“Fuckhead.” Bullet glanced at the house again and saw Finlay walking through the living room. “I gotta run, bro. Love you.”
“Love you, too, B. And for what it’s worth, I really liked Finlay when I met her at the wedding, and Mom said the guys at the bar were crazy about her. Don’t fuck her over.”
“Jesus…”
“Just giving you shit. She said they couldn’t stop talking about how personable and upbeat she was—and about her cookies. I’m happy for you, bro. I’m heading out for a run.”
On his way up to the porch, Bullet caught another glimpse of Finlay through the living room window, causing a strange fluttery sensation in his chest. He froze, fearing the accident had opened a vortex that lumped Finlay into some sort of trigger. He drew in a deep breath as she set the vase of flowers he’d given her the night before on the end table. She turned, and their eyes caught, turning that flutter into brain-numbing desire. A wide smile lifted her cheeks, and she hurried toward the door, her short green dress whisking around her thighs. She wore a pair of tan lace-up ankle boots that did amazing things to her gorgeous legs. Damn, her smile and those legs would be the death of him.
The door flew open, and a gust of cinnamon seeped into his senses. His gut seized as he remembered what she’d said about cooking when she was upset. But her eyes danced with delight, and like the sun had finally come out, his whole world brightened.
“Hi,” she said joyfully.
“Hey there, lollipop.” He stepped forward as she went up on her toes, greeting him with an enthusiastic press of her lips.
She tasted like cinnamon and sugar and a whole lot of happiness, shattering any lingering worries he might have had about her turning tail and running scared. He wanted to forget their visit to the hospital, carry her into the bedroom, and spend the day worshipping her naked body.
As their lips parted, he said, “I might have to come over every morning.” He kissed her again, deeper this time, slow and sensual, until she exhaled one of those dreamy sighs he loved.
“Damn, I missed you.” When he realized what he’d said, he rose to his full height, startled by the revelation.
“I missed you, too,” she admitted with a shy smile. “But you were stuck in my head. I dreamed about you all night long.”
That made his insides all warm and mushy. “Naked, I hope.”
“No!” Her cheeks flushed. “Maybe.”
“Good.” He leaned closer and spoke directly into her ear. “Just be sure you dream big enough.”
“Bullet!” she whispered. “I think you like embarrassing me.”
“I think I’m going to like breaking you of that embarrassment even more.” She visibly shivered, and he handed her the flowers. “For you, beautiful.”
“More flowers? They’re gorgeous, thank you. Are these from your garden, too?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You’ll make your garden bare if you keep bringing me flowers from it.”
“I’m not worried.” He had more gardens than he could ever deplete. Gardening had been a form of therapy when he’d first returned home, plagued with severe PTSD.
He followed her into the kitchen, where she’d set a table for two, complete with fancy cloth napkins, wineglasses filled with ice water, and a pitcher of orange juice, and was glad to see the anxiousness of last night was gone. “Expecting company?”
“Only you,” she said with a quick tap on his chest. She leaned on the counter and went up on her toes to grab a vase from a top shelf in a cabinet, and he retrieved it for her.
His body brushed against hers, and the Finlay radar detector in his pants awoke with the alarm. Finlay inhaled, just faint enough to kick up his heart rate.
“You didn’t have to go to this much trouble,” he said as he set the vase on the counter.
She picked up the vase but didn’t face him. “It was no trouble. You had a hard night last night, and we got so close, I wanted to make you something special.”
He sensed her arousal in the shakiness of her voice. She turned on the sink and he reached around her, keeping her close as he filled the vase with water and placed the flowers in it. Then he lowered his mouth to her neck and kissed her tenderly, but tenderly wasn’t enough, and he opened his mouth so he could taste her better. She shuddered against him, and he turned her in his arms.
“You’re my something special.” He brushed his lips over hers and said, “You’re all the breakfast I need.”
“Bullet,” came out breathless.
He tipped her chin up and took her in another passionate kiss. His hips ground against her belly, and he knew she could feel how hard he was. “I don’t want you to think I came over expecting this.”
