by Gina Conkle
Listening to Her
Gina Conkle
Copyright
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
* * *
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Listening to Her
Copyright © 2017 by Gina Conkle
Ebook ISBN: 9781641970303
* * *
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
* * *
NYLA Publishing
121 W 27th St., Suite 1201, New York, NY 10001
http://www.nyliterary.com
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About the Author
Excerpt from FEEDING A BROKEN HEART
Book List
Chapter 1
Southern humidity gloved her skin. Sweat slid into crevices, making her squirm. The car rattles did a better job getting her hot and bothered than her ex ever did. Good thing he was ancient history…if ten hours and one minute was ancient. Not that she was counting. She glanced at the dashboard clock shining 2:31 AM on books and picture frames in the box beside her. Her stuff was a mess. She was a mess. A fierce mess.
Go home, Ali, go home.
Hands curling tighter on the steering wheel, her hair whipped every which way. Both windows were down, a poor girl’s A/C. One more thing to fix. Like her train wreck of decisions. She had plenty of time to figure out what she’d say to family and friends. First order of business, do something about this wedgie. Inching her butt off the seat, she yanked her shorts down, jamming the accelerator. The car swerved. She barely recovered when blue lights flashed in her rearview mirror. A siren blipped.
“What? I’m not speeding.”
Easing off the road, dust clouded her windows. She pushed aside a bag of food, her half-peeled orange rolling onto the floor. Her purse? It was somewhere by the passenger door. The trooper’s headlights beamed bright. He wasn’t out of his patrol car yet…probably typing her license plate number into his computer. Bending over a box, she rummaged for the purse, smelling her sweet orange. If she wiped it off—
“Evening ma’am.”
White light bathed the car’s interior. She froze.
“License and registration, please.” Amusement laced a deep, southern drawl.
Of course. She was ass up. All rear and legs. At least the light shined on her elusive pink wallet.
She sat up, pasting on a smile before handing over her license. “Is there a problem, officer?”
What else could a girl do but keep calm and smile?
The flashlight dipped to her ID. No answer. Greattttt. Her man-meter landed on Strong Silent Type. He had the look. Clean-shaven. Military straight mouth. His body a ramrod of discipline. Guys like him were good for steady and dull. They liked rules and order. A braless woman in a white V-neck T-shirt? Disorderly conduct.
Lack of sleep was making her loopy, but the V-neck was a little deep. Her tan lines showed. It’d be smart to hide the girls. Leaning against her door, she slunk down nose level with a belt buckle and a hard on straining blue uniform pants. What? She blinked fast. Yep. The bulge was real. Not a full erection but definitely a starter. What was he doing out here on the empty freeway…with that?
She squirmed on her seat. “You know I couldn’t have been speeding. The hamsters in my engine can barely—”
“I need you to step out of the car.”
“Why?”
“Ma’am. Get out of the car.”
The officer stepped back, his flashlight blinding her. She opened the door and planted a flip-flop clad foot on the ground, tugging her shorts down as she stood up. The terry cloth stuck to her like a second skin.
“It’s been a long drive,” she explained, swiping sweaty palms over her hips.
Did his military mouth tighten? His wide stance told her he was in charge, and any friendly chit chat would be on his terms, not hers. Something about that put her teeth on edge, made her reckless. Exhaustion and ten hours of post break-up driving would skew any woman’s judgment. Hips swiveling slowly, she glared at the flashlight and gave the door an unhurried bump. Her boobs jiggled. Really, she didn’t want them to jiggle. It was a byproduct of unfettered medium-sized boobs and that defiant, saucy hip bump.
Officer Strong Silent Type inhaled fast.
His flashlight trained on her micro-fit pink shorts and a white T-shirt. Cotton brushed her nipples. She’d cover them with her brown hair, except four days ago she’d chopped it to shoulder length. Her stylist called the look soft beachy waves. Tonight she was windblown and crazy, waiting, listening to the officer’s breathing. Moonlight touched his eyes, made him human. His stare did a slow burn up her bare legs, pausing on her hips before going higher. The glint in his eyes locked on curves pressing her T-shirt. The breathing stopped.
Well, well…a boob man.
A sense of power surged inside. That’s better.
“What’s got you driving through Alabama all alone this time of night Miss—” He angled the license higher sounding all business. “—Taylor?”
“I’m going home. To California.” She hadn’t been in Atlanta long enough to change her license.
“If California’s your home, what’s with the moving boxes?”
“I moved to Atlanta about a month ago.” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “As you can see things didn’t work out.”
“Looks like you left in hurry, ma’am.” The flashlight beamed on a jumble of clothes on the backseat, but his eyes were on her. The glint gave him away.
Night did funny things to people…made a person push boundaries, fooling a body into thinking no one can see. But she saw him and stared right back. The officer’s eyes were dark brown so was his hair. His State Trooper hat was missing. Maybe he was too hot to bother with protocol at two AM? It was just the two of them and chirping crickets out here. Lots and lots of crickets. She stood taller aware of cotton brushing her achy nipples. Maybe she liked Mr. Strong Silent Type’s stare…like he was about to push her up against the car and frisk her. Her gut clenched on that mental image.
