Driving Her Crazy

by Kira Archer

  Someone who probably wasn’t anything like the tall, blue-eyed walking orgasm who was reclining in the incapacitated car like he was the king and it was his castle. The married man whose eyes kept drifting to her free floating chest where her nipples strained toward him with every brush of his gaze. The man whose full lips were pulling into a sexy half grin that said he knew very well what she was thinking at the moment. And liked it.

  “You never answered my question, Cher.”

  “Your question didn’t deserve an answer. And my name is Cherice, Nathaniel.”

  “I prefer Oz, Cher. And my question does deserve an answer. You’re just too chicken to answer it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You. Are. Chicken. You are afraid to admit what you really want out of life. Afraid to go for it. Afraid to fail. So afraid that you’ll just be miserable your whole damn life rather than take a chance.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Yeah. It is. Then again, maybe you don’t even know what you really want. You’re so used to being told what to do every step of the way that a genuine decision makes you completely freeze up.”

  “It does not.”

  “Oh really? You couldn’t even drive to New York by yourself. You’re more than old enough—”

  “I’m only twenty-four.”

  “Fine. You were still too afraid to get yourself from Point A to Point B alone. It wasn’t part of the plan. You’ve probably never stepped out of line your whole life, have you?”

  Cherice glared at him but he kept right on going. Every word stoked her anger, made her burn hotter, made her want to scream at him, hit him, show him that he was wrong about her. Show him that she could take charge. That she could seize the moment, live her own life.

  Her breath came faster, her head spinning with the mix of anger and adrenaline and sheer straight-up lust.

  He was still talking. But that smile played around his lips. He knew exactly what he was doing.

  “I’ve done plenty of stepping. Maybe I’m just not interested enough in you to show you the real me.”

  Oz snorted. “Nice try, but you know I’m right. In your whole life you’ve never stepped out of the perfect little box your parents stuffed you into. Never wanted to do anything”—he reached forward and traced her lips with his finger—“that might be remotely forbidden.”

  Cherice gasped at his touch and it took every ounce of willpower she had to keep from sucking that finger into her mouth. She couldn’t seem to breathe past the pounding of her heart. Nathaniel’s hand moved to cup her cheek.

  “Step outside the box, Cher. You know you want to.”

  He moved closer, his lips a breath away. All she had to do was lean in…

  Cherice gasped and jerked out of his arms, suddenly remembering the main reason this man was off limits.

  Her hand flew before she’d even made the decision to slap him. Her palm cracked against his cheek, the sound echoing through the car.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she screeched, as he grabbed his cheek with a gasp of his own.

  “What do you mean, what am I doing? What was that for?”

  “How could you? I bet you do this kind of thing all the time, don’t you?”

  “Try to make out with a crazy woman in the back of a rental car? Nope, sorry, first attempt for me.”

  “No, you jerk! Cheat on your wife! What do you do, look for strange women to offer rides to so you can seduce them?”

  Nathaniel frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “You know exactly what I’m talking about so don’t play dumb. I’m talking about you trying to use me to cheat on the poor woman who is stuck married to you.”

  He threw his head back and laughed.

  Cherice’s jaw dropped and she stared at him in horror. “What are you laughing at? This isn’t funny!”

  He just laughed harder. “You’re right, it isn’t funny. It’s downright, fucking hilarious.” He leaned back against the door, catching his breath. “Why do you think I’m married?”

  “I saw your family, so don’t even bother lying about it.”

  “You saw my family? At the airport?”

  “Yes. The beautiful blond woman with curly hair and a little boy who was obviously your son—”

  “My nephew.”

  “What?” Cherice froze.

  “My nephew. Tyler. And my sister, Lena. They moved in with me a couple years ago because she didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

  Well, if that wasn’t the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. But wait. That meant… “So…you aren’t married?” she asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

  Because if he was single, that meant…a whole world of possibilities.

  “Nope.” That half smile was back. He reached over and brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, letting his fingers linger, trail up her neck.

