It Happened on Love Street

by Lia Riley

  Stay true. True to what?

  “You’re staring,” he said, taking a condom from his wallet. He was as aroused as she was, the hard length of his cock rising against his flat stomach.

  “I know.” She poked out her tongue. “Why should you be the only one who gets to take their time looking?”

  “Troublemaker.” He rolled the condom over his big crown before drawing her into his lap.

  “Guilty as charged.” She threw her arms around his neck, legs encircling his narrow hips, toes curling as his own legs formed the perfect cradle for her ass.

  “Pepper I…Shit. It’s been awhile.” He rocked into position. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

  “Who wants gentle?” she purred, opening wider, giving an all-access pass. Warning: Gentle pressure against sensitive wet skin may cause involuntary writhing. She ached to be filled. “For the love of all that’s holy, get inside me.”

  “Yes ma’am.” He pushed inside with that broad head. Not all the way, but beyond the point of retreat. This was happening. Inch by inch she stretched, opening for him. The only thing breaking the silence were short, ragged breaths and the telltale mattress squeak. Her skin’s hypersensitivity was maddening. This experiment had gone haywire. She had expected good, the chemistry had been there, but she never anticipated blowing the roof of the laboratory.

  “Hurry.” She needed him to move, to drive away unwanted attachments and remind her body of the deal. This was a fling, not a forever.

  Two deep frown lines creased his forehead as he peered into her face. She closed her eyes. Secret sex heightened everything. She slid her ass forward, rocking, begging, but he didn’t rush. Instead he tortured her with each slow grind until he was fully inside, embedded to the root. Only then, chest to chest, heart to heart, did he pause.

  “Rhett.” Her knees bracketed his hard torso.

  “I know.” His answer tinged with wonder, his eyes dark as indigo. “Jesus. I know.”

  She bent against his sweat-slicked shoulder, unable to bear the continued scrutiny. Tonight wasn’t about relieving tension or floating on the surface, belly-up, face tilted to the sun. No. It was sinking into the dark places full of raw want and animal need, a place where time hung suspended and wild currents pulled.

  She needed this—him—and later it would freak her out. She could feel the fear inside, the cold knot pulling tight. The innate need to slam herself shut. Be protective.

  But she’d deal with all that tomorrow. Right now the moment was too powerful, she was too hot, wet, and open.

  She rode up and down his length, rubbing a tender spot inside. His mouth slanted over hers. Sweat against sweat. Heat everywhere. In traded breaths. In every nibbling kiss. In each lush, deep pump. She burned. There was nowhere he could touch fast enough. Her fingers locked on his muscular back, as they raced each other on, closer and closer to the edge. When she gasped, it was into him, and his answering groan exploded through her as the orgasm exploded.

  In the hushed silence after, his reverent gaze skimmed her bare body, leaving a turbulent wake. She didn’t know what he saw, couldn’t dare a single peek if she wanted a prayer of believing in her “this was no big deal” story come morning.

  Because this—whatever this was—felt big.

  Huge.

  Excerpt from the Back Fence:

  Everland News That You Actually Care About

  Classifieds:

  Village Pillage Volunteers needed: Want to be part of Everland’s annual Village Pillage, the annual celebration of our town’s pirate “harrrrrrritage”? Spaces still available to support the Medallion Hunt and Live Auction (this year’s proceeds will be benefiting our local dog park and off-leash area). The Village Pillage is the biggest event in Everland’s year. Help contribute to this long-standing and fun event. Sign-up sheet outside Elizabeth Martin’s office at City Hall.

  Everland Library Historical Talk: Avast ye Scurvy Dogs! Sail back through history this Wednesday. Oxford Scholar Cedric Swift will be conducting an informative lecture on the lexicon of seventeenth-century pirates. (Ed. Note: and if you think history is boring, imagine it delivered in a real British accent.)

