He leaned down and kissed her. Soft. Wet. Wanting more.
His sex, standing at attention, brushed up against her flat abdomen. She reached for the bar of Ivory in the soap dish. She soaped-up her hands and ran her palms over his chest, up to his shoulders and then down . . . down . . . down. She cupped her fingers around his sex, pulling a low moan from somewhere deep in his chest.
As sweet as the torture was, he pulled her hand away before he exploded in her palm like a horny teen. He reached down for the soap, lathered his hands and then knelt down. He reached down to her calf, gently rubbing up from her ankle. His face came level with the small triangle of dark curls. He knew some girls who waxed, but he liked the natural look. He leaned in, pressing his cheek against her abdomen, kissing the tiny dimple that was her belly button, while sliding his fingers up between her legs. When his wet hand found the wet Y of her legs, she hissed.
“What was that?” he asked.
She moaned again, and her hands came down to grip his shoulders. He slipped his fingers between the soft folds of her sex.
Determined to draw it out, to make her want him so much she begged for it, he stood up and cupped her breasts. Ran his thumbs over her tight nipples.
She leaned her head back, and her lips parted. He took her mouth again, wrapped his hand around her tiny waist and pulled her to him. Their bodies kissed, sliding against each other. Then his hand went back to the soft weight of her breasts, the taut feel of her nipples.
“Turn around, and I’ll wash your back,” he said.
“My back’s fine,” she muttered.
He laughed, but stopped when she reached down, gently cupped his balls then slowly traced a finger up his sex, circling his tip, making him tighten with pleasure so sweet he almost lost it.
Damn, he had to stop her. After one deep breath, he pulled her hand back.
“What’s wrong?” The tease hung in her words.
“Not a damn thing.” Shutting off the water, he stepped out of the bathtub, then reached in and scooped her up in his arms. She squealed.
Light as a feather, shower-warm and wet, she curled against him. He carried her to the bedroom and placed her on the bed. Leaning down on one knee, he kissed her, then brushed his hand up her thighs. The sweet moisture between her legs told him she was ready.
For one second the question came back to him. Was he ready?
And not just for sex.
But for the chance she offered him. Something inside said that if he didn’t want this, he’d better run now. One look at her, her sexy smile, an eagerness to please him in her eyes, he knew there’d be no running. Except for . . .
“Be right back.” He hurried into the living room naked, hard, saluting the ceiling, and pulled out a suitcase where he knew he’d thankfully kept some condoms. Right before he returned to the bedroom, he turned and locked the door, and snatched his gun from a side table drawer.
He hid the gun behind him and placed it on the dresser, then slipped into the bed beside her. Devouring her sweet, curvy body, he set the condom on the bedside table and kissed her. And kissed her. Her neck. Her breasts. She kept reaching below his waist, and he kept catching her hand.
“Let me have some fun first,” he whispered.
Her gaze was all sultry-like. “That’s not fun.” She leaned up on her elbow and reached over and picked up the condom. “I personally think this could be fun.”
“Impatient little spitfire, aren’t you?”
Grinning, she pushed him back on the bed, tore the packet open with her teeth, then placed the condom on the tip of his sex. Slowly, tightening and releasing her grip, she moved it down his length, teasing him to a new hardness.
She went to climb on top of him, but he caught her by her shoulders and pushed her back onto the bed.
“I like being on top,” he said.
She laughed. “So do I.”
“I guess we’ll have to take turns.” Shifting his leg between hers, her settled on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbows. When he found his spot, he eased himself in. He had to think about baseball, mucking out the stalls, and getting a root canal to keep from coming the second her tight muscles surrounded him.
She let go of a moan and started moving. He pumped into her deeper, deeper still, and then, good to his word, he rolled over and let her take the top spot.
Sitting up, her palms pressed into his chest. She started moving, easy, long back-and-forth strokes. Up and down. Slow, then faster. He watched her breasts jiggle. The way her blue eyes clouded with passion. Then he caught her by the waist and moved her faster still, rocking her hips just so in an effort to heighten his pleasure and hers.
