The minute it closed, Lash took a deep breath to calm the burn in his chest.
Then he turned to Freddie.
“Find me that motherfucker,” he whispered. “No stone unturned, Freddie, do not count the cost. And when he’s found, I want him brought to me.”
Freddie held his gaze for a long moment.
Then he grinned.
Then he shoved his hand in his pocket and got out his phone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Welcome Back to Mustang
Three and a half weeks later…
To say I was freaking out when I drove my deep purple, Lexus 250C up Gray’s lane toward his farmhouse would be an understatement.
I was totally freaking out. The palms sweaty, heart fluttering, brain consumed with panic type of freaking out.
Three and a half weeks ago, Gray and I had our dinner with Lash and Freddie and afterward Gray talked me into going with them.
I didn’t want to leave him.
“The sooner you get started on that, the sooner you’re with me,” he whispered to me in our bed in the hotel room in the dark.
I saw the wisdom of this and gave in.
So I had over seven years without Gray, just over a day with him then off to Vegas I went to have another three and a half weeks without him.
This was no fun. Wrapping up my life in Vegas but most especially my life with Lash and Freddie in it was not a ball of laughs. And being separated from Gray didn’t help.
But obviously, this separation was different. Mainly because Gray called at six thirty every morning, waking me up. He also called at eleven o’clock every night, right before he went to bed.
At first, these early morning calls troubled me. As crazy as it sounded, I wondered if he didn’t trust me and he did it thinking he’d catch me in bed with Lash.
Then it hit me this wasn’t it. This was when Gray started his day and he wanted to start his day with me.
And this hit me because on day three, he flat out told me then stated, “We got different schedules so if when I’m callin’ don’t work for you, dollface, and you want me to call at different times, say it. I’ll stop what I’m doin’ to say good morning or I’ll wake up to say goodnight.”
There you go.
He trusted me.
And he’d stop what he was doing to say good morning or wake up to say goodnight.
I liked that.
So obviously since I liked why he was calling at those times and what he said, I’d replied softly, “No, honey, I’ll wake up with you when you start your day and I like being the last person you talk to before you go to sleep.”
“Then that’s what you’ll get, baby,” Gray replied softly back.
Of course, I also called him during the day when I had something to say, like telling him when I’d accomplished the task of boxing everything up. Then asking him when he’d be around to accept delivery. Then telling him when the movers were coming to get it and when he could expect them to arrive. Or telling him about a waitress we had who’d slept with two bartenders and three bouncers, was trying to pit them against each other and was working my last nerve (or, I should say, with this, I called him to moan about it). Or telling him my joy at learning Lash had shared his secret with Freddie. Or just telling him I missed him, loved him and was thinking about him.
And every time I called him, Gray stopped what he was doing to take the call from me.
Yes, even when I moaned for half an hour about the waitress, he stopped what he was doing, listened like he had all day and pretended really well that he was interested in what I had to say.
On day four of our separation, while I was still sleepy and whispering to him, Gray introduced me to phone sex. Later, he’d tell me he’d never done it.
Obviously, I hadn’t either.
Incidentally, Gray was a natural.
It wasn’t better than the real thing but it would do in a pinch.
But now, most of my belongings were already at Gray’s. I sold everything from my old house when I sold my old house and I moved in with Lash. Thus, with my usual fastidious saving considering I was a girl who once never knew where her next dollar was coming from and I didn’t want to be that girl again, I had a wad to drop on sorting Gray’s problems so it was mostly just personal items. I had a couple of suitcases in my trunk. And I had my car.
And I had me.
I’d taken two days to drive to Colorado even though it was really just a one day haul, about ten hours. But Gray nor Lash nor Freddie would allow me to do this because they didn’t want me to get tired. I explained I’d had ten years of driving long hauls with Casey and I was a current badass, ex-Vegas showgirl so tough enough to haul my ass across two states in ten hours. This was clearly not enough evidence for them seeing as not a single one of the three believed I was a badass or tough so Gray decreed no more than seven hours the first day.
It killed me to be only three hours away from Gray in a hotel but I saw the merits of this although they weren’t the same merits Gray saw.
My merits were that after three hours of driving the next day, I’d still be refreshed when I got to him. Not to mention, before I left I had time to primp but there wasn’t enough time in the car in the summer heat for the bloom to go off the rose.
Obviously, I drove with the top down. I mean, I had a kickass convertible, it was summer, I’d be crazy not to.
So two days it was.
But the overwhelming excitement of being back with Gray mixed with sadness of leaving behind Lash, Brutus and my life had now been replaced with panic.
We’d spent two and a half months together seven years ago. He was twenty-five, just twenty-six. I was twenty-two. We were young. What we had flamed fast and bloomed bright but we’d never lived together.
And a lot had happened in between.
I was worried this was a terrible mistake. I was worried that eventually the badass, hard as nails ex-Vegas showgirl that I totally was (no matter that anytime I said that to Gray, Lash or Brutus, they laughed their asses off) would show through and he wouldn’t like it. I worried we wouldn’t get along.
I worried about everything.
And now I was here.
Shit.
