Shut Up and Kiss Me

by Christie Craig

  Still unable to reach Charlie Rainmaker, Sky put a BOLO out for the man’s truck, telling other law enforcement agencies to be on the lookout for him. He also asked around and learned the only person wearing a navy shirt with a logo at the diner today was Donny Chavez, Charlie’s neighbor. Sky knew Donny, and he seriously didn’t think the man was a criminal, but he went by and had a long talk with him. Donny admitted to telling Shala to go home. He’d been out of town with his wife and kids the last few days, however, so he couldn’t be Shala’s stalker. After telling the guy to mind his own business, Sky left.

  Next, having heard about the whole fiasco at the jail and also being in the neighborhood, he stopped by the house to check on Maria. She’d been crying. She insisted she didn’t want to talk, but when Sky hugged her good-bye she broke down and told him everything—all about Matt being married. All Sky could do was hold her. He didn’t have any glib words to toss at bad relationships.

  He next visited Jessie at the hospital. As expected, Sal was at her side.

  “Tell him to go home and get some sleep,” Jessie commanded.

  Sky didn’t even try. It would have been easier to bite through a diamond than to get Sal away from her. The two of them reminded Sky of Redfoot and Estella—which made Sky wonder about Redfoot and Veronica Cloud. It had been ten years since Estella’s passing, so Sky didn’t begrudge his foster father a need for company, but was the relationship serious? Redfoot deserved to be happy, so he supposed he would support him no matter what.

  Unfortunately, Jessie couldn’t tell Sky anything other than that the guy who’d shot her was big and wore a ski mask. And Pete, the trooper on duty, hadn’t turned up anything on the shots fired out by Lucas’s place. Maybe it really had been just someone shooting a snake. Dead ends. That’s all Sky was getting.

  He went back to the station, and it was almost seven before he finally was ready to close down. Phillip had conceded to letting everyone go home with no charges. He’d also rescheduled his talk with Shala. Right before he left, he told Sky that he’d sent an image of the man suspected of driving the sedan to his headquarters, but he warned it could take weeks to find a name to go with the face.

  Starting his truck, Sky thought about Shala. He wanted some time alone with her, and he almost called and asked Lucas to spend the night on his boat—his friend normally slept there a couple of nights a week, so asking didn’t feel like too much of a favor. But while the idea of getting Shala alone and naked tempted the hell out of him, the push and pull Sky felt every time he got close to her was confusing. Probably just that soul-mate crap.

  His phone rang as he pulled out of the parking lot. Taking it out, he looked at the number. It was Martha on the emergency line again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “What’s up?” Sky asked, sighing as he answered the call.

  “It’s Candy Peterson again.”

  Sky’s gut knotted. He hated domestic disputes with a passion, but he especially disliked getting called to the Peterson house. Candy’s drunken slob of a husband regularly beat her. What Sky couldn’t figure out was why the woman continued to let him.

  “God damn it, Martha. Tell me she didn’t let that son of a bitch come home.”

  “It sounds bad, Sky. It’s her daughter on the phone.”

  Sky considered calling Pete to meet him, but there wasn’t time. “I’m just a few blocks away.”

  In less than a minute he was parked in front of the house. Pulling out his gun, he went to the door. He didn’t have to knock; the door was off its hinges and he could see Peterson standing over Candy, who was lying on the floor bleeding. The sight took Sky back twenty-two years. He gripped his gun. What he wouldn’t give to take the bastard out! But pulling himself back from the abyss, he stormed into the room.

  “What happened here?” he asked, and wasn’t surprised when Peterson glared at him. He grabbed the asshole by the hair and slammed him into the wall, half-hoping the drunken bastard would come at him.

  Peterson didn’t disappoint. He raised his fist and swung. Missed. Sky didn’t. His blow caught the asshole on the chin, hard. Holstering his gun, Sky grabbed the barely conscious brute by his shirt, flipped him over, put his knee in his back, and handcuffed him. Then he turned to Candy. Her face was bleeding, but she didn’t look as bad as last time.

