She filled two large Cokes from the fountain, gathered up her pile of snacks and started for the cashier only to be brought up short by a rack of condoms. Oh Lord. Should she? She couldn’t. But what if Joe didn’t?
Oh, grow up, Violet, Lily’s voice said inside her ear. Own it.
She snagged a box off the rack, marched up to the front of the store and dumped the works on the counter, chin up. Let the greasy worm of a cashier think whatever he wanted. He took a step back, eyes going wide. Hmm. Maybe she shouldn’t own it quite that hard.
Her heart thumped a little louder with every step she took back to the motel. She stopped outside the door, staring at the gold metal numbers, stymied. She had a key card, but she couldn’t go busting in. What if Joe wasn’t dressed? That would be…bad? She waited a few more moments, hoping the door might magically open. It didn’t. She wandered over and sat down on a bench outside the motel office. She would’ve figured Joe for a five-minute shower kind of guy, but what did she know?
Within a few minutes her hair was plastered to the back of her neck. How stupid would it be to sit out here basting if Joe was waiting for her to knock? So she did. Softly at first. Then a little louder. No response. She waited a few beats, listening with all her might, then tried again. Still nothing. The pickup was still parked in the lot, but there was a burger joint around the corner. He might have gone for food.
She pulled the key card out of her pocket, slid it into the lock, and eased the door open a crack. “Joe?” she called softly.
No answer. She pushed the door all the way open, then stopped, then let out the breath she’d been holding. So much for worrying how to kill time. Joe was sprawled facedown on the bed, sound asleep.
* * *
He couldn’t believe he’d slept most of the afternoon. ’Course it might have something to do with spending the previous night curled up with Violet, afraid to doze off for fear of where his hands would wander in his sleep. Now she sat across from him at the motel café, chasing a cherry tomato around her plate with a fork. She’d barely touched her salad and her eyes were shinier than usual. On the verge of glassy, like a rookie bronc rider about to crawl down into the bucking chute for the first round of the National Finals.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
Her fork jerked. Joe caught her wayward tomato as it rolled across the table and set it on his empty plate.
“I’m great. Almost back to normal.” She turned her head slowly side to side to prove it. “Why?”
“You didn’t eat. And you look hot.” When she blinked, he hustled to add, “Uh, feverish I mean.”
“I had snacks while you were sleeping.” She dropped her chin and went back to molesting her tomatoes. And God, he was in bad shape when even that sounded dirty. “Have you talked to Dick?”
His gut tightened at the reminder. “Yesterday.”
“And?”
“He wants to get together and talk about next year’s schedule.”
She pulverized a crouton with her fork. “Business as usual?”
“Sort of.” He’d see when he was face-to-face with the old man.
The red-haired waitress strolled over and propped a hand on an ample hip as she eyed Joe’s plate. “Guess I don’t have to ask if the chicken fried steak was good—you licked off everything but the shine on the fork.” She switched to her attention to Violet. “Somethin’ wrong with the salad, honey?”
“No, it’s fine. I wasn’t hungry.”
The waitress cleared away the plates, leaving nothing between them but an empty table and an ocean of unspoken words. All the important stuff had been said. He had to go home. She didn’t want him to come back. End of discussion. She put the salt and pepper shakers in their chrome rack and lined it up precisely with the square ceramic trays that held paper packets of sugar and non-dairy creamer. Fidgeting. Violet never fidgeted.
The waitress came back and slapped the check down on the table. When Joe reached for it, Violet grabbed his hand, trapping the check underneath. He could swear he heard a crack of live voltage at the contact, the current sizzling up his arm. Her breath caught as if she felt it too. Their eyes met, held, hers swirling with emotions Joe couldn’t identify.
She turned his hand over, the slip of paper trapped between their palms. “I’ll get that,” she said, voice husky.
“No.” His fingers curled around the check, stroking the tender skin of her wrist in the process, making her breath catch again. He couldn’t resist the temptation to trace the edge of her palm, his voice going low. “And don’t try to say I’m still on the payroll.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. God, those lips. He wanted them on his. On him. Everywhere. His fingers tightened. He could pull her out of the booth and drag her across the parking lot to her room. She’d come with him. He knew she would. And he’d make damn sure she came, too…
“Y’all don’t need to fight over lil’ ol’ me,” the waitress drawled.
Violet snatched her hand away and tucked it into her lap, face flaming. Joe was so cross-eyed with lust he couldn’t even read the total on the bill let alone figure a tip, so he fumbled a pair of twenties out of his pocket and shoved them at the waitress.
“I’ll be right back with your change,” she said.
“Keep it,” Joe said, unable to tear his eyes off the way the creamy skin of Violet’s throat moved when she swallowed.
If he put his mouth right there, he’d feel her pulse. Know if it was pounding like his. Violet lifted her hand, fingertips pressed to the exact spot he wanted to taste. No doubt what was in her eyes now. The heat rolled in a wave across the table, washing over him, dragging him under.
“Well, if you’re in a hurry,” the waitress said with a knowing smirk. “Y’all have a nice night, now.”