Hell. Maybe he didn’t mind being on the bottom.
She rode him, rode him all the way to heaven. Being the gentleman that he was, he made sure she arrived first.
When they stopped shaking, he rolled them both to the side, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Placing his forehead to hers, he stared into her baby blues.
“That was amazing,” he said, still catching his breath.
A smile curled up in his gut, in his mind, in his soul. He couldn’t stop grinning, at least not until he saw her eyes grow instantly wet.
“No.” Gently, he brushed a hand over her cheek. “No tears.”
“Happy tears.” She sniffled and put her hand over her trembling lips.
“No tears,” he said. “Laugh. Smile. Tell me I rocked your world. That you saw fireworks, or danced on the Eiffel Tower. But no tears.”
She stared at him, chuckled, then slapped him on the chest. “Danced on the Eiffel Tower? Mr. Connor, am I picking up an insecure streak?”
“Hell no! But when praise is due . . .”
Laughter rolled out her, she buried her face in his shoulder. They lay there in each other’s arms. Skin against skin. After a few minutes, she pulled back, met his gaze.
“You rocked my world.”
Her tone and the look in her eyes had his heart melting. “And you mine.” He kissed her again.
• • •
They rocked each other’s worlds two more times that night. Jennifer woke up around three in the morning. Resting on her side, she felt Clay pressed against her back. Close. She could feel him softly inhaling and exhaling. With his arm draped around her waist, she was wrapped in his embrace, wrapped in a shitload of emotions that still made her want to cry.
Sex had only made her cry with one other person.
Johnny.
The man she’d loved with all her heart.
Sex with Clay had made her feel that way. Complete. Whole. Amazing. Not just an amazing orgasm, though she’d had that, too. But being with him had felt amazing, as in life-altering. It had been the perfect amount of give and take, playful and soulful, sexy and wholesome.
She was on a short, really short, path to falling in love with this man. And while she’d taken that chance willingly—and he’d wanted it, too—it didn’t change the fact that the odds were still stacked against them.
A slight shift brought all her bare skin pressed against all his bare skin. She’d tried to put on a nightshirt, but he’d pleaded with her not to. His favorite thing, he told her, was to wake up with a naked woman beside him. Oh, how she wanted to be his favorite thing.
But not just for a night, a week, a month, or even a year. She wanted Clay to be her forever man. His words from earlier played in her head, I can’t promise anything—we’ve just met.
She wanted promises from a guy who offered none.
• • •
Bundy had almost given up. Almost. But like always, persistence paid off.
Parked in front of an old red-brick house was the black Chevy truck. He’d bet it was the junkyard guy’s.
He drove past the house again. It was small, on some acreage, so no close neighbors. Darkness clung to the night. The moon hung at only a sliver, and even the stars seemed dim. This was going to be a piece of cake.
Driving up the street, he searched for som
ewhere to stash his car so that no one would notice. He found an old dirt road off the main street, and pulled in. Only darkness followed the street, so chances were no one was going to be coming along at three in the morning.
He opened the glove compartment and found his gloves. Then he reached under the seat for his gun. It felt heavy in his hand, but a good kind of heavy. Pulling his black baseball cap onto his head, he got out of the car to go take care of his problem.
The click of the car locks echoed in the silence. He tucked the keys into his jeans pocket, and started walking, keeping off the road, staying close to the trees to remain hidden.
It took only three minutes to get back to the house. He approached the area with caution and tuned his ear to listen in case there was a dog. When he got to the truck, he stared at the license plate and memorized it. No way would he make the same mistake again.
Turning to the house, he kept his steps silent as he took the stairs up to the porch.
No dog bark. Not a sound.
He reached for the door and slowly twisted the handle to see if it was locked. The damn thing turned. Small-town idiots. They deserved what they got. Especially junkyard guy.
His ball-busting days were over.
