The Sweethearts’ Knitting Club

by Lori Wilde

  “You don’t need a man to rescue you,” she grumbled. “Just call the wrecker service.”

  She moved her thumb across the keypad to call directory assistance, when the low-battery warning flashed onto the display screen, mere seconds before the phone snuffed itself out.

  Supercrap! She’d forgotten to recharge the battery. Great. Now what?

  She sat listening as the rain slowed from drenching to steady drumming. She was going to have to wait until someone drove by. Lovely. No telling how long that would take. This late at night in a thunderstorm, she might end up sleeping in the truck.

  Several minutes passed—five, ten, fifteen. The rain slowed to a drizzle, but in the distance, she could see more lightning rolling in for a fresh round. Terrific.

  In her rearview mirror, she thought she saw the bobble of headlights. She swiveled her head, peered out the back window. Not headlights plural. Headlight singular. Someone had a headlight out.

  Or maybe it was a motorcycle.

  Her heart gave a funny little squeeze. Don’t be ridiculous. Who would be out on a motorcycle on a night like this?

  “Jesse,” she whispered.

  In that moment, she knew it was he. Riding up like a dark knight in tarnished armor. The closer the headlight grew, the harder her pulse pounded in the hollow of her throat.

  Compelled by an impulse she couldn’t control, Flynn flung open the door and stepped out onto the wet asphalt. She stood arms akimbo, hair frizzing in the mist, facing in the direction of the swiftly approaching light.

  Goose bumps of exhilaration carpeted her bare forearms. The air tasted as sharp as aged cheese. The breeze muffled the sound of the Harley engine but she could still hear it, rumbling ever closer. Her breath slipped rapidly from her lungs in hot little pants.

  Closer, closer.

  Suddenly the world flashed midnight blue in the stark heat of bolt-action lightning. In that split second of intense brightness, he looked like a fallen angel dressed all in black.

  She heard a rushing in her ears, a thunderous swooping. Time evaporated, vanished into the ether. Nothing existed but this one moment in time, and she felt fully, completely alive. Her breath was wet; every beat of her heart was languid and loud—boom…boom…boom.

  The Harley pulled to a stop inches from the toes of her sneakers. Jesse swung off the motorcycle, stripped off his helmet. He cocked a wicked grin as lightning bit the sky one more time.

  Flynn gulped.

  He held his arms wide, dropping the helmet to the asphalt.

  And she ran straight into his embrace.

  Their mouths locked hot and frantic.

  Desperately, Jesse grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of her neck and pulled her closer to him, spearing his tongue past her teeth.

  Flynn softened her jaw and let him in with a quiet groan of pleasure.

  An electrical surge, more powerful than the storm around them, ran through him. His cock hardened, scared the hell out of him it got so hard. He could chop wheat with a cock this hard.

  She ran her hot little tongue around the inside of his mouth and Jesse felt himself unravel. He had to stop this before they ended up making love right there in the middle of the rain-slick road.

  He broke the kiss. She smiled a soft, knowing smile, but didn’t say a word. A silent understanding bound them together, tight as twine. He cupped her cheek, and she turned her face into his palm. That simple gesture of tenderness and trust made his legs quake.

  Unnerved, Jesse bent, picked up his helmet, and then strapped it to Flynn’s head.

  Jesse stared at her in the darkness, frequently punctuated with bright flashes of blistering light, trying to put every emotion that was in his mind into his eyes for her to see. I want you. Do you want me as much as I want you? Let’s get the hell out of the rain and into a bed. Let’s finish what’s been ten years in the making.

  She looked back at him, never once blinked. Her gaze was steady and sure. Their eyes had been locked for only a second or two, but it felt like a lifetime. They drew in simultaneous breaths of air, exhaled on a sigh. The connection was solid, strong. A bridge angels could waltz across. In her eyes, he read the answers to his unspoken questions.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  He took her hand, led her to the Harley. He straddled it. She slipped on behind him, her arms hugging him around the waist. He started the engine, and they took off.

  The rain rolled over them, falling from the sky, splashing up from the road, bathing them in nature, washing them clean. Flynn’s arms tightened around him, and she laid her head against his back, her face turned away from the wind.

