Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)

by Tessa Bailey

  So why did calling off the date with Jasper feel like sacrilege?

  You won’t want anything to do with me afterward. I’ll have served my purpose. She could still hear the conviction in his voice, the pain. And not deconstructing the recipe that was Jasper and finding the incorrectly added ingredient went against a grain she hadn’t been aware of. Although, unlike the act of putting together a recipe, Jasper didn’t make her feel anxious. Like she was on the cusp of failing. Just the opposite, actually. Around him, she couldn’t seem to escape the optimism. Which made Rita wonder if trying to downplay the good had always been her default.

  A car door slammed outside, followed by a squeal. Rita would have recognized that squeal as Peggy’s in a stadium full of squealers, so she rose and padded to the window to investigate. On the other side of the foggy glass, Peggy stood with her arms around a slight girl. Or woman? It was hard to tell because the hug recipient was so short. She only reached Peggy’s chin, but when the two broke apart and Rita got a good look at the new arrival’s face, her identity was somehow obvious.

  Sage Alexander.

  Of course. She’d been so bamboozled by a certain honky-tonk owner she’d forgotten the plan she’d hatched with Peggy last night to fly Sage to Hurley. After agreeing that Belmont’s behavior was growing increasingly worrisome, Peggy had called her best friend and wedding planner, explaining the situation without too many details. She knew what I was saying without my having to spell it out, Peggy had said after hanging up the phone. It was still a mystery at this point what kind of relationship Sage had with Belmont, but Peggy seemed confident that the wedding planner’s arrival would be good for him.

  Rita would have stayed inside the room watching the scene unfold through the glass if Peggy hadn’t spotted her, waving Rita outside. Damn. She shoved her feet into the black boots she’d discarded by the door and trudged outside, hands in pockets, hovering to the side while the two women recapped every minuscule task they’d performed since the last time they’d spoken. Although, to be fair, the yammering was more on Peggy’s end while Sage listened with an indulgent smile, her fondness for Peggy clear.

  “Anyway.” Peggy heaved a breath before reaching out and curling a hand around Rita’s bicep, pulling her forward. “I can’t believe you’ve never met my sister. Sage, this is Rita. Rita, Sage.”

  Sage extended a professional hand. “Nice to meet you, Rita. We didn’t quite reach the one rehearsal dinner I managed to get scheduled.”

  “Ah, yes. My first engagement.” Peggy tilted her head as if searching for flavors in a fine wine. “That was a close call.”

  Rita shook Sage’s hand. “Hi,” she said, pretending she didn’t feel the tremor in the other woman’s hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  “I wanted to come.” Sage picked up her suitcase and put it back down. Adjusted her round, clear-framed glasses. Her nerves were obvious, but she was clearly trying to put on a friendly face. Peggy launched into a description of Hurley’s charms, listing dinner and entertainment options like the concierge of a five-star hotel and giving Rita the chance to study Sage. She appeared to be in her midtwenties, although with the freckles dotting her nose and cheeks, she could have passed for a college freshman, if necessary. Her light blue paisley dress was conservative—and that was putting it mildly. The neckline covered everything below her collarbone, the hem extending well past her knees, like some kind of throwback to the fifties. When Rita heard the words wedding planner, her mind conjured up a woman with sharp cheekbones and high heels that could double as a weapon. Sage couldn’t be a stiletto assassin on her worst day, if Rita was judging her correctly.

  Peggy’s speech was cut off when one of the motel room doors opened behind Sage. Both sisters turned to find Belmont standing in the doorway of his room. Sage, however, didn’t look. She stayed perfectly still, smoothing those shaking hands down the front of her dress, eradicating nonexistent wrinkles. After that, Rita couldn’t stop gaping at her brother. Belmont was intense at his most relaxed, but she’d never seen him quite like this. Almost like he had the ability to freeze time and they were all caught up in the stillness until he decided activity could resume. Even Peggy, whose hands usually fluttered more than hummingbird wings, just watched, watched Belmont. As Belmont watched Sage.

