Jump Start (Texas Hotzone Book 1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  She stared up at him, searching the hard lines of his face, obscured by shadows, sensing a shift in him—his mood darker, the playfulness of earlier gone.

  His mouth closed down over hers, his lips firm, his tongue ruthless in its invasion, its demand. His hand, forceful as it guided her hips to his, his erection thick where it rested against her stomach.

  Jennifer moaned into his mouth, tasting that darkness she sensed in him, the primitive lust—feeling it in his touch. On some level, in some place in her mind, Jennifer knew this was the beginning of a firestorm of more than passion. This was a foreshadowing of what was to come—of Bobby dealing with why he’d left, why he’d returned. She told herself to pull away. Knew she should ask questions, demand to understand what had caused his mood. If only she had asked questions seven years ago.

  But now he was touching her, her bra unhooked, his hands everywhere. Gliding over her rib cage, gently brushing the curve beneath her breast. She moaned, arching into him, moaned as his hand slid under her shirt, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples. She was wet, achy, ready to say to heck with a blanket.

  For a few minutes, she didn’t fight the drugging kisses or the enticement of his hands on her body. Jennifer was lost. Lost to kissing Bobby. Lost to his touch. Lost to the need to touch. Her hand slid over his crotch, over the bulge of his cock. She wanted him inside her. Oh, yes, inside her. Here, now.

  A low, feral growl escaped his lips as she stroked his cock with her hand, spearing his tongue into her mouth. And it was the kiss—the wild, dark quality of Bobby’s kiss that pierced the passion, bled into her soul. Called out to her in warning. She was losing him again. He was going to hurt her. Again. Hurt her again. Somehow, her palms steadied on his arms, and she shoved away, tearing her mouth from his.

  “No,” she gasped. “Stop.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the scream of her body telling her to “go,” not “stop.” She forced her eyes open. “What is it, Bobby?” she rasped, her throat thick with desire, barely recognizable as her own. “What’s wrong?”

  The twinkling stars were barely seeping through the tree limbs, casting a reflection on his face.

  “Nothing,” he said, his hand sliding along her hip and tempting her to forget her objections. “The idea of taking you in the wilderness turns me on, is all.” He leaned down and kissed her forehead, the edge about him beginning to fade. “Let’s go see my father, so I can properly satisfy my craving—in your bed for now. We’ll come back to the wilderness.”

  Nothing was wrong. But something was wrong. He knew it and so did she. They’d marked the tree with their names, but not with a guarantee of happiness.

  ***

  CARVING THEIR NAMES in that tree with Jennifer had been the moment he’d made the incontrovertible decision—he was not going to reenlist. He was going to spend the rest of his life finding places like this one to share with Jennifer. No more traveling to a different country at the blink of an eye, barely remembering his real name, forgetting a holiday, forgetting his birthday. Missing Jennifer’s. No more blood all the damn time. He was ready to be done with the blood. Especially that of men he considered friends. But Jennifer wasn’t convinced. He could see it in her eyes. She didn’t believe he was staying. She wasn’t ready to give him her trust. Which brought to the surface the bitter reality of seeing his father, refusing to let him forget why he’d enlisted in the first place. And so he’d wanted to find a way to forget, to bury himself inside Jennifer under that tree—their tree—and forget visiting his father. Forget the past. Instead, Bobby was remembering all too well. He had to remember, he had to embrace what was, to find what could be. To prove to Jennifer he was worth the risk of opening her heart again.

  He parked at the side of Joey’s Garage, not about to announce his arrival. Streetlights and exterior lighting illuminated the area, but not the darkness of dread. He’d face his father on his own terms. And considering he preferred a “never” time frame to the apparent immediate one, that wasn’t going so well.

  Only yesterday he’d believed Jennifer had a right to see what he might become. Now, it was all he could do not to turn to Jennifer and remind her he wasn’t his father, that he had simply let a toxic relationship press his buttons, or maybe he needed to remind himself.

  “I’ve met him before,” Jennifer said softly, as if she’d read his mind.

  “You met him, yes,” Bobby said, turning to her, “but it was brief and you got lucky. He was half sober and in a good mood.”

