by Rya Stone
“What’s he going to do?”
“I’ve been telling him he needs to start up his own guide service for years, and I’ll tell him again. He’s my best friend, but he’s not my responsibility.” Jase gave her a stern but sympathetic look, as if he knew how much she worried about Kyle and his big mouth.
“Yeah, I hear you.”
Jase turned off Highway 35 and bumped them over a cattle guard flying a Black Drum flag. “Best scoot over. Haven’t had enough of you next to me, but I can’t walk up to my crew with my pants tented up.” At that, he took the opportunity to adjust himself, and she was pretty sure she might have drooled a little.
When Jase pulled up to the drill site, he told her to wait. After what she’d seen last time she visited a rig? Yeah. She had no problem in the world with sitting in his truck, soaking in stares from the deckhands as her very own roughneck made his way up the twenty-five-foot deck ladder to meet with his supervisor.
A car door slammed behind the truck. A door belonging to a black Mercedes SUV. A Mercedes SUV belonging to Reid. Part of her felt anger. The other part felt giddy amusement. Junior high, for sure.
Reid squinted into Jase’s truck as he passed, leather briefcase in hand, and Cassie wondered if he could see her through the tint. His neutral expression told her not.
She had to see this and barreled out the door to catch him.
“Looking for someone?” she asked sweetly.
Reid spun and froze. “Cassie. What the hell are you doing—”
His eyes darted between her and the truck, and she saw him put it together. You didn’t not notice Jase’s truck, and Reid had surely noticed it that night in the Backstreet parking lot.
“Still chasing oil-field trash?” he asked, smirking.
She produced her own smirk, sprinkling it with a little bitch, just for flavor. “I’m done dating trash.”
Reid snorted and spun back to the rig. Someone slapped Jase on the arm, and he turned. Reid called out to him. “Need to speak with your boss.”
“Yeah?” came Jase’s calm reply.
“Get him,” Reid commanded.
Jase’s eyes flicked to hers. He said something over his shoulder then began making his way down the stairs. He got to the bottom and stopped to stare before squaring his shoulders and rolling his neck. It was such a macho male thing, but she totally got it. And the look on his face…well, it did very special things to her insides.
“I said your boss. I was told he’d be out this afternoon,” Reid ground out when Jase stopped in front of him, legs wide, arms loose at his sides. Seriously. Like he was about to knock an idiot out. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jase said.
“Listen,” Reid said, intending to take a step forward but catching himself. “You want my ex-girlfriend? Have at it, man, but I won’t tolerate being threatened.”
“I’m not threatening you. Yet,” Jase clipped. “And I sure as hell don’t need your permission to have at what’s already mine.”
His. She liked the sound of that more and more.
Reid’s chin jerked back, but he held his ground. “You might think you’re the biggest, toughest thing around, but I’m an attorney, and that makes me even bigger and badder than you. Lay so much as a finger on me, and I’ll sue the hell out of you. Not that you have anything I want,” Reid continued, cutting his eyes at her, “but it’ll be my pleasure to put you in your place.”
Reid had no idea he was speaking to one of the largest landowners in Marian County, who also happened to be a combat Marine. It was sweet revenge for all the times she had no idea Reid’s late nights at the office were actually booty calls.
“Wrong again,” Jase said. “Got something you want bad. Not gonna get it though.”
“You think I want her?” Reid jerked his head in Cassie’s direction. “Couldn’t keep my attention,” he snickered.
“Then you weren’t paying much attention.”
Reid rolled his eyes. “I’m done with this. Why don’t you climb up that little ladder over there and go get Jason Lucas. I need to speak with him.”
Jase took a step forward, forcing Reid back. His stance, his expression—it was all alpha male. It melted off him, and Cassie felt something melting in her when he said to Reid, “You’re speaking with him.”
With juvenile amusement, she watched Reid’s face go through the changes. Disbelief, recognition, anger, and finally resignation. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he finally asked.
“Dead serious.”
Reid glared at her like it was her fault he was an asshole. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, shaking his perfectly-coiffed head. Cassie almost laughed, remembering he used a blow-dryer.
Jase winked in her direction before zeroing in on Reid. “Now why don’t you climb back in your little car over there and get the fuck off my drill site?”
Reid went through some more facial expressions, including humiliation and then, surprisingly, desperation. “I don’t suppose there’s any way—”
“No way in hell,” Jase said.
“Mr. Lucas—”
“Mr. Lucas now?” Jase laughed. “Take your bullshit elsewhere, man. I’m the one done with this.” He turned and held out a hand to her. “You ready for the bay?” Like Reid wasn’t even there.
She realized then how close she was to falling for him. One never sees those things until it’s too late, and she patted herself on the back for recognizing the warning signs. Now she just had to survive the weekend with him.
She didn’t stand a chance.
“I uh…I need to call my mom again, just make sure she’s still okay…?” Sissy!
He jacked up an eyebrow. “Since this morning?”
“Yeah, I just…” The way he’d just looked at her sent all her nerves a-tingling. Nope, she’d never survive the weekend with him. He’d wreck her. Like, tonight. And the mere suggestion had her rubbing her thighs together as she made for his truck, posthaste.