His farmhouse in sight, I saw him come out the door. He was headed across the porch before I even got close. By the time I parked, he was down the steps, waiting for me.
Nope, even though it was only three and a half weeks, nothing had changed about him. Faded jeans, tight navy blue tee, head-to-toe beauty.
God, I hoped I didn’t disappoint him.
I parked just beyond the porch so I didn’t block his truck (and he had the same truck I was both horrified and gleeful to see). I barely had the ignition switched off before he was at my door.
I undid my seatbelt, twisted my neck, tipped back my head and smiled nervously at him from behind my shades.
Yep, nothing changed. Total beauty even through sunglasses.
“Hi,” I whispered.
Then I squealed.
This was because Gray leaned over my door and plucked me right out of my convertible. Then I squealed again as he tossed me over his shoulder. With long, fast strides he rounded my car and headed to the porch.
I wrapped my fingers around his waist and cried, “Gray!”
He kept walking fast, up the porch steps across the porch.
“Gray! Put me down!” I snapped.
He didn’t put me down. He kept going, into the house, straight to the stairs, muttering, “Jesus, top down, probably got third degree burns.”
“I lived in Vegas for seven years, Gray,” I told the small of his back, head and hair hanging. “I’ve been introduced sunblock.”
He ignored me and kept muttering, “My girl’s got a purple car.”
“It’s tyrian gray,” I stated though that was the official color name, it was still totally purple.
“Whatever,” he kept muttering, taking the stairs.
Taking the stairs.
/> Which meant going upstairs.
To his room.
My mouth got dry.
Up we went, down the hall then in his room then across it and I was flying through the air to land on my back in his bed.
I pushed up on my elbows, already breathing heavily, already turned on. I lifted a hand and pulled off my sunglasses. Then I stared at him standing by the bed staring at me.
His eyes moved down my body (cute black sundress, skintight, button all the way up the front, halter top and fabulous strappy black heels).
Then his gaze shot to my face and he whispered, “My girl’s home.”
My breath caught and my heart missed a beat.
Then Gray’s hands went to his tee and I watched him pull it over his head exposing his unbelievably amazing (still) chest.
That’s when I started panting.
Then I scrambled to my knees, walked on them to the edge of the bed and my body hit Gray’s. His back bowed, my head tipped way back, his arms sliced around me, my arms curved around him and his mouth hit mine.
Then his tongue drove in my mouth.
Then I whimpered in his.
His hand went under my hair and I felt it tug at the bow that held the straps of the halter top. He broke the kiss but demanded roughly against my lips, “Get this thing off, honey.”
He let me go and, my eyes still locked with his, my hands went instantly to the buttons of my dress. His hands went to the belt of his jeans. It took effort, my fingers were shaking but I undid buttons as did Gray. Then he got rid of his boots and socks. Then he got rid of his jeans and my hands stilled after releasing the last button that was mid-thigh.
Oh yes, I missed him. All of him.
Gray didn’t hesitate and surged toward me.
I went to my back, he landed on top of me and his mouth took mine at the same time he spread the dress open like unveiling a present. Then his body came to mine and I felt his skin, his heat, his muscle against me and I arched into him.
He broke the kiss, went to his knees straddling me and his hands went to my pits. He hauled me up the bed and away went my panties. He spread my legs wide, dropped between them and suddenly his mouth was on me.
My knees cocked, my hips surged up, my heels digging in the bed and my fingers drove into his thick hair.
Oh God, yes.
Oh God, yes.
“Gray,” I breathed.
I loved it when he did this, loved it. Seven years ago, three and a half weeks ago, I loved it.
His hand went between my legs, fingers gently spreading me open as his tongue lashed then his mouth sucked deep.
“Gray,” I breathed, it came out deep, throaty mainly because a half second after I said his name he made me come.
Still feeling it, I lost his mouth, my eyes dazedly opened as I felt the backs of my knees hooked around his arms then his hands were on my hips dragging me up his thighs.
Then he was inside me, pounding deep.
Still feeling it but coming down, I watched him watch me as he thrust into me, my body jerking with each thrust, his eyes burning, his handsome face turned on, his fingers digging into my hips yanking me to him as his hips drove into me.
My legs and torso moved, tensing, lifting. I wanted to go to him, touch him, fold into him, kiss him but he buried himself deep, started grinding and growled his order of, “Lay still, Ivey. Your hair all over my bed, your body in my bed and me in you, I wanna see.”
My legs tensed into his arms automatically as another shot of heat penetrated me at his words and I whispered, “Okay,” and relaxed back.
Then I watched my man fucking me.
And I liked watching.
Oh God, this was hot.
“Fingers between your legs, baby,” Gray muttered low, his voice thick.
I did as I was told and once I did, my neck arched, my head pushing back into the bed and my eyes closed.
Yeah, this was hot.
“Ivey, look at me,” Gray rumbled and it took effort. I liked this. I liked being in his room, his bed, open to him, feeling him driving inside me, knowing he was watching me touching myself as he fucked me. I liked it a lot.
But for him, I gave him my eyes and a full body shiver trembled through me at the hot, dark look on his face.