“This is good,” she whispered.
“Christ, Fins. I can’t get enough of you.” He lifted her up onto the counter and wedged himself between her legs, devouring her mouth like a starving refugee.
She pushed her hands into his hair and guided his mouth to her neck again. Man, he loved that she wasn’t too shy to show him what she liked. He sealed his mouth over her warm skin, sinking his teeth in just enough to earn a sinful sound that sizzled through him. He pulled her to the edge of the counter, aligning her center with the steel spike in his jeans, and pulsed his hips against her.
“Oh gosh, Bullet,” she pleaded, and pushed on the back of his hips, keeping their bodies flush.
“If you keep saying my name like that, I’m not going to stop, baby.” He pushed his hands along her outer thighs and clutched her ass through her silky panties. “You feel so damn good.”
“Bullet, Bullet, Bullet,” she whispered greedily.
His mouth crashed over hers, rough and demanding. She arched against him and…
Beep! Beep! Beep!
Bullet snapped upright at the sharp sound, his eyes darting around the kitchen.
“It’s the oven timer,” Finlay said quickly. “The Wicked Sticky Buns are ready.”
An unstoppable guttural noise rumbled in his throat. He grabbed her ass and said, “Trust me, babe. I can get your buns wicked sticky real fast.”
Finlay giggled as she wiggled off the counter, landing on her toes before him as the alarm sounded again.
“Your kisses make other parts of me sticky, too,” she said quietly as she slipped an oven mitt over her hand and bent to remove a tray from the oven.
Like metal to magnet, he splayed a hand on the back of her thigh, gathered her hair over one shoulder, and kissed her neck again. “Christ, lollipop. You’re killing me.”
She took off the oven mitt, still facing away from him, and steeled herself against the counter with both hands, leaning back against him with a sigh. He moved his hands to the front of her thighs, his fingers creeping up between her legs. The scent of warm cinnamon assaulted him, and he caught a glimpse of the freshly washed bowls and measuring cups drying beside the sink, bringing rise to a spear of guilt. She’d gone to all this trouble to make him something special, and all he could think about was eating her for breakfast.
He made room for that organ in his chest to lead the way, kissed her cheek, and said, “What can I do to help?”
AFTER A BREAKFAST filled with enough heat and stolen kisses to catch Finlay’s Wicked Sticky Buns on fire—and a quick covert panty change, which Finlay assumed she’d be doing a lot of with Bullet around—they headed over to the hospital to see how the Beckleys were doing. Bullet hauled her across the bench seat in his truck so she was sitting beside him, and no part of her wanted to put space between them. She’d been honest about missing him in the few hours they were apart, and it had shocked her as much as it had thrilled her.
She’d been so wired last night after Bullet left, she’d packaged up all the desserts she’d made into pretty boxes, including a gift for Mrs. Beckley, and she’d finally fallen into bed around three thirty. She had no idea how she’d fallen asleep, because her mind had been reeling from everything they’d done and all that they’d revealed to each other, but somehow
she had, and she’d slept like a rock. Her dreams had been nothing short of erotic. One second Bullet was perched above her, his thick shaft moving inside her, and in the next she was on her knees with his cock in her mouth. Finlay had been intimate with only four men in her life. Sex had always been missionary, and pleasurable enough. Until that last guy, after Aaron died, when she hadn’t enjoyed it at all. She’d had oral sex before, but it was more out of duty than desire, and she hadn’t gotten on her knees for any man. With Bullet, she didn’t just desire him in her dreams, but she craved him in the light of day, when she was wide-awake and he was miles away. Even more so when he had his mouth on her.
When they arrived at the hospital, he put an arm around her waist and lifted her out of the truck, keeping her pressed against him. Her insides heated up as she slid down his body and her heels touched the ground. It had never been like this before, where just a touch, a look, a single kiss turned her into a pulse-pounding, tingling mess of desire. If there had been a thought bubble over her head when he’d picked her up, they never would have left her foyer. Bullet was one hot dessert, and the man knew how to fill out a pair of Levi’s. She had embarrassingly noticed every bulge, from the thickness of his thighs to the fullness of his formidable package. And his chest? She wanted to run her tongue from belly button to nipple. Okay, she wanted to start much lower.
