Wild, Crazy Hearts

by Melissa Foster

  They danced to a few country songs, laughing and having a great time. Brindle felt the heat of Trace watching her from beside the booth. His mouth was moving like he was talking, but his dark eyes were trained on her every move. Oh, how she loved that! She danced sexier, shimmying up and down Trixie’s and Lindsay’s bodies, her arms over her head, swinging her hips seductively, giving him a real show. His appreciative look made her want to dance even sexier. This was just what she’d needed, to be out and about and not stewing over what jealous coworkers or immature high schoolers thought of her.

  She watched Trace cutting through the crowd, eyes on her.

  “Sorry, ladies,” he said as he draped an arm possessively around her shoulder. “I’ve waited long enough to dance with my girl.”

  He took her hand and spun her into his arms. “Ready to show them how it’s done, darlin’?”

  “You know it.”

  They’d been dancing together for so many years, they fell right into sync to their own version of the triple-step country swing. People gave them a wide berth, and they took full advantage. They dipped and twirled, laughing as they changed up their steps to match the songs. Sable was watching them like a hawk from the stage, but Brindle was having too much fun to care. Shane and Sin came over and danced with Lindsay and Trixie.

  When the band played a line dancing song, Brindle glared at Sable. Sable knew how much she loved dancing with Trace. Sable smirked, obviously pleased with herself.

  Damn her.

  When that song ended, Trace took Brindle’s hand and pulled her in close. “You’ve still got it, Mustang.”

  “Thanks! It feels so good to be out with you. Thank you for pushing me to come.”

  He winked, and then he leaned in close and spoke in a low, gravelly voice. “You know how much I love making you come.” Every word was laced with innuendo, accentuated by a pulse of his hips.

  “Let’s go,” Trixie said, waving them toward the booth.

  “Whew, you keep that up and I’ll need to bathe in the ice water you got me,” Brindle said, fanning her face as they followed the others off the dance floor. She took a gulp of water as Trixie and Lindsay climbed into the booth.

  “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Brindle, I’d give anything to be able to dance like you,” Lindsay said. “I bet when your belly’s big and round you’ll still be rockin’ it on the dance floor.”

  “I don’t think so,” Brindle said, glancing at Trace, who was standing beside her with one hand on her lower back.

  “How far along are you?” Lindsay asked.

  “Just far enough to have to pee all the time. I’ll be right back.” She turned toward the ladies’ room, and Trace grabbed her by the waist, walking beside her. “I’m okay,” she reassured him. “I can go on my own. I don’t feel funny anymore.”

  “If you think I’ll let the most beautiful woman in here walk around like she’s available, you’re wrong.”

  “Oh please,” she said softly. “It’s not like guys are clamoring to hook up with the pregnant girl.”

  She was relieved to see a few friendly faces on the way to the ladies’ room. Maybe Trace was right. She’d never been afraid of gossip or shied away from the people who spread it. Why should she now?

  “I made a mistake letting you go to Paris on your own,” he said too casually for such a serious statement. “I’m not making another one.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, though she had no clue what she was going to say, and a group of girls burst out of the ladies’ room in fits of giggles. She took advantage of the distraction and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  She ducked into the ladies’ room, exhaling loudly as the door closed behind her. She used the facilities and washed her hands, mulling over what he’d said.

  The door opened and Heather Ray walked in. They both stood stock-still, staring at each other.

  Brindle forced herself to feign a smile and said, “Hi,” as she waved her hands under the dryer.

  “Brindle, hi.” Heather shifted from one foot to the other. She looked cute in skinny jeans and a purple sweater. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I didn’t, either. Trace dragged me out.” She focused on the hand dryer to keep from looking at Heather.

  “Listen, I just want you to know…I’m sure you’ve heard that Trace and I left the barn bash together.”

  So much for avoidance. “Mm-hm.”

  “Well, nothing happened. We just talked about you all night. He was really hurting, and, well, you’re one of the only people around here who doesn’t talk smack about me, so I thought you should know.”

