How about caring for your maybe-murderer father in the house where he maybe-murdered your stepmother? Is that shocking enough?
I flush the thought from my brain before it sucks me under. “So then what?”
“Then I threw you over my shoulder and took you home. Good thing you weigh nothing, because you weren’t very helpful. If you hadn’t been snoring like a fifty-year-old fat man, I would’ve checked your pulse.”
“Oh, God.” I cringe. Literally cringe. “I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
Jake gives me a grin that tells me he’s not the least bit sorry. “Seeing your tattoo more than made up for the snoring.”
I blush, dammit.
Jake takes in my pink cheeks and laughs. “Don’t look so horrified. It was easily the highlight of my night. Of my month, even. Don’t you want to know what happened?”
I wave a palm in the air between us. “Some questions are best left unanswered. Questions like How fat would you have to be to be bulletproof? and Where is Elvis, really? and How did my jeans end up on the floor last night? Sometimes it’s better not to know, because the answer would only be a disappointment.”
One eyebrow rises in silent question at my last word, but he doesn’t offer it up. Instead, he points to the hand holding the ice pack in place. “Like the truth behind how you really got that black eye?”
“And other questions are best left unasked because they lead to subjects too depressing to talk about. This—” I pull the cold compress from my eye, and Jake’s expression confirms my shiner is still there, and still bad “—is one of those questions.”
“Fair enough. I won’t ask again.”
I give him a grateful smile, but a familiar weight is already settling over me, pushing at the edges of my heightened spirits, threatening to drag me down. Quick, swim to the surface.
“I got the tattoo a few years ago in Thailand,” I say, almost tripping over my words in my rush to change the subject. “The artist there used bamboo, which he assured me hurt less than a traditional machine. Quite frankly, I find that hard to believe. He must have stabbed me a million times, in what I don’t need to remind you is a very sensitive spot. It was torture.”
“For you.” Jake grins. “But I’m betting not so much for the guy holding the bamboo needle.”
I laugh, and the sound catches me off guard, light and twinkling and unforced, the way a laugh is supposed to sound. The way my laugh used to sound.
“And anyway,” I say, “I don’t need you to tell me how you saw my tattoo, because I’m pretty positive nothing happened between us last night.”
“Really.” His teasing tone is mirrored in his eyes. “How can you be so certain?”
“Three reasons. First of all, my tattoo is neither floral nor tribal, so you didn’t get that good of a look. Two, my jeans were on the floor of the bathroom, which leads me to believe I was the one who took them off.”
“Excellent sleuthing, Sherlock. And the third?”
“That you don’t seem like the type to lay a finger on me without my consent.”
Jake tilts his head and looks at me. Really looks at me. His phone buzzes on the bar, but he ignores it, acts like he doesn’t even hear it.
“So, are you?” he says finally.
“Am I what?”
“Disappointed in the answer.” He hesitates, bows his head in mock bashfulness and smiles. “That nothing happened between us, I mean.”
My sensory system feels like someone popped me in the toaster oven, warm and glowing. In that minute, I forget everything. My family. My responsibilities. The tsunami of shit that is my life. All I know is right here, right now, with Jake.
There’s only one thing to do at a moment like this, really. To celebrate the euphoria of my escape. To mark its significance. To thank Jake for being its cause.
I kiss him.
12
Ella Mae Andrews, October 1993
ELLA MAE SHOULD have felt ashamed. After what Dean Sullivan had just done to her in her own kitchen, contorting her body every which way and heating her up from the inside out until she begged him for it—twice!—she should have felt embarrassed and regretful and goddamn ashamed.
But she didn’t.
She glanced over at Dean, slumped casually in the driver’s seat, thumbs tapping the wheel in time to the R.E.M. tune on the radio. Dean didn’t look like he felt any of those things, either. As a matter of fact, he looked pretty damn proud of himself.
“Take a left up at the intersection.”
Dean simply nodded.