  “Mama?” a young voice called, low and scared. Sky looked up to see Candy’s eight-year-old daughter peering out from a bedroom, tears and raw fear in her eyes.

  “It’s okay,” he told the child, his gut turning inside out. “Go on back to your room. Nothing else bad is going to happen.” When the child did as he requested, Sky addressed Candy, who was still on the floor. “Is anything broken?” he forced himself to ask.

  She shook her head. “No. You got here just in time.”

  “Should I call an ambulance?” He already knew what she’d say, but he always asked.

  “No. I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t, though. She was as messed up as her husband. And for the first time, Sky found himself hating his mother. For years he’d blamed his old man, but his mom had played a part. Just like Candy.

  “You let him come back, didn’t you?” His mom had. Let his no-good father come back time and time again.

  Candy wiped blood from her lip. “He said he’d changed.”

  “He said that last time, and the time before that. For God’s sake, woman! Go look at your daughter. Look at the terror you just put her through. You call yourself a mother, but you do this to your child?”

  Candy was shaking her head, crying. “I know I was wrong.”

  “I swear—if this happens one more time, I’ll see to it that little girl is placed with someone else. I’ll personally take her away from you. Do you understand me? I swear to God, woman, I’m serious.” Taking a deep breath, he stood, grabbed Peterson by the arm, and jerked him to his feet. Then he asked one last futile question. “You pressing charges?”

  Shala lay in bed, wearing the light blue pajamas Sky had bought her, unable to sleep. Instead, she thought about Sky. He’d claimed these pajamas were similar to her others, but this tank top had lace on it; the boxers were shorter and a tighter fit. The outfit was sexier than her others.

  Or maybe she just felt sexier. She’d showered—even borrowed a razor from Lucas to shave her legs. Then she’d used the few cosmetics she had in her purse to make herself feel ready. But ready for what? a voice inside her head asked. She’d argued with it all evening, telling it that wearing lipstick and blush didn’t mean she was ready to sleep with Sky. Now, facing disappointment, she recognized her lie: she’d been ready to take that leap. Only Sky wasn’t here to leap with. At least, he wasn’t in her room.

  Deciding she needed something to drink, she got out of bed and inched the door open. The kitchen and living room looked empty. Disappointed, she went out and poured herself some milk. Where was Sky? Was he sleeping in the other bedroom? The idea of opening that door seemed too brazen, so she took a sip of milk and moved to the front window to see if his truck was visible. Unfortunately, she could see only part of the driveway.

  She opened the front door. Hearing the crickets and night noises, she edged onto the porch to see the driveway. The darkness made her remember the guy in the ski mask, and she froze.

  “You shouldn’t be—”

  The voice had come out of nowhere. Startled, Shala swung around. Heart thudding, she recognized Sky sitting on the porch, his back against the rough exterior cabin wall. He wiped milk from his head and face. Had she…? She looked at her empty glass. Yup, she’d doused him with her glass of milk.

  “—shouldn’t be out here.” He wiped his hand on his shirt and tried to dry off the rest of the way.

  A giggle almost escaped her throat. “I’m sorry! You scared me.”

  “Good thing I’m not lactose intolerant.”

  She laughed, and a light and airy feeling filled her chest, the feeling that always seemed to hit when she was around Sky. “What
are you doing out here?”

  He smiled, but the expression was forced. She eased closer and noted a haunted look in his eyes.

  “Besides waiting for a milk shower?” he asked.

  “Yeah, besides that.” Her gaze flickered down to the bottle beside him. She caught a whiff of whiskey.

  “Just thinking. What are you doing out here? You shouldn’t come outside alone when—”

  “I couldn’t sleep. I thought some fresh air might help.” Okay, she was lying, but admitting that she’d been looking for him seemed too bold. She stared down at Sky, and he looked away.

  “Lucas said you had another emergency,” she prompted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did it involve me or the camera?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Was it something…bad?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice was bleak, so she hesitated. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “It’s just business.”

