“Where do you think gasoline comes from, darlin’?”
I know the answer, but when I read oil, I assumed . . . and I assumed incorrectly.
“If my money is all you’re interested in, then just tell me now, and we can stop whatever this is,” he adds, tucking a hand behind his head and staring up at the ceiling once more.
“Is this something?” I question, dropping my voice because I honestly don’t know what I’m doing with him. We’re nothing alike, but something’s drawing us together. I can’t be the only one who feels it, even if it’s only physical. As he hasn’t answered me, I add softy, “It isn’t about the money for me.”
He sighs. “Look, I have everything I need. I own The Fugitive and the motel. That’s what matters most to me. And Harper House.”
Ah yes. The home for boys adds another layer to an already complex man.
“Okay, fine, you live in a . . . tiny house as a billionaire,” I say. Then, I recall why he doesn’t live in a regular house. He gave it to three boys not his own, so they could have a large house filled with love and everything they need.
Something else comes to mind and I realize we’re all over the map, but I have to ask this question. “Why did you sleep with me that first time? Besides my asking, why did you do it?”
He stares back at me, holding his gaze with mine. “In your office, you told me I had sorrowful, soulful eyes, and that’s what attracted me to you in the first place. I saw something in your eyes that reminded me of myself, and I wanted to chase away that sadness. I knew you could spark, darlin’, and I wanted to see those kinds of flames.”
Biting at my lower lip, I didn’t know how to respond. He . . . wow. I lean forward and kiss him, quick and stolen, before I roll to my other side, fighting the biggest grin, like the cat who’s caught the mouse. Blindly, I reach behind me for his hand, returning it to my belly. Covering it with my own, the coarse hairs on the back of his tickle my palm. Immediately, he shifts to press closer to me, and his hand relaxes against my skin, remaining in place of his own accord. He nuzzles his nose into my neck, and I settle into him at my back.
“I retract what I said earlier,” he whispers. “I like you like this.”
And I like him, a lot more than is safe for my heart.
Chapter 16
Another Morning After
[Chet]
This woman can really get under my skin. While I’d been anticipating her arrival in the bar, I wasn’t prepared for her mouse costume and how it would hug her body, letting everyone know how fit she is. I also wasn’t prepared to find her cozy at a table for six with Todd next to her. He’s my best friend and he’d never dip into what’s mine, but I saw red.
Then Striker had to push me when I was already making a statement by encroaching on her space while she stood at the bar.
Mine, my stance had said, but then she had to run her mouth, and as much as I wanted to shut it by kissing her silly in front of my bar, I didn’t know how she wanted me to play it. Is she some socialite slumming it? Because if she is, I want nothing of that. I’ve been there before. Or would she allow me to claim her? Announcing our relationship to others?
Without knowing which way to go, I’d left, needing time to cool off before I did something stupid like sling her over my shoulder and carry her out of the place.
I hadn’t cooled off enough, because I practically did the same thing a half an hour later.
I’m not surprised when I wake alone in the morning. However, I am surprised when Scotia steps out of my bathroom and stands at the foot of the bed. Both our eyes leap to the same thing—my morning wood standing erect, tenting the sheet that’s draped loosely over my body. During the night, I’d peeled off my clothing down to my skivvies. Scotia remained in that damn costume that hugged her curves and left nothing to the imagination.
She’s standing at the foot of my bed, eyes wide and hungry on the appendage peaked at attention, and then she does the damnedest thing. She lowers the zipper of her costume and slides it down her body. Stripped before me is a sultry woman in a nude bra and matching lace panties. I have to give it to her. She likes pretty underthings, and even in the dull color, she’s a vision.
“Whatcha doing, darlin’?” My voice cracks like a prepubescent teen.
“No talking,” she says, her voice quiet as she climbs back up the platform near my feet and crawls over me like a starving predator. The way she looks at me gets me every time. She’s so hungry, and I want to believe it’s more than sex. She’s starving for attention. I don’t want her to be another Henny—status-thirsty, money-loving, and sex-desperate. After last night’s conversation about the service stations and my near-billion, I’m still a little doubtful. This morning is probably not a good idea.
