Regan groaned. “If it’s up to Sawyer, he’ll have us sent off to the state penitentiary for defacing his perfect little wall.”
Monroe looked over at Regan’s message. If she weren’t on the cusp of getting in trouble, she might have laughed. As it was, her stomach was in the middle of a performance of Riverdance.
Wayne came strolling back over, readjusting the gun belt that hung low on his narrow hips. “Well, ladies, you’re going to have to come down to the station with me.” The Cottonbloom, Louisiana, police department was responsible for the entire parish, while Cottonbloom, Mississippi, had its own small police department.
Wayne opened the back door of the squad car and gestured them inside while reading them their rights. The moment took on the farcical quality of a Cops episode.
“Sawyer didn’t demand you cuff us?” Regan held out her wrists.
Wayne didn’t answer. The history between the two elected officials was a story people loved to dredge up and discuss over coffee or cocktails. Regan plopped down on the bench seat and scooted to the far side, staring out the side window.
In a more respectable voice and before ducking into the back, Monroe asked, “Can I use my phone to make a call?”
“Sure. Why not.”
She pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She hesitated over Cade’s name but scrolled past to Tarwater and hit the button.
“Monroe. Well, this is a surprise.” Pleasure warmed Andrew’s voice and Monroe cringed, knowing he probably hoped she had changed her mind about them.
“Hey, Andrew. Sorry to skip the pleasantries, but I need a favor.”
“Anything.” The earnestness in the word squeezed at her throat.
“Regan and I are in a pickle. Could you meet us at the Louisiana police station?”
A ruffling sounded over the phone as if he was already on the move. “What have you two gotten yourselves into? No, don’t say anything over the phone. I’ll be there in ten. And for God’s sake, don’t talk to anyone.”
By the time she disconnected, they were pulling up to the ugly concrete box built for function and not aesthetic purposes. At least Wayne was inclined to let them walk into the main door and not the one in back for criminals. He escorted them to the front desk.
“You’re not going to book us, are you? Andrew Tarwater is on his way. Surely this isn’t more than a misdemeanor, if that.” Monroe tried to smile.
“I have to follow protocol, but we don’t mind taking our time, do we, Gloria?”
The middle-aged black woman sitting behind the desk wore a standard brown uniform, but pink streaks in her hair matched her long bedazzled fingernails. She grinned. “I’d be happy to mosey.”
“Thanks, Gloria. How’s Emmett’s hip?” Monroe had rehabbed Gloria’s husband over the winter.
“He’s out playing golf and fishing like a twenty-year-old. And he can’t get out of his chores anymore.” She winked and they chatted a few more minutes.
A flurry of sound and movement heralded the arrival of Andrew, Sawyer, and Cade. Andrew and Sawyer argued their way up to the desk. Cade, however, was silent and shot a glare in Monroe’s direction. He looked furious.
What right did he have to be mad? Wasn’t he the one who walked out after their night of mind-blowing sex? He hadn’t called or texted. In fact, she was only spilling her guts to Regan because he’d acted like the biggest dillhole in Cottonbloom. He was the reason she was in trouble. Her looping logic seemed to make perfect sense, and she glared right back at him.
While Andrew pulled Wayne aside for a low conversation, Sawyer’s deep voice boomed in the small room, the level of vitriol startling. “What is wrong with you, Regan?”
“Just doing a little advertising, is all.” In contrast, Regan’s voice dripped with saccharine sweetness, although her smile had nothing to do with humor or good will.
Sawyer’s gaze roved from Regan’s messy hair to the scuffed, pointy toes of her heels before he turned to skewer Monroe. “How were you dumb enough to get pulled into Regan’s foolishness?”
Regan took two steps toward him. “You shut your mouth, Sawyer Fournette. Monroe had nothing to do with it. All she did was hold a spray can, so you can aim your petty little insults at me if it makes you feel more like a man.”