  The sisters had debated telling Belmont about Sage’s impending arrival, but thank God they hadn’t. If Rita hadn’t seen his reaction, before that stoic mask moved back into place, she might never have known Belmont’s world was made up of Sage Alexander. It called time travel to mind. A man going back and meeting his wife all over again, while still retaining the memories of their original lifetime together.

  He emerged from the doorway after a good two minutes, creating a wide berth around the three women, eyes never leaving Sage. For the wedding planner’s part, she seemed to gain courage with each second that ticked past, her chin going up a notch here and there. But her fingers. They fussed over one of the pleats in her dress until Rita started to worry it might catch fire.

  Sage still hadn’t turned around when she broke the silence. “Hello, Belmont.”

  A gruff sound left him, his face turning away. “Thought you couldn’t make it.”

  Wind whistled past in the ensuing pause. “December isn’t very popular for weddings. I moved some things around.”

  “Why?”

  “Why is December not popular for weddings?” Rita saw Sage’s lips twitch after posing the question and thanked God the woman had a sense of humor. Didn’t they all need to have one around this family? Honestly, here they stood in a strange town, outside of a ninety-percent-vacant motel, watching their brother prowl around someone who hadn’t even bothered to look at him yet. And somehow it all seemed like par for the fucking course.

  “Why did you move things around?” Belmont clarified, a hint of impatience in his tone, which sent Sage’s fingers back into their attempt to start a blaze. Peggy started twirling her hair, too, which didn’t escape Belmont’s sharp attention, and it became obvious to Rita what her brother was trying to ascertain. If they’d asked Sage to come because of the way he’d been acting. Which they had, of course. But it had gone unspoken that he wouldn’t appreciate that information.

  Just as Rita was beginning to get desperate to fill the silence, Sage’s entire body lifted with a deep inhale and she turned around. Belmont went back a step. And time seemed to freeze again. What in the hell?

  “I needed a vacation,” Sage murmured, chin lifting, then dipping again. “Is that allowed?”

  With his eyes narrowed on the tiny wedding planner, the desert behind him and his jaw ticking, ticking, ticking, Rita thought her brother looked like an old Clint Eastwood movie poster. “You do something to your hair?” he asked Sage in a gravelly voice.

  “I got bangs.”

  “Bangs,” Belmont repeated, as if it were some awkward, foreign word. “I don’t think I like them.”

  Peggy gasped. “Bel—”

  “Any longer and they’re going to hide your eyes,” he pressed on, ignoring his sister. Ignoring everything—but Sage. “Could be any day now. Could be any day that they’re hidden from me.”

  Sage shook her head. “No, I won’t let them be.”

  Belmont was doing his best to stare Sage into the pavement, but he seemed to realize it and glanced back toward the parking lot. “Have you checked in yet?”

  “No.”

  Without looking, he gestured toward the building. “This side is better lit than the other.”

  “Okay.”

  “Tell them to put you on this side.”

  After delivering the order and waiting to make sure Sage acknowledged it, Belmont seemed at a loss. He started to back toward the motel-room door he’d left open, but reversed his direction suddenly without telegraphing his intention. He circled Sage slowly, scrutinizing her hair, her neck, her clothing. And she let him, somehow maintaining her poise. Until he brushed their shoulders together and her eyes closed. Just for a second,
before popping back open, wider than before.

  None of them said anything until Belmont was back in his motel room with the door closed. At which point Peggy clapped her hands together, breaking the slow-motion spell. “So”—she interlocked her arm with Sage’s—“was there a movie on the flight?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thirty-three years old and this is my first date.

  That kind of made him a virgin in a way, didn’t it?

  Even Jasper had to laugh at that comparison. He pulled his truck into one of the numerous empty spaces at the Hurley Arms and ran a hand through his hair, not surprised to find himself feeling edgy. He’d be spending the next while in the company of an intelligent woman. An interesting woman. And he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d jumped the small-talk hurdle with a member of the opposite sex. Twenty minutes from now, he could very well be asking Rita her favorite color, but he hoped like hell it didn’t come to that.

