He steeled himself to see either Andrew’s car parked out front or her car gone. His hands tightened on the steering wheel the closer he got. He hit the brakes hard enough to lock his seatbelt at her curb. Her Bug and the old truck sat in her driveway. No sign of Tarwater’s Mercedes. That didn’t mean he wasn’t in there, although he had a hard time picturing the man shedding his dignity and riding in her Bug.
Her garage door was open. Did she know? What if the prowler from her mother’s garden came around? He might steal things from her garage or worse. The worse he imagined clinched his decision. The woman should know better. She should take better care of herself, dammit.
He turned the truck off. His agitation reached new levels the closer he got to her front door. The simmering stew of discontent and resentment had reached a boiling point.
He almost hoped Tarwater was in there so he could punch him in the face for no reason other than the cutting memory of every flirty look and smile she’d aimed in his direction. Instead of pressing the doorbell, he hammered a fist against her front door. Regan Lovell was going to get an earful.
He heard chains rattle on the other side and the door swung open. She was still dressed in the red wrap dress and shifted on her high heels, her hair loose around her shoulders. He didn’t wait for an invitation, but stepped inside and slammed the door shut with the heel of his shoe.
They faced off. If she was surprised to see him, she masked it with an intensity he couldn’t place, but that seemed more complicated than anger.
“Is Tarwater here?” he asked even though he didn’t see anyone else. For all he knew, Andrew was tied up spread eagle and naked on her bed.
She huffed and put her hands on her hips, which pulled the fabric across her bust and deepened the V. “As if it’s any of your business—which it’s not—no, he isn’t.”
Satisfaction tempered a small amount of his anger, but other emotions welled to take its place. Emotions he didn’t want to acknowledge much less examine. The irrational frustration she engendered was easy. His current state of insanity was due entirely to her.
“Your goddamn garage is wide open. What the hell, Regan?”
“I needed to load some things for work tomorrow into the truck, you jerk. It’s open for a reason.”
“You’re planning on hauling stuff around dressed like that?” He skimmed his gaze up and down her body. She was sexier than any woman had the right to be. The way her long legs played peekaboo in the dress’s slit only sent him further over the brink.
“Where’s your new girlfriend? Is she waiting in the truck for you?”
It actually took him a few seconds to tease out who the hell she was talking about. He didn’t answer and instead stepped toward her. With each step he took, she retreated one until he’d backed into the hallway wall, the harsh overhead entry light muted by shadows.
He placed his hands on the wall, caging her in. This was the conclusion to their confrontation at the country club. The overwhelming desire to kiss her had nearly overtaken him then. Now there was no clumsy kitchen staff or waiting client to interrupt him. Only a small area of his conscience protested, but her scent, sweet and light, and her lips, soft and inviting, muffled the warnings.
Her hands came up and he tensed, expecting her to shove him away, maybe even knee him in the balls, but they circled his tie. Was she was going to choke him? She tugged him forward.
Their mouths met and everything went still and silent. The silky skin of her lips slid over his, faint memories surfaced of the hours they’d spent making out on the bench seat of the old truck. Everything in the here and now was exciting and new, yet their shared history sheared away the need to go slow.
After watching her from a distance for years, their lives running parallel on opposite sides of the river, close yet miles apart, the past weeks had closed the gaps and fate had entwined their paths until he couldn’t get away from her. Didn’t want to get away from her. He just plain wanted her. Had always wanted her.
Pure, primal need drove his next actions. He pressed his body into hers, the wall forcing her to accept his dominance. Cupping her face, he deepened the kiss, driving his tongue inside her mouth. Her moan echoed into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
The feel of her tongue tangling with his and her soft breasts against his chest and her hips cradling his erection was both relief and torture. He rocked into her and she wrapped her leg around his, her knee at his hip.
He found her knee bare, the slit of her dress parting to reveal most of her thigh. The calluses along his palm rasped against the softness of her skin, and he pulled back, worried his coarseness was a turnoff.
