by Tawny Weber
“Then show me how to do it right.”
He gave a laughing sort of groan. It was the first time she’d seen him laugh, she realized. The first time she’d been close enough to watch how it made his eyes light, his face look younger. Softer.
Sweeter.
“Don’t you want to touch me?” Taking his hand in hers, she lifted it to her bare breast. His palm was like fire on her skin. Her nipple tightened to an aching point, shooting a swirling shaft of desire straight down to settle between her thighs.
His pupils were so big, they made his eyes look pitch-black. His face was sharp in the shadows. She swallowed hard, wanting to ask if it felt as good to him as it did to her, but afraid to say a word.
Then he stepped closer. His body, hot and damp in the sultry night air, heated hers. A bead of sweat trickled down Genna’s spine.
Eyes huge, nervous, she watched and waited.
As if he was moving in slow motion, Brody leaned forward, his hair sweeping down to curtain his face in black silk. It was so soft as it slid against her skin. Then he took her nipple into his mouth.
Hot and wet.
His lips brushed, his tongue swirled. Then he scraped the edge of his teeth over the aching bud.
Genna cried out, her fingers clutching his shoulders.
Brody sucked harder, his long, sure fingers pressed against the seam of her jeans. Need unlike anything she’d ever felt, more than anything she’d ever imagined, gripped her. Not sure what she was doing, how to quench the tightening demand of her body, Genna swiveled her hips in slow circles against his hand. Her fingers dug into the waistband of his jeans. Then, desperate to feel him, even as she hoped he’d take it as a hint to do the same, she unsnapped his jeans.
Lightning fast, Brody’s hand grabbed hers and his head shot up.
It was like being speared by gold light, his eyes were so fierce. Nerves joined desire to swirl in an uncomfortable dance in her belly.
Genna bit her lip, waiting.
Was he going to stop?
Did she want him to?
Before she could decide, before she could even identify all the feelings bombarding her, he swept her into his arms.
Oh, God. Genna melted, body, heart and all, as he carried her three steps to an old bench-style car seat leaning against the wall.
It was so romantic.
They fell together onto the ratty black surface, with her on Brody’s lap. He immediately rolled so she was underneath him. His mouth took hers again. This time it was harder. More demanding. He wouldn’t let her play passive. He wanted everything she had to offer.
As soon as her tongue ventured out, sliding into his mouth, he rewarded her by cupping his hand over her bare breast again.
She flew higher. His fingers plucked at her nipple. She swirled, stars crowding the edges of her vision. She mewed in protest when his hand left her breast, then purred as it cruised down to her jeans. Her heart stopped, waiting for him to unsnap the denim.
He slipped right past the zipper though, again, pressing tight against her aching core through her pants. The heel of his hand rotated and his nails scraped.
Breath ragged, Genna tried to figure out what was happening to her body. It kept getting tighter and tighter, curling around and around, spinning out of control.
His mouth, so hot and wet on her nipple, moved away. She gasped when he blew on the wet flesh. Then he bit down.
And she exploded.
Lights flashed behind her eyes. Her pants were whimpers now. Her body on fire. She arched against his hand, wanting more. Needing more. Her thighs pulsated, the flesh between them throbbing.
“More,” she murmured as she floated back to earth.
She slid her fingers into his hair, scooping it back off his face. He looked like one of those fallen angels. Too gorgeous to be real, too tempting to resist.
“I want more,” she said again. “I want everything.”
Brody looked as if he was at war with himself.
Before she could find out which side won, though, there was a loud racket by the door.
“Lane? Brody Lane? You here?”
Genna jumped so high, she was pretty sure she bruised her ass when she landed.
Passion fled so fast, it was as if it’d never existed. Panic gripped her belly in a greasy, vicious twist, making her want to whimper. She didn’t have to look toward the door to know who was yelling. She’d heard that voice every day of her life.
Ohmygod. She was so dead.
They were off in the corner, out of view of the door. Were they hidden enough? Maybe if they didn’t move, he’d go away.
