Unbroken: A Novella (Loveless, Texas)

by Jay Crownover

  I stuck my finger back in the cannoli and collected another sweet bite. I gasped quietly when Crew caught my wrist before I could get my finger in my mouth. Slowly, deliberately, he tugged my arm across the table. I watched with wide eyes and a slack jaw as his tongue darted out and swirled across my fingertip. He licked the digit clean, leaving a warm, slick path behind. Also causing other parts of my body to tighten up and clench in heated awareness.

  We both looked over when there was a round of applause coming from somewhere near the kitchen. The older married couple was watching us—Luca was smiling from ear to ear, his wife clapping her hands together in glee. I flushed in embarrassment but didn’t jerk my hand away from Crew’s strong hold. I wasn’t alone right now.

  The thought was enough to send my world off-kilter in the way only this man had been able to do. When I was with him I didn’t feel the constant need to push forward, to prove my worth, to validate my existence. Being with him was as easy as breathing, and I enjoyed the freedom from expectations.

  We left when the restaurant shut down, and the ride back to his hotel was spent in companionable silence as the city whizzed by. I jolted slightly when the car rolled to a stop. It was late, and I should’ve been tired and stressed-out about everything I still had to take care of for the campaign. However, minus the stuffy party, tonight had been one of the most enjoyable evenings I’d spent with someone else in a long time. There was none of the pretension I typically found on my dates. There was none of the dancing around who had the bigger portfolio, and which one of us made more money and had more connections. Crew didn’t have to show off or work to impress. Just by being, he was the center of attention and the most interesting person in the room.

  “Thank you for feeding me. It was a nice night once we ditched the stuffed shirts and Barbie dolls. You aren’t so bad, Ms. Priss.” He flashed me a grin in the darkened interior of the car and I swore it made my brain short-circuit.

  “You’re not a bad date yourself, Mr. Lawton.”

  I yelped in surprise as he suddenly leaned across the space separating us, one of his hands grasping my chin as his eyes searched mine. “If that was a date, then I get a good-night kiss. That’s how all my dates end and you know how superstitious athletes can be. Don’t want to mess with what works.”

  I couldn’t think of a single argument to stop him. I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I knew I should. He was all wrong for me. He didn’t fit into my life. He was too pretty and too charming for his own good. But none of that mattered when his mouth settled over mine.

  I would have guessed he would kiss like he did everything else, a little rough and totally uninhibited. I would have been wrong.

  He kissed slowly, deliberately. His mouth moving with seductive intent as it slid purposefully over mine. He was slick and practiced, knowing just how to give just enough and where to take. I felt my head spinning, and my breath turning choppy as his tongue darted out to play with mine. I was the one who turned wild and unchecked. I was the one who slipped into the wanton skin, taking more and more, practically wrapping myself around his strong body and kissing him back like I’d never been properly kissed before in my life. And maybe I hadn’t, because I couldn’t remember a kiss turning me inside out, making me forget where I was and who I was with.

  The way his palms rasped over my skin was hypnotic. I could feel his touch, because he used his hands for more than counting money and making phone calls. Who would have ever thought that rough palms would be a turn-on, but they totally were. I liked knowing he was there, liked feeling him in places other than where our mouths were fused together. I’d never lost so much of myself in a single moment. As he pulled back, blue eyes blazing in the dark, I silently wondered what else I’d missed out on by dating only men who were almost exactly like the man who had abandoned me when I needed him most.

  Crew smiled at me, and I felt my heart turn over in response. All it would take was a return smile from me, and I knew he’d take me up to his room with him and change my life forever.

  But unlike him, I didn’t take risks and throw caution to the wind. I didn’t ignore warning signs and grab life by the horns. He was a churning, thunderous storm, and I was a woman who never left home without an umbrella.

