When Things Got Hot in Texas

by Lori Wilde

  “Hell no! But when praise is due. . .”

  Laughter rolled out her, she buried her face in his shoulder. They lay there in each other’s arms. Skin against skin. After a few minutes, she pulled back, met his gaze.

  “You rocked my world.”

  Her tone and the look in her eyes had his heart melting. “And you mine.” He kissed her again.

  They rocked each other’s worlds two more times that night. Jennifer woke up around three in the morning. Resting on her side, she felt Clay pressed against her back. Close. She could feel him softly inhaling and exhaling. With his arm draped around her waist, she was wrapped in his embrace, wrapped in a shitload of emotions that still made her want to cry.

  Sex had only made her cry with one other person.

  Johnny.

  The man she’d loved with all her heart.

  Sex with Clay had made her feel that way. Complete. Whole. Amazing. Not just an amazing orgasm, though she’d had that, too. But being with him had felt amazing, as in life-altering. It had been the perfect amount of give and take, playful and soulful, sexy and wholesome.

  She was on a short, really short, path to falling in love with this man. And while she’d taken that chance willingly–and he’d wanted it, too–it didn’t change the fact that the odds were still stacked against them.

  A slight shift brought all her bare skin pressed against all his bare skin. She’d tried to put on a nightshirt, but he’d pleaded with her not to. His favorite thing, he told her, was to wake up with a naked woman beside him. Oh, how she wanted to be his favorite thing.

  But not just for a night, a week, a month, or even a year. She wanted Clay to be her forever man. His words from earlier played in her head, I can’t promise anything—we’ve just met.

  She wanted promises from a guy who offered none.

  Bundy had almost given up. Almost. But like always, persistence paid off.

  Parked in front of an old red-brick house was the black Chevy truck. He’d bet it was the junkyard guy’s.

  He drove past the house again. It was small, on some acreage, so no close neighbors. Darkness clung to the night. The moon hung at only a sliver, and even the stars seemed dim. This was going to be a piece of cake.

  Driving up the street, he searched for somewhere to stash his car so that no one would notice. He found an old dirt road off the main street, and pulled in. Only darkness followed the street, so chances were no one was going to be coming along at three in the morning.

  He opened the glove compartment and found his gloves. Then he reached under the seat for his gun. It felt heavy in his hand, but a good kind of heavy. Pulling his black baseball cap onto his head, he got out of the car to go take care of his problem.

  The click of the car locks echoed in the silence. He tucked the keys into his jeans pocket, and started walking, keeping off the road, staying close to the trees to remain hidden.

  It took only three minutes to get back to the house. He approached the area with caution and tuned his ear to listen in case there was a dog. When he got to the truck, he stared at the license plate and memorized it. No way would he make the same mistake again.

  Turning to the house, he kept his steps silent as he took the stairs up to the porch.

  No dog bark. Not a sound.

  He reached for the door and slowly twisted the handle to see if it was locked. The damn thing turned. Small-town idiots. They deserved what they got. Especially junkyard guy.

  His ball-busting days were over.

  Pushing open the door, he moved inside. The living room was empty. A light was on in the hall. He walked toward it, smiling, ready for a little revenge.

  Clay, sleeping on his side, stirred awake and felt the soft yet firm feminine body against him. Opening his eyes, he saw that bright sunshine filled the room. The memories of last night took a slow stroll through his mind. Touching. Tasting. Teasing. His morning stiffy went from half-mast to rock-and-roll ready.

  He leaned up on his elbow, carefully, wanting to watch her sleep. And what a sight it was. Her head rested on the pillow. Both her hands rested under her cheek. Angelic. Sweet. Sexy. The sheet draped over her only came up to her waist. Her perfect breasts were uncovered for his visual pleasure. With pleasure curling up low in his belly, he recalled bathing those nipples with his tongue, drawing some heavy moans from her as he took them into his mouth.