  He’d never felt more alive. He wanted for nothing. He had his freedom, he had Flynn. Nothing else mattered. He yearned for her, burned for her, and now he was going to make her his, forever and always.

  They zoomed through the darkness, a sexual bullet headed straight for its target—the river, her home, her bed. She was wearing the pink leather jacket he’d given her. A symbol of wildness and freedom. The wind rushed over their skin. The road sped away beneath his tires. Everything was slick and dark and dangerous.

  When they reached Flynn’s neighborhood, all the streetlamps were out. The community had lost power, drowned in blackness. Lightning flashes paved the way to her house. He pulled into the empty driveway. She nudged his back. He turned his head and saw her pointing to the covered carport. “Park underneath there.”

  He did as she suggested, parking the bike, killing the engine. Flynn was already off the seat, sprinting the short distance to the back door. Jesse ran after her.

  Inside the mudroom he found her, heard her more than saw her, stripping off her clothes.

  “Electricity’s out,” she said. “There’s candles and matches in the drawer to your right.”

  He fumbled for the drawer, smelled fabric softener and laundry detergent. Blindly he got the drawer open, searched inside, found a votive candle in a small glass holder and a book of matches. He struck the match, lit the candle. Smelled sulfur, then vanilla. He set the candle on the laundry shelf, turned to look at Flynn.

  At the sight of her bare skin, his libido lunged, strangling him like a choke collar.

  Down, boy.

  He told himself to look away, but he did not, could not. She reached her hands around to her back, unclasped her bra, and within seconds it joined her shirt in the dirty laundry basket.

  His throat convulsed and his pupils widened, taking her in. Her fingers went to the snap of her jeans, and then she worked the zipper. The next thing he knew she was skimming the wet denim, along with her panties, over her hips.

  Jesse couldn’t move, couldn’t think. All he could do was watch.

  Flynn stood before him, totally nude. Her dark, damp curls hung to her shoulders, accentuating the creaminess of her pale skin and making her brown-green eyes look wide and innocent. Her beauty ripped the breath right out of his lungs. Hot lust licked him. The hairs on the back of his neck fanned. Inside his head an old Johnny Cash song strummed. “Ring of Fire.”

  “Jesse?” Flynn breathed, her gaze fixed on his.

  Tender feelings rushed over him. He was there with her and she was stripped naked, exposing herself to him fully. He had fantasized about this moment for more than a decade.

  Finally.

  Finally.

  And yet he couldn’t make himself fully believe it was true. Jesse stared at her, unable to speak, terrified that if he said a word she’d disappear and he’d discover he was back in his cell in Huntsville and this was all an impossible dream.

  “Is something wrong?” Flynn whispered. Her eyes filled with anxiety and she crossed her arms over her bare breasts. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

  With a start, he realized that his hesitation had made her self-conscious. God, he was such a dumbass. “Yes, yes, it is. Everything’s perfect. You’re perfect.”

  The anxiety vanished from her eyes. “You’re soaked to the skin,” she said, and reached for the hem
of his T-shirt. He helped her wrench it over his head. “Mmm,” she purred, and her eyes narrowed as she took in his chest. “Yummy.”

  “Flynn.”

  “Jesse.”

  His fingers itched to stroke her flesh, but he was afraid to make a move, afraid of ruining things.

  “We’ve waited so long. I’ve dreamed about this so many times. I’m just scared that…” She paused, and he realized she was trembling.

  Hell, he was trembling too. “We’re setting ourselves up for disappointment?”

  She nodded.

  “You could never disappoint me, Dimples,” he murmured, and closed the gap between them, folded her into his arms, and gently kissed her forehead.

  God, she smelled so good. Like rain and summer heat. He pulled back, looked into her face, gauging her reaction. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her expression sultry. He kissed her again, forcing himself to go slowly, to be tender with her. This moment was special, magical. He wanted to remember it for the rest of his life.

  She ran her palm up his bare chest, splayed her fingers through the tufts of hair. With a low growl, he sucked her bottom lip up between his teeth, nibbling lightly. He felt so many things at once—desire, longing, love.