  I swallowed, shook my head to clear my thoughts, and barely whispered, “Good night, Crew. I’ll see you in the morning.” And probably all throughout the night in my dreams, but he didn’t need to know that. He already had too much power over me. Disappointment flashed in his brilliant gaze, but it was nowhere near as sharp as the needles of regret slowly shredding my stomach as I watched him slip out of the car and walk away.

  Chapter 6

  Crew

  How long are you in town for? I would love to show you around if you have time,” the young woman with her hands uncomfortably close to my cock said as she fiddled with the zipper on the sharply tailored pants I wore. She had been relentlessly flirting with me from the moment I stripped down to play dress-up. I was on outfit number twenty, or maybe it was twenty-five, and none of them seemed to meet Della’s approval. Every ten minutes I was back in the fitting room with the bubbly blonde, who was making it no secret she would rather be taking my clothes off than putting them on.

  I grunted and tugged at the vest covering the gray silk shirt I was wearing. It was all too fucking fancy. I looked like a teenager dressing up for prom. None of the expensive designer wear was anything I would typically be caught dead in…which I guess was the point. Della wanted me to be someone I wasn’t, and all these designer labels were a good way to fool people into thinking I was better than I actually was.

  “I’m only here a few more days. Doing a few photo shoots and some press until the end of the week, then I’m headed back home.”

  I was actually headed to Vegas to pay Vargas back, but no one needed to know that. I was acutely aware of the deadline approaching. Five days had never seemed like such a short amount of time before. A clock ticking steadily and noisily in the back of my head. Kody was getting sick of my persistent calls to check up on her, and Case knew something was up, because I broke down and sent him a text telling him to be extra vigilant if he noticed anyone who looked like they didn’t belong in Loveless. Both the cop and the big brother wanted answers, and me telling him I had it under control didn’t go over well. Once I had Vargas off my back, I was going to have to show my face in my hometown and come clean about all the things I’d screwed up. I was looking forward to that reckoning as much as I was looking forward to the girl in front of me, tugging on the crotch of my pants again to adjust the fit.

  She was cute, with an easy smile and twinkling eyes that promised a good time. She was the kind of woman I had no problem falling into bed with, and forgetting about as soon as the sun came up. Only, Della was standing on the other side of the curtained-off area, and for some inexplicable reason, I didn’t want to let her down. I didn’t want to take this friendly woman up on everything she was offering because she simply wasn’t the woman I’d kissed last night. Now that I knew how Della tasted, how sweet she sounded when I did something she liked, there wasn’t a substitute able to fill the void she left when she walked away. Della said she had no expectations, but I wanted her to. I wanted to show her I could do this for her. I could prance around in too-expensive, too-tight clothes pretending to be the shit.

  “Well, I’m sure you won’t be working the entire time. I’ll leave you my number, and you can call me when you’re done with all the things Della has lined up for you.” She was gliding her hands across my shoulders when the curtain behind us swished open and revealed the woman she just mentioned.

  Della took in the scene with slightly narrowed eyes making the other woman fall back a step as she cleared her throat. I involuntarily lifted my hands, showing her I’d been an innocent victim of the wardrobe assistant’s attentions. Hell, if any woman was going to paw at me and cop a feel, I wanted it to be the one watching me in the mirror with discerning, hazel eyes.

&nb
sp; Our kiss was imprinted on my lips, and her taste was seared on my tongue. I foolishly thought putting my mouth on hers would be like rolling an ice cube around in my mouth. But there was nothing cold or soft about the way she responded to me. All the polish and shine that made her so hard to read fell away under the swirl of my tongue and the bite of my teeth. She moved like liquid under my hands, ice melting and turning into a river of want and need at the barest hint of a touch. That simple, playful kiss had me dying to strip her down so I could show her how much fun being dirty and wild could be. For a split second, I thought she was going to come upstairs with me; there was a flicker of hesitation in her gaze. Never had I wanted anyone to risk it all on me before, but I was silently begging Della to throw caution to the wind and be reckless with me.

