Truck Stop Tempest

by Daniels, Krissy

  As soon as we sat, the waiter brought a wood cutting board with a loaf of rustic bread. “Morning, Tito.” He wore a smile that boasted a crooked tooth and infectious joy.

  “Morning, Max.” Tito leaned back into his chair. “How’s the hip?”

  Max winced. “Little stiff. Mother Nature is brewing something nasty today.” He shot me a wink, then headed back toward the kitchen.

  My stomach growled, and I hoped the Spanish guitar playing over the speakers was loud enough to mask the embarrassing rumble.

  “How’d you find this place?” I asked, admiring the brick walls and ambiance.

  Foregoing the cutting knife, Tito pulled a hunk of bread off the loaf. “I come here with my uncle. He’s friends with the chef.” He set the bread on my plate, then ripped off a hunk for himself, took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. Took another.

  So, I did the same. I’d never been served bread without the neat little slabs of butter. I’d never tasted bread so full of flavor that it didn’t need butter. It didn’t take long to realize there were no menus on the table. It also didn’t take long for Max to return with small cups of dark coffee. Shortly after, he returned with another cutting board. On the board sat something that resembled a thick pancake, but smelled of garlic, fried potatoes, and the promise of a happy, happy stomach.

  “What is this?” I asked, embarrassed by my lack of culture.

  “Spanish tortilla.” Tito winked, cutting a wedge from the pie. “Potatoes, eggs, garlic, onion, and a shit ton of love.” He set the slice on my plate, then filled his own. “Never had it?”

  I shook my head no.

  Tito’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Well, then. You’re in for a treat.”

  Max returned, once again, with two plates, each containing two fried eggs and lemon wedges.

  “Did you call ahead our orders?” I asked.

  Tito shook his head. “No. No menus here. Chef serves whatever he’s in the mood to cook, and people eat it. They don’t like that setup, they don’t come.”

  I cut into the potato concoction and lifted it to my lips. Tito watched, halting his own bite midair.

  I shivered at the explosion of flavor. Salty, buttery, potato heaven. Hint of garlic, but not overpowering. The texture was dense and comforting, like a promise that you’d never feel the pain of an empty stomach again.

  “Good, yeah?” he asked, face beaming with anticipation.

  I didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, I took another bite. Then another. I sipped my strong coffee in-between chews, then dug into the eggs, mimicking Tito by dipping my hunk of bread into the yolks.

  I sopped the remaining oil and flavor-filled crumbles off my plate with the butt of the bread, then popped it between my lips. “You eat this good all the time?”

  Tito laid his fork down and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. The scrutiny in his gaze triggered alarm bells.

  “You eat that fast all the time?” he asked, voice gruff, his mood shifting into a dark zone.

  I looked at my plate. “No.”

  Had I made a fool of myself? No doubt I’d suffer for my binge. I sure as heck wouldn’t regret it, though.

  “Look at me,” Tito ordered. Or maybe it wasn’t an order. Maybe his deep voice or the dark inflection that marinated his words made every syllable sound like a command.

  On impulse, I obeyed, raising my eyes in a slow drag to meet his.

  Those eyes. Dark and stormy. An exotic clash of browns and greens warring over prime real estate.

  “Why do you do that?” he asked.

  “What?” I feigned interest in my napkin.

  A heavy hand covered mine. “Look at me.”

  Again, I did as ordered.

  “Whenever you feel uncomfortable or challenged, you look down.”

  With great will, I held his gaze. “I. Um. Sorry. Habit. It’s how I was raised. Eyes down. Don’t argue. Obey your Elders.”

  “Elders?” He laughed. “How old do you think I am?”

  “No. I mean, Elders, as in, the men who are leaders—” I clamped my lips shut before spilling my ugly truth. “I mean, yeah, you know, like people older and wiser. Parents, aunts, uncles, teachers, you get the picture.”

  Not missing a beat, he argued, “You started to say men who were leaders? Leaders of what?”

