“I had a wonderful time.” Her shoulder fit perfectly into his underarm as they headed up the walk.
“Tick and all?”
A little whispery laugh between them. “Tick and all.”
On the porch, she rubbed her thumb over the strings of his guitar leaning against the wall by the door. The notes drifted into the quiet. “Play for me.”
He’d give her anything, even if that meant playing a little at two thirty in the morning when he had to get up at four thirty. Lifting the instrument, he nudged the door open. “Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”
“No.” She picked up the quilt folded over the back of the porch swing. “Out here, where it’s quiet and dark.”
He settled next to her, guitar balanced on his knee, and she wrapped the faded quilt about her shoulders. “What do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you want to play.”
With her knee against his thigh, aware of her gaze on his face, he picked out an old love ballad he’d picked up while bumming around Mexico. He crooned the Spanish lyrics in a near-whisper, using the ball of his foot to set the swing on a soft arc.
Tentative fingers sifted through his hair, stroked over his nape, drifted across his shoulder and down his arm, leaving a fiery sizzle behind. He allowed his lids to slide down, drowning in music and caresses and Madeline. Going under and not worrying if he ever came up.
He played through the song twice, soaking in the soft feel of her touching him.
When the last notes faded into the silence, the strings stilling beneath his fingertips, she moved, taking the instrument from him with careful hands and laying it aside, climbing over him to straddle his thighs. She framed his face with her hands and stared at him a long moment before dipping her mouth to take his in a kiss both sweet and fierce.
He splayed his hands on her spine, allowing the exchange to go on and on, building a flame inside him, between them, until he couldn’t breathe, until he was drowning in her all over again.
Finally, he lifted her and carried her through to the bed, laying her down and stripping away clothes and barriers in a long, silent loving that left him shaking in her arms. He drew her close and brushed the tousled hair from her face. His fingertips came away damp and he kissed her cheek, smoothing the tears from her skin with his lips. After, he left her only long enough to discard the condom, and then, with her cradled in his arms, he settled them both against the pillows and pulled up the duvet to cover their naked bodies.
Without releasing her, he let sleep claim him, surrendering to the knowledge of how much he already needed her.
Tick killed the engine and rolled his stiff shoulders. It had been a long day and he was tired, but he felt good, relaxed in a way he hadn’t been in months. Damn, he’d laughed so much tonight the muscles in his stomach protested. He rested a wrist on the wheel and gazed at the house, bright light spilling from the keeping room windows onto the back porch in golden pools.
“What are you thinking about over there?” Caitlin brushed the back of her hand down his neck, indulgent affection in her voice.
“How good things are.” He caught her hand and hauled her toward him. “How absolutely blessed I am.”
She hooked her fingers around his nape and drew his mouth down to hers. Arms around him, she pressed nearer and the absolute rightness of this engulfed him all over again. Like it had done all day, his mind kept winding around Madeline’s revelations, how different his life would have been if Allison’s machinations had succeeded so long ago.
If she’d gotten pregnant, he’d have married her.
And because he was his father’s son, raised with old-fashioned values about marriage and commitment, about better or worse, until death-do-you-part, he’d probably still be married to her.
If he’d married her at nineteen, most likely there’d have been no Quantico, no FBI.
No Caitlin. No Lee.
The picture of what his life would have been, based on what he’d gleaned from Madeline’s comments, wasn’t a pretty one. It was enough to scare the devil out of a guy, like that James Joyce piece he’d read in freshman English at UGA, the one with the gleeful description of the horrors of hell.
“Tick.” Caitlin shifted against him, palms pressed to his chest, over his thundering heart. “Too tight.”
“Sorry.” He grimaced and loosened his hold.
“Don’t be.” She murmured the words against his jaw and shifted to straddle his lap, her sexy laugh burbling between them as the steering column got in the way. “I love the way you want me.”