Wayne stepped away from Andrew, who gave her a thumbs-up and a wink, and leaned against the desk. No doubt the Cottonbloom police station hadn’t seen fireworks like this in forever.
“What’d she paint on the wall, Wayne?” Even though Sawyer directed his comment to the officer, his gaze never left Regan. The air around them thrummed. If Monroe didn’t know any better, she’d classify it as sexual.
Taking great relish in the drama, Wayne scrolled through his tablet, cleared his throat, and as if delivering a Shakespearean line said, “‘Tomatoes Rule, Crayfish Drool. Labor Day.’”
Now that Andrew had taken care of matters, a burst of relief bubbled out of Monroe as shaky laughter. Sawyer turned his ire back on her. “You think this is funny? Well, maybe I’ll press charges and have the two of you locked up for a night.”
Finally, Cade did something besides give her the death stare. He laid a hand on Sawyer’s shoulder. “Bro, seriously? You’re not putting Monroe in jail.”
Sawyer shook his hand off. “You’re going to defend her?”
“I’m going to protect her.” Cade planted his feet wider. He and Sawyer were locked in a battle that seemed to dwarf the situation.
Andrew stepped into the fray. “No charges will be filed, gentlemen. And if the ladies agree to paint over their artwork within two business days, then no harm, no foul.”
“Nice of you to ride to their rescue, Tarwater,” Sawyer said. “If it’s not repainted by start of business on Friday, I’ll be back down here to file charges.”
Regan’s hand rose with the middle finger extended. Monroe caught it in both of hers before Sawyer caught sight. “You betcha, Sawyer. We’ll take care of it.”
Sawyer strode out of the building. Cade followed more slowly, throwing a glance over his shoulder that she avoided. There was too much tension and animosity and hurt feelings ricocheting around the room. Now that the threat of being charged or going to jail had passed, a headache knocked on her temples.
Andrew gestured her and Regan toward the front doors. “Come on, ladies. Let’s get you two home.”
Regan led the way, her head high and her stalk huffy. Unfortunately, her disheveled appearance did not lend to an impression of calm confidence. Monroe hoped she didn’t look quite as crazed.
She matched Andrew’s stride and stuffed her hands in her front pockets. Cade was leaning against a light post next to his beat-up truck, his arms crossed and one booted foot crossed over the other in a seemingly casual pose that was ruined by the stony look on his face.
“Thanks for coming down. I really appreciate it. Could you get Regan home? I need to talk to Cade.”
Halfway down the steps, Andrew caught her arm. “Are you sure you don’t want a lift, too? He seems upset.”
Monroe patted Andrew’s hand, inducing him to let her go. “I’ll be fine with him.”
Andrew’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t argue and headed to where Regan leaned against the side of his Mercedes. Monroe took a deep, steadying breath and walked toward Cade. No matter how angry or frustrated Cade was, he would always protect her. It was something she understood, bone deep.
“Why didn’t you call me?” His words stopped her in her tracks.
“Wait, what? Why didn’t I call you? You walked out of my house. You couldn’t escape fast enough. I freaking made you pancakes, and all I got was crickets. I’ve got the T-shirt you were in too much of a hurry for. Feel free to drop by and pick it up at your convenience.”
His stance of aggression changed into something more defensive. All of the hurt and anger and betrayal had built like storm clouds inside of her since he’d walked out. She unleashed.
“I am not your booty call, Cade Fournette.
I don’t do one-night stands.” She stepped closer and poked him in the chest. “Was it just about sex? Because if it was then I—”
“Slow down, woman.” He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “It was not just about sex. But can we leave that for a minute? I want to know why you called Andrew Tarwater instead of me.”
“Because he’s a lawyer. And sort of a friend. And, to be honest, after you walked out, I have no idea what you are. What we are.”
“I’m your…” He looked toward the halo of light above them.
“See, you don’t even know. Are you my lover? My boyfriend? My booty call?”
“I thought you were my booty call?” The hint of a smile crinkled his eyes.
“No. You don’t get to be all cute and charming. I’m seriously trying to define us here.”