  Smuggler’s Cove wait-staff needed: Do you have what it takes to be a serving wench or scamp at Everland’s favorite (Ed. Note: only) pirate-themed restaurant? Seeking a friendly, knowledgeable and swashbuckling waiter with a passion for delivering high seas hospitality. See Gunnar behind the bar after five. Two years’ experience required. Wannabe mutineers need not apply.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Rhett woke to an unfamiliar sensation, his right arm asleep, compressed under the weight of a sleeping woman. Dawn light seeped beneath the curtain, buttery rays spilling on Pepper, all bed-wild hair and parted, slightly puffy mouth. Who knew what made the small mole on her upper lip so kissable. But better not overthink it.

  Better not to overthink any of it.

  He eased his arm free and she stirred, peering through one eye, a slight frown creasing her brow.

  “What time is it?” she mumbled.

  “Little before seven.” He shook out his arm, pins and needles prickling below his skin. The sensation was annoying, but not the torture he’d remembered. It had been a long time since he’d spent the night with a woman, and it seemed there were three options: suggest another round, offer to make breakfast, or head for the hills.

  Truth be told, he didn’t have a fucking clue how to play this so kept his face a mask. Better to let her make the first move.

  Realization spread over her face as she rolled into a half sit. “Hang on. We had a sleepover?” Her uncertain voice was cue enough; time to get out of Dodge.

  “Guess so. Not very fling of us.” He made his retreat, rolling out of her warm bed. Once his feet hit the cool carpet an almost tangible force field descended between them.

  She tucked the sheet around her torso, modesty returning with the rising sun. “That should go on the list of no-nos, right? No slumber parties.”

  “Yeah. Smart.” He dressed in quick, efficient movements while she studied something of interest on the ceiling. “Hey, so I have to let my dogs out. Want me to scramble some eggs before bolting?”

  She smiled faintly. “I’m a big girl and prefer oatmeal anyway. Let’s embrace the awkward and shake hands. You don’t need to hang around pretending.” Her tone was relaxed and sounded authentic, except she wouldn’t hold his gaze.

  This ma’am was all about the wham bam while he’d hit it and couldn’t quit it. His arms tightened into steel bands. Time to get it together. Leaving was the power move, and hell, she’d basically told him to hit the road. She wasn’t playing games but keeping to her end of the bargain.

  She was cool.

  A little too icy. She’d reached for her phone and already moved on with the morning.

  “See you around?” He lingered in the doorway, waiting, for what? For her to throw back the blankets and make a come-hither gesture? To bat her eyes and purr, “Come back to bed, Rhett. I need another round.”

  “See ya, buddy!” She raised a hand in farewell, gaze glued to her screen.

  “Yeah.” He forced an upbeat tone. “Buddy.”

  But as he let himself out of her back door, it was impossible to shake the troubling truth. His simple, straightforward path had taken a detour down Complication Alley.

  * * *

  “Stop.” Pepper halted in front of the dog park, dabbing the perspiration misting her top lip. Wolfgang halted at her side, tail taut at attention. She glanced down at him. “Good boy.” It wasn’t that she was magically cured of her irrational phobia. The old entrenched fear hummed in the background, but repeated daily exposure to a range of familiar pooches helped her relax.

  Before leaving New York, she’d have never expected to willingly walk a dog, let alone enter an off-leash area. And never in a million years would she have imagined being calm enough in the situation to notice a penny on the sidewalk, the copper glinting in the sun.

  The
world divided into two kinds of people: the penny picker-uppers and the penny snubbers. She belonged to Team PPU. A childhood tightrope-walking the poverty line meant never ignoring free money, in any denomination, even when doing a deep breathing meditative walk with a Chihuahua. Even if the coin was turned heads down.

  What made tail-side-up pennies bad luck anyway?

  She scooped it up and stood. Superstition was for the birds. People made their own luck. A small smile tugged the corner of her mouth. She was getting lucky all over town. The smug ache between her legs caught her breath, conjuring delicious memories of that night before.

  Pulling out her phone, she glanced around. The coast was clear. With a quick arm extension, she contorted her face into an over-the-top porn star pout while posing with the penny, took a snap, and sent it to Tuesday with the one-liner: Look out, Pepper just got lucky.