  Yeah, love. He wasn’t ready to say it yet, not until he knew if she felt the same way or not, but he thought it.

  Love. He loved Flynn MacGregor. Without any doubt or reservation.

  “Flynn,” he whispered huskily, barely recognizing his own voice. He cupped her bare butt cheek with his palm and almost groaned out loud. Her muscles were taut but soft, a thrill to caress.

  “Take me, Jesse, take me now,” she begged.

  That was all the enticement he needed. He bent to scoop her into his arms.

  “You don’t have to carry me,” she said. “I’m fully capable of walking.

  “I know that,” he said, and started to stride from the mudroom into the kitchen.

  “Wait, wait, candle.”

  “Right.” He carried her over to the shelf so she could grab the votive candle. “Bedroom?”

  “Upstairs, first door on the right.”

  He charged up the stairs, heart pounding. The first door on the right stood slightly ajar.

  “Your family,” he said suddenly when he reached the landing. For the first time since coming into the house, he thought about something other than getting his hands on Flynn.

  “Gone for the weekend to pick up Joel and Noah from basketball camp.”

  “Both Carrie and your dad?”

  “Yep.”

  “No chance they could walk in on us?”

  “None at all.”

  “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, and toed the door open.

  Flynn lay stretched across her bed watching Jesse come out of his wet jeans. The candle flickered on the bedside table. Music whispered from the battery-powered boom box on her window ledge, spinning the soft sounds of Faith Hill’s version of “Help Me Make It Through the Night.”

  Her heart lumped up in her throat. So many nights she’d lain in this very bed, imagining herself naked just like this, watching Jesse walk in through the door of her bedroom, just as naked. How many restless nights had she dreamed of him? Touched herself and pretended it was his hand, not hers? How many tears had she shed over him when he’d returned her letters unopened? Sobbing into her pillow, her tender sixteen-year-old soul shattered into a million little pieces.

  As she lay there now, seeing Jesse stalking up to her bed, that lustful look in his eyes aroused all the old emotions, all the old dreams. He was beyond handsome. Strong, masculine, graceful.

  Her stomach fluttered.

  He had a sprinkling of light brown hair over his muscular pecs, knotted biceps, sinewy forearms with the strong veins of a natural athlete pumping blood through his magnificent body. He had a second swirl of light brown hair just under the scoop of his navel that narrowed down to darker, curlier hair, framing his…

  His penis jutted forward, a divining rod, pointing straight at her.

  Flynn sucked in her breath. Her inner feminine muscles twitched with awe and excitement. Absolutely nothing—nothing—could have prepared her for the heated jolt of sexual desire coursing through her veins.

  “Condom?” she whispered.

  “Wallet.”

  “You were prepared?”

  “Have been since that night in the Yarn Barn.”

  “Good man.”

  He chuckled. “Come here.”

  Ten years her body had been aching for this. Ten years of buried yearning surged through her veins, and she forgot everything except her need for him. She was sixteen again—shiny and young and free of mistakes—and the boy she was crazy in love with was holding her, kissing her, fulfilling her every fantasy.

  Jesse took her hand in his, pressed his lips to the back of it, then raised his head and looked into her eyes. “I missed you so much, Dimples.”

  The heartfelt note in his voice was her undoing. Here was this big tough guy laying his emotions on the line. “Jesse,” she whispered, and planted kisses all over his face. “Jesse, Jesse. Are you really here? Is this really happening?”

  “I’m here. It’s happening. Finally, finally.”

  But even as he reassured her, it still felt like an impossible dream. How many times as a teenager had she lain in her bed imagining him touching her just like this?

  Hundreds?

  Thousands?

  She stared deeply into his eyes, knew he wanted to be inside her as much as she wanted him there—swelling, filling her up, making her complete. Let’s build a bridge, span time, hurdle the hurts of the past, she thought giddily. Overwhelm my soul, seize my imagination. Take me places I’ve never been. Make my heart sing. Make my legs tremble. Lick my thighs. Kiss me happy.