Maybe that canary in his mouth was making it hard for him to talk, because fifteen minutes ago he wasn’t so quiet. At first, Ella Mae had been shocked by and more than a little self-conscious of his graphic descriptions of how he wanted her to stand and all the places he wanted to put his fingers and his mouth, but before long she was talking back and screaming like a porn star.
Porn. What Dean and Ella Mae just did was pornographic. The kind of sex that required a good hamstring stretch beforehand. The kind of sex that was likely illegal in a handful of states. After seven years of mostly missionary with Ray—in the dark and under the covers—Ella Mae’s body came alive under Dean’s hands, contorting and responding in a way she didn’t know was possible.
But now, Lee Highway’s wastelands had given way to Mount Carmel’s businesses and fast-food shacks, and Dean still hadn’t said more than two words. What did his silence mean?
“Bear left here, and it’s the second house on the right.”
Dean responded only by turning the wheel with the heel of a hand, and Ella Mae chanced another glance. His cocky grin had dimmed, and the skin around his eyes was creased with an emotion she couldn’t place. She gave herself a mental eye roll. Of course she couldn’t place it; she barely knew the man.
But she knew what he looked like naked.
“Dean, what happened back there at the house, I...” Ella Mae cleared her throat and started again, swallowing down the panic beating in her throat. Was he having second thoughts? Did he have regrets? The possibility sent something unpleasant skittering over her skin. “I don’t...”
Dean pulled into Shelley’s gravel drive and parked, pivoting his upper body to face her full-on. “You don’t what?”
“I don’t know what happened back there, with us.”
“I do.” His voice was teasing, his tone lighthearted, and Ella Mae relaxed just a tad. “I have every second of it burned onto my retinas. Would you like me to give you a quick recap?”
Now she did roll her eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. I’m just trying to figure out what happened to my common sense. I don’t normally lose control.”
“That’s too bad.” He gave her a lewd grin, igniting a spark in her belly. “Because when you lose control, you’re incredibly sexy.”
Ella Mae was flattered, but she forced herself to remain focused. “I’m trying to be serious here. I’ve never cheated before. Ever. Have you?”
One of Dean’s brows shot skyward but he didn’t answer, a response Ella Mae took as an affirmative.
“Well, I haven’t. For the past seven years, I’ve been faithful to Ray. Completely faithful. And then you come along, and I go and lose my mind.”
Ella Mae waited for the wave of remorse and regret that should have rolled in on the tail of her message, but it didn’t come. It didn’t come because Dean was looking at her in that way again, that way that made her nerve endings tingle and her body temperature shoot up a good ten degrees. Maybe that was the problem. All that internal heat was scrambling her brain.
Dean’s hand skipped across the gear shift and landed, butterfly soft, just above her knee. Ella Mae’s gaze dropped to Dean’s long fingers, sliding up the inside of her leg, ducking under her white tennis skirt. Her thighs parte
d as if by magic, without conscious command. Open sesame.
“I make you lose your mind?” he said.
Her answer was barely a whisper. “You make me certifiable.”
“Good.” His pinky crept higher.
Ella Mae bit her lip to keep from moaning.
“Do you like losing your mind?”
Ella Mae nodded.
“And would you like me to make you even crazier?”
A finger brushed over her sweet spot, and she threw back her head. “Oh, God, yes.”
Dean’s touch disappeared—poof!—and Ella Mae felt its absence like a sharp slap. She didn’t care that she’d almost let Dean feel her up in broad daylight. She didn’t care that they’d almost been caught by Shelley, coming up the drive. Ella Mae didn’t even care that she didn’t care.
The only thing she cared about was getting Dean’s touch back.
* * *
Dean flew out of the car, scooping up both puppies and cradling them against his neck while Ella Mae watched through the car’s front window. The puppies really were precious, she had to admit. Like those stuffed animal prizes the girls used to bring home from the Gray Fair, a tiny round tuft of fur filling up each of Dean’s hands. Ella Mae would get out of the car, too, but she was still composing herself. Weren’t men the ones who were supposed to need a moment?