  She didn’t. I couldn’t blame her. But that didn’t mean I hadn’t spent last night dreaming about how her flawless skin would look under my hands, and how her long, elegant legs would feel wrapped tightly around me.

  I bit back a groan and silently ordered my dick to behave. I didn’t want to give either woman the wrong impression.

  “This the one, Ms. Priss?” I turned in a circle, hating how restrictive and stiff the refined suit felt. There would be no staying on the horse for eight seconds in something like this. I doubted I could even bend over and pull my boots on in this getup. I failed to see how being dressed like I was going to high tea with the queen was going to convince normal men with a little extra cash to buy the junk in my hair. It felt like overkill, but I would chew my tongue off before telling Della that. I knew how much this campaign meant to her, and I needed her to keep me around so I could get paid…and get to kiss her again.

  Della circled around me, eyes scanning from head to toe. A small frown tugged her perfectly arched brows down into a V, and her lush, soft mouth pulled into a pout I was becoming achingly familiar with. She lifted a hand and touched the knot of the silk tie where it rested at the base of my throat. She fingered the delicate material and heaved a sigh.

  “You look perfect, but something is still off.” She met my gaze with a scowl. “Can you try and look a little less like you’re being tortured? That might help the overall image.”

  Her snippy tone and the upturn of her nose made me grin. I rolled my head around, causing my neck to pop and my shoulders to relax. Now that I wasn’t being felt up and had some breathing room, I loosened up a bit. Della’s expression softened when I was no longer standing at attention, but she still let out a dejected-sounding sigh and reached for my tie, releasing me from the expensive noose.

  “You have a body made for designer clothes, but something is lost when you put them on. I feel like we’re trying to wrap the Mona Lisa in silk or something. Frankly, it’s annoying that you make denim and flannel look just as good as Versace and Prada.” Once she had the tie off, she told me to go ahead and get back into my own clothes. I asked her what the plan was for the shoot tomorrow and a brief flare of panic and doubt lit up her catlike eyes. She forced a smile and told me she would figure it out.

  Since I was totally a fish out of water in this scenario, all I could do was follow orders like a good soldier. I stripped out of the fitted vest and worked on the tiny buttons of the shirt. I was handing them both off to the flirty girl who was enjoying the impromptu striptease when Della’s “Wait a second!” had both of us freezing on the spot.

  She was looking at me in the mirror, eyes roving over my half-dressed form. She wandered over to where my jeans and boots were tossed in a haphazard pile on the floor. After a second of rooting around, she came toward me, my black wifebeater in one hand and my boots in the other.

  “Put these on with the pants.” She looked at the wardrobe girl with a lifted brow and had to snap her fingers in the woman’s face to get her attention. “Go find me a pair of suspenders, leather if you have them.” The other woman scurried off to do as she was told and I dropped to the seat to pull on my boots.

  “I keep trying to turn you into something better.” I looked up at Della as she snorted out a laugh. “But from the start, my father told me you were perfect the way you are. Maybe I need to stop fighting him so hard on every little thing.”

  A pair of suspenders were thrust into Della’s hands, and I had to think very un-sexy thoughts as she worked to button them into the waistband of the tight pants. She lifted on the tippy toes of her heels to smooth them over my shoulders, and all I had to do was put a hand on the small of her back to pull her toward me. I could kiss her stupid and forget all about how I ended up here.

  She rocked back on her heels, cocking her head to the side and checking out her handiwork. I was half me, and half the version of the man she kept saying she wanted me to be. It must have worked because she handed me the fallen tie and told me to wrap it around my neck but leave it hanging loose. I looked like I’d just crawled out of bed with a woman I couldn’t afford, after having a really good time while I was there.