He caught her around the waist, his broad chest and strong arms enveloping her completely as he whispered into her neck. “I won’t ever keep you from your mama. But don’t think you can run from me. I’m going to catch you.”
His body felt so good against hers, she couldn’t help arching into him. His breath hissed in her ear, and she went flame red with the knowledge that they had an audience.
Jase didn’t flinch at the catcalling men or Reid’s slamming door. No, he kissed her neck, her jaw, her lips. “Call your mom,” he said. And just as suddenly as he’d enveloped her, he let her go.
She never got the chance to make the call.
Halfway to Jase’s truck, her butt started buzzing. She whipped out her phone and her heart sank.
Mom.
…
“Let me see.”
Cassie unlocked the dressing room door and poked her head out, only to be pushed back as Jase shouldered into the little cubicle.
“You can’t come in here,” she hissed.
“It’s a unisex dressing room.”
“In a small boutique.” It was actually more like a surf shop, a tiny one, with shoppers and clerks lurking right outside.
Despite the big, hard body squeezing in next to hers, Cassie felt guilty as all get out. During her last-ditch attempt to avoid more-than-fling territory by fleeing to Nacogdoches for the weekend, her mother had forbidden her from coming home. Forbidden! Yet it made Cassie’s heart surge that her mother had shown no hints of forgetfulness or confusion during the conversation. And, as it turned out, her aunt, Margene, was following the monarch butterfly migration down from Canada and required a “nesting site” for “no more than two nights, of course.” Of course. Her mother had said she could see Cassie’s eyes rolling all the way from East Texas and begged her not to put everyone through the conflict of personalities. Oh, and all of this within earshot of Jase. Of course. Sure, her mother would have her dear, darling sister for company over the weekend—
but it was the wave of relief Cassie felt at the banishment that gnawed at her conscience.
Holding a stack of bikinis and a boxed assortment of anxieties, Cassie now stood in a tight dressing room in the small fishing village of Driftwood—where the Colorado River emptied into Matagorda Bay, and where tongues would be wagging if Jase didn’t step outside. Not that she particularly wanted him to.
Conflicted was definitely the word of the day.
“Try this on,” he said, selecting a classic black string bikini from the pile she’d dumped on the narrow bench.
“Not no, but hell no.”
“Why?”
Why? Maybe because it appeared two sizes too small? Though something told her that was the point. “I am not wearing that in public.”
“It’s not for public consumption,” he said. “You wear this around other men and I’ll end up in jail.”
“I don’t care. I can’t wear that. I don’t have the body.”
He dropped the hanger and spun her to face the mirror. “You looked at yourself lately?”
“I’m looking right now,” she mumbled, taking in the halter-necked number she’d somehow squeezed into.
“You might be looking, but you aren’t seeing.” In a swift motion, he unknotted the tie at her neck.
Her hands flew to the cups.
Jase pressed himself close and drew her hands down. The material fell away, and his ragged breath in her ear made Cassie’s own breath catch. His eyes were glued to the mirror, to her breasts specifically. She watched as he pinned her arms behind his and slid his hands up her too-soft belly. A tingling sensation slid down her belly as his hands cupped the bottoms of her breasts. He didn’t push them up; he simply held them. And God, the feel of his rough hands, the sight of them against her skin made her forget they stood in a store. And that she hadn’t done any crunches in—
“Heavy,” he whispered, “and soft.” His thumbs brushed across her nipples. “I told you, babe. Perfection.”
She didn’t know about that, but she didn’t look half bad, especially not with Jase fondling her.
“And I get to touch them,” he whispered. “I get to put my mouth on them.”
Shuddering, she closed her eyes.
His breath tickled her neck. “Open.”
She did, inhaling sharply as he spoke. “And I get to watch them do this…” He released his grip, making her breasts bounce.
“We can’t be doing this,” she whispered.
“I’d like to see someone stop me.”
“Jase.”
Ignoring her, he moved his hands to her hips, leaving a trail of shivering flesh in his wake. “Do you feel what your body does to me?” he asked, pulling her backward so the evidence pressed into her backside. God, what was she doing? She was drowning, that’s what—drowning in those blue, blue eyes.
“Tell me this isn’t perfection.”
She swallowed hard at the aimed seduction in his gaze.
“Don’t look at me, Cassie. Look at you,” he told her reflection.
“Jase…” she begged, not even knowing what she begged for. Him to stop? Him not to stop? Him to take her right there?
One of the hands at her hips disappeared. It reappeared at her throat, and that now-familiar, danger-edged thrill shot through her heated veins.
“Look at yourself,” he whispered, pulling her head forward.
What she saw took the rest of her breath away.
It wasn’t the way Jase bit his bottom lip or how his lust-hooded eyes roamed her body. It wasn’t the contrast of his sun-darkened skin against her considerably paler flesh or that gorgeous tattooed arm between her breasts. It was the way he held her. Completely. Like he’d never let her go.
Then she saw herself.
She really saw herself. Not as Reid had seen her, perhaps not even as Jase saw her. What stood before Cassie was a woman who’d lived without real passion for so long, her awakening threatened to burst from every pore in pure, unabashed joy. In a freaking dressing room.
