Truck Stop Tryst

by Daniels, Krissy

  Every time I had touched her, especially at the diner, most definitely the first time, my world had shifted on its axis. And the way she had reacted, there was no denying hers had shifted, too.

  It was clear she was only trying to protect her heart, and I couldn’t be angry for that.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Aida. Everything you do means something. Every breath, every sigh, every thought, desire, touch, moan. It means everything. Every fucking second you give, I cherish. And I’m done trying to pretend I don’t want you. I want you, Aida. Not just that ridiculous, perfect body. I want you. Your heart, your words, your tears, your insanely strong punches. And your fucking sexy laugh. I want it all. The only thing I don’t want are excuses why this can’t happen.”

  “No, Tucker,” came from her lips, barely a whisper, but her eyes, in their liquid state, her body language, the way she leaned closer, fingers curling into my arms, everything about her, aside from those two words, begged, yes, yes, yes.

  So, I kissed her. Again. Holding her head between my hands, holding her steady, tilting her face, her mouth, to the perfect angle. When she parted her lips, I couldn’t hold back my pleasure, and I moaned, delving deep, tongues colliding, exploring, experiencing, acquainting.

  Sure enough, her body fell closer, tighter against me. Delicate fingers slid under my shirt, raking, teasing my bare skin, setting me on fire.

  “That’s what I thought,” I mumbled against her mouth before taking more of my fill.

  I wanted to kiss her dry, devour, gorge myself on the flavor of her lips, burn in the heady explosion of heavy breaths and racing pulses. I wanted to take her against my tractor, or maybe in the cab, hell, the floor of the barn. I wanted to take her. Pound into her, make her beg for more, beg for me.

  I wanted Aida so crazed with lust, so blinded by need, that my flaws, my scars, wouldn’t be visible, wouldn’t matter. Wouldn’t disgust or scare her away.

  For the first time in years, I was ready to expose my whole self, willing to risk my pride, my heart, and fuck, for Aida, my soul.

  SWEET MOTHER OF MERCY, my ass was huge. I looked over the other shoulder, hoping a different angle might help. Nope. Wider for sure. Everything had expanded. Waistline. Gone. My formerly voluptuous breasts. Gargantuan.

  I leaned closer to the full-length mirror, aka, the closet door, in my new, temporary room. My skin had never looked better. So, there was that. Yay, for the pregnancy glow.

  I squeezed my massive boobs together, lifting, testing their weight. Ugh. Sore and heavy.

  A small flutter beat through my abdomen, reminding me of the reason I was ever-expanding. My heart palpitated at the sensation. I rubbed my belly and took two steps back to plop my butt on the fluffy bed. “I know, I know, sweet pea. You’re worth the extra pounds.”

  My insides fluttered again, and I closed my eyes, absorbing the sensation, the goosebumps, the elation, holding tight to the exhilaration for as long as I could. I tried to imagine what her tiny body looked like as it wiggled inside me. It was insane, and terrifying, and so fucking beautiful to feel a love so deep, so pure, that you couldn’t fathom how you’d ever existed without it.

  I had loved few people in my life. Dad, of course. Feared him. Respected him. But I could survive without him, physically and emotionally. He’d made sure of that. I loved Tito, in a brotherly way. I’d suffer deeply if anything ever happened to him, but it wouldn’t paralyze me.

  My baby? My heart was so full, I feared it might explode. That’s how much I loved her already. How would I ever survive meeting her? I rubbed at the ache in my chest. I might die in the delivery room. Love overdose, or something ridiculous.

  All the warm and fuzzy, happy, lighthearted emotion pumping through my spirit made my eyes leak, and with a whispered, “fuck,” I wiped the dampness from my cheeks. It frustrated me beyond measure to be so out of control of my emotions, so uncomfortable with the peace surrounding me.

  Power, deception, seduction, violence. Those things I knew what to do with. That was the reality I’d learned to navigate.

  In Tucker’s world, oddly enough, all the calm and quiet terrified me.

