Thrown Down (Made in Jersey #2)

by Tessa Bailey

  I’ll let you meet Marcy. But only if you leave town afterward and don’t come back.

  What would Vaughn decide? And why did regret insist on prodding at her? He’d looked so…devastated as she’d walked away.

  It made no sense. He was the one who’d claimed he’d stopped loving her that night four years ago. She could still hear the toneless, callous manner in which he’d said the words. I don’t feel the same way anymore, Riv. I’m sorry. And what had come after. The desperate way she’d seduced him, trying to convince him he was wrong. One more time. Just one more time, and you’ll see.

  Nine months later, she’d had Marcy.

  Feeling a sudden, bone-deep need to be home, to lay eyes on her daughter, River pushed to her feet—and swayed, the room doubling around her.

  “Oh.”

  No sooner had she made the decision to sit down until her head stopped spinning than two big hands closed around her biceps, steadying her. “Hiya, doll.”

  Vaughn. And with a flash of clarity, River realized the real reason she’d come to the Third Shift, a place she normally avoided like the plague. She’d been hoping to bump into him.

  For shame, River. You really are a self-destructive idiot. The sentiment became even more obvious when Vaughn brought her close, his breath ruffling the tiny loose strands at her hairline, igniting a flickering white flame in her belly. “I was jus’ on my way out.” River frowned over the slur in her speech. “You know what I’m m-mean.”

  His lips had the nerve to tick up at both ends. “You always were a lightweight.”

  “We keep arguing. And you keep showing up like nothing happened.” A hiccup escaped. “Did you used to do that?”

  Vaughn’s smile dimmed. “We never used to argue.”

  “There had to be one,” she insisted.

  Those big fingers started massaging her biceps, sliding up to perform the same soothing action on her shoulders. Good Lord. Why did it have to feel so good? “There was one time,” he said after a moment. “You invited me over for dinner at your parents’ house, and I didn’t show because I knew I’d fuck it up. I knew, Riv. So you snuck out when they fell asleep, stormed over to my apartment in the dark—which is how I got pissed off—and you ended up getting it doggy style on my kitchen floor.” By the end of Vaughn’s story, his breathing had graduated to rough drags of air. “That’s how we handled our one argument.”

  The memory of having her jeans yanked down by angry hands, her knees sliding up and back on the linoleum floor until Vaughn got frustrated and lifted her legs up like the handles of a wheelbarrow? The forced visual swiped away a huge portion of the tequila fuzz making River dizzy. Vaughn’s gaze had dipped to her breasts, which were still covered by the Giants T-shirt she’d worn to work beneath her coveralls. Although she might as well have been wearing a see-through negligee, based on Vaughn’s riveted attention. The hands massaging her shoulders had grown more insistent, gathering material with each movement, until the shirt lifted and exposed her stomach.

  River wasn’t embarrassed by the scar on her belly by any means, she was proud of it, but not having been a sexual object in so long—which had to account for the wicked flare of need—her hands automatically flew up to cover herself, tugging the T-shirt back into place. “I-I need to get home.”

  “I’ve had one drink. I’m taking you.”

  “I’m getting a cab.”

  “Like hell you are.” He picked up the purse she’d almost left behind and tucked it under his arm, somehow maintaining ultimate manliness. “A cab driver can’t make sure you get up the stairs without breaking your neck.”

  “Neither can you,” River sputtered, panic beginning to dawn. “You can’t just—”

  “I can’t?” Vaughn inclined his head. “Aw, doll, you keep uttering that magic phrase, almost like you want me to prove you wrong.”

  River didn’t have a chance to protest that insane notion before Vaughn tucked her up against his side, turned, and began to traverse the crowded bar. Something had changed, though, during the course of their conversation. The Third Shift had gone eerily silent, every patron turned in their direction. Some heads were shaking, other customers looked ready to cheer. But each of them had something in common. They were all recipients of a death glare from River.

  “Since when do I glare?” she muttered, led out onto the sidewalk by Vaughn, who had an annoying smile playing around his mouth.