  “You’re single? Free to do…” She licked her lips and he sucked in a breath.

  “Whatever I want.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come here.”

  She didn’t wait for him to ask again.

  She reached forward and grabbed his poncho, yanking him up to meet her. Her lips crushed against his and bless his heart, that aggravating, arrogant, know-it-all man, after a split-second hesitation, jumped right off the cliff with her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and hauled her onto his lap, shoving his fingers through her hair to keep her lips molded to his.

  She’d meant only to kiss him quickly, just enough to show him she could be crazy and unpredictable. But the second her lips touched his, something short-wired in her brain. Nothing mattered but getting more of him. Her lips parted beneath his, inviting him in. He groaned and pressed her closer, his tongue dancing with hers until her head swam. His hand trailed up her side, the plastic of her poncho crinkling as his thumb just brushed the side of her breast.

  She threw her head back, the touch setting her on fire. He kissed her exposed throat, nipping at the tender flesh beneath her ear. She arched against him, wanting more, wanting everything. And he seemed more than willing to accommodate.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God. I’m kissing him. I’m not just kissing him, I am trying to suck his tonsils out and praying to God he’ll do the same to me.

  Nathaniel’s hand gripped the back of Cherice’s neck, angling her face better so his tongue could delve deep into her mouth, exploring every inch.

  Oh, yeah. Just like that. Oh God.

  What the hell am I doing? This is so wrong. Although. I’m single. He’s single. He can do whatever he wants. So can I. But do I want this? I don’t even know him. Oh God, I am making out with a guy I don’t even know. Does that make me a slut? What if he thinks I’m a slut?

  He leaned farther back against the door, pulling her on top of him. His hand roamed over her butt, squeezing the trembling flesh, pressing it tighter against the hot, hard length of him.

  Holy shit, I don’t even care. He can think whatever he wants as long as he does that again.

  “Cher.”

  “Hmm?”

  His lips trailed their way up her neck.

  “You’re thinking too hard.”

  His teeth grazed her chin. Pulled her earlobe into his mouth for a quick nip. She sucked in her breath, nearly sobbing at the sensation that shot straight to her groin.

  “Am I?”

  “Yes. You are. So tell yourself to shut up and just kiss me.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Good.”

  She straddled him, her hands digging into his hair, pulling him back to her. She kissed him like she wanted to devour him and rocked against him until he threw back his head and groaned. He gripped her hips and thrust against her. The hard ridge of his pants stretched tight over his rock-solid length rubbed against her soft, already wet center. She cried out, gripping his shoulders while she pressed against him. She tried to get her hands under his shirt, wanted to feel his skin against her
s. But she couldn’t seem to get past the damn poncho he was still wearing.

  He was having the same problem. He grabbed her poncho in both hands and pulled, shredding it until it was nothing more than two scraps of plastic. Cherice tore at the poncho covering him, laughing in triumph when she finally succeeded in yanking it away. She grabbed his shirt and raised his arms so she could tug it off him.

  Oh God, ohmyGodohmyGodohmyGod. It wasn’t fair for someone to be so perfectly formed. She ran her hands down his chest, her body rocking against him of its own volition when his nipples hardened to little pebbles beneath her fingertips. She leaned down, the tip of her tongue flicking against one, and Oz jerked against her, his breath hissing in through his teeth.

  “No fair,” he groaned. “My turn.”

  He pushed her up just enough so he could get his hands on her. She arched her back, trying to thrust her breasts into his hands. If he didn’t touch her soon she was going to cry.

  “Easy, baby,” he said, his hands skimming over her shoulders, gently pushing her sleeves down until he could slip a hand inside her neckline. One warm hand closed over her breast, lifting it from the still damp material. His lips trailed over her warm flesh. She gasped, grabbing the back of his head to hold him there.

  His lips closed on a nipple and she—

  “Sorry, folks,” a man’s voice said.