  “That’s it. I first thought of it when you were leaning against the car when we were in Texas. I need to stop trying to create an image that appeals to men who already have everything. I need to go with this one, the one that says this product line can make a man a little rough, and a little polished at the same time. I need to go right for the middle, hit the best of both worlds. I need the guy who rides in a chauffeured car, and the guy who willingly climbs on a bucking bronc. The crossover market should be amazing if we get the image right.” She waved a hand in front of me. “This is right.”

  “He’s perfect.” The purr from the wardrobe assistant had my hackles rising and some of Della’s newly found excitement dulling. She turned to look at the woman, but before she could tear into her, or make the moment more uncomfortable than it already was, I reached out a hand and grasped her shoulder, urging her back around to face me.

  I gave her a crooked grin and absently lifted my hand so I could rub my thumb over the haughty arch of her sharp cheekbone. She was, without a doubt, the most fragile and delicate thing I’d ever put my hands on, and I was terrified I was going to break her.

  “For what it’s worth, I would love to be the kind of guy who actually slides seamlessly between those two worlds. I think most men would. I think you’re on to something.” I lifted my gaze and looked at the other woman in the room and shook my head at her. “I’m far from perfect, doll. I quit trying to be that around the time I learned to walk. There’s always room for improvement, and I think that’s what this campaign of Della’s is going to show people. Those of us who roll around in the dirt need an excuse to spruce up every now and then, and the type of man that plays with money all day needs to remember what it’s like to work with his hands and get rough once in a while. Ms. Priss is good at her job, and I’m happy to be along for the ride while she does her thing.”

  Della stared up at me, mouth hanging slightly open. The same flicker of hesitation that sparked in her gaze last night jumped to life while she stared at me. Only this time she gave in to temptation and threw herself into my arms, nearly taking me down with the force of her embrace.

  “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

  I squeezed her back and buried my nose in the top of her head. Her hair smelled like flowers. “Ahh. People should be telling you things way nicer than that, Della. You deserve to hear how awesome you are on a regular basis.”

  Just like I deserved to hear how much of a screwup I was over and over again, which was why I would never be the guy who fit into her world.

  Chapter 7

  Della

  A true-blue cowboy, a Lamborghini, and an Arabian stallion walk onto a photo shoot…

  It should be a joke. There should be a punch line, but I wasn’t laughing because everything happening in front of the camera was magic. Crew was a natural. The camera loved everything about him. Every image captured made him seem larger than life. The wicked twinkle in his eye gleamed mischievously in every shot. He looked taller, stronger, just more everything tha
n he already was under the bright lights. The mix of modern corporate raider and the untamed wild man had the temperature in the studio rising to nearly unbearable levels. The photographer kept fanning himself and muttered, “Dear Lord, if men in Texas look like him, I’m moving,” over and over again. His assistant was practically drooling, and the makeup girl was taking far too much joy in touching Crew up every five minutes. The dark-haired cowboy seemed oblivious to the impact he was having on a roomful of jaded professionals. He was too busy being enamored of the massive, black stallion I’d miraculously found last minute for the shoot.

  Crew chatted up the horse’s handler between shots, asking about his lineage and other horse-type stuff that sounded like a foreign language to me. He touched the animal reverently but didn’t seem at all excited when he got to climb all over the Lamborghini. It was evident he missed being on his home turf, but he was doing a damn good job of turning mine upside down.

  “One more shot, Crew. Can you lean against the car and wrap the rope that’s on the saddle around your arm? Put your head down a little, so we get some shadows across your face.”

  I gulped when Crew moved to obey the directions. I sighed inwardly when he inadvertently copied the pose from the first day we met, leaning against the car, one leg bent as he shoved a hand in the front pocket of the sharply tailored slacks he was wearing. All that was missing was his Stetson.

  “He needs his cowboy hat.” The sentence felt like it was wrenched out of me. The only way this was going to work was if I let Crew off the leash and let him be who he really was.

  The photographer gave me a questioning look over his shoulder. “That’s going to cover up his hair, and you’re in the business of selling stuff to make those locks look flawless.”