Her head lolled against the wall, her lips parted and red and her eyes closed. She didn’t seem turned off, in fact, she arched against the wall, driving her pelvis into his erection. Her dress begged to be unwrapped, and he was too far gone to deny the temptation.
Thankful her eyes were closed so she couldn’t see the tremble in his fingers, he tugged on the tie holding the two sides together. One snap stood in his way and he pulled hard, fraying thread but not caring.
She opened her eyes and lifted her head, her expression one he’d never seen. Need and want and regret and fear all shone from her brown eyes. Wondering if she saw something similar in his face, he dropped his gaze and the worry was forgotten.
Her breasts were pushed high in the sexiest scrap of satin and lace he’d ever seen. His mouth worked, coherence an impossibility. Her panties matched, an impractical scrap of lace that begged to be removed by his teeth.
He’d been wrong earlier. This was the conclusion to their roll in the grass outside her mama’s house and their kiss in the closet and the dugout. Or maybe this confrontation had been brewing for even longer. Like a volcano at rest, the hot, dangerous undercurrents had been there waiting to explode. The festivals were the seismic change that had set the explosion in motion.
His survival was still in question.
“I’m gonna fuck you.” It seemed eons since he’d spoken, the words coming out hoarse and cavemanlike.
“Yes.” Her breathy acquiescence was accompanied by the pull on his waistband by her hands. God, she was acting as frantic as he felt.
He brushed her hands aside and attacked the fancy closure and zipper with less finesse and more desperation. He pushed his pants and underwear to his knees and pressed back into her, thrusting against lace.
She wrapped her hand around him and skimmed her thumb over the tip. His hips bucked. He wasn’t going to last even as long as he had their first time together. Her pretty, sexy bra was in his way. He yanked the cups down until her breasts jutted over the fabric.
He blew a long, slow breath through his clenched teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of control. Her breasts were spectacular. His dreams of late hadn’t done them justice. They were fuller than he remembered, but her nipples were the same delicate pink tight little points. While his body ached to feel her breasts rubbing against his bare chest, he couldn’t take the time. He would have to content himself with touching her with his hands and mouth.
Palming one, he squeezed gently and tested the weight while he dropped his lips to graze the other. Another of her throaty out-of-control moans urged him on. He teased her with his tongue, flicking the bud. She drove her hands in his hair, her grip tightening, the tug ratcheting up his arousal. When he closed his mouth around her and sucked, she writhed between him and the wall, her throaty little cries driving him wilder.
He raised his face. He wouldn’t do this unless she understood where he stood. Which was firmly on his side of the river. “This won’t change anything. Agreed?”
“I’ll still hate you, Sawyer Fournette.” With her breasts exposed and her lips swollen from his kisses, she launched the words as if making her final stand.
Even as the sentiment jabbed at his heart, his erection jumped against her. He hooked a finger around the lace shielding her from him. His knees trembled. She was wet. So eff
ing wet for him.
With his fingers holding her panties to the side, she took his erection and guided him to her entrance. Their gazes held as if magnetized. He pushed inside of her an inch. She gasped and her eyes clouded with what he hoped was pleasure. Slowly, savoring the welcome of her slick body, he pushed until finally he was buried inside of her.
He was slipping into a place where the past didn’t matter, where his perceived betrayal and her heartlessness ceased to exist, stamped out by their joining. That limbo was dangerous.
Letting his lips fall to her temple, he took a single hard thrust when he wanted to be gentle and slow and continue staring into the depths of her.
“I’ll still hate you too,” he whispered, taking a hard thrust.
She answered by clutching him closer, not pushing him away. He lifted her thigh until her leg was curled high on his hip, opening her to him even more. God, he wanted to look, wanted to see her body taking him, yet knew the sight would signal the end.
He nuzzled his lips along her temple and down to her jaw. “You’re so damn tight and sweet, baby. Does this feel good?”