  Chapter Nine

  Cherice gasped and looked over her shoulder, screaming when she caught sight of a very embarrassed tow-truck driver standing near the car. She yanked her dress back up and scrambled off Oz’s lap, trying to maneuver her way behind him.

  He, of course, was laughing his fool ass off. He climbed out of the car to talk to the tow-truck man. At least he was gentleman enough to block the door with his body until she’d gotten herself situated. She really didn’t want to get out of the car and face the tow truck guy, but she could hardly ride in the car while it was being towed.

  Jerry, according to the name on his overalls, let her sit in the truck while he and Nathaniel checked out the car they’d just hauled from the mud.

  Nathaniel bent down to look at the tire that had just been liberated from the muddy ooze. After a few minutes of poking, prodding, checking under the hood, and doing a bunch of other mechanically inclined things that she had no clue about, he gave the tire a good kick and walked toward the tow truck. That couldn’t be good.

  He opened the door and climbed in while the driver got the car ready to go.

  “Not good?” Cherice asked.

  Nathaniel sighed and ran his hand through his soaking wet hair. “No. Looks like the axle might be cracked. Jerry says there’s a rental place right next to his shop but it’s closed for the night. He’s going to take us to a motel.”

  “But…my sister’s wedding is tomorrow. And so is your interview. We need to get there tonight!”

  “I know. But we’re only four hours from Montauk. Jerry said he knows the guy who runs the rental place and he can get him to open up early for us. That’s the best we can do. But if we leave at the crack of dawn, we’ll still get there in plenty of time to get where we need to be.”

  Cherice tried to keep her freak-out under control. There wasn’t anything they could do about it, so having a total and complete shit fit wasn’t going to solve anything. Still, it might make her feel marginally better. Even as the panic of possibly being late (or missing!) her sister’s wedding chewed at her, a more pressing concern presented itself.

  “So, he’s taking us to a motel?” she asked, trying to sound casual and indifferent.

  Judging by the grin spreading on Nathaniel’s obviously well-kissed lips, she hadn’t fooled him at all. “Yeah, there’s one just up the road here, not too far from the rental place. Jerry already called ahead to make sure they had a room open.”

  She licked her lips, unable to tear her gaze from his lips. “That’s awful helpful of him.”

  “Hmm,” Nathaniel said, lifting his arm to drape around her. “It is, isn’t it?”

  She leaned in a bit closer, trying to get enough air into her lungs without panting. He leaned down, his lips so close. She just needed to reach up…

  “Wait a second.” She sat back. “A room?”

  He grinned down at her. “Sorry. It’s a small motel and we aren’t the only ones having issues with the weather. They only had one left.” He leaned in farther, and rubbed the bridge of his nose along her jaw line. His lips touched her ear, his warm breath blowing into it as he talked. “Looks like we’re going to have to share.”

  Cherice tried to swallow past the sudden dryness in her throat. She should protest. Insist she get her own room. Make him sleep in the lobby or something. No, that was mean. But surely they had another room. They always have an extra one just in case, right? She barely knew this man. She could not spend the night with him. No matter how badly she wanted to.

  But before she could argue, Jerry climbed in the truck, firmly wedging her in between him and Nathaniel. He was a kindly-looking older man with a bit of a pot belly and a dimple in one cheek that made him look like someone’s sweet little old grandpa. He smiled at her, but his gaze wouldn’t meet hers.

  He cleared his throat. “All right, let’s get you folks somewhere you can get cleaned up.”

  Cherice leaned closer to Nathaniel. He drew her in closer against him, but instead of making her feel better, all it did was remind her of what they’d been doing when Jerry had pulled up. And how they hadn’t had a chance to finish what they’d started.

  Probably a good thing. Good grief, she’d been about ready to have sex with a nearly complete stranger in the backseat of a car on the side of the highway. What the hell was wrong with her? Probably a whole lot because while she was embarrassed at having been caught, and knew somewhere deep down she should be ashamed of such “wanton behavior” as her mother would say, all she was really sorry about was that they’d been interrupted.

