“In the parking lot. You were starting the whole ‘I’m sorry’ speech. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to get going now. Nice knowin’ you.’ I understand. You were never obliged to stay with me as long as you did. You could have jumped over that fence anytime you wanted to and left.”
His hands stayed in his pockets, but the muscles in his arms were taut, the muscles in his neck showing his tension. He looked away from her. “That wasn’t it.”
She waited, but he said nothing else. After a moment, she took a step closer to him. “Then what were you saying sorry for?”
He looked back at her with a suddenly fierce expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”
“Oh.” The look of disgust on his face, she realized, was directed toward himself, not toward her.
“I knew that crowd was going to turn bad. I failed to get you out of there. I was too slow to act on my own intuition, and I put you in danger because of it. Your truck is out of commission now, when it would have been fine if I’d gotten you out of there at the start. You would have been gone before the police arrived. I’m sorry.”
“We were only standing at the bar for a minute or two.”
“Long enough. I saw the argument starting when we were working our way through the crowd. I should have gotten you out that door instead of following you to the bar in the first place.”
Poor Tarzan, always obliged to help the people who wandered into the jungle. She felt a little guilty for soaking up all his protection. She’d done nothing except admire his body, his voice and his profile, while he’d been trying to keep her safe from fists and bullets, literally trying to save her life.
She turned to lean her back against the door, too, shoulder to shoulder with him, so he’d know she wasn’t afraid that he was going to physically attack her or anything like that. “It wasn’t your job to predict a fight or even to get me out of the bar. It’s my turn to apologize. I know I’ve given you the wrong impression all night, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m not actually the helpless type of female.”
“I know that.”
“I don’t think you do.” She glanced up to find him looking down at her.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “The first words I heard you say were ‘go to hell.’”
Her laugh of surprise was a single puff of white that floated away in the night air.
“You damn near made it over that fence before I could get a hand on you to help. This has nothing to do with whether or not I think you’re helpless. You’re clearly not.”
“Then why did you decide to help me?” Me, out of all the women in that bar?
She had hopes, high hopes. She wanted to hear him say he’d taken one look at her and felt the same way she had: here was someone he wanted to get to know better. Someone attractive, appealing—even sexy.
But the moment passed. Then another. He studied the darkness beyond their little pool of light. “You never leave someone behind in battle. Never.”
Not sexy. Kind of grim, actually.
“Were you in the military?” she asked.
“Yes. Were you?”
“No.” But there was a compliment in there. It wasn’t sexy, but it was something. “No one’s ever asked me that before. What makes you think I might have served in the military?”
He didn’t answer her.
She wanted to see his smile again. She nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on, tell me. Was it my fabulous driving skills? Do you think I’d be good at driving a tank, or what?”
His smile returned briefly. “That wasn’t your first time off-roading.”
“I couldn’t call myself a Texan if I’d never taken a truck off-road.”
She wanted to touch him. She’d already stood in the warmth of his arms. Heck, he’d already had his hand on her rear end twice, even if both times had been during an escape.
Fortune favors the brave. Those had been the man’s own words.
“You want to know why I thought you might be in the military?” She dared to reach up and touch the back of his neck, the clean skin above his collar. She let her fingers comb through the short hair at the back of his head. “It wasn’t this haircut. It’s short, but not as short as the soldiers from Fort Hood.”
“I’m a civilian now. A regulation haircut would be too…unnecessary.” He didn’t shake her off or step away, but he didn’t touch her in return, either, except with his gaze.
She let her hand slip over his shoulder lightly before falling away. “I’ll tell you what gave it away. It was the way you ordered me to get back in the truck. Do they teach you to bark out orders in that tone of voice? It’s scary as hell.”
“It didn’t work on you.” He grumbled those words, which made her smile.
“I’m stubborn like that, and I already know it’s not a good trait. I hear about it from my family all the time.” She pushed away from the door and turned to face him—which meant she stepped over his crossed ankles with one foot and stood in her mini dress with her legs a little way apart, his boots between hers. The night air was cold on her inner thighs. “But I didn’t bark out any orders like a military man, so what made you think I might have served? Come on, talk to me.” She gestured toward the red and blue glow on the horizon. “We can’t go anywhere, anyway. Was it my haircut?”
She was joking, of course, but her laughter faded at the intensity of his gaze. She couldn’t look away, not even when he turned his attention from her eyes to her hair, somewhere near her temple. Her ear. Slowly, so slowly, his gaze followed the length of her hair as it lay on her shoulder, as it curved over her breast, as it disappeared in the open edge of his coat, near her hip.
She wanted him. He was leaning against his vehicle, arms crossed, ankles crossed, not moving a muscle, setting her on fire with a look.
“There’s nothing military about your hair,” he said quietly, and he looked back up to her eyes. “It was your head. You keep a cool head.”
“A cool head.” She breathed in cold air, willing herself to say something, to do something, although her thoughts weren’t cool at all. “That’s it?”