He ran his hand down his face taking all amusement with it. “Don’t you get it? We are indefinable. We always have been. I don’t know what we are, but it goes beyond being lovers or friends, and it scares the hell out of me.”
His words struck a chord inside of her. They moved at the same time, coming together in a fierce hold, his arms holding her close, her fingers biting into the muscles of his back.
Their lips collided in a kiss at once sensual and desperate. She wasn’t sure how long they would have stayed making out in the parking lot, but the piercing siren of a police car cut them apart.
He tore his mouth away from hers but dragged her body closer. Into her hair he whispered, “Can I take you home?”
“You can take me anywhere,” she whispered back.
At first she wasn’t sure he even heard her, but eventually he loosened his hold and opened the driver’s side of the old truck. She slid to the middle of the bench seat.
He started the truck but didn’t get them moving immediately. Shifting toward her, he circled his hand around her neck and kissed her again. Slower this time, their lips giving and taking. More. She needed more.
She threaded her fingers through his hair and made a fist, pulling him closer and sliding her tongue inside his mouth, taking charge of the moment. He groaned and gave her what she craved. One hot kiss followed another until she was cutting her legs against each other, bordering on uncomfortable in her arousal. She grabbed his closest hand and drew it between her legs.
“I love the fact you look all sweet and innocent yet detonate in my arms.” He spoke against her lips, the husky, sexy vibrations traveling straight to her nipples.
He squeezed her upper thigh with his bad hand, his fingers slipping under the hem to trace the elastic of her panties. She was close to shattering.
He pulled away, putting both hands on the steering wheel and sounding like he was practicing deep-breathing exercises. “We are in the parking lot of the police station. You don’t need to be hauled in for defacing property and indecent exposure on the same night. I’m not sure Sawyer would come bail us out.”
He put the truck in reverse and got them headed toward her house. She squirmed on the seat, the break only growing her arousal. She leaned over and nipped his ear. “I swear, if my house was farther away I would totally go down on you while you were driving.”
He tapped the brakes, throwing her forward a few inches, her breasts rubbing against his biceps.
“I’d be happy to cruise up and down River Street a few times.”
She laughed. God, she loved his teasing, questioning tone. If she gave him the green light he would totally drive around. “Another night. Right now, I need you to get me home as quickly as possible. Without getting pulled over by the cops.”
This time it was his turn to throw his head back with a husky laugh. He drove fast and parked in her garage. Her car was still in front of Regan’s store.
He slid out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close. They stumbled up the porch steps and into her house. Once inside, he pressed her against her front door with his big body. The crinkles at his eyes and the lines bracketing his mouth weren’t from laughter. A desperate intensity had replaced his tease.
She didn’t need him to tell her what he needed, because she needed it, too. Slipping her hands between them, she went to work first on her pants, pushing them down with her panties. His jeans were next. After loosening them, she curled her hands around the curve of his hip bones before pushing his jeans and underwear far enough down to free his erection.
There was no preamble necessary. He hiked her leg up and around his thigh, fisted the base of his erection, and pushed inside of her. They exhaled in synchronicity. It was about more than pleasure—at least for her.
He grabbed her hips and ground himself deeper. Their hands brushed, both working to get her shirt off. She unclasped her bra, needing to bare herself to him.
The cotton of his shirt was a soft caress against her breasts as he pushed her against the door, taking a small thrust in the process. Based on their ride, she’d expected something quick and dirty, yet he seemed to be in no hurry, and she was glad for it. The longer he took, the longer he would be inside of her, part of her. A dangerous way to think.
He set his forehead against hers. “You’re beautiful. And funny. And strong. And sexy.” Each compliment was punctuated by a long, slow thrust.
Words were beyond her, so she kissed him with all the emotion she’d kept pent up since he’d come home. Maybe since he’d left home. No man had ever measured up to her memories of him. And while her old memories were colored by childhood and innocence, she was making new memories of him, not better but different, deeper, shaded by a woman’s experience.