“I’ve wanted this for so long.” Her voice bordered on begging. “Make it last.”
Her admission spiraled through him, the meaning clear. This one moment of insanity might be their last. The eruption of a volcano that would once more go dormant.
He wanted to make it last all night, but when she tensed and moaned in his arms, her body’s pulses were a call he couldn’t deny, and he let go. Even knowing it deepened the unwise intimacy between them, he kissed her, curling his tongue languidly against hers and taking small sips on her lips.
The aftershocks of his orgasm left him leaning into her, the wall and her body the only things keeping him upright. She didn’t seem to be in any hurry to break the physical and emotional connections, her hips undulating against him, her nails biting into his back muscles.
But nothing lasted forever. Cracks shattered the bubble that cocooned them from reality. He wasn’t sure which one of them moved first, but she pushed him back, both hands fisting in the cotton on his chest.
“That was … that was…” Her voice wobbled, and he anticipated what she would say even as the word snapped at his heart.
“A mistake.” He kept his voice distant and applied a chill. She would try to work his vulnerability to her advantage if she could.
Yet, something else flashed in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to the floor and pushed harder at him. He skimmed his hand down her thigh to her knee before dropping her leg. A last weakness.
He pulled out of her, the loss of her warmth like getting thrown in the river in January. He tried—and failed—not to watch her adjust the scrap of her lace panties and cover her still budded nipples with the sexy bra. It was only when she pulled the dress around her like a robe that he became aware his pants and boxer briefs were around his knees. He yanked them up and managed to get his pants zipped.
She was still leaning against the wall, her knees pressed together, her hands clutching her dress closed, and her hair mussed. She did not look like a happy, satisfied woman, and part of him wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and make sure he left her with a smile on her face.
He didn’t. Obviously, she regretted their encounter, and he was painfully aware it had been all at his instigation. He’d followed her out of the bathroom at the country club, followed her home, followed her like a damn dog in need of a pat.
He pointed at her and picked up their inane conversation. “Close your garage door and set your alarm. You can load whatever you need in the morning.”
He stormed out the door, not sure what he was feeling. Halfway to his truck, he risked a glance behind him. The door was still half open and she was exactly where he’d left her. He stopped and pivoted. What was he doing? He’d invaded her house, taken her against a wall, and stormed out like she was the one at fault.
Before he could take another step in any direction, she moved and slammed the door. Lights went out. The noisy creaking of the garage door lowering shook him out of his reverie. He trudged the short distance to his truck and climbed in.
He needed to get moving. After his monumental asshattery, he wouldn’t be surprised if she called the police to report him loitering outside of her house. He drove back over the river on autopilot.
The crazy thing was that his body wasn’t sated. Screwing each other’s brains out had only whetted his appetite. Underneath the embarrassment and regret and hurt feelings, he imagined her naked on his bed. Naked for him to do whatever he pleased. All night long.
They’d never had that in the years they’d dated. It was all stolen moments in the truck or on the boat or the ground. He pulled up to his house. Cade’s truck sat by the willow tree. He banged his head against the steering wheel a couple of times to rid himself of thoughts of Regan Lovell. There would be no next time with her.
His phone was on the dash and blinking with five messages. All from Cade. He didn’t bother to listen to them. Loosening his tie, he made his way around to the kitchen door on the side of the house. Sure enough, Cade was sprawled at the table as if he owned it, flipping through a boating magazine.
At one time, it had been their family table. Sawyer didn’t know why he kept the old thing. Good memories and bad lingered in the wood. His parents, Cade, Tally, and him squeezing around it for family dinners. Laughter, a few fights about eating vegetables, but mostly love. It came with them to the trailer and it was where he did his homework and where they ate the food Cade had caught or trapped, sometimes supplemented by the no-brand macaroni and cheese from the food bank.