  She didn’t add a second part to that statement about how she’d gotten lucky, three times last night, in a range of positions that made her realize you could take the girl out of yoga, but you could never take yoga out of the girl. Her flexibility was still on point, and what’s more, Rhett seemed to like it.

  A lot.

  A tickle stole across her neck, one of those itchy “somebody’s watching me” sensations.

  She turned, chest heaving and yelped. An older man stared down at her, all up in her personal space bubble. Not too old—forty-something—with smarmy daytime soap star features and perfect politician hair down to the distinguished gray temple bolts holding a glass bottle of Coke.

  A word surfaced from deep in her subconscious, a memory from her semester of German. Backpfeifengesicht. A face that needs to be punched.

  This guy owned one.

  “What do we have here? You must be new to town?” If her startled reaction bothered him, he hid it behind a cocked brow and toothy grin. Worse than the fact he towered close enough that she could smell peanuts on his breath was the dog at the end of his leather leash.

  A Doberman pinscher.

  “Oh my God!” She tripped over Wolfgang. His alarmed bark faded as the world spun strange, taking on a slowed-down, unreal tenor as panic gripped her neck, throttling off air.

  “Where you from?” He waggled his brows as if she found him terribly charming. “Tennessee?”

  A short, confusing silence followed. “Huh? No. Maine? Or New York. I don’t know.” She was too flustered to make sense.

  His smile wilted around the edges. Her answer hadn’t apparently been the one he’d wanted. “I meant because you’re the only ten I see. Get it? Ten I see? Tennessee.”

  Where was this joker from, Turkey? That cheesy line deserved to be killed with fire. She wrapped Wolfang’s leash around her wrist. Her little frenemy wasn’t turning into a Doberman’s doggie bite on her watch. “Your animal. He friendly?”

  “Depends. You?” His voice dripped with slime. “I think Dante would like you very much. His taste is as impeccable as mine. Aloysius Hogg.”

  Despite the sweat pouring off her brow, her veins flooded with ice water as she gaped at the proffered hand. Sometimes you were lucky in life and sometimes you were hit on by the sleeze bag who atom-bombed your future.

  “Judge Aloysius Hogg?” If her surroundings had taken on a surreal bent in the last thirty seconds, now they were morphing into a Salvador Dalí painting. She’d imagined the judge as a paunchy Southern villain, short and jowly with a pale complexion and thick lids. At least that’s what her brain had cooked up as she plotted an eventual crossing of paths. One where she wasn’t wearing high-waisted shorts and black midriff tank top, good for beating the summer heat, but bad when the target of her stored-up withering comments leered at her peeping belly button.

  “Pepper Knight, your honor.” She accepted his hand, squeezing his knuckles.

  His brows mashed. “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “Because you’d offered me a clerkship. You know, before rescinding it to appease a political crony in a clear case of biased nepotism.” Yes, good. Total ass kick. Except her eyes burned with unshed tears. Bad, very bad. “I moved from Manhattan to Georgia for your job.” Her voice cracked. Worse and worse.

  The judge went from defense to offense in the blink of an eye. His quick shock smoothed over as he moved in closer, the entitled body language communicating one thing: I’m a man and I deserve to be here whether you like it or not.

  And she didn’t like it, not one bit. Her heart accelerated from third to fifth gear. Her neck muscles tightened. She didn’t like him or that pasted-on smile that didn’t reach his eyes or that dog ripped out of one of her childhood nightmares.

  “Please move. Next time I won’t ask nicely.” Tough words paired with a pathetic, high-pitched, wobbly tone.

  He swiveled his head, no doubt seeing if they attracted unwanted attraction. “Don’t go getting your pretty panties in a wad,” he hissed through his frozen, wide smile.

  Her brain short-circuited. “Your honor, I shouldn’t have to remind you that title seven of the Civil Rights Act of nineteen sixty-four states—”

  “Oh, come, come.” Venom dripped from his words. “I’m all for the whole hiring women thing. After all, who doesn’t like a good pair of honkers?” His gaze dropped to her chest, ruling out any misinterpretation. “But you’re not my clerk. That position belongs to Tommy Haynes. You? Well, you’re nobody at all.”