Don’t even get me started on his beard. The scratch of pleasure and pain was beyond tantalizing, and she couldn’t wait to feel it on her thighs.
Bullet gazed into her eyes, searching for she had no idea what. “You okay? You zoned out.”
Oh, geez! “Yes, sorry. I was just thinking.” If she didn’t stop fantasizing, she’d need to carry extra underwear in her purse!
“Would you mind carrying this?” He handed her the gift box she’d packaged for Mrs. Beckley. “I have to grab a few things from behind the passenger seat.”
He went around the truck and withdrew two enormous teddy bears, one with a blue ribbon tied around its neck and one with a pink ribbon. She fell a little harder for him right then and there.
On their way inside, she asked, “Are you worried at all that seeing the family again will trigger flashbacks?” She’d wanted to ask more about them last night, but he’d shared so much of himself, she didn’t want to trigger any worse feelings. She’d already started doing some research online to see if there were any strategies she could use to help him if he got a flashback when they were together.
He stopped walking, and his expression went dark. “Finlay, I’m not a walking time bomb.”
“I don’t think you are. I just want to be prepared so I can help if something happens.”
Something intense flared in his eyes. It wasn’t anger, but it wasn’t pleasure either.
“Come here.” He cocooned her between the giant stuffed bears, and his gaze softened. “They don’t happen often anymore. Before last night, it had been almost a year since the last one. Last night was like the perfect storm. I had just pulled onto the main drag. It was dark, and the sounds, the smells, the sparks caused by the collision struck all the right chords. And then I saw gasoline leaking from the truck, and that’s when the panic happened. But I don’t want you to think for one minute that I can’t protect you. No matter what happens around us.”
She realized that her concern for him had somehow morphed into something altogether different in his head. “I don’t doubt that for one second. You saved an entire family despite having flashbacks. You’re the strongest man I have ever met. But it’s okay to let someone have your back. Just in case. If I were there last night, I might have been able to help you in some way.”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t ever want you in danger like that, and my family always has my back.”
She tried not to let the sting of his words affect her expression, but she must have failed, because he squeezed those cuddly bears around her and said, “By ‘family’ I mean my club members and my brothers. I didn’t mean that I don’t want you to care about me. It’s a knee-jerk reaction.”
She let out a relieved breath. “You’re not used to having a woman care about you.”
“Not besides Red and Dixie.”
“Well, then, it’s time you added ‘Finlay’ to that list. I’m pretty sure you missed some other names, too, like Gemma, Crystal, Penny—”
“Let’s not get carried away,” he said sternly, then lighter, “How about I work on adding you to that list and you work on laying your lips on me before we get inside and I have to stare down every man who leers at you.”
She went up on her toes, puckered and ready for him to make her belly flip with one of his decadent kisses. And flip it did.
As they walked into the hospital, Bullet squared his shoulders, scanning the surroundings as if he were looking for signs of trouble. Several people looked their way. Some even went so far as to stare, eyes locked on him. A tiny voice inside Finlay’s head wondered if they were judging or intrigued by him. She felt both jealous and protective and debated giving the women who were looking at him the stink eye. But that wasn’t Finlay. Instead, she proudly slipped her hand into his, earning a rare—and beautiful—smile from Bullet.
In the elevator she said, “You were wrong. Everyone was looking at you, not me. Like, everyone.”
He shrugged. “People stare at me all the time, babe. No big deal. But trust me, there were guys checking you out. I just shut them down before they could take too long a look.”
“Aren’t you chivalrous?” She smiled up at him as the doors to the elevator opened, and a doctor stepped in, wearing a white lab coat, focused on reading the chart in his hands.
“Hey, bro,” Bullet said.
When he lifted his face, surprise filling his dark eyes, Finlay realized it was Bones.