  Jennifer squeezed his hand. “I’ve dealt with Marcie’s prewedding mood swings for weeks now. I can take your father for a short visit.”

  “All right,” Bobby said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  She reached for her door. “Ready?”

  He reached for her, his fingers around her neck, kissing her. He drank in the flavor of her, the sweetness that was so her, the sweetness that gave him a reason to face the bitterness of his father.

  Long moments later, he forced himself to draw back, the taste of her lingering on his tongue, his voice firm with resolve. “Now I’m ready.” Bobby had every intention of proving that to Jennifer. And to himself.

  17

  JENNIFER ROUNDED THE front of the car to meet Bobby at the hood and stopped dead in her tracks as the sound of a low growl met her ears. She grabbed Bobby’s arm. “Stop.”

  “I heard it,” he said, a second before a Doberman pinscher lunged toward them snarling and barking, teeth bared. Big teeth on an angry dog.

  “Don’t move,” Jennifer said, her heart in her throat. “Anything we do to seem aggressive will make it attack.” The dog jumped forward and barked some more. “Of course, it might attack anyway.”

  “Considering you’re a vet,” Bobby said, his voice calm, unaffected, almost amused, as if he’d faced far worse than an enraged Doberman, “now seems a good time to ask if you’ll be betting on me or the dog in the event a fight should ensue? Because if anyone is going to bite you, it’s me, and it’ll come with a heavy dose of pleasure. Fido here isn’t going to get a chance to bite you.” The dog snarled as if it resented the name. Bobby arched a brow. “Okay, I guess the name Fido isn’t macho enough to suit you. Kujo it is.” His gaze remained on Kujo. “What’s the answer, Jen. Me or the dog?”

  “I might be a vet,” Jennifer said, amazed at how calm Bobby was because she was ready to crawl under the car, “but I wouldn’t like being ripped apart by a dog any more than you would.”

  “Ripped apart is rather dramatic, sweetheart,” he said. “You know something I don’t?”

  “I know I wish I didn’t smell like cat right now, and that dog is going to attack if we don’t do something and do it fast,” she said, all too familiar with the look in its eyes.

  “Well, well, well,” came a countrified female voice. “Look what the dog drug up. Heel, girl.” The dog snarled once more and backed away, sauntering over to stand by the woman who stroked its head. “Good girl, Dixie.” The dog panted and glowed, a happy pet, rather than a killer.

  Jennifer’s gaze lifted to the brassy redhead in cutoff shorts and a T-shirt with cowboy boots, and long, lean legs that any girl would kill for. But her tanned face with fine lines gave away her age.

  “My God,” Jennifer said. “It’s Marcie in twenty years.”

  “Kate?” Bobby said.

  “Hell, yeah, boy,” she said. “Who else you know who’d put up with your father?”

  “Who’s Kate?” Jennifer asked, confused.

  “His stepmother,” Kate said, kicking up the dirt as she headed for Bobby. “Who wants a hug!”

  “Stepmom?!” Jennifer asked, confused.

  Kate gave Bobby a big hug. “I thought I was going to have to go to Russia or Iraq or some crazy place to hunt you down. Don’t you know how to call or visit?” She pursed her lips. “Never mind. Of course, I know why you didn’t.” She eyed Jennifer. “I’m guessing this young lady had something to do with you c
oming now.”

  “This is Jennifer, Kate,” Bobby said, wrapping his arm around Jennifer and went on to explain to Jennifer, “Kate used to be my stepmother.”

  “Still am,” Kate said. “I left the drunk SOB fifteen years ago because he was impossible to live with. Never divorced him.” She grinned. “So I figured I better kick his ass and keep him.”

  Jennifer turned in Bobby’s arms, excited at the discovery. Expecting the same from him. Instead she found a troubled, solemn look on his face.

  “He’s been sober three hundred and three days today, Bobby boy,” Kate said. “Surely you got my letters.”

  He scrubbed his jaw. “I’ve been away on several long missions, back-to-back. I haven’t checked my mail in a few months.”

  Kate made a “tsk” sound. “Come inside and holler at your father. He’s going to be tickled you’re here.” She started walking. “Come, Dixie.” The dog fell into step with Kate.