  “Since I came back to Hook, I’m guessing.”

  “That’s a pretty good indication you should leave—” River’s reproof ended in a gasp when Vaughn scooped her off the ground, settling her on the passenger seat of his truck. With a rueful look, he started to close the door, but leaned in at the last second, pinning River to the seat with sudden, breathtaking concentration.

  “I was going to wait to tell you this. But you know me, Riv. I don’t live according to what someone else decides is the right schedule. And when I say something, I mean it. Like when I told you we’d wait until you were eighteen to start fucking.” Vaughn’s tongue skated along his bottom lip, attention falling to her thighs, which crossed of their own accord. “So I’m telling you now, I’m not leaving. Give me a chance to meet her, then watch me show up every day afterward, even if you turn me away. I’ll show up and take my beating like a man, day in and day out. But you better get used to me, doll. I’m not budging.”

  Thank God he stopped there, because River’s organs were all bunching together, like some organ support group, rendering her breathless. When I say something, I mean it. River didn’t doubt him. Growing up in the same town, as they’d eventually gravitated toward one another regardless of their social divide, she’d seen how Vaughn had garnered a reputation as a man of his word, whether it had been a threat or a promise. Such as promising they wouldn’t be physical until her eighteenth birthday. Or saying he wouldn’t leave Hook unless he stopped loving her. Another vow he’d upheld. And maybe it was selfish—no, it was selfish—but with the reminder of Vaughn’s staunch truthfulness ringing in her head, she could only remember one thing he’d once said. I don’t feel the same way anymore, Riv.

  To this day, she must have been holding out hope he had been lying that night, because the last piece of hope left standing…crumbled, revealing her selfishness. Was sending Vaughn out of Hook best for Marcy? Or best for her brutalized heart? Maybe she couldn’t be objective where the father of her child was concerned. But regardless of Vaughn’s promise not to leave again, she didn’t know if trusting him emotionally would ever be an option. Not when she’d handed over her love and had it returned full of holes.

  Still…when Marcy became an adult and asked why she’d never met her father, how would River explain sending him away when there was a chance he’d keep his word?

  River tore her gaze away from Vaughn, staring straight through the windshield. “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?” His voice had turned suspicious.

  River forced a smile onto her face, but the corners of her mouth felt weighted. “I’ll get used to you, I guess.” She wiped a palm on her jeans. “We will.”

  Vaughn didn’t respond for long moments, but River could feel his scrutiny. “Thank you, Riv.” God, he was standing very still, so still. “I don’t understand it. Why do I feel like I just lost here?”

  “It’s been a long day.” She swallowed the fist-sized lump in her throat. “Can you just take me home?”

  Chapter Six

  I’ve lost her.

  A ridiculous goddamn thought, since he’d lost River forty-nine months and four days earlier. Once upon a time, reading River had been simple as breathing. Back when she’d still been in night school and he’d been nothing more than a part-time grease monkey with no high school diploma. When she’d needed reassurance of his feelings, she’d stop talking and clean something, rearranging trinkets on her bedroom shelves until Vaughn got the picture, snatched the broom out of her hand and gave eye contact, lots of it, until she came back down to earth, where he
lived for the sole purpose of being her man.

  When River had wanted sex—which had been early and often—she would rotate her hips, just a little, no matter where they were. She would push up on her toes and writhe, so subtle that only he noticed. Hell, he’d come to the conclusion that River herself hadn’t been aware of the tempting action. Yeah…that mating dance had gotten her pulled into enclosed spaces all over Hook, although sometimes they didn’t even make it that far. That senior year, when she’d turned eighteen halfway through? He’d fucked her an obscene number of times in the alley behind Hook High right after the dismissal bell rang, her textbooks in a scattered heap on the concrete, her slim fingers clinging to the chain link fence, or those long legs dangling around his hips, shaking with the impact of him.

  Just one more way he hadn’t treated her the way she’d deserved.