  Brindle had believed Trace, but hearing it from Heather made her feel ridiculously emotional. “Thank you,” she said. “Trace told me you didn’t fool around, but I didn’t know he talked about me. I’m sorry. That must have been uncomfortable for you.”

  Heather shook her head, her brow wrinkled. “Not really. I’ve been his sounding board since you went away. And lots of times before that. Just so you know, we’ve never hooked up or anything. We kissed once when you guys were broken up a long time ago, but he hated himself for it.”

  Brindle’s heart squeezed. “So you never…?”

  “No. Never. But you know how people talk. I don’t know what’s happening with the father of your baby, but I know Trace is a good man, and he loves you.”

  Brindle’s eyes teared up as emotions slammed into her. She knew Trace loved her on some level, and even if it wasn’t in the way she needed, to know he’d conveyed it to Heather, purposefully or not, was overwhelming. She looked up at the ceiling, fanning her eyes dry. “Hormones. Sorry!”

  Heather headed for a stall as she called, “Good luck with the baby.”

  Brindle took a moment to pull herself together before she left the bathroom. Trace was waiting by the door, and she threw her arms around his neck, went up on her toes, and kissed him on the lips. “Thank you.”

  “For waiting outside the bathroom?” he asked with a lift of his brows.

  “No. For being you.”

  “How about I be me on the dance floor? They’re playing our song. Let’s go.” He pulled her toward the dance floor and led her to the front of the crowd.

  “Our song?” she asked.

  He cocked his head, indicating for her to listen. She recognized “Fucking Perfect” by Pink, and her stomach flip-flopped.

  “Our song, darlin’.”

  He was an amazing dirty dancer. He kept her close as he wedged his thigh between her legs, and their bodies swayed and connected like mating snakes. Her gaze swept over the stage, and she caught Sable glaring down at them again as she played. Trace’s hands moved down her hips to her ass, bringing her attention back to him, where it belonged.

  He mouthed the lyrics, singing about her being fucking perfect, and she felt herself getting lost in him. She’d been so nervous earlier, but as always, Trace had obliterated everything in his wake. Their bodies bumped and brushed as the music moved through her, eating up any remaining worries like an unstoppable lover. When Trace dipped his head, singing the chorus directly into her ear, all of the emotions she’d been holding back came rushing forward. His broad body moved with her, against her. He felt so good, so right, months of longing surged to the surface. She ached for his touch, and she gave herself over to the beat, bumping and grinding, holding nothing back.

  When the song ended, Trace kept her close, eyeing Sable with a victorious look.

  My two bodyguards. She loved them both so much. When Sable began rocking out to Halestorm’s “Love Bites,” leaving the rest of her bandmates to try to catch up, Brindle had to chuckle. But Trace didn’t miss a step. He kept her close, slow dancing to the chaotic beat as people jumped and danced wildly around them.

  Trace clutched her butt, pressing his hard heat against her as they moved in perfect harmony. His hips thrust, his hands wandered, and she didn’t care who saw or who might gossip, because she was right where she want
ed to be, and nothing could pry her away. Not the next angry song Sable played or the one after that. She was vaguely aware of her friends greeting her as they came and went from the dance floor, but their words didn’t register. At some point she became aware of the song “Bad Things” playing and Trace singing the lyrics in her ear again as they dirty danced, lost in their own private bubble of eroticism. When he pressed his lips beside her ear and his tongue slicked over her skin, her nipples rose to hard, tingling points. He continued kissing, trailing his warm lips over her cheek, down her neck, and when he brushed them over her lips, his penetrating gaze consumed her.

  She knew he was seeking her approval, and she pushed her hands into his back pockets, squeezing his ass the way she had so often. A sinful smile appeared, and he slanted his lips hungrily over hers. Their tongues tangled, and their bodies writhed. She was finally in Trace’s arms after months of missing him. The last of her inhibitions flitted away, and as she lifted her wings to fly, she remembered…

  She wasn’t the only one who would fight the gossip caused by her actions.