  His sex stirred and wiggled against her ass. Carefully, he pulled the sheet up and dipped under to see the rest of her naked body. He wondered if Jennifer was a morning person. Because if so, he had a hell of a plan.

  Inhaling, he felt the air flowed freely into his lungs. It tasted fresh. Filled with promise. Hope. Damn, he hadn’t breathed air this good in a long time. Glancing out the window, he noted the brightness of the sun. Since the horses had been in the pasture all night, there was no need to rush out and feed them.

  He lowered the sheet and eased forward to revisit her sweet face. Hard, his dick tapped against her butt cheek again, as if begging for a warm, tight place to visit. Scolding his not-so-little-and-too-eager friend, he pulled his hips back.

  Her eyelids flutter open. He lowered his face to her shoulder, placed a soft kiss on the bare and beautiful skin. “Morning, Sunshine.”

  Rolling over, she wore a sleepy, good-morning smile.

  He dipped down to take her mouth, and she quickly put her hand up.

  “Morning breath.”

  “Okay, I’ll kiss you here.” His lips met the curve of her neck, he slipped his hand under the sheet and ran his palm over her hip. “And here.”

  She let go of a soft sigh and he was sure he had her, but then she caught his hand. “Wait. What time is it?”

  “Don’t know.” He knew that her question was a bad sign that his plans might not go as he’d hoped.

  Rolling to the other side of the bed and snatched her phone. “Yikes. It’s almost nine. Pete said he’d be back early. You’ve gotta get outta here.”

  Eyes wide, she bolted out of bed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her body before he got a good peek. “Get up.”

  He looked down at his morning problem pointing at the ceiling and grinned. “I already am.”

  Snickering, she made a cute face, half-smile, half-concern. “I’m serious.”

  “About?” God, she was gorgeous. And fun. And addicting.

  “I don’t want him to know we . . .”

  “Had sex three times?” He finished for her, disappointed that it was unlikely there’d be a fourth time this morning.

  “Right.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Because . . . he’s old.”

  “Which means he probably knows about sex. I’m almost betting he’s even done it once or twice.”

  From her frown, Clay could see he wasn’t going to win this. He stood up and went to leave.

  “Stop!” she screeched.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You can’t go out like . . . that.” She pointed to his erection. “What if he’s out there?”

  Clay grinned. “He’ll know we haven’t had sex.”

  Biting her lip as if to keep from laughing, she said, “Get your clothes on.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have any clothes in here. You forced yourself on me in the shower and dragged me in here to pleasure you.”

  Her smile widened. “That’s how you see it, huh?”

  “And you don’t?”

  She ran to her suitcase and tossed him the This-is-My–Sexy-Lingerie nightshirt. “Put this on.”

  “Oh, hell no.” He lit out of the room before she tried to convince him. Because, as cute as she was, as delightful as she was, she could probably convince him to do anything.

  “He’s not here yet,” he called over his shoulder.

  Devil rolled off the sofa like a sloth and moved to the door. Clay let the dog out.

  “Well, hurry and get dressed before he shows.” She shut the bedroom door.

  Grabb
ing a clean pair of jeans from the hall closet, he looked back at the door, envisioning her dropping that sheet. He inhaled and realized his chest vibrated a bit, a purring, humming kind of feeling. He recognized what it was. Happiness.

  His plans might have gone awry, but damn if he wasn’t still jam-packed with joy. He felt younger. Ready to face the day. The week. The year. The future.

  Jennifer Peterson was so damn good for him.

  While Clay went to feed the horses and cattle, the refrigerator called Jennifer’s name. Good sex always led to hunger. And it had been really good sex.

  Glancing at the clock on the wall, a touch of concern brushed over her for Pete. Was he okay? Clay had tried to call him before heading to the barn. Pete hadn’t answered. Clay assured her that Pete had probably forgotten to charge his phone.

  Her empty stomach grumbled, just as her heart had grumbled with the late-night realization of how much this chance with Clay could cost her if it ended badly. Still, it was a chance. And things felt so right.