However, my dick has other thoughts, especially when she tosses two dark packages next to me on the mattress and then curls her hand around my thick shaft holding up the sheet. Her eyes focus on where she’s cupping my dick so reverently, stroking up the length, and squeezing the crown.
“Darlin’,” I practically whimper. Her touch is just right yet not enough.
“I didn’t really get a good look at you the first time,” she says, her voice quiet as she inspects me with the palm of her hand, squeezing and tugging the stiff length, ready to blow. “May I?”
Her head pops up, and those silver eyes polished to perfection question me. For all her confidence, there’s an innocence to her. She wants me. I have no doubt of her desire, but she doubts herself, and I can’t get a read on it. I also can’t deny her when that vulnerable look lands on me.
Like I told her last night, her eyes drew me in. I see something in her. I see something of myself in her as well. Her heart is lonely. Who hurt her, and why? How?
With her shield down and the shutters open, the real Scotia shines even if a little tarnished. She’s more beautiful than she knows when her words are genuine sugar instead of all salt.
I slide the sheet down, taking my boxers with it, lowering both to my thighs. I’m wearing old, loose plaid underwear because I’m at the end of my stack. I need to do laundry, but that’s the last thing on my mind when her firm hand wraps around my bare shaft. Heat. Pressure. Bliss. My eyes roll back a second as she caresses me, taking her time to slide up and down the hot skin pulled taut.
“Scotia,” I groan. Her touch is a tickle, light and teasing, when I want fast and hard. She gives me just a bit of what I need, squeezing harder, tugging tighter. The tip leaks, and she uses her thumb to spread the liquid. Her head lowers, and I’m engulfed in more heat, wet and wild. Her tongue circles the shaft before her lips pucker at the crown. My hips buck, and Scotia pulls back.
“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling as if I’ve frightened her, but my body can’t help its response to her exploration of me. Surely, she’s familiar with male anatomy. My thoughts flip to that damn box of condoms in her office, and my head rolls to the two packages on my bed.
“Where’d you get those?” I huff.
“Your bathroom,” she says, her voice smoky and sleep laden. Her hand continues to stroke me, now moistened from her mouth, making the glide slippery. I don’t ask any more questions, and her head lowers again, drawing me deep within her mouth. She sucks and swirls, drawing out the pleasure until I’m ready to break, but I don’t want to do it like this.
I press at her shoulders, and the look in her eyes stabs me. It’s not a devilish glance but one of . . . fear.
“You didn’t like that?” she whispers, her eyes lowering to her hand wrapped around the base of my throbbing appendage—a part desperate for more of her.
“I loved it, but I’m about to blow, and I want inside you.”
Her breath hitches, and she reaches for a condom. Now, I’m as modern as they come, and I understand all the precautions behind precautions, but Scotia seems overly condom concerned. What’s her obsession with them?
“You’re pretty worried about them condoms,” I state, wondering if I should have something to
be worried about. It doesn’t make sense that the woman anxious about sucking me correctly would have something I could catch, but I still want to know her thought process.
“I’m not on the pill.” The statement surprises me. “I’ve never been.”
For the second time, Scotia hesitates. Her hand uncurls from my thickness, but I’m quick to catch her wrist. I hate awkward conversations, but I want to understand her. I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of hers.
“Why not?” It’s intrusive, but I’d still like to know.
Scotia swallows, and I watch the roll of her throat, wanting to lick along her skin on that slender neck.
“When I was . . . married, we always used condoms. There didn’t seem to be a point to being on the pill, and if I was to get pregnant, well, then . . .” She shrugs. I already know she only has one child.
“You aren’t looking to get pregnant now, are you?” I confirm, giving an anxious chuckle, uncertain how I feel about this topic in my mid-forties.