  She had to think of her baby.

  She drew back, breathless and dizzy, forcing the words to come. “Trace, we’re just adding fuel to the fire.”

  “When have we ever lived our lives on other people’s terms?”

  And there it was, their shared love of rebellion, their determination to never allow anyone else the upper hand, the reason they’d always been perfect for each other.

  BRINDLE PRESSED HER fingers deeper into his back pockets, the green light she’d been giving him for so many years. He’d missed it when she was a million miles away. The lust in her eyes belied her hesitant plea, but as he lowered his mouth to hers, he couldn’t rid himself of the things she’d said earlier. I don’t want my baby to grow up shrouded in gossip.

  He forced himself to pull back and said, “You want to get out of here?”

  She nodded vehemently.

  He took her hand, and then he tucked her beneath his arm, needing her closer. He led her through the crowd and away from prying eyes. When they reached his brother’s office, he walked over to the desk to retrieve her coat and heard the lock click behind him. He turned and found Brindle beckoning him with her finger, hunger brimming in her eyes as she did the nose-wrinkle shoulder-shrug thing that lit him up inside. His control snapped, and he hauled her against him, capturing her mouth with savage intensity as they clung to each other, struggling to kick off their boots and fumbling with the button on each other’s pants.

  There was something around her button. He tore his mouth away long enough to pant out, “What the…?”

  “Rubber band. Needed space.” She pulled his mouth back to hers with one hand as she fiddled with her button with the other.

  They feasted on each other as they shed their jeans. Three and a half months felt like forever, and as they kissed and groped, bit and nipped, he wanted to strip her naked, to feast on her sex and tease her nipples until she begged for more, but he needed to be inside her more than he needed his next breath.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he said as he lifted her onto the desk and wedged himself between her legs.

  “Show me,” she challenged.

  He reached behind her, pulling her forward as he buried his cock to the root in one hard thrust. He stilled at the feel of her tight heat surrounding him. “Fuck, Mustang. It’s been too long.”

  She moaned loudly, and the sound soared through him, feeding his carnal desires. Their mouths crashed together, and he drove into her. The pulsing beat of the band hammered through the walls, her fingernails cut into the back of his neck and arm as she went wild, rocking and grinding with all her might. There had never been any pretense of holding back with Brindle. They let all their sexy flags fly—using silk ties, secretly having sex in public places, no holds—or holes—barred. But he’d never wanted to do any of it with anyone else. Not when he was pissed off or when she’d left him behind to traipse around Paris, but sometimes a woman needed to get a little jealous to realize what she had. And he’d found ways to do that without having to put his hands on anyone else.

  Somewhere in the back of his mind he worried about hurting her or her baby, but she was making sinful sounds, clinging to him like she needed him to survive, and he was torn between ecstasy and responsibility. He tried to push thoughts of her baby away, but it was impossible, and he eased his efforts for fear of hurting her. It wasn’t lost on him that he was worried about Brindle and her baby, and not the fact that it was some other dude’s baby.

  “Harder,” she pleaded.

  He recaptured her mouth, kissing her deeper, trying to drown that thread of worry. But it gnawed at his gut like a disease.

  She tore her mouth away and said, “Why are you slowing down?”

  “The baby—”

  “It’s fine!” she panted out. “The doctor said it’s fine! Don’t hold back, Trace. I’ve waited so long for you—”

  For me…

  Those words brought out the animal in him, and he lifted her into his arms, kissing her as he pushed in deeper. He clutched her ass, unable to get enough of her. He needed her naked, needed hours to devour every inch of her, to reclaim her as his. He carried her forward, using the wall for leverage as months of passion roared out. He sealed his mouth over her neck, her sex clenching tighter with every suck. She whimpered and moaned, and her legs flexed around him. He gripped her hips, helping her move faster the way she needed. Her head fell back, and her eyes slammed shut as his name flew from her lips, loud and greedy, and he followed her into oblivion.

  They clung to each other as aftershocks rumbled through them.

