Leave the Night On

by Laura Trentham

  He smiled an unfamiliar smile—smaller and sadder—and pushed her tangled hair over her shoulder, his hand staying to caress the skin. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

  She couldn’t hold his gaze and sank back down to his chest, but her utter contentment had been invaded by worry and more than a little anger.

  “I’m not surprised Tarwater wants you back,” he said as she tried to get her whirling thoughts under control.

  Finally, she said, “It’s all political. Andrew is gunning for Daddy’s judgeship.”

  “You’re selling yourself short. Maybe he didn’t realize what he’d had until it was gone.”

  She harrumphed. “Please.”

  In a blink, he’d rolled on top of her, any hint of lassitude gone. “You’re amazing in bed and out. Any man with a functioning brain cell would want you.”

  Irritation colored the still simmering arousal. “You’re using me too. You only agreed to date me to get business for the garage, right? Sex is an unexpected perk.”

  He bared his teeth and pushed her hands above her head. She didn’t understand the roil of emotions on his face, but the brush of his erection between her legs incinerated her questions, except for one. “You want to do it again?”

  He transferred her wrists to one hand and reached for a condom as his answer. She spread her legs wider, her need, now that it had been uncaged, had grown exponentially. He pushed inside of her and dropped his mouth to hers. Brutal and taking, his mouth tried to impart a lesson she was in no mood to learn. She nipped at his bottom lip.

  He was angry, and so was she, yet she still trusted him to bring her pleasure and not pain. As his thrusts turned as hard as his kiss, her hips rose to meet his, and she shattered around him. This time it wasn’t the Almighty she called for but Wyatt, over and over, urging him to join her.

  When he did, his hands loosened on her wrists and weaved with hers, his body still grinding into her, prolonging her orgasm and bringing tears to her eyes for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint but which were more than purely physical. She turned her face to the side and squeezed her eyes shut like a dam against the tidal wave of emotion.

  As the wind and lightning and thunder grew more violent outside, whatever storm had raged between them abated. He brushed his lips against her temple and pulled back.

  “Tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

  “You didn’t.” Her voice came out shaky, and she tucked her chin against her shoulder to stem the wobble.

  “Why are you crying, then?” He unwound their hands and forced her to face him.

  “I don’t know.” It was such a girly thing to say, but it was true. He hadn’t hurt her physically, yet something inside of her ached just the same. Another tear tracked from the corner of her eye and into her hair.

  The last week had taught her the need to protect herself, and she was loathe to expose a weakness to anyone, especially a man who had no allegiance to her. After they were over and done, what would he say about her to his friends at the Tavern or to his brothers?

  “What are you going to tell people after the gala … after we’re over?”

  “I don’t want to think about us being over when we’re just getting started.” His gray eyes swallowed her in warmth and kindness and melancholy, the stew of emotions mimicking the ache inside of her. “But if you’re asking whether or not I kiss and tell, the answer is no. Whatever happens between us, stays between us.”

  His answer didn’t sooth her, and with a shock she realized why. She didn’t care what anyone else thought or said about her. Only what Wyatt thought of her mattered. This moment had nothing to do with Andrew or Bree or her father or even Cottonbloom. It was for them.

  Her instincts urged caution. Overanalyzing the situation while he was still between her legs, his chest rubbing her breasts, was foolhardy. She curled her legs around his thighs and brought him closer.

  “Even I can’t go three rounds without a break, darlin’.” Would she ever tire of his laughter? Husky and sexy and rough. He squeezed her hands and rubbed his cheek against hers. “You sure you’re okay?”

  The affectionate gesture made her heart tingle as fiercely as the sex had made her body tingle. “Better than okay. That was more intense than I expected is all.”

  Worry lingered in the pull of his lips, but he didn’t pursue the line of questioning. Instead, he rolled off of her with a sigh. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the storm settling into a steady rain against the windows.

  She pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts and sat up, unsure of what was expected. “Should I…?”