Her eyes, wide and blurred by a haze of terror, met Brody’s. His face, so soft and sweet and passionate only moments before, was like granite now. His lips pressed tight, his eyes chips of gold. He looked scary. As though he was taking that threat seriously and about to go to battle for his life.
Genna wanted to reassure him, to say it’d all be okay. That this wasn’t going to be as bad as whatever he was imagining. But she was a lousy liar.
And that hadn’t been an idle threat.
And she was pretty sure whatever he was imagining had nothing on the reality.
’Cause they were seriously dead.
When the knots in her stomach did a sickening lurch from side to side, she closed her eyes and breathed through clenched teeth and prayed she wouldn’t puke all over Brody. Not that he was ever going to want to talk to her again after this. But still, that’s hardly the last impression a girl wanted to make on the guy who’d given her her first orgasm just before her father killed him.
Maybe if they stayed here, didn’t move, it’d all go away. Like the bad dreams she still had every once in a while. She just lay there, eyes closed, and waited.
The silence was broken by the sound of a shotgun chambering a round.
Genna gulped.
Waiting was probably out of the question.
Clearly in agreement with her brilliant assessment, Brody shifted. He didn’t wait for her to pull up her top, instead yanking the halter so high she was afraid it’d end up tied around her mouth.
Taking her cue, she reached behind her and tried, three times, to tie it. Finally she managed some sort of knot that included a lot of her hair and a broken fingernail.
As soon as her fingers cleared the knot, he stood. If she’d had a voice, she’d protest his hurry. Didn’t the guy know it was always better to put off ugly confrontations?
Genna stared at the hand he held out. The long fingers that, only minutes ago, had been teaching her what pleasure really was. At his impatient look, she grimaced and took his hand. He pulled so hard, she almost flew to her feet.
Midflight, she got a look at her father standing in the doorway.
Holy hell.
She tried to swallow, but couldn’t get any spit past the knot of terror in her throat.
Her entire body started shaking, but this time she knew it was pure fear. Knowing it was insane to touch Brody, but needing the support all the same because her knees had just turned to water, she gripped the back of his jeans, the fabric still slack thanks to her quick work with his zipper.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, not at all sure he wouldn’t pull the trigger.
* * *
FOR JUST A BRIEF, blissful few minutes, Brody had come as close to happy as he’d ever been in his life. Heaven couldn’t feel as good as Genna Reilly did in his arms. And heaven, like Genna, was obviously not available to guys like him.
He should have known better. Hell, he had known better. Brody had to wonder when he’d finally learn. Anytime something looked too good to be true, it was. And a girl like Genna, she was not only too good to be true, she was so far off-limits that he was only surprised her cop father hadn’t shown up earlier. The guy had to have a warning alarm planted on her somewhere. Brody just wasn’t sure what’d triggered it. His hands on her body, or his lips on her mouth.
And it totally pissed him off that he considered both
worth whatever price he was about to pay.
Teeth clenched, he eyed the shotgun. It was gonna be one helluva price, too.
“I’m gonna kick your ass,” Sheriff Reilly growled, fury radiating off the guy in waves.
Brody braced, feet planted firm and fists loose at his side. His body was wired tight, ready to dive to either side. He’d spent most of his life facing one attack or another. He figured at least he’d earned this one.
He didn’t wait long. The sheriff was on him in a flash. The guy was a lot faster, and in better shape, than Brody’s old man. They flew backward, trapping Brody against the wall right next to where Genna had stripped down and blown his mind.
“Daddy!” Genna jumped forward, grabbing on to her father’s arm and tugging. She was a tall girl, but as slight as a wish and no match for her muscular father when he shook her off. She fell backward, stumbling over Brody’s bike and sending the Harley crashing to the floor. It barely slowed her down, though. She was back and grabbing on her father, tugging and demanding that he let Brody go.
Apparently unable to effectively threaten and deal with his daughter at the same time, the sheriff spun with a roar, grabbed his daughter by the shoulder, swept the shotgun off the floor where he’d thrown it before his dive. He shoved Genna toward the door.