Joe nodded. Or meant to. All of his parts that weren’t throbbing had gone numb from blood loss. He wasn’t exactly sure how he got across the restaurant to the door. As he held it for Violet, he glanced back to see the waitress leaning against the counter, watching them. She grinned and fanned herself with a menu. Outside, the evening air was thick and smooth as silk against his hypersensitive skin. Violet walked silently beside him, close enough that her arm almost brushed his, dialing up his awareness to the point of pain. They paused at her door. She fumbled the key card into the lock and pushed the door open, but didn’t go inside. Joe’s gaze went straight to the bed.
He cleared his throat. “I should head out to the camper—”
“And what? Play Beni’s video games?” She lifted her chin, the challenge clear in her eyes. “You’re not scared, are you, Joe?”
His own words thrown back at him, from the night he’d first asked her out. If he had a brain in his head he’d laugh, concede the point, and go on his merry way. “’Course not.”
She leaned in, the scent of sun-kissed oranges flooding his senses. “Then stay.”
Go! Now! a voice hissed in his head. His body swayed toward hers, tugged by the gravitational force of his need.
Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “The naked kind of stay, Joe.”
The wave of lust knocked him back a step.
Violet flinched and dropped her chin. “Forget I asked—”
“No!” Dear sweet Jesus, no. Don’t screw this up, asshole. He’d walked away from her once. He might burst into flames if he did it again. He waved a jerky hand toward the pickup. “I just…I need my bag and…stuff. If I’m going to, you know…stay.”
“Oh.” Her smile flashed again, bright with relief. “Well, I brought my own, um, stuff. But I’ll wait inside while you get yours.”
“Right. Okay.” She’d brought her own? Joe took another step back, hooked his heel on a crack in the pavement and nearly landed flat on his butt. “Be right back.”
He dropped the pickup keys twice attempting to unlock the door. His nerves jumped
at the beep of the horn when he pressed the key fob. Dear God. He felt like someone had implanted an entire drum set in his chest. Crash! Boom! Bang! Rat-a-tat-a-tat-tat-tat. He locked the pickup, plunked his duffel onto the hood, and yanked the zipper open, digging for the box of condoms just to be sure. Yep, still there. Brand new. He’d bought them for his first date with Violet. Cocky son of a bitch. And now she’d brought her own. His heart did another extended drum solo.
He tucked the box into the pocket of his cargo shorts, slung the bag over his shoulder, turned…and froze. Glued to the ground, panic slithering cold through his gut. If he went back in there…
If? What was he, crazy? Of course he was going in. He was dying, possibly literally, to get his hands on Violet. To have her hands on him. Besides, if he left now, she’d be hurt. Think he didn’t want her, as if that was remotely possible. And since when was he scared of a girl? Never. It was just nerves. Or what was that called? Performance anxiety. Yeah. Because this was Violet, not just someone he’d met in a bar. Plus he’d endured all those hours of what amounted to foreplay last night and there was a good chance he might explode the second she touched him.
Well, fine. The humiliation would be worth it, and he had until eight o’clock tomorrow morning to make it up to her.
He eased through the door she’d left open a crack, elbowing it shut with more force than he’d intended. Violet started at the slam, perched on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap. Joe stalled again. Violet raised her eyebrows in question.
“I’m not sure I know how to do this without a few beers first,” he blurted, then winced at how bad it sounded. Worse because it was true.
“Make it tequila and I’m right there with you,” she said with a shaky laugh.
He laughed, too, even though it was a painful reminder of how crude he’d been that night at the Lone Steer Saloon. What was she doing here with him? She should have punted his sorry ass back to Oregon two days after he showed up.
“I’m guessing it’ll work better if we’re both on the same side of the room,” Violet said.
Joe nodded, but his feet were nailed down, like the first time he tried jumping off the high dive. One more step and he’d be over the edge, except this time he was blindfolded, and he had no clue how far it was to the bottom, or whether there was even water in the pool. Violet took a deep breath, braced her hands on her knees, and pushed to her feet. Air backed up in Joe’s lungs, the pressure building with every step she took. She stopped in front of him and reached up to lay her hand on his jaw.
“How ’bout we pick up where we left off?” And then she kissed him.
The ball of pressure ignited, expanded, blue flame licking down every nerve, jolting his body into action. He inhaled her muffled squeak as he hauled her hard against him—chest to thigh—desperate for contact. It wasn’t enough. He swung her around, his mouth devouring hers as he mashed her against the wall and cupped his hands around her butt, lifting her to her toes where he could rock his hips into her. Their nearly equal heights made all the right parts line up in all the right places, the friction too much to stand and still not even close to enough. She moaned, her hands flattening on his back and sliding down to his butt, urging him even closer.
Slow down, slow down…
Fuck that. He had to have her now. Here. Her hands dove under his T-shirt, pushing it up. He broke the kiss, his breath rasping loud as he raised his arms to let her peel the shirt over his head, cursing when it tangled in the strap of the duffel still slung over his shoulder. He wrestled free and let the whole works thump to the floor.
Violet’s smile gleamed with pure female triumph. “I guess you’re sure about this.”