His hips moved faster to mimic the franticness of their kiss, the grind like nothing she’d ever experienced. She wanted to wait, savor him, but the friction drove her into a blinding orgasm. He followed soon after, his groan echoing in her entryway.
Thank God he didn’t move, or she might have tumbled to the floor. Her entire body trembled. She didn’t feel strong at the moment; she felt weak and vulnerable.
Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she kissed his neck, slightly damp, the pulse jumping against her lips. For better or worse, she loved him. She’d always loved him in her childish way, but now she loved him as a woman loved a man.
The words battering around her heart didn’t come out. She didn’t know if she’d be strong enough to handle the fallout if he turned and walked out the door again.
Chapter Twenty-five
Cade hid his face in her hair, searching for words. Anything he thought to say sounded either too trite or too revealing. His tongue had developed the habit of running away from his brain while they were having sex. He couldn’t seem to stop it. She was beautiful and funny and strong and sexy, and dammit, she deserved to hear that every day.
He could have stayed leaned up against her and the door for a while longer, but her trembles were growing more noticeable by the second. He pulled away. Her head lolled back, her eyes closed, her lips puffy and red from the hottest kisses he’d ever experienced.
Slowly, he withdrew, his body fighting him every inch. Being inside of her offered a comfort and solace that went beyond sex. To a place he’d never been, had never cared to go, but now that he’d experienced the wonder he wasn’t sure he could ever leave.
“That was hot,” he said, and immediately felt like a crass adolescent. “I mean, it was more than hot; it was amazing. Surreal. Unbelievable.” He tucked his tongue in back of his teeth to stem the flow of words.
“It was all those things, but especially hot.” Her voice was sweet and sexy at the same time.
“That’s twice now I haven’t gotten my pants off.” He pulled his jeans up but didn’t fasten them. Her palms were flat on the door as if still needing the support. She was naked while he was clothed, and the contrast was turning him on in a major way.
His gaze wandered up and down her body, enjoying every slope and curve. Her arm came up to hide her breasts, a flush spreading from her chest up into her cheeks. He could almost feel the heat of her embarrassment.
He took both her wrists in his hands and pressed them over her head. “The woman who offered to go down on me in the truck and let me fuck her against the door is suddenly feeling shy?”
“That was in the heat of the moment. This is…” She turned her face into her arm.
She didn’t have to say it. He understood. This wasn’t about being physically stripped but about being emotionally bared to him.
“Are you staying or going?” The vulnerability in her voice made him want to gather her close. So he did.
“Staying, if you’ll have me.”
“I’ll have you.” A trust he didn’t deserve lit her face.
He loosened his hands but didn’t entirely let her go. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?”
“Water, tea, or there’s a bottle of wine a client gave me for Christmas in the frig.”
“You realize it’s June.”
“I thought wine got better over time. Feel free to open it. I won’t ever drink it.”
He dropped his hands, and she sashayed toward her bedroom, her confidence restored. Had he done that?
Her refrigerator was only half-full. Lots of healthy fruits and vegetables, but also leftover pizza. He grabbed the pitcher of tea and the bottle of wine that was tucked into the back. Muscadine wine. The bottle was a screw top. He found a glass and poured, swirling the wine and sniffing.
Another memory rocketed him backward in time. His parents drinking wine and slow dancing in the kitchen. The music or maybe their muffled laughter had awoken him. It had been before Tally was born, and Sawyer was a baby. His mother rarely drank, but muscadine wine was her favorite, and Cade remembered the same sweet smell on her breath when she’d tucked him back into bed.
He closed his eyes and took a sip, grimacing as the overly sweet tartness hit his tongue and burned the back of his throat. It was terrible. He spit the rest of his mouthful out in the sink.
“What’s wrong?” The T-shirt she’d thrown on was the one he’d left. It slipped off the curve of one shoulder and hit the top of her thighs so he couldn’t tell if she’d pulled on underwear or not.
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