  She felt him everywhere—on her skin, her mouth, her toes, her fingers, her heart. Juicy, sweet, hot.

  His body.

  What a body!

  The sweet feel of his strong, hard chest against hers. She tasted, licked. Delicious. Her tongue lingered, in love with the saltiness of him. Water droplets dotted his shoulders, dripping from his wet hair. She put her lips to it, drank from his skin. Intoxicating passion.

  He felt so good in her arms. So alive. Their legs intertwined. His arms were her blanket. Engulfed. They kissed with everything they had in them. Heart, soul, mind. Sweethearts lost and found again.

  Biting need flowed like blood through her ventricles. Pulsating, quick, hot, strong. She writhed beneath him, breathing hard, her ears humming with pleasure. So much pleasure. His mouth was everywhere. Lips on lips. Lips on nipples. Lips on navel and ah, ah, lips on those secret lips.

  Heat and steam and sweat. A noise sounded. Was that a tea kettle? She hadn’t put on water for tea. That was no tea kettle, but rather her own keening sound slipping from her hungry, willing lips.

  Their fingers were at each other. Plucking, rubbing, caressing, kneading. Their fingernails clawed at sheets, headboard, pillows, skin. Need. So much need. Lust and trust. They pulled in air with each other’s scents. They were one, no more two.

  Their breath came in harmony. She was on her back, looking up into his eyes. Gray-blue eyes that had seen so much hardness in the world. Then he closed them and gently buried his penis deep inside her.

  In and out. He moved slow and sure. Their bodies undulating as he kissed her. Their souls tied, bound, connected. His nimble mechanic’s fingers skating over her thighs in crazy, dreamy circles.

  Every nerve in her body was alive, on edge.

  His movements quickened. From slow to staccato, thrusting into her deeper, higher, faster. He was on fire. A wild man. But no wilder than she. Their rhythm was perfect, as if all the practicing they’d done in their midnight dreams had prepared them for this glorious joining.

  He pushed her legs up over her head, opening her wide, entering her as deeply as possible, pounding her hard.

  Too much pleasure!

  Her mind went num
b as waves of orgasm overpowered her. His noises were as rough and loud as her own. Their bodies jerked in unison. They clung together, glued with rain and sweat and love juices.

  When it was over, they lay on their sides, looking into each other’s eyes, smiling and smiling and smiling. Jesse reached for her right hand, took it, curled her fingers into her palm, and then gently placed it over her heart. “I love you, Flynn MacGregor,” he whispered. “I loved you then, I love you now, and I’ll love you forever.”

  They slept for a while and then awoke in the night to stroke each other.

  “What made you come after me in the dark?” she whispered. “How did you know I was on the side of the road needing your help?”

  “We’re connected, you and I,” he whispered.

  “Honestly, how did you really know? I’m assuming you weren’t just out for a midnight ride in a thunderstorm on a motorcycle.”

  “You’re right,” he said. “When I left the shop I passed by where you parked, saw what looked to be a gallon of cherry red syrup on the pavement.”

  “And that made you come after me? What? Did you think I had a cold?”

  “It was transmission fluid,” he explained. “You had a big leak. I knew you probably wouldn’t make it home.”

  “You came after me.”

  “I did.”

  “My hero,” she teased, curling against him.

  He pulled her close, kissed the top of her head. “Nah,” he said. “It was all part of my master plan to get you into bed.”

  “Well, it worked.” She giggled, and then she quickly forgot about anything else as his mouth once again lit a furious fire inside her.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Calloway, don’t let me catch you in my town again.

  —Beau Trainer, parting words on graduation day, 1999

  Mockingbirds singing in the peach tree outside Flynn’s bedroom window woke Jesse just after dawn on that Sunday morning.

  He opened his eyes, felt Flynn’s body on the mattress beside him. He tucked his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling, a happy grin on his face, a sweet aching soreness in his muscles. Idly he considered running his head underneath the cool cotton sheet in search of her warm, sweet thighs. But they’d already made love three times during the course of the night, and he thought perhaps she might be worn out. Besides, he was starving. They’d burned off a thousand calories, easy.