  I rose to my feet, and glared at my reflection. Another tear slipped down my face, catching above my lip. My lip still swollen from Tucker’s kisses. Oh, those kisses. I’d never felt so wanted. So desirable. So … feminine.

  I’d wanted to fuck him hard on the dirty floor of the barn. Only, his kisses, his touch, the way he held me, it was every bit as satisfying as any orgasm, and when he’d broken the kiss and sent me on my way, I hadn’t felt discarded or rejected. I’d felt … hopeful.

  The door creaked behind me, and through the reflection, I watched Tucker approach, tall and confident, commanding the space around him, shrinking the room around me.

  My chest erupted in a flurry of erratic rhythms. My cheeks heated. When he pressed his chest to my back, lowered his chin to my shoulder and wrapped his arms around me, I tried to stamp down the emotion. But when he spread his hands wide, encasing my baby bump in his protective grip, sharing an intimacy I’d never experienced, I stopped fighting the tears, and melted against him.

  For the first time in my life, I wanted a man for reasons having nothing to do with sex, power, or the adrenaline rush. I wanted Tucker for his heart, his smile, his never-failing arms, his crazy way of centering me, of lifting me up, and making me feel deeper than the surface level of my vain existence.

  “Why the tears?” he asked, lips tickling the outline of my ear.

  “I just realized that my ass is as big as your truck,” I lied, unsure how to voice my newfound feelings.

  “Your ass is perfect, and you know it. Seriously, what’s making you cry?”

  “Truth?”

  “Please. Never give me anything but the truth, Aida.”

  I placed my hands over his and caught his gaze in the mirror. His devilish smile amped those electric blue eyes by a million watts.

  “I think I’m happy.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “Not bad. Unsettling. There’s happy, like, yay, I just bought a one-of-a-kind Hermès bag. Then there’s happy, like, I just carved-up a scumbag who roughed up one of Dad’s girls. But this is different, like a permanent happy. Bone deep. Maybe happy isn’t the right word. Content? Whatever it is, it’s overwhelming, that’s all. And I’m pretty sure pregnancy is messing with my plumbing system, because my eyes have never leaked this much.”

  He chuckled, then landed a kiss on top of my head. A simple gesture that made me feel cherished.

  “Can I tell you something?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I’m scared of getting soft. I can’t be soft when I go home. But here, I … I think I like it. I like not having to stay sharp, or watch my back. I want to be soft, Tucker. And that scares me. It seems like a luxury, you know? One I can’t afford.”

  “Aida. Women are supposed to be soft, yes. But your razor-sharp edge is one of the most attractive things about you. You won’t lose that. You can’t lose something that’s part of your DNA. Don’t get me wrong. When you’re soft, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. But when you ignite, that wicked spark is downright sexy.”

  Tucker liked my dark side.

  “I’ll tell you something.” He grabbed my hand, turning me to face him, then sat on the edge of the bed and pulled me close, hands on my hips, holding tight. “This baby is damn lucky to have both sides of you. You’re going to be a fierce, protective mother, and you’re going to be her cushion to fall into. Her safe place. So, let yourself be soft. Embrace it.”

  I stared down into his beautiful, masculine face, absorbing his words, feeding off his encouragement. My heart broke a little, knowing I’d inevitably have to leave. Knowing I had no choice but to return home. I didn’t know how much time I had, but I wanted to enjoy every moment, every heartbeat with Tucker. I wanted to explore happiness, no matter how short-lived.

  I cupped a hand over his
cheek. God, he was so warm, and rough, and perfect, and I decided that I’d been wrong all these years. My type wasn’t sharp suits, polished shoes, and million-dollar cars. My type was flannel shirts, scuffed boots, and eighteen-wheelers.

  “Tucker,” I whispered, leaning closer, craving another taste of his mouth. “You’re a good man. And under different circumstances, I would most definitely be your girlfriend.”

  His eyes darkened and seemed to lose focus. Tilting his head into my palm, he lowered his lids, and sucked in a breath. “Aida. There are things you need to know about me.”

  The front door of the house slammed and James called out, “Anyone home?”

  “Back here, Dad. Just getting Aida settled.” Tucker released a nervous breath. “I want to tell you everything. Just not here. Not now.”