“You mean relentlessly? All the time?” He reached for the tilt control and moved the wheel up, allowing her to settle firmly over his groin. He swallowed a groan at the tight fit, blood rushing south of his belt, stirring, filling. “So bad my teeth hurt?”
“All of the above.” She rocked into him, her voice going soft and breathless. She yanked his shirt free of his waistband, worked at buttons until she parted the fabric and ran hot palms over his chest. “Because I want you the same way.”
He gripped her hips, slid his hands down to cup her ass, slipped his fingers between her thighs. Even through denim, he could feel heat and excitement pulsing. “Let’s take this inside, precious.”
“Oh, come on, Lamar Eugene.” On a breathy exhale, she pressed her legs together, trapping his hands. She nipped his earlobe, ran the tip of her tongue around the swirl of his ear, and he bucked under her at the harsh thrust of pleasure. Holy hell, she knew every button he had and tonight desperation tinged the wanting, lent it an edge of urgency. “Supposedly my sexual education has been severely limited since I’ve never done it in a truck. Don’t you want to be my first?”
“The first?” He eased his hands to her hips, ground her down onto him. “I better be the only.”
“No one else.” She stopped teasing his ear long enough to slide out of her halter-top and toss it aside. The filmy bra she’d worn underneath followed. “Only you. Always you.”
He cradled a breast in each hand, the flesh full and hot, warmer against his palms, and he feathered his fingers over her, aware that with Lee at his mother’s, she’d be sensitive, almost sore, until she had a chance to express. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to the upper slope of one breast, smiling at her moan of aroused approval before licking the edge of her aureole, avoiding what would be a too-vulnerable nipple.
Knees digging into his thighs, she arched on another moan and dug her fingers into his hair, pulling. He repeated the caress again and again, on each breast, her responsiveness sending another rush of heat to his groin, until he was so hard it hurt.
“If I’d been your first, you wouldn’t have cried,” he muttered against her ribcage. “I’d have made it so good for you, Cait.”
“You make everything good.” She lowered on him, belly sliding on his, her intimate heat resting tight against him. She kissed him, whispering into his mouth. “Everything, every day. I love you, so much I can’t stand it sometimes.”
He took her mouth, desperate need and emotion making him rough, and she wriggled against him, reaching behind her, until he released her lips, his chest heaving. “What are you doing?”
“Getting rid of my boots.” A thud on the floorboard, followed by another seconds later. Her fingers moved to her belt and he watched, sprawled in the seat, while she shimmied out of faded denim and a wisp of satin and lace. A wave of desire took his breath.
“You are the most beautiful thing.” He ran his hands up bare thighs and over the indention of her waist to caress her breasts once more. She bowed into him, settling knees on his thighs, hitting the horn as she did so, and he laughed, sprinkling more kisses over her sternum. “Sexy as hell. And mine.”
“So take me then,” she breathed into his hair. Her hands went for his belt. “Prove it again.”
He let one hand flow down her body, dipping between her legs, sliding across damp folds and plunging a pair of fingers inside her while he swept his thumb over her clit, abrad
ing the little bundle of nerves. She cried out, and he grinned against skin dewed with a light sweat. They were fogging the freakin’ windows, generating enough heat to keep them warm despite the chill beyond the cab.
“Oh, God.” One hand braced on the roof, the other on his shoulder, she rotated into his hand, getting him out of his jeans obviously forgotten. He stroked her again. If the rhythm of her breathing and the soft sounds she made deep in her throat were anything to go by, much more and he’d bring her to climax, but he wanted that with him buried deep inside her, wanted her coming all over him.
She’d released his belt and the button at his fly. With his other hand, he managed to get his zipper down, keeping up the pace of pleasuring her while lifting his hips to shove, wriggle and tug his jeans far enough down to release his eager erection.
When he removed his caressing fingers, she mewed a protest, but he grasped her hips, rougher than he meant to, hard enough he’d probably leave little fingertip bruises, and pulled her down over him. He thrust up into her, the wet pleasure of her punching him in the gut, just like always. She rewarded him with another small cry, her head tilting back, hair spilling over her shoulders.