  She didn’t believe it. Searching for the right thing to say, she asked, “Do you mind company, or do you prefer to think alone?” When he failed to answer she announced, “I’ll just leave.” Saying nothing was answer enough.

  She walked back into the house, the light and airy feeling he’d evoked fading with each step. But when she reached the bedroom, she recalled the look in his eyes. Then she remembered trying to push him away in the hospital, and how he hadn’t let her.

  Shala swung around. She wasn’t going to let him push her away, either. He might not want to talk—men seldom did—but she bet she knew something that might help.

  Sky stared at the door through which Shala had just disappeared. God Almighty, she looked good in those pajamas he’d bought her. The image of that tight little body in that light blue tank top and those short blue shorts had his libido grabbing him by the neck and trying to force him to race after her. Instead, he closed his eyes, leaned his head back on the rough wooden wall of the house, and took another sip of the whiskey.

  He hadn’t had near enough yet. He wasn’t drunk. He still had too much crap running through his mind. Boozing wasn’t his habit, but tonight he needed a distraction. And if Shala Winters got too close, he’d be too damn tempted to let her become just that: a distraction, something to lose himself in, something to help him forget. She deserved better, so he’d best stick with the alcohol. Plus, he hadn’t gotten around to asking Lucas to leave.

  The front door swung back open and Shala walked out. She stopped directly in front of where he sat, placing one bare foot on each side of his outstretched legs. His gaze shot to her painted toenails and then to those perfectly shaped legs, then up to the sweet little spot where the hem of her shorts hung just loose enough to give him a peek at the tender skin of her thigh. Sky gulped, the whiskey still stinging his throat. He fought the need to lean forward and press his lips to that spot, fought the memory of how wet she’d been that morning.

  Like some kind of erotic dancer, she lowered herself. Sky adjusted his legs, and she sat on his lap, her knees bent by his sides, her thighs spread. His hands itched to move along those knees, up between those thighs, and inside those shorts. Her scent—feminine, clean, and slightly minty, like toothpaste—filled his nose.

  “Shala…”

  He wasn’t sure what he intended to say, but her weight shifted, pressing her closer to his cock, and suddenly logic didn’t exist. He dropped the whiskey bottle and his hands moved to her waist, drawing her closer, bringing her weight against his crotch. She came against him without any hesitation. She didn’t wait for him to kiss her, either. Instead, she pressed her mouth to his. Her tongue slipped between his lips and brushed his, ever so lightly. Her hands came to rest on his chest, spanning out, and one slipped up around his neck and into his hair.

  The kiss, wet and wanting, had things happening fast. She unbuttoned his shirt and slipped a soft palm inside. Her warm touch brushed his chest and sent pleasure whirling down his abs, tingling into his balls. His mind begged for her to slow down, but his body would have none of it. He was as hard as a rock.

  Thankfully, he recalled himself enough to know that he couldn’t take her on the front porch. Latching a hand under her bottom, he stood up. She weighed next to nothing in his arms, and her legs wrapped around his waist. She didn’t stop kissing him, and he didn’t want her to. Carrying her inside, he had enough brain cells left to remember to lock the door. Then he walked her right into the bedroom. He didn’t give a damn if Lucas was here. He didn’t give a damn that three minutes ago this hadn’t seemed like a good idea. He wanted Shala Winters. She wanted him, and he needed to lose himself in something sweet.

  He shut the bedroom door behind them. The bedside lamp was on, giving ample light to enjoy the view. Moving to the bed, he lowered Shala onto the mattress. He had to slip his hand back to get her to release her legs from around him, and with one knee on the mattress he half-stood, loosened two more buttons, and yanked his shirt over his head. He unsnapped his jeans and pushed them and his underwear down in one swift motion. His dick appreciated the freedom. Hard and ready, it sprang free and pointed toward the ceiling.

  Stepping out of his jeans, he stretched out beside Shala. She ran her hand over his face and then lower, to his chest. He took her hand and moved it. But the moment her soft fist wrapped around him, he realized his mistake: if she so much as stroked him, the night was over. He pulled her away from his crotch and got busy getting her naked.