  “Leaders in the church. The um, the church I grew up in.” I’d said too much already, but I couldn’t stop rambling. “We were punished if we disobeyed or showed any disrespect. Um. But. I don’t belong to that church anymore. I don’t agree with their beliefs. That’s why I moved to Whisper Springs. To get away.”

  Tito’s face hardened, eyes narrowed. The weight of his scrutiny was suffocating. “Punished how?”

  I wanted to flee. “Let’s talk about something else.”

  Stone cold silence. My breakfast threatened to make a reappearance. After agonizing seconds, his glassy eyes cleared.

  Tito leaned over the table, jaw clenched, his face inches from mine. “Listen to me, Tuuli. When we’re together, when we’re talking, you hold your head up. You look at me. Whatever the fuck is happening between us, you hold your head high. If you don’t like what I’ve got to say, look me in the eye and stand your ground. Got me?”

  I nodded, biting my lip to hide the quiver.

  He grabbed my chin and stole a kiss. A simple, sweet assurance. Then he held my gaze again. “Your eyes are full of secrets and stories. They are devastating and beautiful. Please don’t keep them from me.” With that, he pushed away from the table, pulled cash out of his wallet, and dropped it between our empty plates. “Come on. Let’s hit the road.”

  My legs moved to follow. My guts, my heart, and my head lingered, not ready to leave the spot where I’d caught a rare glimpse of the real Tito Moretti.

  The man who would most likely ruin me.

  I would ruin her. Knew it deep. Didn’t fucking care.

  With my fucked-up head and Tuuli’s unsettling confession about her upbringing, we were, without a doubt, a match made in hell. Any fool would agree. However, I’d never been one to cower from a challenge.

  Then again, I’d never been one to lose my head over a woman. So where did that leave me?

  On a date with a girl I would inevitably destroy. Or, quite possibly, fall victim to.

  “Where are we going?” Tuuli asked when we’d settled in the car.

  “I have something to show you.”

  “Another luxury condo you plan on buying?”

  “No.” I couldn’t decipher her tone, unsure if her question was a dig or a poke. Didn’t care much. She’d be happy when we reached our destination. “The other day, you said you don’t know what I do for a living. But you’ve never asked, either.”

  “I figured you would tell me in your own time.”

  “I like that you don’t pry.”

  Her face turned three shades of pink. God, the girl wasn’t used to receiving compliments.

  “I could explain my job, but it’ll be more fun to show you.”

  We drove back through Whisper Springs, then around the lake, and pulled on to the private road that led to Aida’s new obsession: the mansion.

  “Isn’t this the Clarkson Mansion?” Tuuli asked, leaning forward to take in the full view of the home.

  “It is. You know it?”

  “Oh, yeah. There are rumors it’s haunted. Kids from school used to sneak up here and scare the crap out of each other.”

  “You’ve been here?” I shifted to park. Pulled the brake.

  Tuuli fell back in her seat, shook her head. “My parents were overprotective. I wasn’t allowed out at night.”

  “Come on.” I unfolded from the seat and jogged to her side of the car. She was already heading toward the front door. I snagged her hand and pulled her around the back of the massive home. “My office is around back. Private entrance.”

  “Your office?” She stopped in her tracks, motioning toward the home. “You work here? I thoug
ht this place was abandoned.”

  “It was vacant for years. Aida and Tucker own it now.”

  “No way.”

  “They’re turning it into a group home for at-risk teens.” Although I wasn’t lying about the plans Aida had for the home, I wasn’t entirely honest either. Only a handful of people knew the true purpose of the mansion we were renovating—a safe-haven for rescued children. Sex slaves, more accurately.

  For the past few years, Tucker had been rescuing girls from the sex traffickers that plagued the highways. He spent many nights trolling websites and social media outlets, trucking apps and radio waves, searching for the fuckers who pimped underage girls. He would take down the johns and take the girls to a home in Montana where they would be rehabilitated. So far, none of the kids he’d rescued had returned to the streets, like so many often did.

  Aida bought the Clarkson property for its size and privacy, so Tucker could continue his plight and remain close to home. I agreed to help, in part, because Aida hadn’t given me a choice. But mostly because I needed an outlet and taking down sick fuckers who hurt helpless children gave me the perfect opportunity to channel my ever-burning rage.