  “Stay? Yep. Grab a T-shirt from the top drawer if you want, but naked is even better. You shouldn’t be out driving in this mess anyway.”

  Her car had excellent windshield wipers, but she wanted to stay, so why fight it? She’d never slept naked before, not by herself or with anyone else. It seemed a decadent and very non-beige thing to do.

  After cleaning up in the bathroom, she bypassed his drawer and slipped back in bed to cuddle up against him. Worries about what would happen in the morning wormed into her head. Her parents would expect her at church in the morning, so she’d have to leave before then. Between the rain and the warmth of his body, sleep claimed her before she could make a plan of escape.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wyatt opened his eyes to morning light streaking over the sky. The storm had blown itself out sometime during the night, leaving the world freshly washed. It felt like a new beginning.

  Pins and needles shot through the arm that was pillowing her head, but he tried not to move and wake her. How well had she been sleeping since everything had gone down with Tarwater and Bree? Not well judging by how quickly and deeply she’d fallen asleep last night. Or maybe he’d worn her out. She’d certainly done a number on him.

  He flexed his arm and grimaced. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Again, the complexity and depth of her eyes made his breath crimp. Every single time. Her hair was a mess around her head where he’d run his hands through it. Her lips were soft and full in the vulnerable state between sleep and wakefulness. She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

  Their conversation from the night before loomed like an approaching waterfall he’d be forced over in a rotting barrel. He cursed the gala and briefly wondered if he could sabotage it. Using broken logic like a tree falling in a forest, if the gala never took place, this thing between him and Sutton wouldn’t ever have to end.

  He was being naïve and fanciful. Gala or not, Sutton would eventually come to the conclusion that he fit like a square peg in her round little world. But right here, right now, she smiled at him like they stood a chance at forever.

  “Morning, sunshine.” He leaned in to kiss her forehead before working his abused arm out from under her head.

  “Morning.” Her sleepy smile morphed into panic. “Morning? What time is it?”

  He lifted his head enough to glance at his bedside clock. “Almost eight.”

  A shriek accompanied her launch out of the bed. If he hadn’t been so startled, he would have thoroughly enjoyed watching her shimmy back into her clothes. “Late for another date?”

  “Yeah, with God. Church starts at eight thirty.”

  “Why not skip? I doubt He keeps score.”

  “Actually, it’s not God I’m worried about. It’s Mother. And Daddy for that matter. He likes to campaign with a united family front.” She dropped to her knees to look under his bed and came up with her underwear. “Why don’t you come with me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled them on, giving him a last glimpse of her bare bottom and thighs. “Come with me. I can introduce you around. Might drum up some business.”

  He hesitated. He wanted to go with her but not to be seen by the gossips or drum up business for the garage. He wanted to go for no other reason than to be able to sit beside her and hold her hand.

  “Okay,” he said slowly as he tossed the sheets aside
. “What should I wear?”

  Her smile was bright and uncomplicated. “Khakis and a golf shirt or button down is fine. I’m going to have to wear this. We’ll be late getting a seat as it is.”

  They shared the small bathroom. She twisted her hair up and stuck a clip in it. He handed her a toothbrush still in its packaging.

  Her gaze met his in the mirror. “Do you keep a stash of new toothbrushes for your one-night stands?”

  He stopped mid brush. If he had to put a finger on her attitude, he would put it squarely between hurt and pissed. He spit out the foam in his mouth. “Jackson and I tend to buy things in bulk because we hate to shop. Anyway, we aren’t a one-night stand.”

  “No?”

  He rinsed his mouth and shook his head. “Between now and the gala, I’m going to wear you out, woman. Now brush your teeth so I can give you a proper good morning kiss.”

  She ripped the packaging off so fast he had to stifle laughter. While she finished freshening up, he dressed in the same pair of khakis he wore to the pig picking and a button down.