“Ma’am?” The patrolman’s light was on her again, and she was pretty sure she had a pink camel toe.
“Um, I’m not sure what this is all about. I’m moving and I’m not very organized as you can see. There wasn’t any time, but I wasn’t speeding so I don’t know why you pulled me over.” She took a quick breath and rattled on, “I don’t even have unpaid parking tickets.”
Shiny black shoes took two slow steps closer. Dust moats swirled in the light beam between them. Blue siren lights flickered on a face more strong than handsome, the lines of which were younger than her by a few years. She could see women getting swoony over him.
“The way this goes,” he said evenly. “I ask the questions. You answer.”
Butt against the car, her gaze shot to his zipper and back up again. A muscle twitched on his jaw. She attempted a friendly, respectful smile, but the hard on was obvious, and he needed to know that she knew. But, a frisson started at her nape and went all the way to her thighs. She’d ticked him off by looking…should’ve pretended she never saw that part of his anatomy. He was probably sitting bored to tears on this freew
ay and had started fantasizing. His body reacted and then she drove by. And right or wrong, Mr. Officer probably pulled her over to save himself from the tedium.
At least she hoped this theory was right.
She stood up straight, feeling heat radiate off his body. “All right officer. Ask away.”
On the east bound side, a semi-truck and a car whizzed by both going way too fast. The officer didn’t budge. The lawman braced a hand on her car beside her head.
“Here.” He turned off his flashlight and handed over her license. “I don’t have any more questions.”
She missed the intrusive light. Even good men did bad things in the dark.
“You don’t need your flashlight anymore?”
“No ma’am. I’ve seen enough.”
He’d seen enough. That glint in his eye pushed her feisty button.
“Aren’t you supposed to err on the side of caution?” she asked, tucking her license into her wallet. “I mean what if I had a weapon.”
His laugh was low and sandpaper rough. “You mean in those pink shorts of yours?”
Clarity hit her the second time in twenty-four hours. First time came when she stumbled on her soon-to-be fiancé, Allan, naked with a coworker – Amber! Ali had left her old life behind because she thought he was “the one.” Hardly a month in Atlanta, she found him after hours in his office with woman who couldn’t string together five words without giggling.
Really, Allan? A bimbo like that gets your engine going? The insult stung as bad as the infidelity.
Her second epiphany came facing one overbearing lawman. Men made up half the world. She was ready to stand up for the half belonging to her, and right now her peace of mind needed more space between them. She snapped her wallet shut.
“Then you won’t mind backing up Officerrr—” She stopped to read the name plate on his chest. “—Perry and letting me go.”
She turned, and her hip brushed solid male thigh. A hand grabbed her upper arm.
“Not so fast, ma’am. I didn’t say you could go.”
Her breathing accelerated, loud enough to be obvious. Crap. The thigh brush, his warm hand both made her girl parts tingle. This was not supposed to be happening. How could her body react to Officer Perry when she just had an awful break-up with slime-ball Allan?
She eyed his hand. “I was putting my wallet in my purse.”
Moonlight traced his head and shoulders. Everything about Officer Perry was strong lines and hard angles from his wide shoulders to sharp creases pressed into his shirt. He let go of her and when her jittery hand tossed her wallet into her purse, his shoes scraped the ground in retreat. Hands clamped behind his back, the siren’s blue lit up stiff features. The next time blue flashed on his face, the ache was gone, replaced by the stoic face lawmen wore everywhere.
He did feel bad.
For whatever reason, she wanted to smooth things over. The want compelled her to keep talking when common wisdom would tell her to get in the car and go.
“You know why I left Atlanta?”
The corners of his mouth contracted. “You don’t have to explain yourself.”
“Because I caught my boyfriend cheating.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“He cheated with a woman who can barely speak in coherent sentences. All she does is giggle…and squeal.” She scrunched up her nose. “It’s awful. All that high-pitched shriek-y, squeal-y, giggling.”
“Very hard on the ears, ma’am.”
Her head snapped up. She tried to read him. “Please don’t call me ma’am. You’re making me feel old, and I’m only twenty-eight. Please tell me I’m not older than you.”
He cracked a smile. “You are.”
Officer Perry didn’t miss a beat. He stayed straight-arrow tall both hands clamped behind his back. This time his smile lingered, and crap —it was a panty-dropper. A boyish, feel-good smile that said “the kind of guy you can take home to mom” but he’d sneak into your bedroom at midnight.
Definitely flirtation material.
“What? Aren’t you going to tell me how old you are? All in the name of friendly officer/driver small talk before I go my merry way?”
Officer Perry’s head tilted west, his fine smile fading. Another east bound semi-rumbled past on the far side of the freeway. Crickets sawed loudly in the field. Was he debating to flirt or not to flirt…that is the question?