“That’s not all that common.” He pushed away from the door and stood before her, a little too close, and not nearly close enough. “You also didn’t leave your ex and his friends behind, even though they didn’t deserve your help.”
Kiss me, kiss me.
But the man didn’t move an inch closer. “They were lucky. If I hadn’t wanted to dance with you so badly, I would have gotten you out of there before trouble started, and they wouldn’t have had you around to bail them out.”
Wait—what? To heck with her ex and the fight. “You wanted to dance with me?”
“The second that band played anything remotely resembling a slow song. I ignored the beginnings of that fight, because I wanted to see if the band would play something we could dance to. It’s the only way to touch a woman you barely know without being too…”
“Handsy?” Dear God, she sounded breathless. She was breathless.
“That’s the word.”
He’d wanted to touch her from the start. This insane chemistry was the same for both of them.
He didn’t reach for her now. Why didn’t he reach for her?
“So dancing is an acceptable way to touch a woman you just met.” She kept her voice low in the dark.
“Right.”
“And we decided keeping someone warm when it’s cold out is allowed.”
“True.” He didn’t move.
“Graham.” Emily put her palm on his chest and tilted her face up to his. “It’s cold out.”
He touched her, sliding just one warm hand under her hair to the back of her neck, pulling her just an inch closer. After a breathless pause, he kissed her. In contrast to that strong hand, his lips were sho
ckingly soft against hers for one unbearably perfect moment. She took a breath when he pulled away, her eyes fluttering open to see him looking down at her, and then he kissed her again.
Harder. This time, his arms came around her, gathering her to his chest. She made a little sound, a groan of relief—finally, they were kissing—and buried her fingers in his hair once more. Their mouths opened; they tasted each other, not tentatively but with certainty, as if they knew already that they’d like the taste and the sensation and the intimacy. Yes?
Yes—and then he was kissing her deeply, molding her body against his from chest to hips, so she didn’t need to hold herself upright. If she went limp like a ribbon, she wouldn’t fall. She’d stay right here, secure in Graham’s arms.
The kiss ended. He’d ended it, but they still held each other tight, breaths panting into the night like steam.
He held her a little harder, then let her go just far enough that she could look into his face. Dear God, he looked good when he looked kissed.
He spoke quietly, warm words stirring the air near her cheek. “I need to take you home. Now.”
Arousal obliterated her thoughts for a hot moment. She’d never gone to bed with a man on a first date—but she’d never been tempted by Graham.
She swallowed and tried to clear her head enough to work out the logistics. “Where’s your home? I thought you were just passing through.”
“Not my home. Yours. Let me drive you to your place.”
Yes. I want him all to myself. I want him in my bed, this man who knows what he’s doing. But where was she going to take him? To her mother’s house? To her uncle’s ranch?
“I wish you could,” she said, and she meant it. “My apartment is at Oklahoma Tech. I’m staying with family for the winter break.”
“Oklahoma Tech.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers, and she knew, she just knew, that he was giving up on the possibility of spending time with her. And she knew, she just knew, that would be a mistake.
For both of them.
So she kissed him again, to feel the thrill of a perfect kiss once more, and to make sure he was a little drunk on the taste of her, before she asked him once more:
“Can I buy you a drink?”
Chapter Five
His last cigarette was going to kill him.
She tasted good on his tongue. She soothed a craving in his brain. Emily Davis was so addicting, he dreaded giving her up tonight.
He was going to have to. She was too young; he was too jaded. She needed to go back to college; he needed the oblivion of hard labor. Geography would take them in opposite directions, as it should. It was inevitable. He was a fool to breathe her in just one more time.
He breathed in anyway, savoring the feminine scent of the woman in his passenger seat as he drove. Maybe it was the floral smell of her shampoo as she lifted her hair from under his jacket’s collar and let it fall over her shoulder. It couldn’t have been the vanilla lip gloss—he’d kissed off the last of that. Whatever it was, he hadn’t predicted how intoxicating he’d find it. Tomorrow, when Emily Davis was gone, he hoped he wouldn’t miss it too badly.
He glanced at Emily for the tenth time. She was buckled in, but she still gave him the impression that she was sitting on the edge of her seat. She seemed ready to take on life, even when things were turning bad in bars and parking lots.
He was not. Too much had happened in his life. After the grim truth he’d witnessed firsthand overseas—desperate men had the capacity to cut up a man, to kick a woman, to starve a child—he’d thought the brotherhood with his fellow Marines would balance it out. It hadn’t, not quite. He’d thought civilian life would be easier, but it hadn’t been, and so he knew he was simply used up. Some human beings made it to old age before they’d used up their reserves. Some humans were old at age ten. Benjamin Graham was old at thirty, but he’d taken that risk when he’d joined the military. He was fine with it.
He wasn’t fine with dragging a bright and beautiful woman down before her time, though. In every way, he was wrong for her, and he knew it even when he’d given in and kissed her.