“Damn sure.” He planted a hand on the wall beside her head, a whole new set of flames licking up his spine as she trailed her fingers low across his back, smiling as his hips jerked in response. “Brace yourself, Violet. I’ve wanted you too hard for too damn long to make this pretty.”
“I can handle down and dirty.” She ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist when he reached for her, backing toward the bed and pulling him along. “We’d better take this horizontal—I’m already weak in the knees.”
She skimmed her fingers along the top of his shoulder then down, over his chest, his stomach, his muscles twitching at the featherlight touch. Air hissed between his teeth when she trailed a fingertip along the waistband of his cargo shorts to the button and popped it open with one easy twist.
“Slick,” he said.
“I get a lot of practice undressing boys.” Before he could think too much about that, she sank to the side of the bed and tugged the zipper down. He nearly passed out when she put her mouth on the exposed skin right below his navel and licked. Her hum of approval was hot against his skin. “I’ve been wanting to do that for days.”
She slid her hands inside his cargo shorts and peeled them off his hips. He snatched the box of condoms out of the pocket and tossed them on the bed as she pushed the shorts past his knees, where he could kick them loose along with his shoes. Then she looked up…and burst out laughing.
Joe froze, looked down, then grinned when he remembered his underwear. Black boxers with a bronc rider on the front and the Pendleton Roundup slogan in bright red: Let ’er Buck.
“Sounds good to me,” he said.
“Damn straight.”
She popped the first button of her blouse free. Then the next. And the next. The blouse fell open and Joe was looking straight down into heaven, wrapped in peach-colored satin. He gave a long, slow whistle, stunned into reverence. Halle-fucking-lujah all over again. His hands shook as he fumbled the blouse off her shoulders, as if he’d never undressed a woman before. She reached up to flick open the front clasp of her bra, and this time Joe’s hands were right there to play catch. He groaned, watching her eyelids drift downward as he cupped her breasts, exploring the weight and the curve of them with his fingers and palming the nipples.
She scooted back, the gleam in her eyes dangerous beneath her lashes as she shrugged off the bra, then stretched out on her back in a slow, sinuous move that made his heart skid sideways. Her gaze never left his face as he unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, then sucked in a laugh when he saw her underwear. Blue with silver stars. Mine.
He swatted off that wayward thought and grinned, pausing to drink in the sight of her. “I never thought you’d wear ’em.”
“I needed all the superpower I could get.” Something flickered across her face—uncertain, vulnerable—there and gone. “You gonna just stand there admirin’ the scenery or what?”
What. Definitely what. He stripped off his boxers and braced a knee on the bed between her legs to lean down, palms cradling her hips, thumbs tracing the points of one star, then another, then another, working toward the center, her breath coming faster with each touch. She lifted her hips and he slid the soft cotton down and off.
He planted a hand on either side of her head to lower himself inch by inch, drawing out the anticipation of that instant when they would be skin to skin. Head to toe and every gorgeous, excruciating inch in between. He stopped just short, eyes locked with hers, and shuddered when she raked her fingernails lightly down the length of his back. The moment crystallized in his mind like the first time he stepped out into the arena at Pendleton, looked around at the legendary grandstands and every rodeo he’d ever worked before faded into irrelevance. This was it. The real thing.
Her hands curved around his butt, squeezed, and he buckled, his full weight pressing into her, the feel of soft skin and firm muscle nearly enough to make him come undone. He pressed his eyes shut and held his breath, fighting the undertow. If he went under, he might never surface again.
“Hey,” she said softly. He opened his eyes and gazed into hers only inches away, steady as the arms she wrapped around him. “I’m the pickup girl, remember? I’ve got you.”
He felt hi
mself slipping, the last shred of his control sliding through his fingers. And then he lost it. He took her mouth, deep and hungry, like she was his first meal in a week. She took it all and gave back more, arching and sliding, hips, breasts, thighs, reminding him of all the other hot, sweet places he had to explore. His hands couldn’t decide where to go first. How could he touch enough, taste enough, feel enough in only this one night? Then she moved against him again, obliterating his ability to think at all.
She gave him everything, no holds barred, and left him no choice but to do the same. The force of his need stripped him bare, exposed even that piece of himself he always kept apart. Safe. His mind wanted to retreat, but Violet wouldn’t let him go. She didn’t wait, just took him, dragged him into her warmth then cranked up the heat and the speed until he imploded, a thousand sizzling points of light bursting behind his eyes, then arcing away and fading into the darkness.
And then there was nothing but the two of them, closer than Joe had ever been to a woman, as if their souls were touching. He kept very still, his afterglow disturbed by growing ripples of unease. What had just happened…it was too much. Too far. How did he get back to solid ground? His mind scrambled, picking through the lust-clouded details. Did he say anything in the heat of the moment he couldn’t take back?
Nothing he could remember. There were some long, hazy stretches when he’d been completely out of his mind, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t been capable of speech.
Now that he’d blown off the steam that’d been building for two weeks, he could be cool. Prove he was capable of a little finesse. Violet had made it clear she wanted him here and now, and equally clear she was done with him when he stepped on that plane. They had this one night. No promises, no demands. He just had to keep his head screwed on straight and his mouth shut, so he didn’t break down and beg her to let him come back for more.
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