Bryce lifted a leg off the bike he’d just seated, and man if that wasn’t hot to start with. His faded jeans clung to all his best parts. He took off his helmet and stepped around the bike, without uttering a word moved her closer up against the sunkissed wall and placed his hands on his hips.
“What?” she asked, feeling flustered and hugging her sweater tighter around her body.
He was yet to speak, he only started at her and she couldn’t make out at all what he was thinking. Was it good, was it bad, who the hell knew. If the man could just say something.
Instead she pushed her hands at his chest and shoved him back a step. Not that he really budged, it must have done it by free will.
“You know what you have become, stale,” he pointed his finger at her.
“What?”
“Stale.”
“I am not stale.”
“Oh, no, the beige pants, maybe gray at times, a faded violet scarf at the most to add a splash of . . . something. Stale.”
“Well, what about you.”
“What about me?”
“Tattoos all over, scribbling gibberish all over your skin. Destroying yourself.”
“Destroying myself? You think these makes me trouble, Stale?”
“They get you into trouble, especially around . . . some people. It’s . . . dirty, irresponsible. And don’t call me stale.”
“I’m dirty?”
“Yes, very.”
He smiled and took a step toward her again. She grabbed her lunch box against her chest and staggered against the wall behind her.
“Oh, Val. You don’t even know what dirty means until you’ve really been with me. What we’ve done, you and I, are just foreplay.”
In a second he was gone, his aftershave the only thing lingering as a mist around her. His bike rumbled away out of the parking lot and down the street and behind his shades it seemed nothing could touch him. She let the lunch box fall with a thud to her thighs and she started to breathe again, noticing she hadn’t while she watched him drive off.
“You’re all right there, Ms. Valerie?” A voice from the window next door and made her jump high and squeal in fear. She waved and smoothed out her beige scrubs for the day.
“I’m good Mr. Grover. Just . . . thought I saw a snake.” And maybe she had. A slug, slinky bastard. Smart, alluring, and probably true to his word, dirty. Filthy. Suddenly her mind opened a door she tried hard to keep shut. Curiosity was a bitch sometimes and she wondered exactly how much dirtier someone could possibly be?
***
The day had been rough. It had been stressful. And in all honesty, she’d rather stayed at home sick with the flu than dealing with today’s issues at the clinic. Her head rambled in hyper-speed as she parked the car at her house but instead of walking inside she turned and sped across the road not allowing her mind a chance to stop her erratic idea. Her hand pounded on the wooden door and she stood back for it to open.
“I changed my mind,” she said as soon as the door opened.
“About what? Coming over?”
“Yes.” She was nervous enough to turn her bravery into flight mode at any second. Let him get this fast, she hoped.
“Whatever stopped you?”
“You.”
“Me, what?”
“You, a biker with a tattoo on your upper arm.”
“None of those things ring a warning bell to me should those characteristics be yours. Remember, I am also a paramedic who saves people’s lives. That should add a gold star to the whole tattoo thing I have going on. You should tell that mother of yours I even won a badge for saving the mayor’s grandkids when they decided to jump off of a train bridge at the county line. Almost got hyperthermia from that one.”
“My parents, they . . .”
“Oh, come on, Valerie. You’re a grown-up.”
“You don’t understand. They’re hardcore.”
“Hardcore what, haters of motorcycles and body ink? If so, they should get a patent on that and create a grassroot organization ‘cause I’m sure as hell new to that phenomenon.”
“No. My dad is a self-made minister for a small group of fanatic believers outside of Brookville. Grassroot, I’m sure. My mom, their private pre-school teacher,” she rambled, she knew it. Nervousness did that to her. Always had.
Bryce took a deep breath and crossed his muscular arms across his wide chest. “No shit, you’re crazy pastor Gary’s daughter?”
“The one and only,” she mumbled and her eyes glazed over as she stared over his shoulder and into the wall.
“You were amazing abroad, Val. Brave, brazen, dirty,” he whispered and something tingled between her legs and made her shiver. “You have a different last name than him.”
“Yep, yet being away somehow made me miss the life back here. I used to go to school just two counties away from here before my mother suggested homeschooling in the ministry. I worked my butt off in school to get to college on a big scholarship just to get away from it all.”
“Well, I think you should lose that wall you’ve obviously crawled behind since you came back from Brazil. Return to being the Valerie I got to know.” He took a step closer and she was wondering if he could feel the shiver of anticipation he created.
“Ever heard of Hunter Thomas?” She cut off the trance.
“You mean the guy who choose to throw himself in front of the 78 Express to escape his demons, yeah who hasn’t.”
“That was my brother.”
“No, shit.” He stood back, his hands sat on his hips. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, anyway. And thank you. So, do you see why it felt necessary to escape this whole country to eliminate the invisible bounds my parents seem to have on me, and obviously did on my brother. Apparently, that was his only way out from whatever misery he lived in. I was only in 9th grade when it happened, but ever since I’ve been determined to create my own identity, my own life, non-religious and away from my parents.”
“Well, good for you. I do have to say . . . the Valerie I met in Brazil was brave, fearless, and self-confident. Where is she now?”