  “You look great.” Shyness tinged her smile, which was quite a switch from the wild woman who’d ridden him into oblivion the night before.

  He grabbed her hips and fit them together. “So do you.”

  His mouth swooped to take hers, but she only allowed a quick peck before bobbing her face to the side and slapping him on the butt. “No time to mess around, stud. We’ve got a back pew to hold down.”

  He let her go, her playfulness as much a surprise as her invitation to church was, and followed her down the stairs. They met Jackson coming through the back door of the barn, his sparring gloves on and his shirt off. Wyatt was relieved to see him in one piece.

  “How was the track?” Wyatt asked.

  “Fast and loud.”

  “Did you win?”

  Jackson’s eyebrows rose and a rare smile flashed. “… course, I did.”

  “You sleep better afterward?”

  “A few bad dreams brought on by Mack’s crappy couch.” Jackson raised his eyebrows, and Wyatt sent him silent thanks for not interrupting his night with Sutton. He was so out of practice, he hadn’t even given his brother a heads up.

  Jackson’s gaze flicked to Sutton and back. “Where are you two headed?”

  “Church in Mississippi.” Jackson’s mouth unhinged, and Wyatt held up his hands. “Don’t lecture me right now. We’re late.”

  Jackson gave a slight shake of his head and turned his back to them to concentrate on driving his fist through the bag. Wyatt guided Sutton toward his car, a hand on her lower back.

  “What is he going to lecture you about?”

  “We can take my car. You want to drive?” His avoidance tactic worked if her gasp was any indication.

  “You’ll let me drive the Hornet?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Because your car is worth five times as much as mine.”

  “I’m counting on you not to run it into anything.” He tossed her the keys, and she scampered to the driver’s side to slip behind the wheel.

  The engine growled, and she turned to him with a kid-in-the-candy-shop smile. “The first and only time I got to drive Andrew’s Camaro was the day I brought it into the shop, and I kept it to under twenty-five miles per hour.”

  She worked the gearshift and clutch and got them rolling forward with only a small jerk. Once on the road, she hit the gas but maintained control. He never worried the car was getting the upper hand and relaxed back into the seat to watch her.

  Her excitement reminded him of his first time behind the wheel of a real car, one with a V8 engine and rear-wheel drive. The experience had turned his love of cars into an obsession. He’d been ten, barely able to see over the wheel and reach the clutch.

  His gaze drifted down. Her sun kissed legs worked the pedals, and he drifted back to the night before. He forced himself to watch the road to stave off his body’s natural reaction. Church, they were headed to church.

  She pulled into the packed parking lot, maneuvering the car down a long row of trucks and cars to a spot at the end. A few other latecomers trickled through the side doors with them.

  Organ music swelled over the murmur of conversations. After exchanging a wave with her mother up front, she took his hand and tugged him toward the back. They settled onto the cushioned pew. He wasn’t much for the hymns or preaching, but the light through the stained glass windows that lined the sanctuary filled him with something resembling peace.

  Long ago Sunday mornings squirming between Aunt Hazel and Hyacinth bubbled up. Memories he’d thought lost. Aunt Hazel would pull candy out of her pocketbook to keep him still. Not the cheap peppermints his dad kept around, but the good stuff—chocolates and caramels and taffy.

  Something had stuck from those times because the hymns were familiar, and he could recite the prayers word for word. He draped his arm over the back of the pew, and Sutton shifted into the crook of his body. He laid his hand, palm up on his thigh, and without any prompting, she slipped her hand inside.

  As if an angel sent him a message from on high, one thought exploded in his head. He couldn’t let Sutton slip out of his life after the gala. His senses sharpened and turned inward, the preacher’s voice a murmur of white noise. He had to keep hold of her … forever.

  Yes, the timing was crappy. She didn’t want to get serious, but he could bide his time. You didn’t go into restoring cars without a motherlode of patience. Rebuilding an engine took weeks of delicate work. Even once he was done, he wouldn’t know if he’d been successful until that first crank. It was the scariest, most exhilarating part of his job.