  I was the best at what I did. Programming. Hacking. Security. I would help Tucker locate his targets. Help take them down. He’d lost his stomach for violence the day Lucia was born. With my skills, violence was no longer necessary. I had other ways to hurt the pedophiles. The pimps? They were another story. But I’d been working on ways to bring them down, too.

  It would be months before the home was ready to receive girls. But I’d already set up my equipment and started work on security around the property.

  The door to my office opened by code. I punched the numbers on the keypad. With a satisfying thunk, the door swung wide, revealing a long hallway that led to another door. Another code entered, and that door opened into what would be my second home for the unforeseeable future.

  I keyed the necessary digits, waited for the green light, and pulled the handle. At the sound of my voice, the room lit in a warm glow.

  Tuuli pushed past, bumping me out of the way. I took the opportunity to study the way her jeans hugged her ass. Then spent my attention on her expression as she spun a three-sixty, taking in the room. Monitors, keyboards, the wall-to-wall equipment that would soon control every square foot of the manor.

  “Tito,” she said, breathy and awed.

  I liked the way my name sounded on her lips.

  “Did this room come with the house?”

  “No. I built this.”

  “You?””This is what I do.”

  “Are you a computer genius or something?” She brushed a finger over one of the many keyboards lined up on the main desk.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Or something.”

  “I don’t understand. You said this would be a refuge for troubled kids. Why the NASA level security?”

  “I’ll work security for the home, but I’m a private contractor as well. Some jobs require more of…” I gestured around the room with a sweep of my arm, “this.”

  “Well, now I understand your need for an open, airy penthouse to call home. It’s stifling in here. No windows. No natural light.”

  “When I’m working, I need the seclusion.” I stepped behind Tuuli. Damn, her hair smelled good. Like sugar cookies.

  “Can I see the rest of the place?” she asked, leaning into me.

  My chest constricted at the contact. My fingers tingled with the need to touch. My head spun with images conjured of us naked.

  I should never have brought her to my office. My workspace was forever tainted with her scent, her face, the sound of her sweet, sweet voice.

  LIGHTNING CRACKED OUTSIDE, sending a flash of blinding light through the room. My heart danced in my chest, and I waited, counting. One, two, three, four, five, six…Boom. Thunder tore through the dark sky, rattling the glass and shaking the foundation. My whole body vibrated with nervous energy.

  “So much for a tour of the grounds,” Tito said, peeking out the window.

  He came back to meet me where I stood, on the gigantic mat placed in the center of the large gym. In one corner, weights were stacked on iron racks. In the opposite corner, three treadmills and four elliptical machines lined the walls. To my right, punching bags, three hanging from the ceiling, two on the ground yet to find a home.

  I was completely out of my element, but enthralled, nonetheless.

  “You work out?” Tito asked, throwing a fake punch at my shoulder.

  I held my arms away from my body and looked down at my slight build. “Do I look like someone who works out?”

  Tito pretended to inspect me, lifting my arms higher, squeezing my biceps. His eyes met mine before he smiled and said, “I think if I sneeze, you might blow away.”

  On impulse, I hugged myself, putting distance between us.

  “Hey. Hey,” Tito snagged my elbow and settled back on his heels, holding me steady, urging me closer. “Don’t do that shit.”

  I sagged against him and laughed, a pathetic attempt to hide my insecurities. “I’m jealous of you.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “You have so much self-confidence. People take one look and know not to mess with you. You’re untouchable.” Except, I was touching him. He touched me, too, his tenderness erasing the memory of every ugly touch that came before.

  “You could do that, too.” He raised both hands to cup my face and tapped a finger on my temple. “It’s all about what’s going on in here.” He pulled away and laid an open hand over my heart. “And here.”

  Tito dipped his chin and moved his hand to my jaw, tilting my head. He leaned closer, forcing me to meet his gaze. “There’s a beast hiding inside you just waiting to be released.”

  I swallowed a giggle. “How do you know?”