  Vaughn ground his teeth, casting a sidelong glance at River in the passenger seat. Yeah, he might have grown adept at reading and accommodating River’s moods back in the day, but she was sure as shit a mystery now. When he’d pictured River agreeing to his involvement in Marcy’s life, there’d been a sense of completion—or homecoming—far-fetched as it sounded, especially after what he’d done. One thing he hadn’t expected was the breaking apart of their connection with such a profound snap he’d almost seen it playing out in real time. The familiarity between them had floated away like a colorful balloon, leaving them as strangers in that frozen bubble of time.

  Pulling up in front of River’s house brought up enough memories to paralyze Vaughn in the driver’s seat a moment, but he propelled himself from the truck to help River down. She was still unsteady on her feet in a way that made Vaughn yearn to carry her up the porch steps, but intuition kept his arm in its safe place around her shoulders.

  “I have to pay the babysitter,” she murmured, before one hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God. You can’t…” His eyebrows went up at her word choice. “Okay…I can’t have her thinking I’m bringing home a man.”

  Possessiveness blew into his stomach with the power of a hurricane. “You’ve never brought a man home before.” Not a question. “Jesus, Riv. I really don’t fucking mind knowing that.”

  “How exciting for you,” she snapped, face turning pink in a way that got his juices flowing like the rapids. “You’ve seen me home. Thank you. Now, please leave. Tomorrow you can show up without any warning and tease me into another argument.”

  Vaughn put one hand on the doorjamb and eased closer, tucking stray hair behind her ear, a move natural as inhaling. “Teasing you? Is that what I’ve been doing?” I should back off, but she’s looking right at my mouth. “Teasing implies I didn’t mean to follow through, and…ahhh, Riv, I would’ve sent you back into that factory with bite marks and a smile if you’d let me.”

  Her chest lifted and fell on a shudder. “Is that right?”

  When had their faces gotten so close? “Don’t ask questions when you already know the answer.”

  Damn, he was overstepping. He should’ve let River maintain her good reputation with the babysitter, but something about the strong possibility she’d been without sex since they were together…yeah, she’d basically busted the dam holding back his testosterone, sending it flooding into his bloodstream. Not good. Really not good when River was half in the bag, and she’d just agreed to allow Vaughn into their lives. Any kind of sexual advance could blow his progress to hell, but Christ, when had he ever been logical in anything River-related?

  Hell, though. Maybe he still had the ability to read River somewhat, because she was giving those familiar signs of digging in her heels. Her shoulders were bunched up in the vicinity of her ears, the fingers of her right hand curling into a ball. If he didn’t want this time she’d allotted him to be over, he’d better pull back on the instinct to touch and possess…all of her.

  Jesus. Pull back, man. Before it’s too late. He should leave. Now. But being with River was like standing in the light after four years in a cave. Retreating to his hole without being forced was impossible. “I’ll meet you inside.”

  “What…”

  Vaughn winked at River as he backed down the stairs. “You still keep the key under the ugly frog statue?”

  “It’s not ugly. And you can’t—” When Vaughn shook his head at her unfortunate phrasing, she broke off, stomping her foot on the wooden floorboards. “We can’t,” she clarified, those big eyes pleading at him from above. As in, we can’t go inside for the purpose of ripping off one another’s clothes.

  “I know, Riv.” A wave of regret punched him in the gut. How many times would his decision to leave hurt her all over again? “I won’t…touch you again unless you invite me, all right?”

  The words had been pried from his mouth by rusted pliers, but they satisfied some of the guilt bubbling in his abdomen. With one final glance at River’s slight form, Vaughn continued his journey to the back door, cursing himself for making the promise. Because there would be snowballs in hell before he ever broke another promise to River…no matter how much his body yearned to break all the rules.

  …

  River paid Helen—who seemed to take a month packing away her knitting supplies—and went through her nightly ritual of turning off lights and securing the house. Although, it was much more difficult to accomplish the tasks after a pint of tequila…and with Vaughn watching her from the bottom stair. Grave eyes followed her from the living room to the kitchen, watched as she checked the locks on the windows. She tried not to rush through the process, pushed by her tired brain into making the point that their lives wouldn’t be completely altered just because he’d come back to Hook.