  My insides fluttered again. “Should I worry?”

  “No, Bambi. Not with me. Never with me.”

  I believed him. Hell, I trusted him. With my heart, with my life. Another truth I found difficult to digest. “Okay, then. Another time.”

  “Soon,” he rasped, squeezing my ass and pressing his lips to my stomach. “When we’re alone.”

  I combed my fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the shiver tearing through me. Again, the moment was intimate. Too much so. Had he not been holding me, I might have floated away. I stepped back, freeing myself from his grip, shaking off the overwhelming urge to jump him, and stood at the end of the bed.

  “This room okay?” Tucker asked, lifting the last of his mom’s boxes off the floor. “The bed is bigger and softer than mine.”

  “It’s perfect. My expanding backside thanks you.” I smoothed my hand over the soft, ivory bedspread, stopping to admire the embroidered wildflowers. The room was bright, airy, and comfortable. Soft white walls, blue and gold accents throughout.

  “I’m quite fond of that backside. Need to keep her comfortable.” He winked and slipped through the open door, but not before saying, “Fuck the circumstances. You are my girlfriend.”

  I turned to follow when I heard the buzz of my cell phone. The phone that hadn’t seen any action in days.

  Oh God. It had to be news about my father. Please be okay. Please be safe.

  I rifled through the suitcase, hands trembling, and, assuming it was Tango, answered before looking at the number. “Is it Dad? Is he okay?”

  “Aida. Princess.”

  That voice. That fucking smug, silky smooth voice.

  “How’s our baby?”

  “How’s that baby doing?” Mom asked, making herself comfortable next to Aida on the couch.

  Aida blanched, her hands moving instinctively to her stomach. Her eyes darted to me, then back to Mom.

  Something was off.

  She’d been quiet all through dinner, and her hands had trembled every time she’d reached for her fork or glass.

  We hadn’t had a moment alone all evening, leaving me zero opportunity to probe.

  “She’s perfect,” was Aida’s unconvincing reply.

  “And you’re feeling okay?” Mom must’ve sensed something off, too.

  Gotta love a mother’s magical intuition.

  Aida shot me another nervous glance then met my mother in the eye, forcing a smile, then faking a yawn. “Oh, yes. I feel good. Sleepy though. Think I’ll call it a night.”

  I stood, offering a hand to help her off the couch.

  “Good night, Lettie.” She nodded to Mom, then turned to Dad. “Night, James.”

  I followed her down the hall and into her room, closing the door behind me.

  “Spill it, Bambi,” I said, grabbing her hand and turning her to face me.

  Shit. She was pale.

  “I got a call, just before dinner.”

  “Tango?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I waited for her to elaborate. When she offered nothing but a vacant stare, I probed. “Who, then?”

  “Rafael.” The name left her lips in a choked rasp.

  Painful raps knocked against my rib cage. “You sure?”

  “Five hundred percent sure.”

  “Fuck. How the fuck did he get the number?”

  “I don’t have a clue. He asked how his baby was. When I didn’t respond, he said I couldn’t hide forever.”

  I watched her glassy eyes fill with worry. It pained me to see her shaken.

  “Tucker. I thought my father had taken care of him.”

  “Where’s the phone?”

  She pointed to the nightstand. I snatched the cell and headed to my room, Aida hot on my heels.

  “How dangerous is this Rafael?” I asked her over my shoulder, bringing up the call history.

  “He was a dumb jock with a trust fund. Another one of Dad’s pretty boy fighters. I won’t bring this shit anywhere near Tango or his family. I won’t do that. I need to go back to New York. I need to find out what the hell is going on.”

  I choked on the dry lump in my throat. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “You don’t understand. Dad would not abandon me. He wouldn’t. Neither would Tito. It’s been too long without any word. Something terrible has happened. I can feel it in my bones.”

  “Aida. Stop. Sit down and breathe for a sec.”

  “Tucker. I know he’s a criminal. I know he’s done terrible things, but he’s my father. What if he needs me?”