“Ha, she might be left behind abroad.”
“No, I think she’s hiding somewhere inside here.” He grabbed her upper arms and pulled her against his thin black t-shirt, hugging every muscle of the wide chest the fabric hid. She felt his heartbeat pressing against her bust and she suddenly wanted nothing more than find her international courage.
“You don’t have to play an act with me, I already know the brave woman that you have hiding inside. You just have to let her out and I’m sure no one would disagree. I mean, come on, you don’t belong with seniors in a knitting circle or spending every weekend evening at home reading books with a cat, or seeing Mr. Preacher boy in prissy pants.”
“My mom would die if she knew anything different, and it feels like she already half-died when my brother . . . left us.”
“Say the words. He didn’t leave you, he did what Val, say the words?”
“I can’t . . .”
“Nothing is going to happen, just say it. Release that fear of what really happened and then let him go.”
“He . . . killed himself. I don’t want to cause any more problems or stir anything up,” she whispered as anxiety strangled her voice.
“Is keeping it barely afloat healthy thought? I bet one day the kettle is going to boil over and I’m not sure I want to be around when that lid flies open.”
“Oh, I don’t think that will happen,” she mumbled and held back the tears dying to slip out of her eyes.
“I highly disagree. Ask Ms. Moore at the library on 5th street for books about suppressing emotions and you’ll find yourself at page 4, loud and clear. I’ve dealt with enough people in my career blowing off powerful fuses and would hate to see it happen to you. Because . . . I really like you.”
Valerie gulped and began. “I remember when I was a little girl working on our daddy’s farm. I was a meek little thing, scared of my own
shadow and the animal I had to castrate. I had to pump my own water, Bryce, make my own clothes, and if the crop didn’t get in . . . well, we’d all go hungry. And that’s when mom and dad found God,” she sighed and looked down at her feet.
“Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse a city guy, looking rather wealthy, and a 66 Rambler rolled up the dirt road to our woodpile of a home and asked me for directions.
This was a real man. Wore a three-piece suit and smelled like a pine forest after a spring rain.”
“Sounds poetic.”
“What he did to me wasn’t poetic. It was filthy. And I absolutely loved it.”
He watched her pupils dilate, and her lips grow soft. Her whole being must feel the memory in every cell as she spoke. Suddenly he wondered what it felt like between her legs, and as his eyes trailed down to her crotch she caught him staring.
“Take me now.”
“Huh?” he stumbled on the words and found nothing to answer the surprise.
“Take me now before I change my mind,” she said once more and closed the door behind her and moved to sit down on the staircase going up to the second floor.
She reached down and opened the button to her fly in her swift move making it pop in the quietness around them. As soon as the sound was heard she pushed her pants down to her ankles and with her already bare feet toed off her pants until she sat back up on third step of the staircase, her shirt hugging her shapely upper body.
He swallowed hard, yet his mouth felt like dust and someone made a sound, a groan, and he realized it must have been him as she leaned back on her elbows and spread her naked legs wide open.
“Holy shit,” he mustered and took two steps forward until he found himself in the embrace of her legs, pulling him tight toward her nakedness and he instantly felt her warmth against his cock, screaming for more space inside of his jeans.
“I had a pet chicken growing up,” she continued as he kissed his way up her neck and found her ear. “I named him Abraham Lincoln, wishing he would set us all free from our living in hell. He was just as tall and statute and with the same large head. A flightless bird is a wonderful pet for a child, that is unless your father has a mean-streak ordered by God and a taste for Chicken-Fettuccini.”
***
She looked away from his eyes that felt to drill themselves into her soul and looked away out the front door.
“I’ve got to go. Cat’s need feeding and love.”
He slowly ran his hands down her arms, to her hands, giving them a light squeeze before he let her go. Let her get dressed.
She was back across the street in seconds and safely behind her front door in lighting speed. If anyone had seen her she was expecting a call from her mother at any minute.
God, it felt like some colossal weight, some bulky bastard, had been lifted and thrown away. Maybe she had a chance now to let all of yesterday, and yesteryears crap go and be done with it. She’d uttered the problem, she’d faced her fear or saying it, and yet she hadn’t died. And even better, Bryce hadn’t slammed the door shut in her face. That was almost better.
~ Chapter Eighteen ~
When darkness fell in Primrose Valley, the stars lit up the sky in a way that made it hard to live anywhere else. With autumn in full blast, and winter not far behind, the pleasures of enjoying the great outdoors would soon diminish. Bryce didn’t want the opportunity to pass, not when a rare day off on his work schedule had so permitted. As he knocked on the door of Valerie’s pristine cottage, he figured he’d set himself up for rejection. He shook out his jitters and flashed a smile that never failed bringing women to their knees—for various reasons, and waited.
While he waited, his mind wandered in light speed from the first woman he’d ever dated, through the random pile of women that he’d bedded, some with whom he’d attempted the feared long-term relationship, clearly without success. He didn’t know what it was about Valerie compared to the others that made her so difficult and so sexy all at the same time. Even in prim, beige pantsuits reminding him of Hillary Clinton or in flannel cat pajamas she made something inside him fire pistons.