“Get the hell in the car, Genna Yvonne. Now. I’ll deal with you later.”
“You’re not going to hurt Brody. You can’t. He didn’t do anything.” Tears soaked her cheeks, but Genna didn’t budge from her position between her father and Brody.
“Don’t you dare tell me what I’m going to do,” her father growled, his face contorted in fury.
The cop raised his fist in the same move he’d pulled on Brody. Would he follow through? Rumor was that Genna was a pampered princess. Joe would have gladly outed his old man if the guy hit her.
Still...
“Don’t.”
That’s all Brody said. He wasn’t getting in the middle of family drama. He’d spent enough time in his own to know that bystanders were safer on the sidelines, and participants never appreciated interference. But he’d be damned if the guy was gonna get violent with Genna. Not in front of Brody, not later in private, not ever.
“Shut your mouth and sit down, Lane,” the sheriff barked, confirming Brody’s take on bystander interference. “I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
“There’s nothing to deal with. I didn’t break any laws, you have no reasonable cause to be here and this is private property,” Brody pointed out quietly.
“You were in here with my daughter.”
“When did a kiss become illegal?”
“When she’s my daughter,” Reilly growled, lunging again. Brody grimaced, knowing this time the guy was going for more than intimidation.
“Daddy! Stop or I’ll call 911.”
Genna’s horrified cry was like a bucket of water over the man’s head. It only took a blink for the rage to clear from his eyes and the cop-face to fall back into place. Brody didn’t take a lot of comfort from that. He’d been kicked around plenty by cops wearing that same neutral look. But he wasn’t worried about getting shot any longer.
“You touched my daughter.”
Expressionless, Brody returned the dead-eyed stare, but didn’t say anything. Why bother? The sheriff had walked in on them together. Lying was pointless and admitting it was probably admissible in the ass-kicking court the guy was convening.
The tension in the room seemed to ratchet up to the point that even Brody was shifting uncomfortably. He hated inaction. Kick his ass or get the hell out already. He managed—barely—to keep that suggestion to himself, though.
Finally, Reilly gave a grunt. He shouldered the shotgun, took his cuffs from his belt and gestured with his chin for Brody to turn around.
“You arresting me?”
Reilly’s gaze shifted from Brody to Genna, then to the bottle of beer on the workbench.
“We’ll discuss it.” He lifted his hands, the cuffs dangling from one finger. “Turn around.”
More intimidation. He had nothing. The beer was warm enough by now that it could have been Brian’s, left there before the old man had gone to work his shift in the bar. Getting hot and heavy with Genna was stupid, but not a criminal offense. Fine. Brody sighed, then turned around. Let the guy cuff him and play hard-ass.
“Dad—”
“You say another word and it’ll be on his tab,” Reilly warned Genna, his icy glare making it clear the bill was already more than Brody could afford.
Whatever.
“Let it go,” Brody murmured. Not that he expected her to take his advice. Hell, they didn’t even know each other. But there was no point in her making it worse for either of them. Let it go and move on, was Brody’s motto.
“I’ll be right back,” the man promised, giving the cuffs a smack that ricocheted painfully through Brody’s arms.
“I’ll be here.”
Shifting his shoulders, trying to find an angle that didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch since the guy had hooked the cuffs around the steel grip on a huge toolbox. To, what? Keep him from running away? Brody silently cussed up a storm and watched Reilly drag his daughter out of the garage.
The last sight Brody had of Genna was the tear-filled apology in those big blue eyes.
Damn, she was pretty.
He should regret it.
She wasn’t his type, and she came with an insanely high price tag.
But the sweet taste of Genna was still on his lips. His fingers still tingled with the memory of her silky skin, the soft weight of her hair. Yeah. She was a mistake. But, even as he shifted again trying to ease the pressure on his shoulders, he couldn’t regret making it.
“Took your time,” he snapped when Sheriff Reilly sauntered back into the garage. Thankfully without the shotgun this time. He didn’t look any happier, though.