Shelley turned and waved, and Ella Mae knew she couldn’t sit here any longer. She ran her fingers over her ponytail, smoothed down her tennis skirt and reached for the door handle. Her legs were still weak, but her heart rate was almost back to normal.
“Ella Mae!” Shelley swept her into a hug. “I’m so glad y’all are here.”
Ella Mae looked over at Dean. Only two minutes ago he’d had his hand up her skirt, about to make her even crazier. Now he had his hands full of two puppies, and he was grinning like a little boy. Grinning and ignoring Ella Mae.
She turned back to Shelley. “I see you met Dean.”
“How am I supposed to choose?” Dean said, holding the wriggling puppies up to his face. “They’re both so damn cute.”
“Take as long as you like.” Shelley looped an arm through Ella Mae’s and tugged her toward the front door. “Let’s go in the house and get caught up while he decides. How’s Ray?”
Ella Mae tore her gaze off Dean. “What? Oh, Ray’s fine. Working all the time, as usual.”
“Two kids in college will do that for you. And isn’t Gia a senior this year?”
Ella Mae nodded.
“Things are about to get a lot more expensive in your house, that’s for sure.”
Ella Mae followed her friend up the stairs to the front door, looking one last time over her shoulder for Dean. Still ignoring her.
Seriously? Ella Mae was seriously jealous of puppies?
“You know Ray,” Ella Mae said, turning back to Shelley. “For him the pharmacy isn’t only about money. It’s his life.”
Shelley led Ella Mae into the living room, parked her in a love seat by the picture window and disappeared into the kitchen for refreshments. While Shelley was gone, Ella Mae watched Dean through the glass, playing on the front lawn with the puppies. He let one of them, the white one, gnaw on a knuckle while the black puppy slept in the crook behind his left knee.
God, that man was gorgeous.
Shelley appeared with a tray of iced tea and cookies, placed it on the coffee table and handed Ella Mae a glass. “Okay. Now spill.”
“Spill what?”
Shelley sank onto the couch next to Ella Mae, her eyes going a little squinty. “Ella Mae Andrews, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Panic zinged up Ella Mae’s spine, exploding in a burst of pinpoint sweat beads across her forehead. What had Shelley seen?
“No, Shell, I really don’t know.”
Shelley hitched her chin toward the scene on her front lawn. “Dean, of course. Lordy me, that is one fine male specimen.”
Ella Mae couldn’t help but agree.
“How on earth do you get anything done with that man living next door? Please tell me he mows the lawn shirtless.”
Ella Mae didn’t know how she managed, but she pushed up a breezy laugh from real deep, from somewhere around her left big toe. “Only when it’s ninety or above.”
Shelley puffed a dreamy sigh. “You’ll call me next time that happens, right?”
Ella Mae frowned. Hell no.
That’s when Dean looked up, and Ella Mae’s skin barely had time to tingle before his eyes found hers. It’s like her body knew it was coming—that look of his—and Ella Mae responded like one of Pavlov’s dogs.
But Dean had caught the backwash of her frown, and he raised his brows, just slightly. Ella Mae smiled, and he pushed himself off the grass, cradling the puppies in the crook of his arm, and headed for the door.
And she knew by the set of his brow he was coming for her.
Shelley met Dean at the door with a smile and a glass of tea. “Well? Did you decide which puppy is the lucky one?”
“The white one.” And here he gave Ella Mae one of his naughty grins. “She’s a wild little thing. I like wild.”
Ella Mae shifted out of the ray of sunshine beating through the window. Hot. This living room was too damn hot.
Shelley gathered up the black puppy, asleep next to his squirming sister, and pointed Dean to the couch. “I’m going to give this little one back to his mama in the barn, and then I need a few minutes to draw up the paperwork. You two can entertain yourselves in the meantime, right?”