He bent backward and looked at the parking spot in front of the garage, yep, her car was there. Why didn’t she answer the door? He knocked again and felt the door handle, locked. He took a deep breath and debated calling Brody or walk around the property himself. His mind was already made up as he was already half around the house and he kept his cell phone in his hand hovering over Brody’s name in the list of favorite contacts.
He stopped short as he saw the sliding door open out to the back porch and suddenly regretted investigating. He was sure not to get a warm welcome sneaking around her property without invitation. There she was, sitting on the floor, gripping her hand in worry.
He took the few steps up the porch in one leap and stepped inside the kitchen and met her gaze. She was pale, and the palm of her hand looked like a plate filled with squeezed tomato. It was shaking and her death grip around the wrist didn’t make it any better.
“What happened?” he kneeled next to her and took her hand in hers.
She pulled back her hand and gasped in pain. “Cutting . . . carrots,” she mustered and looked up at the counter where he saw the knife handle peeking out over the edge of the counter top.
“Well,” he said and grabbed a towel from the door to the oven and pressed it hard against her hand. The move made her suck in air and groan. Not good, not good at all.
“I need to look at this,” he said calmly and pulled away the soaked towel. Just as he thought: a cut big enough to need stitches. Damn. He looked around and helped Valerie to her feet.
“You’re pale, cold, and your hand and arm are smothered in blood. You know as well as I do that we need to clean you up. Come with me,” he said and held tight around her body to steer her down the hallway to the bathroom.
While she was obeying his request, he took another clean hand towel from the cupboard beneath the sink and wrapped it tight around her hand and asked her to hold it while he peeled off her clothes and blood stained shirt and let them land on the floor. While she shook from the pain, the chock, he checked the temperature of the shower and pushed her in gently while holding her steady. There was no other way to get it done, he was in there with her. Rubbing her arms, soothing the chock, and in already soaked, warm clothes unwrapped the towel encircling her hand.
She sucked in a breath as the water hit her hand and he washed her with swift efficiency while her eyes had wandered from the cut in her hand to the erection pointing straight for her in his jeans.
He sighed as he continued his washing of her arms. “Just ignore it, this is not supposed to be . . . erotic,” he said with a strain. But she kept staring and the knowledge of that made his pants even tighter. His hands roamed her shoulder, up her neck, and pushed back the hair from her face and he was met with a low sigh and her forehead leaning in to rest on his wet t-shirt. He turned off the shower and quickly grabbed for another hand towel to wrap around the wounded hand before he helped her out and set her aside on top of the bathroom counter. He placed her robe around her body and dried her hair with a towel before he kneeled before her and found her eyes.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Much better, thank you,” she whispered back and gave him a faint smile.
***
He slid down her wet body, kissing his way as he moved. Paying attention as he went, then kissing his way between her thighs. Slowly he sucked her into his warm mouth and life as she knew it stopped. Her toes curled as her eyes closed and her nipples hardened to the point of pain. Her one good hand left the counter and slid into his hair to hold him in place because . . . if she died, this was the way to go. Just a little bit more, she begged inside and gasped. Yes, a little bit longer, another stroke of his tongue—
“No!” she gasped when he pulled his mouth away. “Please, no.”
“Eyes open, Val. Watch,” he said, and when he put his mouth back on
her she did as requested and it was . . . scorching. Watching how his mouth, his lips, his tongue moved on her. In her. Over every tingling part between her thighs.
A fire began at the bottom of her spine and shot up like a rocket making her vision fade. She grabbed his head and pulled him away from her quivering body, hearing in the distance a faint, warm laugh as he placed warm kisses along the inside of her thigh until she was able to open her eyes again. Breathe again. She tugged him close and kissed him, tasting herself on his tongue. Wickedly naughty.
His big hands opened her robe completely and bending his head he sucked a breast into his mouth. Over and over he circled his tongue, took her into the roof of his mouth. Kissed her, until his hands slid under her bottom and pushed her into the hard bulge inside his pants.
“If you zip open these pants,” he muttered into her ear as he tugged at her earlobe with his teeth, “there is no going back. I’m fucking you. Hard. Understood?”
She groaned in excitement and felt everything between her thighs get wet. His hands spread underneath her and his fingertips reached her.
“Holy fuck, Val. You’re so wet.”
Her hand flew to his zipper but as her fingers found the top button the phone rang down the hall.
“Let it,” she gasped as she noticed he was watching what she was doing to his pants.
He kissed her like he owned her mouth. He touched her just the same. The phone kept ringing until a click was heard and a message came through.
“Valerie, this is your mother. Please pick up, it’s important. I have found a special someone who is eager to hear about your trip abroad, an animal physical therapist. Same field as you darling! Oh, how excited I am over your intro—“
The machine cut her off and the message stopped. Bryce had stopped as well. He stood between her thighs, his hands leaning on either side of her body, chewing on the inside of his mouth.
“Sorry,” Valerie whispered and tried to kiss him on the cheek but as soon as she came close enough he retreated and left an empty spot between her legs.
Keeping Up Appearances (A Gass County Novel Book 4) Page 9