He’d tried to stop before things got too hot. I need to take you home now, he’d said, for her sake as well as his. Before they did anything they’d regret, it was best to drive her to her house and then get back on the road to start putting miles between them. She surely had family or friends who would drive her to that bar to get her truck tomorrow.
But she’d misunderstood. She’d thought he needed to take her home to make love to her.
She’d agreed.
I wish you could. Since pretty much every cell of his body—except one tiny, rational corner of his brain—had agreed that taking her home to make love was pretty much the best damned idea in the world, he hadn’t corrected her mistake.
She thought the only reason they weren’t headed to bed was the fact that she was staying with relatives; he wasn’t sure she was wrong. It was humbling to find out his resolve could be so easily overpowered by a young woman from Oklahoma Tech University. But since the red and blue police lights were still visible at the horizon, and since he couldn’t keep kissing her in the dark, they were driving somewhere to get a drink. Then he’d see her back to her truck safely and be on his way.
He breathed in deeply.
“It’ll be up here on the right after we go around this curve,” Emily said, looking out the window with the enthusiasm of someone approaching Disney World.
He hit his turn signal out of habit, although there was no one to signal. They were the only vehicle as far as the eye could see. He was already farther from any semblance of a town than he’d been since—since Afghanistan, to be honest, and he still had a long way to go before he reached Uncle Gus’s ranch. The map had shown another sixty miles or so, somewhere in another county, but he wasn’t certain without being able to get a signal for his cell phone. He’d craved solitude on a ranch, and he was going to get it.
But not yet. Not tonight.
Around the curve, a building lit up the dark. Schumer’s 24/7 Grocery, the sign said, glowing yellow above a pair of gas pumps. Closed Christmas.
“A gas station?” he asked, glancing at Emily. Any excuse to glance at Emily.
“It’s the only other place to go without driving all the way back to Austin. Come on. I’ll buy you a drink like the real locals do.” Her seat belt was off before he’d pulled into the parking spot in front of the convenience store’s door. His tires had barely stopped moving when she opened the door and hopped down in a flutter of blue ruffles, the edges of his coat flapping behind as she wore it like a cape. Apparently, this convenience store was a great place to be.
He followed her through the glass double doors. The smell of beef and wood smoke hit him, so unexpected that he almost looked for the barbecue when he should have been scanning the location for trouble. Habits formed in the Middle East died hard; he scanned. Left to right, check the corners, clear the room.
Clear. This place was safe. The only threat was a white-haired man who glowered at them from behind the cash register.
Emily headed straight for the wall of glass-fronted refrigerators. “That brisket smells amazing, Mr. Schumer. Got any left?”
The man made a scoffing sound. “Sure. Ten pounds, at least. Maybe more.”
Emily kept heading down the chips aisle toward the cooler, but she turned around and walked backward as she filled Graham in. “That means no, and he’s insulted that I asked. He only makes so much brisket every day. Once it’s gone, that’s it until tomorrow. People around here have been known to race each other to get here for the last pound.”
“I can believe it.” It smelled damn good; Emily looked damn good. They’d have to come much earlier next time—
Next time.
There’d be no next time. T
here shouldn’t even be a now.
But there was. He watched Emily open a cooler door. Most of her body was engulfed by his coat, but a few rows of blue ruffles peeked out below the bottom edge, looking as erotic as a forbidden glimpse of black lace. She reached for a six-pack from a lower shelf, and the hem of her short dress rode up the backs of her bare thighs as she bent over. She stood up slowly. When she shook that long, loose hair back, he knew she’d been doing it deliberately—and for his pleasure.
To have a woman like Emily doing anything strictly for his pleasure…
She looked over her shoulder at him with a come-and-get-me smile.
He almost did. Every fiber of his being wanted to walk down that aisle and pull her close again. Her body had felt like heaven under his hands on the highway.
He leaned an elbow on the shelf of pretzels and rubbed his forehead, trying to keep his thoughts in the right order. The tasks required were simple. Alpha: see Emily safely back to her own truck. Bravo: say goodbye, firmly and forever. Charlie: get his sorry ass to Uncle Gus’s ranch by sunrise.
An alternate plan was vying for precedence in his mind. Alpha: spend the night with Emily, because she wanted to spend the night with him. Bravo:
There was no second task. It all started and ended with Emily. This last cigarette was all-consuming.
Relax, Graham. You’ll be able to live without it. You’re not addicted to anything.
He sighed and met her by the register.
The owner didn’t ring them up. “I need to see some ID.”
She’s not that young. Please don’t be that young.
“Are you serious?” Emily asked. “I graduated from high school with your granddaughter.”
“Hmpf.”
“You were there.”
The man didn’t move.
“Nicole and I are the same age. Twenty-two.”
Thank God.
“You know that, Mr. Schumer,” she said, clearly offended. Maybe she was embarrassed to be carded. Graham could remember hating that, also. He couldn’t remember now why he’d been so impatient to be older than twenty-two.
Lost in Cottonwood Canyon & How to Train a Cowboy--Lost in Cottonwood Canyon Page 28