Pushing open the door, he moved inside. The living room was empty. A light was on in the hall. He walked toward it, smiling, ready for a little revenge.
• • •
Clay, sleeping on his side, stirred awake and felt the soft yet firm feminine body against him. Opening his eyes, he saw that bright sunshine filled the room. The memories of last night took a slow stroll through his mind. Touching. Tasting. Teasing. His morning stiffy went from half-mast to rock-and-roll ready.
He leaned up on his elbow, carefully, wanting to watch her sleep. And what a sight it was. Her head rested on the pillow. Both her hands rested under her cheek. Angelic. Sweet. Sexy. The sheet draped over her only came up to her waist. Her perfect breasts were uncovered for his visual pleasure. With pleasure curling up low in his belly, he recalled bathing those nipples with his tongue, drawing some heavy moans from her as he took them into his mouth.
His sex stirred and wiggled against her ass. Carefully, he pulled the sheet up and dipped under to see the rest of her naked body. He wondered if Jennifer was a morning person. Because if so, he had a hell of a plan.
Inhaling, he felt the air flowed freely into his lungs. It tasted fresh. Filled with promise. Hope. Damn, he hadn’t breathed air this good in a long time. Glancing out the window, he noted the brightness of the sun. Since the horses had been in the pasture all night, there was no need to rush out and feed them.
He lowered the sheet and eased forward to revisit her sweet face. Hard, his dick tapped against her butt cheek again, as if begging for a warm, tight place to visit. Scolding his not-so-little-and-too-eager friend, he pulled his hips back.
Her eyelids flutter open. He lowered his face to her shoulder, placed a soft kiss on the bare and beautiful skin. “Morning, Sunshine.”
Rolling over, she wore a sleepy, good-morning smile.
He dipped down to take her mouth, and she quickly put her hand up.
“Morning breath.”
“Okay, I’ll kiss you here.” His lips met the curve of her neck, he slipped his hand under the sheet and ran his palm over her hip. “And here.”
She let go of a soft sigh and he was sure he had her, but then she caught his hand. “Wait. What time is it?”
“Don’t know.” He knew that her question was a bad sign that his plans might not go as he’d hoped.
Rolling to the other side of the bed and snatched her phone. “Yikes. It’s almost nine. Pete said he’d be back early. You’ve gotta get outta here.”
Eyes wide, she bolted out of bed, dragging the sheet with her and wrapping it around her body before he got a good peek. “Get up.”
He looked down at his morning problem pointing at the ceiling and grinned. “I already am.”
Snickering, she made a cute face, half-smile, half-concern. “I’m serious.”
“About?” God, she was gorgeous. And fun. And addicting.
“I don’t want him to know we . . .”
“Had sex three times?” He finished for her, disappointed that it was unlikely there’d be a fourth time this morning.
“Right.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because . . . he’s old.”
“Which means he probably knows about sex. I’m almost betting he’s even done it once or twice.”
From her frown, Clay could see he wasn’t going to win this. He stood up and went to leave.
“Stop!” she screeched.
“What?” he asked.
“You can’t go out like . . . that.” She pointed to his erection. “What if he’s out there?”
Clay grinned. “He’ll know we haven’t had sex.”
Biting her lip as if to keep from laughing, she said, “Get your clothes on.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have any clothes in here. You forced yourself on me in the shower and dragged me in here to pleasure you.”
Her smile widened. “That’s how you see it, huh?”
“And you don’t?”
She ran to her suitcase and tossed him the This-is-My-Sexy-Lingerie nightshirt. “Put this on.”
“Oh, hell no.” He lit out of the room before she tried to convince him. Because, as cute as she was, as delightful as she was, she could probably convince him to do anything.
“He’s not here yet,” he called over his shoulder.
Devil rolled off the sofa like a sloth and moved to the door. Clay let the dog out.
“Well, hurry and get dressed before he shows.” She shut the bedroom door.