  “I know because my beast can sense her.” He slid one hand to my hip and lowered his face to my neck with an inhale. “My beast can smell her.”

  Oh, God. My heart.

  His lips grazed the sensitive skin. “And taste her.”

  A shiver tore through me. The sky outside lit up again, and I counted in my head. One, two, three, four…Boom! Thunder rocked the building.

  The storm was getting closer.

  I shivered, and before I could cower in fear, Tito’s lips met mine. Strong arms coiled around my body, his beard scratching my skin and his fingers curling into my back, pressing hard.

  Rain pelted the windows, the ceiling, the ground outside. Tito pulled me closer against his tense muscles.

  I softened for him, opened for him, relaxed my jaw, and let him in. Joyful and willing, I surrendered to the strong, scary man, allowing his exploration.

  Tito slid one hand to the curve of my rear, bent down, scooped my leg up his thigh, then lifted me, urging my legs around his waist. When I complied, he lowered to his knees, then laid me down, never breaking our delicious contact.

  Tito kissed me. Touched me. Kissed me harder. And I let him. I loved his mouth, and his lips, and the rough drag of his hand up and down my ribcage.

  I closed my eyes and absorbed every detail. Committing the moment to memory. Committing him to memory.

  With a groan, Tito pulled away. He braced his left arm at my side. His right hand tangled in my hair, pulling tight. “Kiss me,” he ordered, voice strained, breaths heavy.

  “I am.”

  He huffed, dropping his head. “No, Bunny. I’m kissing you. Kiss me back.”

  “Tito…I—”

  “Kiss me back.”

  The man growled, the room spun. I landed above him, straddling his waist. He held my hips tight, his hazel eyes burning bright. “There. You’re in charge. Now, kiss me.”

  My cheeks blazed. From the first time we’d met, I’d wanted his mouth, dreamt of us, imagined a million different scenarios where I was kissing Tito.

  Now I had him, and shamefully, I didn’t know how to take charge.

  As if reading my mind, he whispered, “
Don’t think about it. Just do it.”

  I feared if I didn’t try, I’d never get the chance again. So, I leaned forward, planted my hands on the mat, caging him, and I dipped my head, planting a kiss on one cheek, just above his mouth, and then the other.

  Tito chuckled. “That’s a start.”

  I pressed my lips to his, smiling, mostly from embarrassment, but also heady from the power he’d granted me and the thrill of having the man between my legs. I couldn’t waste the opportunity. I dragged my tongue across the seam of his mouth, urging him to open. When he did, I dived in, with my mouth, my tongue, and my teeth. I curled my fingers into the longer hair on top of his head, holding him steady while I took what he offered.

  I was wild, ravenous, delirious with want. I kissed. I licked. I sucked. I claimed what I wanted, how I wanted; only, what I took wasn’t enough. I craved more. Ached for more.

  Tito’s hips bucked underneath me. He curled his fingers into my ass and started to take over, but I tightened my grip on his hair and held him still, not ready to yield control. Power was rare. Beautiful. Freeing. And for a fleeting moment, dominance was mine.

  My breasts ached. A low flame burned beneath my skin. The throb between my legs became unbearable, and I arched my back, pressing my core harder against the beautiful man between my legs.

  Tito.

  Oh, God.

  Tito was thick and rigid, meeting my grind with soft thrusts. Rubbing, riling, taunting, and tempting. The ache was no longer only between my legs; it was everywhere. My face. My head. My heart. Pounding. Pounding. Pounding. A relentless rhythm of sex and need and selfish pleasure pumped through my veins, loud and erotic and all-consuming.

  I rocked my hips against the hard length of him—greedy, selfish, unabashed—and soon we were no longer kissing. Face buried in his neck, his arm clamped around my head, I moved against him, a slow mating dance, lustful, sinful, and I didn’t care; I didn’t want to be good, not in that moment, not in Tito’s arms. I wanted wild and writhing and mindless, and I never, ever wanted to stop.

  Stop. Stop. Stop.

  I heard the words. Wasn’t sure where they came from. My head? My mouth? They were there, getting louder. Pissing me the fuck off.