  Her stomach protested in hunger again, and she started searching for something to cook.

  If Pete showed up with cinnamon rolls, they’d eat them for dessert later.

  The sausage in the fridge caught her attention, she contemplated making the sausage and gravy Clay had fixed earlier. It had looked easy. There was even another can of biscuits.

  How hard could it be?

  Thirty minutes later, she learned just how hard.

  “You don’t have to eat that,” she told Clay.

  “They’re fine.” He pulled off the bottom layer of the burnt biscuit and reached for the bowl of gravy and the butter knife.

  “No.” She pulled it back.

  “I’m sure it’s fine.”

  “You shouldn’t have to cut gravy.”

  A grin tried to escape his lips but he pulled in back. “You just added a little too much flour.” He sliced off a glob. It jiggled on the end of the knife. “I’ll bet it tastes good.”

  “Sliceable gravy on burnt biscuits.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Mom’s right. I should find something else to do with my time.” The words left her lips, and she wished she could pull the pathetic back in.

  He took a bite of the biscuit with gravy goo and managed to swallow. “She just wanted you to do better than she did, career-wise. And my guess is she burnt her share of biscuits and messed up a batch or two of gravy.”

  Jennifer frowned. “I know she wanted better for me, but she made me feel as if I shouldn’t want to be like her. And now that I’m older, sometimes that’s all I want to be.”

  “Then why haven’t you taken those cooking classes already?”

  Feeling almost hugged by his soft gaze, she admitted something she’d barely admitted to herself. “I almost feel disloyal. She was so adamant. And I also pretty much suck at it.” She attempted to make light of it and waved a hand over the so-called breakfast.

  His eyes softened even more. “If you want to learn to cook, then do it. Take a class. I can show you what I know, not that I know much. When my mom left, I taught myself enough so I wouldn’t miss her too badly. But frankly, after looking at the Kirkland house you designed--”

  “How do you know about the Kirkland…?”

  “I don’t know shit about interior decorating, but that house was amazing. You made those rooms look like a home, like people lived and loved there. And the other house, the one where you did the two girls’ bedrooms. They were perfect, and I personally think the theater room that took “Best Designed” didn’t hold a candle to your project.”

  She dropped her biscuit, and every bit of willpower she had left when it came to the allure of Clay Connors. Her biscuit clanked against the plate. “How do you know about that?”

  Shrugging, looking only mildly guilty, he leaned in. “I Binged you. Watched the home video tours.” He pointed his fork at her. “And you can’t be mad, because you Binged me first.”

  “I’m not mad.” Quite the opposite. His compliment kissed the tender side of her soul. “Thank you.”

  Contentment showed in his expression, he pushed the bowl of congealed gravy over to her. “And seriously, this tastes good. Pull off the bottom of your biscuit and try it. Think of it as sausage gravy pudding. You’ll love it and . . .” he held up his fork, “even if you didn’t inherit any of the Rachael Ray gene, what you do still makes you pretty damn special. Hamburger Helper and frozen stuff were invented for non-cooks.”

  She laughed and another wave of wonderful washed up and over her heart again. “You’re good at this.”

  “Good at what?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Rocking your world?”

  “That too, but I meant . . . saying the right thing.” Making me want you to be my forever man.

  He stood up and moved toward her with a slow, sexy gait and a smile to match. His lips brushed hers in a let-me-love-you way. She put her hands on his chest and could feel his heart beating to the tune of something sweet. Right then the sound of a car’s engine filled the early-morning symphony, along with Devil’s bark. Clay pulled back, a slight frown on his lips, and went to the kitchen window over the sink and peered out.

  When he looked back, concern creased his brow. “It’s the sheriff. Wonder what he needs?”

  Chapter 14

  Clay and Jennifer both walked outside. The passenger door opened, and Pete got out of the patrol car.

  “What happened?” Clay asked as he took another step onto the porch.

  “Your truck’s fine,” Pete said. “But the keys went missing. I swear to everything holy that I left them on Ralph’s coffee table by my phone. I think someone took ’em when I was at the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” Clay and Jennifer said at the same time.