Moving on him, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Tomorrow, he’d have small barely-there bruises as well. Marked as hers. He tilted his head forward enough to take her mouth, a series of nipping little kisses.
“Mine,” he muttered against the corner of her lips.
“Yes.” She lifted thick lashes, and he glimpsed the possessive fire he’d seen earlier, when she’d caught him coming off that stage and laid a kiss on him that had had him hard in seconds. “Always.”
He tightened his grip on her hips, pushing up harder, needing her to shatter soon, because it was too much, the wet slide of her body on his, the mingled scents of their arousal, her mouth against his, tongue flicking between his teeth, and he was not going to be able to hold out much longer…
On a gasp, she tore her mouth from his, folding both arms along the back of his head. “My God, Tick, please.”
“Come for me, precious.” He rubbed his tongue along the edge of her puckered aureole again. “Let me watch you.”
He pulled her tighter into him, and the first squeezing of her orgasm began around him, shivering over every inch of him. In response, his climax barreled through him, stopping his lungs. He held on to her, the ragged puff of her breathing along his shoulder matching his own. She trembled in his arms, and running his hands up her back, he smoothed tangled hair from her face, peppering light kisses over her cheek, jaw and brow.
“Love you,” he murmured. “So damn much, Cait.”
“I know.” She stroked a palm over the back of his head, resting her cheek against his neck. “You too.”
He shuddered under the aftershock of pleasure. “Damn, if it gets any better, I won’t survive.”
She laughed, quiet and husky. Pulling back, she held his gaze, her eyes glittering with love and satisfaction. She touched a finger to his mouth. “You’re right. Things are very good.”
Wrapping her close, he shifted sideways, stretching them out best he could on the bench seat. His knee hit the steering column. He rubbed his cheek on her hair. “Even when my son is screaming his lungs out for no good reason?”
“Even then.” With a humming sigh, she swept a caress over his side. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything and you know it. He’s perfect.” She was quiet a moment before her hushed laugh shimmered through his body. “The best thing since sliced bread.”
He grunted his agreement and lapsed into silence, enjoying these few moments of freedom to hold and touch her, letting his fingers roam over her back and hip while his thoughts swirled all over again.
She tiptoed a fingertip along each of his ribs. “You feel pensive.”
“Pensive.” He drew her closer, tucking the open flap of his shirt around her. “There’s a word you don’t hear every day.”
“Tick. You’re brooding about something.” She levered up on an elbow, the narrow truck seat not offering a large range of motion. With her this near, he was glad of the lack of light. That insightful gaze of hers saw too much. “What’s wrong?”
“Just stupid bullshit.” A harsh laugh swelled from his throat. She waited, silence stretching between them. He twirled a swath of her hair around his forefinger. “You ever think about what your life would have been like if you’d married that guy you were engaged to in college?”
“Um, no.” She traced his jaw. “I don’t. We were so wrong for each other on so many levels and it wasn’t meant to be. You’re thinking about what could have been with Allison Barnett, aren’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Tick, don’t. Please.”
“It’s hard not to, Cait.” He tangled their legs together, his foot banging against the door. He couldn’t get her near enough to him tonight. “I mean, damn. Do you know how easily that whole situation could have gone a different way?”
“But it didn’t. Because it wasn’t meant to be.” She caught his chin in a firm grip. “This…us. We were meant to be. Now stop making yourself crazy. I told you—I’m not sharing you with another woman, and this counts as having to share.”
“I’m trying, all right?” He threaded his fingers through the thick fall of her hair. “I can’t imagine missing out on loving you.”
“Oh. My. God.” With an irritated huff, she flopped to her back and almost toppled off the seat. He grabbed her waist and held on. “Let’s see, if I’d married Dennis, I could have been a society wife, you know, a political asset, with a couple of overachieving kids, a Mercedes and a social calendar. Yes, that would have made me dazzlingly happy.”