“Hey, B.” His dark eyes swept over Finlay as she read the embroidered name on his chest, Wayne Whiskey, MD. An appreciative smile curved his lips. “Nice to see you again, Finlay.”
“You, too. I didn’t recognize you with your lab coat and your nose buried in that chart.” The last time she’d seen him was in town a few weeks ago, when she was at Penny’s ice cream shop and Bullet, Bones, and three other guys on motorcycles had stopped at a store down the block. Bones had been wearing a black tank top, which had revealed the tattoos on his shoulders and back, and his hair had been messy from his helmet, not styled as it was now.
“I get that a lot.” He nodded at the bears in Bullet’s hands. “Going to see the Beckleys?”
Bullet nodded.
“I thought you might. I checked on them this morning. Sarah’s being really brave. Bradley, her three-year-old is doing well. Lila, the baby, is still in critical care. They’re watching her closely because of her head injury. And Sarah’s brother, Scott, is still in ICU, but the prognosis is good.” The elevator stopped on the next floor, and Bones held the door open, hesitating before he stepped out. “B, have you seen today’s paper?”
“No. What’s up?”
Bones grinned, and the mischief in his smile reached all the way to his eyes. “Nothing. I’ll catch up with you later. Finlay, our mother said the cookies you made were a big hit. Save me some next time, will you?” He winked.
Bullet glowered at him as the elevator doors closed.
On the pediatric ward, a thick-waisted brunette nurse who looked to be in her late fifties or early sixties came around the desk as they approached. “Well, if it isn’t our local hero.”
Bullet turned and looked behind them.
“Oh, now, don’t do that, Bullet.” The nurse moved right in and hugged him. “Your mama must be very proud.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cindy. Can you please just point me in the direction of the little Beckley boy’s room?”
“You always were modest.” Cindy smiled at Finlay and said, “But we know the truth, don’t we? This brave soldier saved that family.” She reached over the desk and picked up a newspaper. She pointed to the front-page articl
e. “Says right here, LOCAL HERO SAVES FAMILY FROM THREE-CAR PILE.”
Finlay’s stomach pitched. She grabbed Bullet’s arm to keep her weakened legs from collapsing over the photograph of the accident. A truck lay on its side, the front bashed in. A dark, nearly unrecognizable heap of metal lay upside down, its side crushed, tires askew. Smoke plumed from the mangled juncture of that car and another. She looked up at the brave man beside her, his expression detached, almost cold, and she knew she was witnessing what was probably one of his many coping mechanisms.
She wanted to wrap her arms around him and find a way to be with him in that dark place so she could help him deal with the emotions that were clearly eating away at him.
“It says in the article that you got them out before the car went up in flames,” Cindy pointed out. “So you take that hero crown and wear it proudly.”
Bullet visibly cringed at her words. “Cindy, cut the crap. Where’s the boy’s room?”
“Bullet,” Finlay chided him softly. Even though she knew he was protecting himself, she was embarrassed that he was rude to a woman who clearly respected him. Would it be so bad to admit to being the hero so many believed him to be? Would it bring on more flashbacks, or would it be cathartic to talk about the things he’d seen and experienced?
“It’s okay, darlin’,” Cindy said. “He’s got a big bark, but he’s one big love muffin. I’ve known Brandon since he was a smart-talking little boy. His mother and I were in nursing school together.” She pointed down the hall to a patient room. “Bradley’s in room 412. That boy’s poor mother has been running between floors all night. I don’t think she’s eaten a thing.”
“Thanks, Cindy. Burn that paper, will you?” With a stuffed bear at her back, he guided Finlay down the hall.
“Bullet, you were mentioned in the paper. That’s huge, and it’s obviously why so many people were staring at you in the lobby. I know you don’t like to hear it, but you should be proud of how you helped those people.”
“It’s the media trying to sell papers. It’s bullshit. I’m not what matters in that equation.” He eyed her as they approached the little boy’s room.
Driving Whiskey Wild Page 13