  Bobby hung back, a stunned look on his face. Jennifer turned to him. “This is good, right?”

  “Kate being back, telling me my father is sober and ‘tickled’ to see me is an alternative reality. I think I’m going to wake up any minute.”

  Jennifer smiled and laced her arm with his. “Let’s go see your father.”

  Arm in arm, they strolled into the garage, an old Camaro in the docking area that Jennifer guessed to be from the seventies. Kate stood beside it. “Come out of there, Joey. I got someone for you to see.”

  “Tell ’em to hold their horses,” came a grumble from beneath the car. “I almost got this. Oh, well, hell. I need a socket wrench.”

  Bobby stepped forward and grabbed a socket wrench from a metal table and bent down beside his father. “Here you go, Pops,” he said.

  Silence. Then, Joey Evans slid out from under the car in mechanics overalls, his gray hair cut close to his scalp, his eyes wide. “Bobby?” And then he was standing up, hugging his son. For a moment, Bobby was stiff, unmoving. His father held on tight anyway. “I’m sorry, son. I’m sorry for everything.”

  Jennifer’s gaze met Kate’s, and they were both crying. Father and son had found each other, and two loves had been reunited. In that instant, Jennifer wasn’t sure she could be happier.

  Bobby’s father leaned back and patted his son’s shoulder. “Let’s go have a drink to celebrate.” He gave a two-second pause in which Bobby must have grimaced, because his father chuckled and said, “A Coca Cola boy. There’s not a beer in this great state of Texas, or beyond, worth losing my son over again.”

  “Coca Cola is Joey’s replacement vice for beer,” Kate explained. “One I happily supply.”

  Joey glanced over his son’s shoulder at Kate, opening his mouth to respond, but instead, fixing his gaze on Jennifer. “Well, I’ll be damned. Jennifer Jones.”

  Jennifer’s eyes went wide. “You remember me?”

  “Of course, I remember the woman my son planned to marry and give me grandbabies with,” he said. “I was an ass when I was drinking but I never forgot a darn thing. Though I’d like to forget the part about being an ass.”

  Jennifer gaped at his directness and Bobby’s arm slid to her back, a silent apology.

  “We’d like to forget you were an ass, too,” Kate assured him. “But you keep opening that big mouth of yours. Good thing you mean well.” She glanced at Jennifer. “And he does.”

  “Oh, heck,” Joey said, scrubbing his jaw, looking genuinely upset. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. I meant I’m glad you’re still around.”

  Jennifer ignored the magnetic pull of Bobby, willing her to look at him, and the loosely used term still around, and graciously replied, “I’m flattered you remember me.”

  Kate seemed to sense the need to redirect the conversation and motioned toward the door. “Let’s go inside and catch up on things. The place is messy, but it’s home.”

  Quite some time later, Jennifer sat at a wooden table in the dining area overlooking the living room, where she eagerly consumed every detail of Bobby’s old family home, from the wood paneling, old carpet and worn furniture, she could manage. That and her weight in the chocolate cookies Kate had baked earlier that day.

  Jennifer brushed crumbs from her hands. “Those were so good. I have to stop before I eat as many as Bobby did.” He’d eaten at least six. She’d managed to down four herself, but she was only admitting to three.

  “I went to work at a bakery after I left Joey,” she said. “Never thought I was the baking type but it was a job and I needed one. Next thing I knew, I loved it. I’m thinking about opening a little place of my own.”

  “Based on these cookies, I’d say it would be a success,” Jennifer said. “I think I might need lessons.”

  “Better yet,” she said, “you and Bobby come and let me cook for you. It’ll do Joey’s heart good. And mine, too.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Jennifer said, her gaze drifting to where Bobby, and his father, were looking at photo albums and talking—Joey more than Bobby—but they were talking. Healing had begun. Unbidden, sadness washed over Jennifer. She couldn’t go making dinner plans with Kate. After Marcie and Mark’s wedding was over, she didn’t know when, or even if, she’d see Bobby again. For all she knew, something would trigger that flight mechanism in Bobby all over again, and he’d be gone.