He must have liked what he saw too because his fingers dug deeper into my flesh and he pulled me harder into him, plunging faster and deeper into me.
Oh God, oh yes. Oh God, oh yes.
This was hot.
“Gray,” I gasped then I came again, harder, stronger, overwhelming. So much I didn’t feel his arms leave my knees or his weight hit me or his face bury itself in my neck until I started coming down.
My arms and legs circled him then his hips started bucking in a way I knew.
“Honey, give it to me,” I whispered, his head came up, his hips drove deep, he stayed planted and I watched as he gave it to me.
When he finished his face went back into my neck. One of my legs slid down to curl around his thigh, the other one slid from around him, sole of my foot to the bed but I pressed my inner thigh to his hip. My hands moved along the contours of his back, feeling his skin, his muscle, his heat and memorizing it as I did his weight, his cock still inside me, his smell.
God, he smelled good. I forgot that. He smelled like outdoors and man.
His head moved, his lips came to my ear and he whispered, “Welcome back to Mustang, dollface.”
I blinked at the ceiling. Then I burst out laughing.
His head came up and his grinning eyes came to me and, lucky for me, his lips were grinning too so I also got the dimple.
I controlled my hilarity and remarked, “I hope you’re not Mustang’s welcome wagon, honey, and that was all just for me.”
His grin slightly faded, his head dropped and his lips touched mine before he pulled back and said quietly, “It’s all for you, Ivey.”
All for me. All of him was all for me.
I sighed.
Then I smiled.
Gray’s eyes took in my smile then they moved to mine and he ordered gently, “Say you love me, Ivey.”
My body eased under his and I whispered, “I love you, Gray.”
“Welcome home, dollface.”
My hand moved to cup his jaw as my lips whispered, “Thank you, baby.”
His eyes got lazy before he gave me the dimple again.
* * * * *
Six hours later…
Makeup refreshed, a spritz of perfume, having run my fingers through my hair, re-donning my fitted, fabulous black halter top sundress and strappy, spiked-heeled black sandals, my hand in Gray’s, we were walking across the porch.
And I was trying not to hyperventilate.
Because it was Friday.
And being Friday, we were heading to his truck to go to town for VFW steaks.
I was not ready for this.
Not at all.
“Maybe I should change,” I suggested as Gray walked us down the porch steps.
“You look beautiful, darlin’,” Gray replied on a hand squeeze, leading me around the porch and toward his truck.
The rusted out wreck grew closer and closer as my anxiety grew more and more.
“I have a lot of unpacking to do. Maybe I should get started on that,” I tried.
“Ivey, you don’t have a job. You have plenty of time to unpack,” Gray pointed out, walking me to the passenger side of his truck.
Okay, shit.
Okay, shit.
I didn’t want to face down Mustang, not now. They knew I was a burlesque dancer. They knew I was shacked up with a hotshot who they would never know was gay. These people went to church. They lived in a small town. They were not hardened, seen it all, done it all residents of Vegas.
They would think things about me.
They already thought things about me.
I knew it.
I could handle this if I had time to prepare. But a day full of having sex with Gray broken up to eat
turkey and swiss sandwiches and have whispered conversations as we lay naked in his bed, fingers trailing, bodies seeking and gaining contact, legs tangling, lips brushing did not prepare me for dinner at the VFW where most everyone in the town of Mustang would be.
Shit.
Gray stopped me at the passenger side door of his truck, he pulled it open and it creaked loudly. My thoughts of everyone in Mustang judging me fled and my eyes shot down to the door.
Then a smile slowly rose on my lips.
“Get in, honey,” Gray muttered and I looked up at him.
“Same truck?” I asked softly and he focused on me.
Then he grinned.
God, that grin. All the shit that went down, it still came easy.
“It runs, so yeah,” he answered.
“How much do you have to work on it to make it run?” I asked.
“Dollface, it’s American made so not much.”
He was totally lying. This thing was still running on a wing and a prayer.
Whatever.
“It’s twenty years old, Gray,” I told him.
“It’s fifteen years old, Ivey.”
I felt my brows draw together and I asked, “Is it?”
His lips twitched and he answered, “Yeah.”
“Looks older,” I muttered.
“Get in, Ivey.”
“Way older.”
“Get in, Ivey.”
“Way, way older.”
Gray burst out laughing, hooked an arm around my waist, pulled me into his body and kissed me, hard and closed mouthed.
Then he lifted his head and ordered, “Get…in, Ivey.”
“All right, all right,” I muttered, turned and climbed in.
The door creaked loudly when Gray slammed it.
I smiled again.
Then I looked around the interior.
Candy bar wrappers. Gum wrappers. Chip bags. Receipts. Empty pop cans. The ashtray open and filled to overflowing with change that had fallen down and therefore was also on the floor.
Gray’s door creaked loudly, he angled in then it creaked loudly again as he slammed it.
He’d fired the old girl up, reversed and we were on our way down the lane when I queried, “Have you tidied the old girl up since I left?”
“The old girl?”
“Your truck.”
Play It Safe Page 27