooted until he was flat on his back. She sat up straight, rising and falling faster and harder, rubbing herself with a singular, selfish goal.

  The low burn in her belly grew with every stroke. His breathing turned ragged, and his body was strung taut. Neither one of them were in control.

  Her climax broke the steady rhythm of her ride, and she fell over him, catching herself with one hand by his head while her other hand stayed between her legs. He hissed and bucked his hips up while he lifted her by the hips and slammed her back down. His erection grew even thicker inside of her before pulsing with his own orgasm. She collapsed over his chest, every bit of her tingling.

  The chill of the night seeped over her, and she shivered. Seemingly in tune with every nuance of her body, he grabbed another blanket at his head and covered them both. Lost in the foggy aftermath, she didn’t protest when he slipped from her body or when he shifted them to their sides. Her head was pillowed on his arm, and he traced the scars on her hip with his fingertips.

  Their intimacy, both physical and emotional, rocked her world into a new trajectory. She wasn’t sure how much timed passed before she spoke. “I was seventeen, the first time I cut myself. I was home from boarding school for the holiday break. I was still heartsick grieving Ma-maw. Mad and hurt Dad sent me off as if I was too much to deal with. Things at home had only gotten more contentious since I’d been gone.”

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and she took a shaky breath before continuing. “I didn’t really know what I was doing. The first time was too deep, and I bled everywhere. It was terrible, but weirdly good too. It was like the external pain negated the internal. Or my internal pain seeped out with all the blood. I don’t know. All I know is it made me feel better. I kept on until I was twenty-two. My mother caught me.”

  The flash of the horror on her mother’s face tumbled her stomach as if it had happened yesterday. Their eyes had met in the mirror. The thin line of blood trailing down her hip was the only color in the stark black and white bathroom.

  “Mother dragged me to a therapist. At first, I hated it, but at some point, talking to her make me feel better. My therapist thinks I cut myself because I was attention-starved. How crazy is that?” Even after everything that had passed between them that night, she tensed, waiting for him to tell her she was indeed batshit crazy.

  He pulled her closer for a hug. His acceptance washed through her like an antiseptic to old wounds. She pressed her lips against his neck, the beat of his heart steady and true.

  “Do you want to know why I joined the army?” His voice rumbled against her lips.

  She nodded against his chest. He repositioned them and propped his cheek on a hand, looking down at her. “My father is a five-star general. In some warped place in my head, I wanted to prove to him and to me, that I was his son. I almost got myself fucking killed. For what? A pat on the head? An attaboy?”

  She propped herself up so they were face-to-face. A cloud scooted over the moon, casting them in shadows. “Did you ge
t your pat on the head?”

  “How’s this for crazy-twisted? I saved a couple of Afghani kids caught in a crossfire. Got a commendation letter typed out by his secretary with his signature scratched at the bottom. No special note, no ‘I’m proud of you, son.’ The bastard never even called.”

  She pressed kisses along his temple and down his cheekbone. “I’m proud of you, Logan Wilde. How about this? We can be crazy together.”

  She found his mouth and his lips curled into a smile against hers. He pulled her on top of him, chest to chest, mouth to mouth. “That’s a deal I’d be happy to take.”

  One of his hands slipped behind her head, while the other cupped a buttock. The kiss deepened, becoming something more than sexual. It was a kiss about truth, yet Jessica harbored one more secret.

  The news of his father’s involvement in the Montgomery Industries job offer would only add to his pain and resentment. She didn’t want to tarnish the connection strengthening between them by the second.

  He skimmed fingertips over her waist and the sides of her breasts. She would tell him on their drive home. Not now with passion sparking in his eyes, his lips making her burn, and his hands driving her wild. Right now, she wanted to whisper crazy, scary things that had nothing to do with either of their fathers.

  His phone rang. Their lips stilled, touching but not moving. The ringing stopped, and he skimmed his tongue along her bottom lip. It rang again.

  “Don’t move.” He rolled her off him, hopped off the tailgate, and dug in the pocket of his discarded pants. The phone stopped before he could answer. The greenish light from the screen threw Logan’s features in harsh relief. He tapped the screen.

  “You’ve caught me at a bad time, man. What’s up?” After only thirty seconds, he tucked the phone against his shoulder and pulled on his underwear and jeans, his movements jerky and rushed. “I saw him not two hours ago, and he was fine.”

  Jessica took the cue. Wrapping the blanket around her, she slid out the truck bed and located her clothes, shimmying them on as fast as she could. Logan tossed the blankets into the metal utility box and headed to the driver’s side of the truck answering with a few “uh-huhs” and “rights.”