  Kate’s hand covered Jennifer’s where it rested on the table. “That man isn’t going anywhere without you,” she said softly, as if she’d read Jennifer’s mind. “I can see it in his eyes when he looks at you.” She patted Jennifer’s hand and leaned back, speaking louder, as if she wanted Bobby to hear. “That doesn’t mean Bobby doesn’t need a good butt kicking like his father now and then. But I have a feeling you are up for the job.”

  Jennifer grinned. She liked Kate’s feisty personality more with each passing minute.

  Two hours later, Jennifer and Kate watched Joey tear up as he hugged his son goodbye. “I’m proud of you, Bobby Evans,” he murmured softly, but not so much that Jennifer and Kate didn’t hear. Then Joey stared Bobby in the eye. “And if you don’t stay in touch, I swear I’ll come find you—I don’t care what kind of godforsaken jungle you’re in. Understood?”

  Bobby nodded. “Understood, Pops.”

  When Jennifer and Bobby pulled onto the highway, the silence inside the dark car was damning. “This was good, yes?” she prodded. “Your father is doing great, and Kate is wonderful.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes glued to the road.

  Yes. Nothing more. Jennifer sat there, contemplating pushing him to talk. Even sober, his father had triggered this, which seemed to prove her worst fear. His father had always been an excuse to walk away. It was always going to end like this, with Bobby finding some reason to shut her out again.

  When they finally pulled up outside her condo, Bobby killed the engine, but not her whirlwind of emotions. She was clinging to a thread of composure. They sat there in silence for long seconds before Bobby said, “Jennifer—”

  “Good night, Bobby,” she said, pushing open her door, all too aware that just the sound of his voice, the anticipation of what he would say, was cracking her fragile shell. She didn’t want to cry; she didn’t want to yell. She just wanted away.

  She was at the door in a flash, her hand shaking as she struggled with the keys. Suddenly, Bobby was there, big, warm, overpowering. His arms closed around her from behind, and he gently helped her unlock the door.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  Jennifer squeezed her eyes shut, and for a few seconds, she allowed herself to revel in the feel of him holding her. Of the familiar warmth, strength, comfort. And yes, even passion. But she knew it was short-term. She knew he’d promise more and give her what he’d given her in the car. Withdrawal. And she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t live through it again.

  “You wouldn’t even talk to me in the car,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. “L
et me go, Bobby.”

  “I’m not letting you go ever again,” he said and before she knew his intention, she was in the door and it was shut. He held her tightly in his arms. He repeated his words. “I’m not letting you go.”

  “You don’t have to,” she said. “I am. I’m letting go.”

  He ground his teeth until a muscle flexed in his jaw, steely silence, raw torment in his gaze that reached inside her and twisted and had her adding, “You shut me out again.”

  “I am trying to make sense of the past seven years,” he said. “I left you. I left him. It took Kate to save him. That’s a lot to swallow.”

  “I could tell you, you might not have been able to save him. The timing and the right person make all the difference. But I’m not the right person for you, Bobby. I’m the one you shut out.”

  “No,” he said. “I’m not ready to say goodbye. You still owe me one night.” He gave her a quick kiss and then he was gone.

  Jennifer couldn’t move; her mind spun with the implications of his words. One more night. One. Not two. Not a week. Not a lifetime. One. He’d agreed all too easily. That shouldn’t surprise her. She’d seen how he’d pulled away over his father, how he still struggled with the past. And as much as she wanted Bobby, she didn’t want him halfway. He was either in this or not. Obvious the “not” had the win here. But if he expected, after all she’d been through, to choose their final night, he had another think coming. “Damn you, Bobby,” she whispered. “You don’t get to decide when we say goodbye this time. Not this time.” Somehow, she was going to do this on her terms.

  18

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, dressed in a navy silk chiffon dress, Jennifer rushed to the private banquet room in the restaurant hosting Marcie and Mark’s rehearsal dinner. With the rehearsal complete, the wedding party would arrive any minute, and she still needed to place the bride and groom’s gifts by the seating arrangement cards. She opened the double doors to the scent of lilacs, which adorned the center of the solid oak rectangular tables set in a U-shape. Removing the gifts from the bag on her shoulder, Jennifer rushed from seat to seat, carefully placing them in the proper locations.