Grabbing a clean pair of jeans from the hall closet, he looked back at the door, envisioning her dropping that sheet. He inhaled and realized his chest vibrated a bit, a purring, humming kind of feeling. He recognized what it was. Happiness.
His plans might have gone awry, but damn if he wasn’t still jam-packed with joy. He felt younger. Ready to face the day. The week. The year. The future.
Jennifer Peterson was so damn good for him.
• • •
While Clay went to feed the horses and cattle, the refrigerator called Jennifer’s name. Good sex always led to hunger. And it had been really good sex.
Glancing at the clock on the wall, a touch of concern brushed over her for Pete. Was he okay? Clay had tried to call him before heading to the barn. Pete hadn’t answered. Clay assured her that Pete had probably forgotten to charge his phone.
Her empty stomach grumbled, just as her heart had grumbled with the late-night realization of how much this chance with Clay could cost her if it ended badly. Still, it was a chance. And things felt so right.
Her stomach protested in hunger again, and she started searching for something to cook.
If Pete showed up with cinnamon rolls, they’d eat them for dessert later.
The sausage in the fridge caught her attention, she contemplated making the sausage and gravy Clay had fixed earlier. It had looked easy. There was even another can of biscuits.
How hard could it be?
Thirty minutes later, she learned just how hard.
“You don’t have to eat that,” she told Clay.
“They’re fine.” He pulled off the bottom layer of the burnt biscuit and reached for the bowl of gravy and the butter knife.
“No.” She pulled it back.
“I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You shouldn’t have to cut gravy.”
A grin tried to escape his lips but he pulled in back. “You just added a little too much flour.” He sliced off a glob. It jiggled on the end of the knife. “I’ll bet it tastes good.”
“Sliceable gravy on burnt biscuits.” Sighing, she shook her head. “Mom’s right. I should find something else to do with my time.” The words left her lips, and she wished she could pull the pathetic back in.
He took a bite of the bi
scuit with gravy goo and managed to swallow. “She just wanted you to do better than she did, career-wise. And my guess is she burnt her share of biscuits and messed up a batch or two of gravy.”
Jennifer frowned. “I know she wanted better for me, but she made me feel as if I shouldn’t want to be like her. And now that I’m older, sometimes that’s all I want to be.”
“Then why haven’t you taken those cooking classes already?”
Feeling almost hugged by his soft gaze, she admitted something she’d barely admitted to herself. “I almost feel disloyal. She was so adamant. And I also pretty much suck at it.” She attempted to make light of it and waved a hand over the so-called breakfast.
His eyes softened even more. “If you want to learn to cook, then do it. Take a class. I can show you what I know, not that I know much. When my mom left, I taught myself enough so I wouldn’t miss her too badly. But frankly, after looking at the Kirkland house you designed—”
“How do you know about the Kirkland . . . ?”
“I don’t know shit about interior decorating, but that house was amazing. You made those rooms look like a home, like people lived and loved there. And the other house, the one where you did the two girls’ bedrooms. They were perfect, and I personally think the theater room that took “Best Designed” didn’t hold a candle to your project.”
She dropped her biscuit, and every bit of willpower she had left when it came to the allure of Clay Connors. Her biscuit clanked against the plate. “How do you know about that?”
Shrugging, looking only mildly guilty, he leaned in. “I Binged you. Watched the home video tours.” He pointed his fork at her. “And you can’t be mad, because you Binged me first.”
“I’m not mad.” Quite the opposite. His compliment kissed the tender side of her soul. “Thank you.”
Contentment showed in his expression, he pushed the bowl of congealed gravy over to her. “And seriously, this tastes good. Pull off the bottom of your biscuit and try it. Think of it as sausage gravy pudding. You’ll love it and . . .” he held up his fork, “even if you didn’t inherit any of the Rachael Ray gene, what you do still makes you pretty damn special. Hamburger Helper and frozen stuff were invented for non-cooks.”
The Junkyard Cowboy (Tall, Hot & Texan Book 3) Page 14