  Hot electrical currents zinged through her spine, like tangoing with a moray eel. “Sir—the law—”

  “Does not prohibit innocuous differences in the ways men and women routinely interact with members of the opposite sex,” he said, pompously. “In other words, teasing is permitted. You might be so good as to note that I didn’t make a crude remark about your honkers, just a general observation.”

  “But you’re a judge! You can’t go around saying…” Her lips were dry. God, her tongue balked at forming the stupid word. Hadn’t she learned her lesson by now, that life was hideous, life was hilarious, and she was unhappily squashed in the middle.

  “What are you going to do? My family is connected. You’re a no one. A no one that no one cares about.” Despite the tough talk, there was a restless, jittery tension running through him, a current that was almost visible.

  He knew he’d done wrong and was covering it up with bully tactics.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I just remembered that I have better, more important things to do than stand here, chin wagging” he said. He stared through her as if she didn’t matter, as if he couldn’t wait to get out of there. She’d seen that empty look before, on her mama’s face when she left them without a backward glance.

  This time she’d be seen.

  She’d be noticed.

  “Stop right there. Not another step.” Pepper stepped forward. Pushed into his personal space. Fists clenched. Activate Backpfeifengesicht. Fight the patriarchy. “You owe me an apology.”

  “You might be right.” His hardened gaze belied the easygoing tenor in his voice. “I’m so sorry.”

  She took a deep breath, off-balance. His words didn’t match his expression, but maybe he had a natural jerkface. Everyone deserved the benefit of the doubt. After all, he hadn’t known who she was when he checked her out. In bad taste, yes, but maybe he panicked while on the back foot and—

  “Sorry you don’t have a sense of humor.” He pantomimed her look of shock and made a low honking sound.

  Holy shit. No more excuses. Sweat prickled her hairline. Her senses sharpened. A chorus of “Ramblin’ Man” rose from a passing car down on Main Street. Her mouth tasted like the unfamiliar brand of toothpaste she’d picked up at the Piggly Wiggly. A frothy bubble of spittle nestled in the corner of Judge Hogg’s sneering mouth.

  He honked at her.

  Her body knew what was coming before her brain. Her arm flung out in a blur, snatching the Coke from his hand.

  When she blinked again, the judge’s perfect hair was plastered to his broad forehead. Cola dripped from his ch
in.

  Pepper glanced at the empty soda bottle. Did she just—

  Yep. She did.

  That drenched piece of human garbage staring in stunned surprise was supposed to be her boss. This wasn’t how she’d expected the morning to go, but God, did it feel good.

  Elizabeth appeared at her elbow, horror stamped on her pretty features. “Oh! Oh my! What on Earth—”

  He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped his glowering face. “Miss Knight.” There was an edge to the way the judge spoke her name, as if he had carved it in his mind’s dark recesses. He glanced toward the dog park, where everyone swiveled their heads away in unison, acting natural, as if they weren’t putting up antennae to tune in to the conversation. “Take a good look at your future.” He crushed the ruined hankie in his fist and tossed it in the closest trash bin before straightening his tie. “You’ll never be accepted for another clerkship so long as I’m sucking air.” The Doberman’s eyes gleamed, twin black pools of doom.

  “Yeah? Well the eighties called and want their hair back.” Pepper spun on her heel and dropped the empty Coke bottle into the recycling bin on the way. The eighties? That’s what she went with?

  She walked fast, Elizabeth’s heels clipping along behind, but it wasn’t until she reached the statue of Davy Jones that the enormity of the situation crashed on her head like a cartoon anvil. She halted, grinding fists into her eye sockets so hard blue stars cascaded past. She looked up into the dog’s one-eyed bronze face.

  What. Had. She. Done?

  Her heart tripped. Her teeth chattered.

  “Are you okay?” Elizabeth asked quietly.

  “That back there, that’s not who I am. I have common sense. I respond promptly to RSVPs and yield my subway seats to the elderly. But he honked at me. He honked at me. Too bad I didn’t have a two-liter.”