But Jase had it wrong for once.
“We’re…” she breathed. “It’s…”
“Tell me.”
She threw her head back and met his eyes for real. “It’s us together.” Nothing had ever felt closer to perfection. They’d both sensed it from the start, but now, seeing it come to life in all its flushed tones and heavy breaths, it was undeniable they belonged together, if only briefly.
Jase nodded in agreement. Then he stepped back to scoop up the black bikini, as if he’d not just completely seduced her, feet from a dressing room attendant.
“Get out,” she hissed, suddenly mortified.
“Try this on.”
“I mean it. Get out.”
He chuckled. “You going to try it on?”
She yanked up the halter top. “Out.”
“Wait,” he said, serious again, “I’ve got to ask you something.”
She spoke through clenched teeth. “What?”
“Why do you have your panties on under those bottoms?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you don’t try on bathing suits bare-assed.”
He just stared—one of those uncomprehending man-stares.
“It’s gross,” she explained. “Imagine if someone did what we just did without panties then went and put the suit back on the rack.”
He chuckled again, deeply this time.
“It’s not funny, and you’re buying this suit now. I can’t risk it.”
He smirked. “Get decent. I’m going out.”
She was never going out. They were officially “those people.” The ones who think they’re being quiet but get so wrapped up in what they’re doing they have no idea they’re not being quiet anymore. Yeah. And she didn’t know who she was more upset with: herself for going along with it or Jase for stopping it. If she’d been in for a penny, she might as well have gone in for the pound.
And this string bikini…
It had better be for a hot tub or private beach because it left little to the imagination. It actually fit well, if side-boob was something you admired, but she didn’t particularly like how the strings cut into the flesh at her hips and back. Something told her Jase would love it, though. And she’d love him loving it, damn her.
As she slid her sundress over her head, she wondered if the store people would bring her food and a chamber pot if she decided to stay in the dressing room. No, they’d probably bring the police. And Jase didn’t do police. Since her shit was apparently his shit at present, she didn’t do police either, and it would probably be best not to test that.
She finally emerged, red-faced, and refused to speak as he paid for both bikinis. She couldn’t spare any words. She was too busy plotting her revenge.
…
When they arrived at the bay house, Cassie stopped wondering what level supervisor Jase might be. He was obviously in charge of the rig they’d visited earlier, and maybe a few more. The flexible yet demanding hours he kept proved he had leeway with the higher-ups as well. But if this was their home for the weekend? Dude had some major perks.
The boat in the canal beside the house said Drummin’ on its bow, and she’d spent enough weekends in Galveston to recognize a ridiculously expensive offshore rig when she saw one. The house itself could have been any of the stilted mansions along the Texas coast. The two-story stucco sported massive decking, a palm-treed lawn, and driftwood decorated beds. Inside was a chef-style kitchen boasting industrial appliances and a sparse but nicely furnished living area, its floor-to-ceiling windows revealing what might well be the entirety of Matagorda Bay. The setup screamed corporate getaway—super luxurious but nothing personal or unique.
At least that’s what she thought until she followed a suitcase-laden Jase up the stairs.
Mismatched frames hung the length of the stairwell. Redfish and flounder, snapper, and tuna, even a few sharks. A lot of the shots had been taken at fishing tournaments, including the Texas Oil & Gas Run, with its fifty-thous
and-dollar entry fee and notorious after-party. Fishing pictures. And Jase was in every one. Jase at the wheel of the boat she’d seen dry-docked next to the house. Jase in the center of the groups standing beside hanging tuna and marlin trophies. Jase featured in a framed magazine article.
The boutique bag holding her new bikinis dropped from her hand and tumbled down the stairs as she scanned the article Gulf Coast Fisherman had done on Black Drum and their tournament-winning season two years ago. No…
No way would her revenge wait to be served cold.
Her hand clutched at the bag no longer in her grip and curled into a fist—a fist she felt like punching through the glass covering Jase’s sexy smile as he stood next to a blue marlin, right atop the caption: “Black Drum may be a small company, but there is nothing small about owner Jason Lucas.”
He owned Black Drum.
Like the boss, boss.
The man who’d first caught her eye in a pair of greasy, mud-stained coveralls was supposed to live in a camper and drive a thirty-year-old truck. But he owned Black Drum.
And he hadn’t said a damn thing.
Maybe he’d been trying to see if she liked him for him instead of his house and his boat, his freaking drilling company. Since she’d recently been immersed in junior high antics, Cassie’s inner voice shrilled, Duh, I liked him! But the funny thing was, that knot in her stomach? The one twisting so painfully tight she had to plop her ass down on the plushly carpeted stairs? It wasn’t so much that he’d kept it from her. She…she didn’t want this for him. She liked Jase in his RV, grilling steaks to Zeppelin. She liked Jase in his old truck, wearing his scuffed work boots. But this…this was another world—a khaki-wearing, back-scratching, screw-’em-let’s-make-a-deal world. A world Jase didn’t belong in.
Or so she’d thought.
Chapter Fourteen