  Brindle went limp in his arms, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing hard. When he stepped back from the wall to put her down, she held on tighter and said, “Can you just hold me for a minute?”

  “Of course. I’ve got you, darlin’.” He kissed her shoulder. “I’ve always got you.”

  He closed his eyes, soaking in their closeness, knowing that in about a minute everything would get awkward, because as hard as he fought to forget, Brindle was carrying someone else’s baby.

  “Trace?” she whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  She didn’t say anything more, just tightened her hold, nuzzling against his neck. God, he’d missed this. Her scent, her love of being held, her neediness. She was so right in his arms, he wanted to wrap her up and take her home to his cabin. To the place she’d always belonged.

  But she wasn’t his any longer, regardless of how much he wanted to pretend she was. The asshole who got her pregnant might realize what an idiot he was and beg her to take him back.

  Let him try. I’ll fucking kill him for leaving you in the first place.

  After a minute of silence, he said, “What is it, Brin?”

  “Nothing,” she said a little sullenly. “Thank you for taking me out tonight.”

  Chapter Seven

  PATTY ANN STALEY walked out of the Catch Up Diner in Meadowside Thursday evening as Brindle was passing on her way to Amber’s bookstore, which was nestled between the diner and Magnificent Gifts. Patty Ann was a boisterous brunette who had a knack for making people see the good in things. She was also a friend of Brindle’s parents and had babysat Brindle and her siblings when they were young.

  Patty Ann set her hands on her rounded hips, smiling brightly, and said, “Well, look who’s back in town. How are you doin’, sugar?”

  Sucky, sad, and confused. It had been two days since she’d seen Trace. Two days since she’d almost told him the truth before chickening out. As close as they’d felt, he didn’t want their baby, and no matter how she framed her apology, she had lied, and lies always stunk. But those weren’t Patty Ann’s problems, so she said, “I’m well. How are you?”

  “Better now that you’re back in town. This place was too quiet while you were gone.” She stepped closer and lowered her voice as she said, “I hear you’ve got a bun in the oven.”

&
nbsp; “Yes, the rumors are true.”

  “Congratulations, honey. And don’t you fret. Those rumors will die down, and then everyone will be talking about how adorable you look with a big ol’ baby bump. Your mama must be pleased as punch. She’s been achin’ for a grandchild.”

  “Thanks. I think she’s pretty happy.”

  Patty Ann’s brow wrinkled. “And how about you? Are you happy about it?”

  “I am,” she said honestly. “It was a shock, but I’m excited.”

  “That’s my girl.” Patty Ann hugged her. “How’s Trace handling it? Word around town is that it isn’t his. That kind of blew me away, but I’m sure Paris was romantic and wonderful. No one can blame you for following your heart in another direction.”

  Brindle’s chest constricted. She skipped over Patty Ann’s question about Trace and said, “Paris isn’t as romantic as everyone thinks.”

  “Oh, well…” An uncomfortable silence hung between them, and then Patty Ann said, “I guess you’re on your way to see your sister?”

  “Yes.” She put her hand on her belly and said, “I want to pick up a few baby books.”

  “Oh, how fun! I’ll let you go. Just do me one favor.” She pointed to a sign in the window for the upcoming Oak Falls 5K Turkey Trot, which took place every Thanksgiving and was sponsored by several Oak Falls and Meadowside businesses. “Does that look straight to you?”

  “It’s a little crooked, I think. Too low on the left.” Trace and most of their friends took part in the race, while Brindle usually walked it to set a good example for her students. But this year she wanted to be on the sidelines, cheering on her man.

  “That’s what Berle said, but it looks straight to me.” Patty Ann tapped her finger just below her eye and said, “Guess I’d better get my eyes checked. I saw Grace and Reed the other day. I know your parents are thrilled that she’s moved back. That Reed, he’s a dear, isn’t he? Grace is a lucky lady. Well, sugar, I’d better get inside. Good to see you. Don’t be a stranger. You know I’ve always got a piece of pie with your name on it.” She waved as she headed into the diner.