His scrutiny turned on her, sending cool ripples over her skin. “Twenty-six,” he said walking closer. “And you need to get a move on Miss Taylor.”
Her pink flips-flops rooted to the Alabama freeway. She smelled a piney, drug store after shave and right when his shoulders blocked out the moon, his hand skimmed her hip going for the door handle. He was doing the right thing. He was sending her away. The car door clicked open, meeting her butt. Her gaze locked with his as terry cloth covered ass cheek rubbed his hand gripping the door handle. A second deliciously slow swipe on his thumb drove home her message. His Adam’s apple rose and fell. This was the moment of no return.
“Officer Perry,” she softly. “I have one more question.”
Chapter 2
Between Miss Taylor’s ass cheek on his hand and her firecracker blue eyes gazing up at him, his resolve dwindled. Lust was giving his morals a run for the money.
“I’m doing my best to be the southern gentleman I was raised to be—” Lowering his voice, he gave her a pointed nod. “—but your ass rubbing my hand isn’t helping.”
A rush filled his cock when he said that out loud. It was his professionalism going south.
He held his breath, bracing himself for the shock of pleasure to subside. The hard-on he fought valiantly roared to life because of a prime woman full of sass and sex. Shit. He’d just met Miss Taylor and he wanted to do things to her. His body had reacted fast when he’d first saw her barely covered butt cheeks through her window. Then she got out of the car. He didn’t know what got him more. The sheen on her bare legs? Or her audacious nipples?
Her white cotton shirt had been all but transparent under his flashlight. It’s why he turned the light on her back seat.
“Just one question,” she said, holding up a finger in the space between them. “It’s not like there’s a lot going on out here…except all these crickets. I’ve always wondered why they make so much noise at night.”
Miss Taylor ventured a hopeful smile. Crickets chirped their music. Lots of them.
He cocked his head toward the empty field. “That sound you hear, it’s the males rubbing their wings to attract the females. A nighttime insect dating game.”
Males flirting with females…something he used to be good at. Until last year.
“I never knew that.” Her lips parted, a smile forming.
Eyes sparkling, she craned her neck, listening to the southern symphony. A bead of sweat rolled into her cleavage. He followed the glossy wet trail until it disappeared in white cotton. Her butt still pressed his hand gripping the door handle. The plump firmness, high and tight. Fuck. A perfect saucy little ass…
He should be glad Miss Taylor was in no hurry to leave. Yet, he felt older than he was. Wary.
He exhaled long and slow, his breath stirring wind-mussed hair on the top of her head. The hard-on stretched the front of his regulation trousers. There was no denying his physical reaction. What harm could a little conversation do? Not much was happening tonight, and she smelled good, like a tropical island with her California girl shampoo.
“You’re one question. What is it?”
Firecracker blue eyes twinkled in the moonlight. “Why did you pull me over?”
An inner voice chided him, That’s the air going out of your fantasy where the pretty brunette asks if you’re single.
He pulled his hand off her car. Miss Taylor’s head dipped. She followed his hand to his side.
“You were swerving,” he said. “I thought you were falling asleep at the wheel or under the influence of a controlled substance.”
He tried hard not to smile or glance at her cotton candy pink shorts. “Makes sense.”
She started talking about her A/C being out and who wants to sweat with her bra on? He drank up every detail of Miss Allison Taylor from Laguna Niguel. Women like her didn’t pass his way anymore—brunette sweethearts with a little lip. Her brazen hip bump, shutting her door almost did him in. While she was talking, her gaze went south to his zipper. The corner of Miss Taylor’s mouth curled in a teasing smirk. Yeah, he knew she’d seen his first hard on. Sitting out here on slow nights, it was difficult not to let his mind wander.
And seeing her bent over… How easy it’d be to bend her over and slide her short’s crotch to one side and find the pink skin he wanted.
“I thought you might’ve pulled me over for…other reasons.” Miss Taylor spoke to his zipper before lifting her head.
He wasn’t going to hide the truth from her, a virtual stranger going west. Their paths would never cross again, but the air got awkward. She’d suspected the worst of him and for a fraction of a second, temptation had reared its ugly head when he read her license and saw her clothes in disarray on her back seat. Women had propositioned him in the past, unbuttoning their blouses, asking him if there was something they could do to get out of a little ole’ ticket. Eyes on his pad, his pen worked with lightning speed before he ripped their citation, handed it over, and touched his hat to bid them good day. He respected the law. Loved it as much as his father, the judge.
Fresh sweat nicked his hairline. “You thought I was going to force myself on you.”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
Miss Taylor rolled a small stone under the toe of her pink flip-flop. Her hands slipped behind her back, thrusting out her breasts. Both nipples pebbled against white cotton. Moonlight gleamed on smooth-skinned legs all the way down to cheap rhinestones on her flip-flops. His fists curled when a cool southern breeze rippled the bottom of her T-shirt. The white taunted him…a flag of surrender.