Dean glanced at Ella Mae. “Oh, I’m sure we can find something to do.”
Two seconds later, Dean and Ella Mae were alone.
“She’s cute,” Ella Mae said, gesturing to the puppy in his hand. “What are you gonna name her?”
“I don’t know.” Dean scooted closer. “I thought I’d let the girls decide.”
“Are you giving her to them tonight?”
Dean slid the puppy to the floor, and it pawed and whined at his feet. “Hush.”
Ella Mae didn’t know if he was talking to her or the puppy.
His hand dipped to her breast, and she had to fight to keep from panting. “Dean, we can’t...not here. In Shelley’s—” his teeth nipped Ella Mae’s neck and she gasped “—house. She’ll be back any minute.”
“Then we’d better hurry.”
Somewhere in the very back corners of her mind, Ella Mae knew she was screwed. She was so goddamn screwed. Letting Dean have his way with her on Shelley’s living room love seat was not the smartest thing she’d ever done—not even close—but Dean Sullivan was like a magician. One with conjuring tricks and alchemic charms far, far beyond her human understanding. And Ella Mae was completely under his spell.
No, the bigger problem was, Ella Mae couldn’t figure out if he was using his powers for good or evil.
13
NORMALLY, THIS WOULD be the part where I slink out. Pluck my panties and T-shirt and jeans from wherever they’re strewn about the floor, pull them on as quickly and noiselessly as possible and tiptoe out of the room, preferably while he’s still asleep. No apologies, no “I’ll call you later” or “Let’s do this again sometime,” no note saying...what exactly? Because honestly, what is there to say after you shag a near stranger silly, other than Gee, thanks? I know the rules of a one-night stand, and they call for as little talking afterward as possible.
But this is no normal one-night stand.
For one thing, it’s not night, only barely dusk, and no one’s sleeping. In fact, who can sleep with all the noise, a steady thumping that alerted us hours ago to Roadkill’s happy hour in full swing below us? Jake didn’t seem to notice when it started, and when I asked him if he needed to go, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me, and before
I knew it that thumping noise was coming from us. Again.
For another, slinking indicates shame, and I feel none of that, only the euphoria that comes after really, really spectacular sex. Hands down the best ever. Sex that bears repeating—often and a lot—which basically negates the one-night part of one-night stand. I want tonight to happen again and again. Now that I know Jake’s tricks, what those hands of his can do, I want a more-please-night stand.
I swing a leg over his, twist onto my right side on the bed. “Having your place above the bar must be very convenient for you.”
“It certainly cuts down on my commute.”
I laugh. “I meant with all the girls tossing you their panties.”
Jake rolls his head on the pillow to face me, and yowza, he’s gorgeous. “What are you talking about?”
“According to Lexi, girls all over town are throwing theirs at your front door.”
“No offense, but sometimes your sister is full of shit.”
No kidding. My mind skitters to last night, how she ran out before we’d really talked, and to today at the bank, how she ducked out the back door before I could catch her. “No offense taken.”
And then I think of something even worse, something even more distressing. Something that—knowing my sister—is highly possible. “How well do you know Lexi?”
Jake squints at the ceiling and thinks. “Well, I’ve known her about as long as I’ve lived in Rogersville. She helped me with my loan for this place, and she’s in here a couple times a week. I guess you could say I know her fairly well.”
“Half the boys in town know my sister fairly well. Can you be more specific?”
“Are you asking me if I’ve slept with your sister?”
I shake my head. “Of course not. And please don’t make me ask it again.”
His hand slips up my thigh to my waist, his thumb thrumming my hip bone. “Just in case I didn’t make this clear earlier, I’m on team Gia. Your panties are the only ones I care about at this particular moment. I like the way they look on your ass.” He pushes me onto my back and rolls on top, fingers twining through my hair. “But I’d like them even better,” he pauses to plant a row of kisses from my ear to my breastbone, “on my floor.”
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