  On the way to pick up Rita, he’d stopped into the Liquor Hole to ask Nate what women like to talk about. After the bartender had finished laughing over Jasper asking him for advice on women, he’d mustered up a one-word answer: themselves. If that were true, Rita talking about herself suited Jasper right down to the ground. He just didn’t find it realistic. In fact, he reckoned she’d probably turn his questions right back around on him, the stubborn woman. The stubborn—gorgeous woman.

  His small talk might have been so underwhelming in the past that it had been the deciding factor in deeming Jasper good for one thing and one thing only. Rolling in the hay without delay. Hell, for all he knew, Rita felt that way, too. Although she didn’t strike him as the type to suffer a man she didn’t like, even if he was a good lay. He’d have to trust that gut instinct.

  Okay, the longer he sat in the truck, staring at Rita’s motel-room door in the rearview mirror, the more shitty scenarios his brain would conjure up. Time to move.

  Jasper climbed out of the truck and traversed the parking lot, running a hand around the waistband of his jeans as he went, making sure everything was tucked in. Not for the first time since leaving his house, Jasper commended himself for rubbing one out in the shower. Because, Lord. He didn’t even have Rita in his sights yet and the blood in his veins pumped faster. That full, deep beat played in his ears, muffling the traffic that passed behind him on the road.

  “Man alive, you’ve got it bad,” he muttered under his breath.

  That sentiment became the understatement of the year when Rita answered his single knock. Yeah, he had it worse than bad. He was fucked up beyond all recognition. The first thing that hit him was the hanging scent of a shower. Not just any shower, though. A woman’s shower. The scents of peaches, pears, and oatmeal soap floated out through the doorway and hooked him like a trout.

  But that was before Jasper let his gaze drop from her parted—excited?—lips, to everything beneath. “You smell that good under those clothes?”

  “What?”

  Rita breathed the word, doing this little writhe move just inside the door. The tight, red denim skirt she wore shifted along with her hips, dipping low enough that Jasper could make out the indentation of her belly button beneath the black tank top. “Please tell me you’re not alone in there. Tell me there’s a brother or sister watching reruns of Cheers somewhere.”

  She shook her head and the streetlight illuminated whatever she’d used to gloss up her mouth. Definitely not ChapStick this time around. “No, my sister is helping her friend get settled.”

  Jasper braced a hand on the frame and leaned close to Rita, looking down at her body through the narrow separation between them. “Stop rubbing your thighs together,” he growled.

  Those pointed tits started to heave up and down in a hypnotic movement, a mere centimeter from his chest. “I’m not. I’m just not used to wearing skirts.”

  “I’m not used to you wearing skirts, either.”

  “You’re not used to me wearing anything.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “You know what I mean by—”

  “I know I’m thinking about you naked now.” Jasper backed Rita into the room, grimacing inwardly over the war raging between the ticker in his chest and the swelling below his belt. Had someone pressed his default setting button on the way across the parking lot? Or was he just so fucking into this woman he couldn’t see straight? He didn’t know. Didn’t know. So he needed to slow the hell down. But it was difficult as all get out when she was wobbling her way back toward the bed like she wanted to be fucked on it as soon as possible.

  She was horny. That was the main problem here. Although, if Jasper used that defense in a court of law, a jury would send him up the river for sure. Because a truly turned-on woman was one of life’s treasures. Now, a turned-on Rita? She was the ninth wonder of the world. Her gravitational pull dragged him forward until the backs of her legs were against the mattress, until his hands were slipping up the outsides of her lithe thighs. So, yes, this was a problem. Because it went against Jasper’s nature to allow Rita to remain in such a state. Leaving her in the parking lot after their dry humping session had damn near killed him, but they wouldn’t make it through the evening if she kept looking at him like that.