  Oddly, at that second, standing side-by-side, worried about the same thing, the same person, it just felt so damn right that Clay’s chest commenced to buzzing again.

  Pete moved up the steps. “Ralph got to feeling bad. I drove him to the hospital in his car. They kept him. I didn’t get back to Ralph’s place until four this morning. I crashed on the sofa. When I woke up, I couldn’t find your keys. Then I found your truck unlocked. But I’d locked it. I know I locked it. So, I called the sheriff to report it.”

  Pete leaned in. “The old buzzard thinks I’m a few French fries short of a Happy Meal. That I misplaced the keys, but I didn’t. Anyway, he offered to drive me here. You got a second set of keys, doncha?”

  Clay tried to digest everything. “Yeah, I have . . . Was the house ransacked?”

  “Nope.”

  “Did it look like the truck was searched?”

  “Nope. Which is the reason the sheriff thinks I’m losing it. But I’m telling you . . . I put those keys on the coffee table, and I locked your truck.” His frown deepened. “I may be this side of eighty, but I’m not that side of crazy.”

  “Maybe your friend picked them up by accident.” Jennifer rubbed Pete’s arm with affection.

  “Why would he do that?” Pete asked.

  “Because he was sick and wasn’t thinking,” Clay offered. “But you should’ve called. I’d’ve brought the extra keys to you.”

  Pete shot a look back at the police car. “The lazy coot doesn’t have anything better to do than go around accusing people of being senile.”

  Clay went in and found his extra keys. “If you want, we can run you back over there. You wouldn’t have to put up with the coot anymore.” He smiled.

  “Nah, he passes the house going back to the station.” Pete took the keys and turned to Jennifer. “And I didn’t forget I was supposed to bring cinnamon rolls.”

  “Not an issue,” Jennifer said. “We ate breakfast, so if you just want to wait for another day that would be fine.”

  Pete nodded and walked back to the patrol car.

  As he and the sheriff pulled out, Jennifer leaned against Clay. “Has Pete gotten confused or lost things before?”

  “No. The man’s sharp as a tack, but he’s not gettin
g any younger.”

  “Does he have any family?” Her blue eyes turned tender.

  “No, but the way I see it, this place is half his.”

  She squeezed his arm. “He’s lucky to have you.”

  “It goes both ways,” he said, realizing while Pete might not be the best ranch hand, he’d been the best company. Clay couldn’t imagine he’d feel the same way about this piece of land if Pete hadn’t been here.

  They stepped back in, her gaze went to the kitchen, his went to her backside in those shorts. “You want to wash or dry?” she asked.

  Catching her hand, he pulled her against him. “We could be responsible adults and do the dishes, or we could . . . find something else to do. Pete can’t be back for at least thirty minutes.”

  She grinned, lifted up on her tiptoes, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You think you can rock my world in thirty minutes?”

  He scooped her up in his arms and started to the bedroom. “Are you kidding? I can rock it twice.”

  And he did.

  Bundy woke up after ten, his father’s voice roared in his head like a never-ending train heading straight to hell. You can’t do anything right. You almost got caught. What good are you? You’ve gone soft!

  He rolled over and tried not to listen. But the message hung on his soul like dirty laundry visible to everyone. He’d screwed up.

  Last night, he’d been so damn sure the truck parked in front of the old house had been the same one. He’d walked into that house ready for revenge. But no one had been home. In that silent house, he found the truck keys on the coffee table and went outside to look inside, hoping to find something that would help him. Other than some receipts, it didn’t have shit in it.

  He’d been in the front seat when headlights cut into the black night heading down the street. Ducking down, he hid like a scared rabbit.

  The old Chevy Cruise pulled up in the driveway, parking right beside the damn truck. An old man got out of the car. Where was the damn junkyard guy?

  None of that would’ve happened if Bundy had done his damn job and remembered the license plate of the truck that first night.