  Could he wait until her heart was healed and ready for love again?

  A bombastic song from the organist and the rustle of people standing brought him back to reality. Sutton’s attention was taken by an elderly man who’d come in late and sat on their left. Wyatt looked around, feeling like a freshwater fish dumped in the ocean.

  Ford stood at the end of their pew, smiling and shaking the hands of the people shuffling out as if he were the preacher. Checking to see that Sutton was still occupied, Wyatt joined the line of people until only he and Ford remained.

  “What are you doing here?” Ford’s teeth were clenched in a smile.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I asked you first.” His rising ire cut away his smile.

  Wyatt shrugged and tried to keep a smile off his face. The game they played was childish but satisfying. “I came with Sutton. Aunt Hyacinth know you’ve jumped the river?”

  “Aren’t you taking this plan to drum up new business a little far? Someone’s going to get hurt.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” A protectiveness rose and drowned out any humor from the situation.

  “Andrew’s told me his theories and none of them involve the two of you actually dating.”

  “Are you and Tarwater besties now or something? I’d watch your back with that one,” Wyatt said.

  “I don’t think he’s the one I need to worry about stabbing me in the back.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Please, you know exactly—” Ford put on a sunny smile like flipping a switch. “Hi, Sutton.”

  Sutton looped her arm through Wyatt’s. “Hi, Ford. Nice to see you.”

  “Actually, I needed to chat with your father. Do you know where he disappeared to?” Ford asked, any hint of his animosity toward Wyatt vanished.

  “Looks like he’s already made a beeline for the parking lot.”

  Ford shifted so Sutton couldn’t see his face, but Wyatt could. His expression took on the feral toothiness of a predator ready to attack. “I’ll be talking to you later, little bro.”

  Wyatt resisted the urge to flip his middle finger in response. Anyway, the dig was weak. Ford might be the oldest, but Wyatt had two inches on him and working in the garage had made him tougher and stronger. All Ford’s Mississippi socializing an
d golf afternoons were taking a toll.

  “Does my brother make regular appearances on Sunday?” Wyatt leaned in to whisper his question to Sutton, keeping his eyes on the back of Ford’s head.

  “Every Sunday for the past few months.”

  Was Ford forging connections to help the garage or was he inserting himself into the social strata he’d pined for from afar? He sure as shit wasn’t coming because he’d found religion. Before Ford was out of sight, a group of women surrounded them, their voices blending into a high-pitched chatter that reminded him of a murder of crows.

  Although they seemed to be directing their outpouring of words toward Sutton, their gazes examined him as if trying to determine his species. Sutton performed introductions and their names—Emily and Chloe and Olivia—were as trendy as their clothes and blowouts and their beauty pageant smiles. They were virtually indistinguishable.

  Sutton, on the other hand, looked delightfully unkempt. She was make-up free, and her hair mussed. She looked like she’d rolled out of bed after spending the night out doing very naughty things. Which as a matter of fact, she had.

  She leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Quit that.”

  “What?” He attempted a look of innocence, but was pretty sure it came off like a kid who’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “Quit stripping me naked in your head.”

  “I wasn’t doing anything of the sort.” He dropped his faked outrage for an insinuating rumble. “But now I am.”

  “Wyatt.” The playful slap she gave him was accompanied by a flush of color, but not one of embarrassment. No, it was all arousal. What would she do if he tossed her over his shoulder and headed back to his bed? What would the upper crust of Cottonbloom, Mississippi, think?

  She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. More than anything, the gesture turned him from an outsider into someone who belonged. Belonged at her side.

  One of the crows gained his attention. “Will we be seeing more of you on Sundays, Mr. Abbott?”

  Not sure how to answer that question, he sidestepped it. “Call me Wyatt. I’d hate to be confused with my brothers. I suppose you ladies are acquainted with Ford?”