  “I was going to put you in my truck, start the engine, and go.” Jasper ducked his head to sip at the hollow of her neck. “You weren’t supposed to answer the door asking for it, beautiful. I can’t fuck you before the date even starts.”

  Her hands lifted, rummaging through his hair, holding him in place as he licked a path from throat to ear. “I would respect that, too, if I thought your reason made sense,” she all but gasped.

  “It does make sense. You’ll see.” Frustration lanced his gut. Every instinct screamed to give Rita what she needed—what he needed—but his chest felt hollow when he envisioned what would come after. What always came after. “Where is your suitcase?”

  Rita’s head lifted. “Huh?”

  Giving her neck one final, open-mouthed kiss, Jasper stooped down and tugged a duffel bag from beneath the bed. Somehow he’d guessed the location of her luggage correctly, but where would she keep her—

  “Are you looking for my—”

  “Yeah.” His hand closed around something smaller than he’d expected, but the shape left no question about its identity. “Found it, too.”

  When Jasper straightened, Rita sputtered, staring down at the object cradled in his palm. “You can’t just…present my vibrator.”

  Jasper tested the weight of it. “Is this even considered a vibrator? In my experience, they’re shaped like a cock.”

  “It’s a…a butterfly…massager.”

  During Rita’s explanation, he watched in amazement as a flush spread across her cheeks. “Oh, beautiful. You answer your empty-motel-room door in a tiny little skirt and now you’re blushing at me? If I wasn’t already planning on masturbating you, that blush would have sealed your fate.”

  She split a cautious, but curious, look between him and the vibrator. “Why?”

  Jasper moved until their bodies were flush, yanking Rita up against him so he could suck her lower lip into his mouth. But just as she opened up for his tongue, Jasper nudged her backwards, forcing her down onto the bed. She went up on her elbows, surprise evident in her pretty features. Really? Surprise? It was almost like she’d never had a man desperate for—

  And shit. Turns out, Jasper didn’t enjoy thinking of Rita with anyone else. In fact, he liked the idea so goddamn little that he flipped Rita onto her stomach with more aggression than he’d intended. An apology might have been forthcoming—might have been—if she hadn’t moaned into the comforter. If that red skirt hadn’t slipped so high during the flip he could see her black, shoestring thong.

  “Fuck, you hot, little piece.” Jasper’s vision doubled before meshing back together. He slipped his finger beneath the string, running it up and down, through the wetness of her pussy. Then he pulled the thong back a couple inches and snapped it against her warm flesh, savoring her mu
ffled scream, before lunging on top of her body, pressing her down, down into the mattress. Because of their difference in size, he was careful not to lean his full weight on her smaller frame, just enough so she wouldn’t be able to escape the pleasure he intended to inflict.

  “What are you—oh!”

  Jasper’s teeth closing around the lobe of Rita’s ear cut off her question, set her hips to jerking underneath him. “You buck that ass up into my lap again, I’ll think that means you want me off. And I don’t think you do.” Without looking, Jasper slid the switch along the vibrator’s side, getting a feel for the way it shuddered in his palm, groaning as he imagined Rita using it on herself. Not tonight, though. It was his orgasm to give.

  Jasper pushed her legs wide with his knees, feeling her ass cheeks spread against his lap, picturing the way that black string stretched, hiding nothing. Christ. His mouth found its way into Rita’s hair, her name freeing itself on a groan. He eased up the downward pressure of his body long enough to slide the vibrator beneath her hips, pushing lower until it met the juncture of her thighs. Right over her clit. And then Jasper dropped the weight of his hips down, pinning Rita between him and the massager. Pressing, pressing.

  “Oh my God,” she screamed, clawing at the comforter. “I can’t…you can’t. It’s too much. I don’t usually…”

  “What?” It actually hurt to speak because he was exerting so much will to keep his hips still, keep himself from thrusting into the valley of her ass. Fuck, he could feel every inch of her through his jeans. The image of that little black shoestring wedged in between two tight cheeks blazed in his mind. “You don’t usually what?”