  In her periphery, she saw him shift positions, obviously uncomfortable, just as he’d always been in the living room of her family home. Her parents might not be there anymore, but her father’s disapproval of Vaughn must have lingered, judging from his visible restlessness. She’d once asked her mother why her father held Vaughn in such low regard, and surprisingly, his reputation as a troublemaker was only half responsible. Like many contentious relationships in Hook, the dislike went back a generation—a dispute between their fathers, the origin of which River was only partially aware. But she’d known enough to be sure that it had nothing to do with the Vaughn she’d known, so she’d never pursued a full explanation.

  She didn’t know him anymore, though. Or did she?

  Maybe it was the alcohol tinkering with her mind, the emotional upheaval of her wayward ex storming back into her life, or a combination thereof, but she experienced the sudden need to knock him off balance, the way he’d done to her by coming home, issuing promises, looking at her the way he used to.

  But lying to herself had been River’s default of late, so she decided to be honest about the other reason she wanted to throw Vaughn into his own tailspin. Feeling like a desirable woman, being touched and lusted over…it had been too long. He had woken up a wealth of sexual energy in the eighteen-year-old she’d once been, but the hunger for intimacy had been left to cool its heels. Waiting for…what? Her hormones hadn’t vanished simply because she’d become a mother. Whether she liked it or not, the way he looked at her was making serious waves in the tide pool she’d managed to keep semi-calm. The difference now being that love wasn’t part of the equation. Was there a way she could feed the demands of her body without feeling hurt or used afterward?

  Yes…

  River’s pulse went wild as the idea occurred to her. Not giving herself room to back down, she swayed toward Vaughn, where he’d risen to his feet on the staircase. He held out a big hand, which she took, allowing him to help her to the second floor. The flapping wings in her stomach beat with abandon, and maybe some melancholia when Vaughn remembered exactly which bedroom she slept in, opening the door with an air of authority that turned her on, despite herself. Despite everything.

  She watched his Adam’s apple rise and plummet as her bed came into view. The same bed in which they’d made love when Vaughn hadn’t
yet rented his apartment, or when they couldn’t afford the motel room or hadn’t yet rented his apartment.

  His gaze was still burning a hole in her sunny yellow bedspread when he spoke gruffly. “Okay, doll. Got you home safe, but I need to go now.” Their fingers slipped apart, Vaughn backing toward the open door. “I’ll find you tomorrow.”

  “Vaughn.”

  Blunt, impatient fingers attacked his hair. “You should maybe have some Tylenol handy for the morning—”

  His advice broke off when she freed her hair of its ponytail holder, shaking it out around her shoulders. The flapping wings in her chest moved lower, lower until every inch of her skin was sensitized, licked by fluttering feather tips. Vaughn’s reaction did it—the dropping of his jaw, the liquid quality that stole over his eyes. Desperate to push, to witness more of his desire for her—it felt so good—River gripped her T-shirt’s hem and lifted it over her head.

  He fell into a single step toward River, reaching out for her hips. “If this is an invitation, you know my fucking answer.”

  She moved out of his reach. “Do you remember the night, about a week before I turned eighteen, when you climbed in through my window?”

  “I remember every time like it happened yesterday,” he returned hoarsely. “We’d play games. Touching games, even though we shouldn’t have. Even though I damn well knew better.” Vaughn’s hand fell to his fly, showing no gentleness as he handled his bulge, kneading it, lifting it. “Knew those games would only make keeping my cock out of you harder.”

  Warmth turned the flesh slick between River’s thighs, her breath shortening. “Yes, those games,” she breathed, pleasure skating through her tummy when Vaughn perused her thinly covered breasts and licked his lips, the image of a man starved. “I’m thinking of the time I asked you to—” She gasped when his gaze drilled into her, forcing her back a step—a step rendered pointless when Vaughn began prowling closer. Better say the words before he overwhelms you. “The time you touched yourself in front of me. The time I watched.”