“Don’t be preposterous,” she huffs. “I’m forty-eight, and while I’ve been told I could still get pregnant, it’d be the last thing I’d want at this stage of my life.” Like the flip of a switch, she has returned to haughty Scotia.
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, darlin’. I’m just trying to understand you.” Trying to figure you out, pickle princess. And your husband’s dislike of phallic symbols, especially after the weirdness of you keeping that old box of condoms.
She’s quiet for a second, but I have an issue that needs tending, and I’d like her to take care of it. Something else niggles inside me, though, and I realize once more, I want to take care of her. Scotia seems like a woman in need of some positive reinforcement. Like assuring her I think she’s sexy and she doesn’t need to be so perfect. Like telling her it’s okay to have secrets just don’t ever lie to me. Like I’m not shying away from her when I question her. I want her. I want us to be together.
But I don’t say any of those things. “Condom,” I mutter instead. “Put it on me.”
Scotia’s quick to do the honor of sheathing me. Her fingers hastily roll the rubber down my shaft. Holy hell, it shouldn’t be such a turn-on, but the second she finishes, her hand strokes upward, and I’m almost seeing stars again. She scoots her body closer to my stiff appendage, straddling my thighs until she’s at my hips.
“Let me—” I’m not fast enough with my suggestion and she impales herself on me. She’d pushed aside the thin lacy covering at her heat and drew me into her body with one swift motion. My head tips up. I was about to offer I touch her a bit, but the ease with which I’ve slid into her tells me she was more than ready for this. She stills, and I glance up at her face. Her expression has shifted. She’s pleased with herself, like a proud kitten getting a favorite toy. Is she playing with me? Then her hips flex, and all thought goes out the window.
Her palms rest on my chest, fingers curling into the hair covering my pecs. After a glimpse of her pretty boy assistant, I’d guessed Scotia to like the clean-cut, manscaped, hairless types, but the way her fingertips are raking through the thick mass on my chest tells me she likes the coarse covering. Her pleasure-filled expression turns to ecstasy as she moans while she drags her fingers down my body. Her hips rock back and forth, coasting over me within her.
“Like that, darlin’?” I croak, aware that I like it more than I should. She purrs in response, and I realize I like her. Which is just weird because we don’t make sense. We have nothing in common. Then she sits up, straightening her body over mine, shifting my position within her, and I realize we do fit rather nicely, at least like this. Her hips start to undulate in sharp, short rolls, causing her to pulse around me, and friction builds as her clit rubs over my pubic bone.
Her eyes close, and her head turns to the side. She’s lost in the rhythm she’s creating with my body, feeling me connected to her. Watching this strong-willed woman take from me what she needs is doing strange things inside my chest. My palms lazily caress her bare thighs, stroking upward before tickling my fingertips down to her knees. I repeat the path while she rocks faster, increasing the pleasurable tension. She reaches for her chest, pressing one palm above her breast while the other curls around her neck and scoops up her long hair from her neck. She’s an erotic vision, and my hips buck upward. Her eyes flip open, and her sight lands on my face.
“Do that again,” she whispers. A quiet command mixed with her cautious asking makes me want to give her anything. I repeat the quick thrust, and she gasps. Her hands fall back to my chest, palms flat as we fall into a dance of her short shifts and my sharp surges. Her head tilts back like a wild animal, and her mouth falls open as an elongated groan fills the space around us. She’s falling apart over me. The look of passion on her face—I put that there—and the thought does something to my heart.
Tight and deep within her, I feel every clench, every clutch. It’s too much, and I increase my thrusts, tapping into her once, twice, three times until I’m over the edge myself. I grasp at her hips and hold her still over me, keeping her in place to take all I give. And for a second, I wish I was bare and spilling into her.
We take a minute to enjoy the aftershocks of mini-twitches and final drops before she presses off my chest, and my hands glide down her hips.
I’m worn, but my head rolls on the pillow to face the second package on the bed. “I’m gonna need a moment before a repeat.”