Reverse psychology. Why wasn’t he surprised? “Cait.”
“Better yet, here’s a scenario for you. What if I’d ended up with the Navy SEAL I spent a couple of weekends—”
“Caitlin.” He sighed. “I get the point. I’ll let it go.”
“Good.” She rolled into him and looped her arms about his neck. “Because she’s going to be trouble, and I need you at the top of your game.”
He propped up on his elbow. “Trouble?”
“Mmm.” She traced his collarbone. “I saw the way she looks at you tonight, and I don’t like it. She’s already called you away from home with that bogus ‘I need to get some things from the house’ bit, publicly bought you lunch in a gossip-bed… That’s trouble brewing, sweet thing.”
“Maybe.” He nipped at her lower lip. “But you said it, precious. Hard to mess with something that’s meant to be.”
Chapter Fifteen
He snored.
Sprawled on her stomach, Madeline surfaced to a soft rumble next to her ear. She rubbed her gritty eyes and rolled to her back. Bright sunlight flowed in the windows, hinting at midmorning. Ash stretched out beside her, asleep, fully dressed.
Right down to his boots.
She smiled, resisting the impulse to trace those strong features. He looked relaxed, peaceful, but more than likely he’d been up since before daylight and had already put in a solid day’s work.
Somehow this was enough, lying in bed with him on a lazy weekend morning, intimate areas of her body still feeling the imprint of his strength. Shit, she wasn’t supposed to feel like this, wasn’t supposed to be so damn happy just from…
His eyes snapped open, no vestiges of slumber clouding the clear green. “Hey, babe.”
“You scare the hell out of me.” She clapped a hand over her mouth. Where the fuck had that come from? She swallowed a groan. God, when would she learn to think before she spoke?
“It’s mutual.” He slid a finger down her cheek. “But I like it.”
She shifted up against the pillow, pushing her disheveled hair out of her eyes. “What have you been doing?”
“Working. I’ve checked the houses, stacked feed, refilled the bins.” He muffled a yawn with a fist. “Now I’m waiting for Tick to get his sorry ass over here
so we can patch a roof.”
She prodded his side, testing for ticklishness. No reaction. “You fell asleep with your boots on.”
“I was wasted.” One corner of his mouth hitched in a grin. “Too much lovemaking, not enough sleep. Feel a hell of a lot better now that I’ve had a nap.”
On a nod, she let silence fall between them. He stroked that single fingertip over her shoulder and down her arm. “Tell me about Florida…about why you’re here, I mean.”
Her gaze flew to his. She swallowed. Tell him that, of all things? She shook her head, a slow negation of the very idea. “Ash, please, I can’t.”
“All right.” His thumb joined the soft brush of his finger against her skin, became a firmer caress. “I didn’t mean to push, Mad.”
“I know. It’s okay. I just…” She moistened her lips, the image of Jack sprinting up those stairs flickering in her head. “I can’t do it yet.”
“I get that.” He shifted, levering up on an elbow. “There are things from my army days I still don’t talk about.”
She closed her eyes, the silence settling between them once more. Most of the tension slipped out of her under the steady warmth of his hand on her skin.
Empty hours stretched before her. He had plans and it was her day off. She’d always worked extra shifts in Jacksonville, burying herself in the job. There wasn’t much to do here, except wait on a dental-records match that could take forever. She didn’t have a real caseload, nothing to dig into and lose herself.
Limited choices hung over her. Time with her mama, which always made her crazy. Time with Autry, which could be even worse, since she’d spend the minutes comparing herself to her little sister’s perfection. Time driving over to Valdosta to visit her baby brother in prison, and no way in hell was she ready for that.
Her life was shit, and it was her own damn fault, for putting everything into being a detective and precious little else into making a real life.
Uncovered: A Hearts of the South story Page 20