“You in a hurry?”
“I have things to do.” More importantly, he’d like to get this over before the old man was off shift. Nothing pissed him off more than hearing Brody had been in yet another scrape with the law.
“You’re gonna have to reschedule.”
“Why? You’re seriously hauling me in?” Brody wanted to laugh. Another black mark on his record wasn’t going hurt, but it was gonna irritate. Worse, it was going to disappoint his gramma. And he’d been trying hard the last few years to stop doing that. Irene Lane had this crazy belief that Brody could build a good life. Could be the kind of guy she could tell her friends about, could brag on and be proud of.
“I figure there’s only one answer to this little problem you’ve presented me with tonight.”
His expression bored, Brody arched one brow in question.
“You’ll have to leave Bedford.”
Hell, yeah. It was like the guy had poked into Brody’s brain and picked out his secret dream. Still...
“You can’t kick me out of town.”
“Boy, I can do whatever I damned well please.”
Brody considered a testament to his control that he didn’t roll his eyes. Because they both knew the guy was claiming powers he didn’t have.
“Let’s see. I’ve got you on underage drinking. Driving on a suspended. That fight last week with the Kinski boys, I’ll bet they’d file charges if pressed. I can call that aggravated assault. Your bike has modified pipes, violating the sound laws.” He went on reciting his list of minor offenses, boring the hell out of Brody. Was that the best he had?
Clearly reading his disdain, the sheriff shifted gears.
“You’re a bad influence on Joe, and I know you’re both involved in gang activity. I can make your life hell figuring out which gang, and what you’re doing. Or I can put the word out that you’re playing nice with me and let the gangs take care of you.”
That caused a twinge, but Brody shrugged it off. He was clean and gang-free, but his friend wasn’t. Still, Joe was a big boy. He knew what he was getting into.
“So th
at’s all you got?” Brody asked, his laugh just this side of a sneer. “A handful of petty offenses and a few threats?”
Reilly stared. Just stared. For so long, Brody’s neck itched and he wanted to squirm.
“Son, you’re getting the hell out of here one way or another.
Hell yeah, he was. He’d spent the last four years saving up, cleaning up and getting his act together so he could see the end of Bedford.
Three more months.
That’s all he needed to have enough cash to pay back the last of what his gramma had spent bailing him out of juvie, paying a lawyer to seal his records and covering his hospital bills. She’d mortgaged her house for him, and when he’d promised to pay it off himself, she’d doubled down with guilt, demanding he stay in town until it was paid. Her way, he knew, of watching over him as long as she could. She’d tried to get him to move in with her, but they both knew that was a bad idea. The few times he’d lived with her, Brian inevitably showed up, remembered he had a mother who might have some money and happily pounded on both of them. So Brody made a point to do as little as possible to remind the old man of Irene’s existence.
But he hadn’t been able to ignore her plea that he stay in town. The minute his slate was clean, he was outta there.
And never coming back.
“I’ll be gone soon enough,” Brody said. Then, pissed that he sounded weak, as if he were giving in to cop intimidation, he pulled out his best sneer. “You don’t have to worry about your pretty little girl. I promise I’ll keep my hands off her between now and then. No guarantees that she’ll reciprocate, though.”
Brody instantly regretted his words. He had no issue taunting the cop. But waving Genna around like that was cheap. Wrong.
And clearly the equivalent of a red flag in front of a charging bull.
Sheriff Reilly went from calm cop to furious father in an instant. His eyes, the same blue as Genna’s, Brody realized with an audible gulp, narrowed into slits. His fists clenched, then as if making sure he hadn’t broken any of his own bones, he slowly flexed his fingers before wrapping one hand over the butt of his gun. The sound of the release tab loosening was like fingernails on a chalkboard. Loud, painful and threatening.
Brody had spent the first half of his life a punching bag, the convenient focal point for every frustration, irritation or random violent thought his old man had entertained. He’d spent two idiotic years on the streets, honing his fighting skills and learning just how viciously painful a knife in the gut was.