She laughs, and I turn my head to glance up at her. She looks different. Relaxed. Satisfied. Happy. Still seated over me, still with my dick inside her, her laughter ripples up my body, and I slowly smile. I haven’t heard her laugh before.
“Think it’s funny I’m an old man and need a few minutes to recuperate?” I tease, quickly jackknifing upward. My hands grab her firm backside, keeping her in place as I soften. Her hands cup my cheeks, and those silver-polished eyes undo me a bit.
“I think you’re a beautiful man,” she whispers. Her gaze lower to my lips, and her head begins to tip forward until a sharp rap on the hard exterior of the bus surprises us. Sensing Scotia’s need to retreat, I slide both hands up her back and press against her shoulder blades to keep her in place.
“Big Poppy, you in there?” Jedd Flemming hollers, knocking on the door at my back. As a converted school bus, there’s still an emergency exit at the head of my bed.
“Whatchu want?” I call back, a little too loud for the closeness of Scotia, and she flinches in my arms. I stroke up and down her back, attempting to settle her. Her hands on my cheeks slid to my shoulders but now cover her face as if Jedd can see her. He can’t actually as the bus’s outer shell is raised feet above ground level.
“If Scotia’s with you, it’s time for her to get a move on. The girls need to get back to Green Valley.”
I shake my head and press a quick kiss to Scotia’s shoulder.
“Okay. Give her a minute.” My voice is still loud, but necessary for it to travel out of the sealed-up structure.
“Had all night,” he bellows in return, and then I hear deep laughter. Damn him. If Jedd weren’t another business investment, I’d be riding his ass for this interruption. Then again, as I glance at Scotia, I realize I might owe Jedd in the end.
“Hey,” I whisper to her, reaching for her wrists and tugging them down to see her face.
“Why do I feel like a teenager caught in the back of a minivan?”
“That ever happen to you?”
“No comment,” she admits, and I can’t help but grin. Miss Buttoned-up Business Suit might have a bit of a wild streak in her past. Wonder what else she’s hiding about herself?
“Ever get caught having sex in the back of the bus?” I tease.
“Never,” she shrieks until she puts two and two together. Her hands cup the sides of my neck, and I like her touch returned to me.
“Have you ever been caught in the back of the bus with a woman?” she hesitantly asks.
“Never been on this bus
with a woman before, so that’s a firm negative,” I clarify for her, and a soft smile curls her lips. Her silvery eyes sparkle.
“I like you like this,” she whispers, stroking her fingers over my beard. She’s sweet after sex and I’d like to bring out more of the saccharine bits than the acidic spice in her. I’ll take that vinegar in her for what it is, and her dash of salt on occasion as well, but I want more sugar.
I like her like this.
Chapter 17
Winter Surprise
[Chet]
November
“Henny?”
Finding Hennessy Miller at Harper House was the last thing I expected when I opened the front door on this early November evening. Before me on the stoop stood the woman of my dreams twenty-five years ago. Same blonde hair. Same bright blue eyes. Same sheepish smile that made my insides flip once upon a time.
I’d been hoping to see Scotia tonight as I hadn’t seen her most of the week. Maura told me our volunteer needed the day off, and I wondered why. Although Maura seemed to know, she hadn’t offered any hints to me.
“Hello, Chester.” Henny’s smile widens. “I took a chance you might be here.”
“Come in,” I offer, remembering my manners as the blast of wintry air hits me. I step back so she can enter the grand foyer of the house. Our eyes focus on one another for a long minute, and a million questions scramble through my mind.
“I can’t believe I remembered where this place was,” she says, breaking contact and looking around the two-story cathedral ceiling of the entryway—of the house I built for her. She’d never seen the interior before. She refused to enter the house. “It’s beautiful.”
“I don’t suppose you were just in the neighborhood.” This house up on the mountain isn’t anywhere near where Henny grew up. As Knoxville royalty, her father owned a hydroelectrics company using the Little Tennessee River as an energy source. Living in one of the surrounding valleys was the last thing she wanted, which I didn’t learn until too late. She eventually moved to Nashville.
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 14