As hard as Cade had tried to keep it a secret, Sawyer had found out about the charity in the hardest way possible. A classmate whose mother volunteered at the food bank had confronted him in the halls with malicious laughter. He’d punched the kid’s teasing smile off his face. Pride had him holding his head up on the way home that day. No way were the Fournettes accepting charity.
As he got closer to their ramshackle trailer, doubts wormed their way into him. Small things had added up into one big truth. Sawyer had sharpened his eyes, and sure enough found evidence crumpled and buried at the bottom of the trash.
He’d waited up that night to confront Cade, throw the evidence in his face and tell him to never go back to the food bank. But when Cade had stepped through the door, the weariness on his face had stilled Sawyer’s tongue. His brother had dropped out of school and seemed to have aged a decade in six months. That night Sawyer had crossed from selfish adolescence into adulthood.
Sawyer went to the frig, grabbed two beers, and handed one over, joining Cade at the old, scarred table. Cade tossed the magazine aside and took a swig. Neither of them spoke until half their beers were gone.
“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her,” Cade said.
Sawyer startled. “How…”
Cade dropped his forehead to the top of the beer and spoke to the table. “Your pants are undone.”
“Look, we both agreed it was a mistake. It won’t happen again, I swear.” Sawyer wished his promise held a little more conviction. He tried to summon regret for what he’d done with Regan. Tried and failed. Even as his head acknowledged the monumental mistake, his body remembered the pleasure. In fact, his only regret was that he hadn’t had more time. Time to strip her bare and reacquaint himself with every inch of her body.
“It doesn’t matter. You’ve screwed up the whole deal by screwing her.”
Had he comprised the festival? “I don’t see how what I did—”
“I thought I could trust you. Told Richard I could trust you.” Cade’s green eyes glittered with fury and Sawyer understood why he played the bad cop during negotiations. Cade shoved out of the seat and paced. “Holy hell. You can kiss your partnership good-bye. Of all the asinine, adolescent things you could possibly do—”
“Hold up.” Sawyer held up a hand, everything becoming clear. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or pl
ead with God to strike him dead. “I didn’t have sex with Terry Lowe. Even though she propositioned me. And that’s Richard’s fault for recommending the wine, by the way.”
If he wasn’t sure what was coming, he might enjoy the confused shock on Cade’s face. Cade plopped back in his seat, sent a probing look toward Sawyer before killing his beer. Sawyer picked at the sweating label of his.
“Let’s back up a minute. So, you didn’t sleep with Ms. Lowe?”
“That’s right. No hanky-panky with the rather gorgeous Ms. Lowe. Thanks for the warning, by the way. I was expecting a Mr. Lowe.”
“I didn’t realize either until Richard called this evening to check on things or I would have given you a heads up. Did you close the deal?”
“Not quite. She’s set on discussing a couple of modifications and broached the subject of buying the technology instead of licensing it.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Told her that, but I think she’d still going to try to push her agenda.”
Cade harrumphed. “Wouldn’t respect her if she didn’t give it a shot. I hope to God you misread her signals.”
“I didn’t. I let her down gently, and she was too buzzed to take offense at the time. She’s coming to the shop tomorrow, so we’ll need to make sure she isn’t embarrassed about it.”
“Maybe we can use it to our advantage. My guess is she won’t want to hang out negotiating for too long with a man who rejected her.”
“You are brutal, brother.” Sawyer rose, set his half-empty bottle in the sink, and fake-stretched. “Well, it’s late and I’m sure Monroe is waiting anxiously for your return.”
“Don’t think you’re getting off that easy. If it wasn’t the lovely Ms. Lowe, then whose bed have you come from?”
“No one’s.” No guilt at all came from admitting the truth.
Cade tried to bore to the facts with his intense stare. It probably would have worked on anyone else, but underneath the smiles, Sawyer was as tough as his brother.
Cade broke the stare and rose, this time more sedately. “Actually, Monroe is waiting up for me. But I’ll find out.” A fair amount of curiosity tempered the threatening words.
Till I Kissed You Page 11