  “Aida.” I grabbed her shoulders and nudged her toward the bed. “Calm the hell down. Your father has a damn army protecting him.”

  She sucked in a long breath, then released it nice and slow.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Click. Click. Click.

  Aw, shit. Not the nails.

  I pulled my cell out and dialed Tango.

  He answered on the first ring. “Hey, Tuck.”

  “Aida’s burner has been compromised.”

  “What do you mean, compromised?” I heard footsteps, then a door slam.

  “She got a call from her ex.”

  “Rafael Turner? Tito told me that fucker had been terminated.”

  I ignored the terminated comment for the time being. “What do you know about him?”

  “He was an up-and-comer in the fight circuit. I fought him a few times. Guy was good. Something was off, though. I always suspected he was holding back. Voltolini had a boner for him. Never understood why.”

  “Is the phone traceable?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay. Okay. That’s good. I’m trashing it anyway.”

  “Tucker. Bring her back. I’ve got this. You shouldn’t get involved.”

  “I am involved. You said it yourself; she’s safer with me.”

  Silence. A few heavy breaths. “This shit is not sitting well. Still haven’t heard a word from Tito. It’s not like him.”

  Tango was as concerned as Aida. He couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice.

  “You worry about your cousin. I’ll worry about Aida. We’ll be off the grid for a few days.”

  With a sigh, Tango conceded. “Sorry you were pulled into this, brother.”

  I wasn’t sorry. Not in the slightest.

  “Any word on the guys who jumped me outside the diner?”

  Tango huffed. Papers shuffled. “Roger Caldwell ran their license plate. Owner of the truck is Jonas Carver. His father, Jeremy Carver, heads a church out of Hatfield. White supremacist posing as a Christian leader. They have a small following. Jonas has been in and out of the system, small things—vandalism, trespassing. As of last year, aggravated assault and battery. Charges didn’t stick.”

  “His violence is escalating.”

  “Roger and two of his guys paid a visit to Jonas’s trailer home about thirty miles north of town. The place had been emptied like he’d left in a hurry. Haven’t seen them around. Not sure what that means, but I’ve hired a few extra men to keep an eye out. I don’t think they’ll be back, Tuck. They’re punk kids with misdirected anger issues. That being said, I’ve amped security at The Stop and
the house anyway.”

  “Good. Good.” I glanced over my shoulder. Aida watched me with wary eyes.

  Click. Click. Click.

  “I’ll be in touch in a couple days.” I ended the call and turned to face the worried woman sitting on my bed.

  Squatting at her feet, I pulled her frantically working hands apart to hold them in my own. I’d always thought Aida’s eyes were the most deceiving part of her. I realized then, her hands held more deception. Small, delicate, soft. No one would ever suspect how strong they were. How capable. How deadly. No one would know until they cowered beneath the power of those ten slender, perfectly manicured fingers.

  I knew.

  I loved her hands.

  I loved that, despite the power, strength, and skill she possessed, knowing Aida could take care of herself, and then some, knowing she’d been raised to out-think, out-maneuver, out-fight any adversary, she yielded so freely to me.

  Aida Voltolini had been born into a life that would break most.

  Unbendable as she was, I sensed that she wanted to break free.

  She didn’t want the same life for her child.

  I suspected that maybe, just maybe, given enough time in my world, Aida would see—no, Aida would choose another life, my life, over the dark and dismal that awaited her back home.

  Her soul and the soul of her child depended on her separation from all things Voltolini. Damn, how I wanted to be the man who drew her out of the dark.

  As I kissed her delicate knuckles, and helped her to her feet, and led her back to the guest room, a peace fell over me.

  I had a new purpose. A new mission. Aida.

  I knew what I had to do.

  I knew what I had to do. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do anything until Tucker went to sleep. As much as I loved that he’d kicked off his shoes and settled next to me on the bed—him on top of the comforter, me tucked tightly underneath—as much as I coveted the warmth of his body, the musk of fresh air and motor oil that clung to his skin, as much as I enjoyed the soothing rasp of his voice while he read some ridiculous pregnancy book to me, courtesy of his mother, I could not bring myself to relax.