  Her skimpy tank top slipped with ease over her head, her breasts jiggling ever so slightly as they were released from containment. Hooking his thumb into the waistband of her pajama shorts, he pulled them down her legs, loving the silky skin he brushed against. A moment later, his hand slid up from her knee to that hot little spot between her legs. Moisture met his fingers and he moaned. His body ached for release, to bury himself inside her, deep and then deeper, fast and then faster. So much better than whiskey.

  Remembering he needed a condom, he stood. There was one in his wallet. But before he reached for it, he looked back. The air locked in his lungs. He didn’t move. He couldn’t move. She mesmerized him. She lay stretched out on the bed, naked, his for the taking, and he couldn’t remember any woman ever being so beautiful.

  Her hair was a golden halo around her head. Her eyes stared up at him, her light blue gaze fraught with desire—the desire to please him. He somehow sensed she was offering herself as a gift. That she somehow knew he needed an escape. And just like that, the need to fulfill his lust took a backseat to the desire to fulfill hers.

  He lay back on the bed, brushing the back of his hand down her cheek, kissing her with the patience of a man who had all night. And he did. Five minutes. Ten…He wasn’t sure how long they kissed, but long enough that she shifted closer. He felt her melt into him with no reservation, no hesitation. He lowered his mouth and took her right nipple, suckled it ever so lightly. Only when he heard her breathing increase did he slip his hand back between her thighs.

  She moaned, and the sound sent pleasure cascading over him. He ached to hear more—more moans, more of those little noises that told him he was doing everything right. Slowly he traversed her body, kissing a path along her abs to her navel, easing down toward her moist center. The surrounding triangle of hair felt soft. He slid his finger inside, separating the soft nether lips of her sex, and he moved his finger back and forth, brushing across the little nub that he knew drove women wild.

  When he touched his lips to her, she shuddered. Positioned between her legs, he looked up and slowly brushed his palms up and down her outer thighs. “You okay with this?” She opened her eyes but didn’t answer, so he took a chance and lowered his mouth and passed his tongue over her again. Her hips rose to meet his mouth, giving him her answer.

  He listened to the sound of her breathing while he pleasured her, and he adjusted his pace to match the gentle shifting of her hips. When her orgasm neared, he knew because she started making those soft little sounds again, that mix bet
ween moans and sighs. Oddly enough, hearing them sent a swell of emotion to his gut, and he found himself smiling.

  When she came, her thighs tightened, she raised her feet, then pressed her heels into the mattress. Sky studied her, and all he could think about was making her come again. He rose above her, took her face in his hands, and said, “You’re beautiful.”

  She opened her eyes, and the sweetest smile twisted her lips. Right then and there, Sky felt something in the world shift. He didn’t know exactly what it was or what consequences it would bring, but he’d deal with them later.

  “I was supposed to be the one seducing you,” she said.

  He grinned. “Yeah, what happened to that?”

  She ran her hands over his back and down across his butt. He felt the bandage on her palm, and he reminded himself not to forget and grab her hands.

  But then somehow she’d maneuvered him so that she was resting slightly to the side. She inched her fingers down his chest to his rock-solid hard-on, and for some reason he felt even more in control than before. Her palm wrapped around him and she moved it up and down, her hand tightening and releasing with just the right pressure. He closed his eyes and concentrated on not exploding with pleasure.

  Finally, unable to take it anymore, he drew her hand away from him. “Condom,” he gasped.

  “I wasn’t finished,” she replied, her voice innocent and yet so damn sexy. “I had other plans.” She licked her lips, taunting him. It worked. His dick stood taller, and the thought of her sweet mouth on his cock had his balls tying themselves in knots. Then he recalled how wet and warm she was between her legs.

  “Rain check,” he growled. “I want to be inside you.” He rolled to the side and found his wallet and the condom he’d placed there for this very moment. Unwrapping the package, he covered himself. Then he grabbed the pillows and stuffed one behind each bedpost.