  Nathaniel’s thigh pressed against hers and she closed her eyes, her hand curling into a fist to keep from touching him. Poor Jerry had seen enough for one night. She doubted he’d appreciate her jumping Nathaniel in the front seat of his tow truck. She couldn’t let that happen, anyway. That whole episode had been one crazy lapse of judgment. One she’d very thoroughly enjoyed. She couldn’t even try to pretend she hadn’t, when her body was still throbbing with need. But it would have been a huge mistake they both would have regretted. Better to leave well enough alone.

  The neon sign of the motel loomed ahead and Cherice’s breath caught in her throat. They were about to spend the night in the same room. She prayed to God it was a double room because if there was only one bed, she didn’t stand a chance.

  Jerry dropped them off. The place was about what she expected to find. Blinking neon sign proclaiming rates by the hour, night, or week. Leering attendant tossing Nathaniel a key, barely blinking at their bedraggled appearance. What kind of people was he used to that they didn’t even register on his curiosity meter? At least the place seemed clean, if in desperate need of an update. There was even a counter with free coffee next to a candy dispenser.

  Wait.

  She peered a little closer. That was…holy hell. It was a condom dispenser. In the freaking lobby of the motel. Her cheeks burned. Both in mortification that she was spending the night in a place that felt the need to offer their clients such a…convenience…and at the fact that she was sorely tempted to take them up on the offer.

  She glanced at Nathaniel who held up the key and smiled at her. “206. Let’s go.”

  He held the door open for her and she marched past him, head held high, steadfastly refusing to look at the thing in the corner.

  She followed Nathaniel outside, down a short hallway, and up a set of stairs. Their room was right over the office with the window facing the flashing neon sign. Not the best location, to be sure. Probably why it was the only room open. Nathaniel unlocked the door and went in first, flipping on the lights.

  Cherice foll
owed, glancing around, half afraid of what she’d find. Thankfully, it looked just like most hotel rooms. A bit shabbier than she was used to, maybe. But for all that, not too bad. Everything was threadbare but seemed clean and that was the important thing. Nathaniel dropped all the shopping bags they’d rescued from the car onto the bed. The one and only bed in the room. A king-sized monstrosity covered in some 1960s green floral nightmare.

  Cherice swallowed, her eyes darting around the room. The only other furniture was a tiny table with two chairs, an old dresser holding an even older television set, and a nightstand on each side of the bed. Nowhere else for someone to sleep. She walked into the bathroom. Tiny sink. Toilet. Shower stall. Not even a tub she could maybe sleep in. They were stuck together. For the night. In the same bed. God help her.

  “You can take the first shower,” Nathaniel said from the bed.

  She leaned her head against the bathroom door, unable to keep the image of him climbing into the shower with her, body all hard and wet, pushing her against the wall, the hot water cascading over them…

  “Cherice?”

  “Yes?” her voice cracked and she cleared it and tried again. “Yes?”

  He stepped into the bathroom and she jumped.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. Fine.”

  He grinned. “Okaaay,” he said, drawing the word out. “Did you want the first shower?”

  “Oh. No. I need to call my brother. You can go ahead.”

  “Okay. I’ll save some hot water for you.”

  She nodded but made no move to leave. He whipped his shirt off over his head and dropped it on the floor. She knew she was supposed to do something but for the life of her she couldn’t remember. It was the first good, clear look she’d gotten of him, standing in the full light, and damn, the man did not disappoint.

  “You’re welcome to stay if you want,” he said, his hands drifting to the button of his jeans. He popped it open and Cherice snapped out of it.

  “Oh, no, that’s…no, I’m leaving. Sorry.”

  She closed the door on Nathaniel’s smug face and flopped face down on the bed. She was never going to survive the night. Maybe if she made a pillow barricade or something. She’d read once that the Victorians or Puritans or some old time people did that sort of thing when they stayed in inns so everyone could get a piece of the bed. Frankly, the way she was feeling, even a pillow barricade wouldn’t stop her.