Totally Folked

by Penny Reid

  “No, it’s—it wasn’t.” I shook my head, still stunned and processing his statement, which—wait a second—had been rude. How dare he!

  Had this conversation occurred two weeks ago, I probably would’ve let his comment go. But, I don’t know, I felt different after my two weeks alone and with Sienna’s family. They were all so darn nice to each other, and they’d been nice to me.

  “Actually, yes. It was rude,” I corrected. I made a promise to myself to start calling people on their rudeness from now on.

  “I don’t know you very well.” What I could see of his expression looked grim and contrite, his attention back on his hat.

  “No. You don’t.” I crossed my arms again, feeling oddly lost, and more hurt than I should have.

  “Maybe this is wrong of me, seeing as how you’ve been engaged to the man for going on four years. I don’t want to push, but—” He lifted his eyes to mine, they were imploring. “Raquel, you deserve so much better than someone who cheats on you.”

  I mashed my lips together while my brain sorted through all the pros and cons of admitting the truth to Deputy James.

  Why tell him the truth? Because he thinks you’re pathetic.

  Why does it matter what he thinks? I don’t know, but it does. It matters.

  He wasn’t finished. “We spent just a couple of hours together, years ago, and even I—a country nobody from nowhere—knew you were something special. And not ’cause you’re famous or beautiful or talented. I suspected—I suspect—those things are the least of who you are.”

  “Oh yeah? Who am I then?” I said on a dull laugh so my voice wouldn’t waver. He’d touched a nerve, one that left me cold. I didn’t know who I was. I had no idea who I was. So how could he possibly know?

  But he answered using his authoritative tone. “You’re funny. Sweet. Generous. Clever. Smart. You’re good. You’re a good person.” He huffed a laugh, adding under his breath so I almost didn’t hear it, “You’re sunshine and rainbows.”

  But one of his adjectives in particular stuck out like jean shorts in a costume drama. “Smart? Yeah right.” I couldn’t ebb the flow of bitterness. Smart wasn’t a word often used to describe me—by me or others.

  “Yes. Absolutely. Yes.” He nodded adamantly. “Who thinks of something like Vegas Chess off the cuff? I know you made that up, right on the spot. And you’re witty—which I guess is what clever and funny are when they get a chance to hang out. But it was your—your sweetness that got to me most.”

  He paused, frowning, looking frustrated and anxious. “You’re still sweet. And I know I don’t have any right to say so, but you deserve better than Harrison Copeland. So much better. You deserve—”

  “What?” I couldn’t bear to look at him.

  “Everything,” he said, the word a scrape of gravel and sand.

  My frown turned upside down as his words gradually fell over me, warming my earlier frigidity. But also, my eyes stung. I had to sniff and firm my chin to keep the tears from falling. What was this? Was I sad? Did his words make me sad? I had no idea. I was all mixed up.

  I felt his gaze on me as he spoke. “I’m not—this isn’t about me, okay? I know we had that one night and only that one night. Fine. But Raquel—”

  “Call me Rae,” I said, blinking rapidly and wiping the back of my hand under my nose.

  He snapped his mouth shut and frowned, like my request had interrupted his train of thought. “Uh, okay. Is Rae your name?”

  “It is. It’s—” I needed to swallow around the emotion at the base of my throat before I could continue “—it’s what my friends call me.”

  “Rae.”

  I nodded quickly, peeking at him.

  “Suits you.” I watched his lips curve into a coaxing smile, the warmth returning to his gaze.

  “Thank you,” I managed, acutely breathless.

  “Only name that would suit you better is Sunny.”

  I laughed, rolling my eyes. “Not Rainbow?”

  “Good point. You are colorful.”

  “Well, I think your name suits you too.” I laughed again, then added in a quieter tone that might’ve verged on shy, “I’ve always thought so.”

  We locked eyes for another moment, my earlier cold and dull unsteadiness transforming into something else, something hot and sharp and equally unsteady.

  He doesn’t have a girlfriend, Rae. He’s single, Rae. You’re here for another twenty-four hours, Rae.

  “Well.” He pulled his gaze from mine and gave his head a little shake. “I’ve said my piece. I am sorry if I upset you.”

  I noticed the beading of sweat at his temples. It was hot in here, stifling.

  “You . . .” I was about to say You didn’t upset me, but that wasn’t true. He’d upset everything. I’d made peace with him being unobtainable, happy with someone else.

  If possible, I wanted him more now than I had before. Parts of me ached, imagining what it would be like to watch him strip off that sexy uniform and—

  Whoa. Wait.

  Even though he was single, he’d just split from his girlfriend. He probably needed time before jumping into bed with me, or anyone.

  Orrrrrr—and just think about it, no need to make any rash decisions—maybe now is the perfect time for him to jump into bed with you. You’re leaving tomorrow. You could be his rebound one-night stand. No strings. Again.

  He seemed to be waiting for me to finish my thought. But competing desires made it impossible for me to make the words and say the thing. And how would I even bring it up? How would I ask?

  Just . . . ask.

  I nibbled my bottom lip, uncertain.

  It can’t be that easy.

  His gaze dropped to my mouth, grew dazed.

  Try it. What do you have to lose?

  “Rae, the reason—”

  “Will you spend the night with me?”

  Chapter 10

  *Raquel*

  “It’s not true that I had nothing on. I had the radio on.”

  Marilyn Monroe

  His eyes shot to mine, wide with shock. “What did you just say?”

  I balled my hands into fists, my heart racing, there was no going back now. “It’s just—and I know this might change your mind about me being a good person—but I need to be honest with you. You were honest with me, and now it’s my turn.”

  Jackson held perfectly still, like he might be afraid to move.

  I reached for a lock of my hair and twisted it around my index finger. “Hollywood can be crazy. Nothing is real. What’s in the papers and all the gossip magazines? Half of it—at least—is the marketing machine, publicists, agents, managers, trying to give their clients a leg up, an advantage.”

  “O-kaaay.” His eyes narrowed and lost focus, maybe trying to figure out what the Hollywood machine had to do with us spending another night together.

  “Here’s the truth—” I released my hair and clasped my hands in front of me “—I’m not engaged to Harrison.”

  “You’re not engaged.”

  “No. It’s fake.” Bracing, I fought the urge to close my eyes, but I did scrunch my face while I waited for his verdict. Would he call me crazy like Sienna had?

  I tried to take a deep breath, but the air was too thick and heavy, the windows completely fogged over. God, it was hot in here. My clothes were mostly dried of rainwater but were still plastered to my body. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades and between my breasts. I scratched at my neck, my fingers coming away damp.

  My gaze snagged on his temples again, watching a drop of perspiration roll down his cheekbone and disappear in his beard. Another trailed down his neck and into the white T-shirt he wore under his uniform.

  If I was hot, he must’ve been suffocating. And yet, despite the small outward signs he couldn’t hide, he didn’t seem at all bothered by it.

  More seconds passed, his gaze now sharp, but a whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth. “You and Harrison Copeland aren’t together? You’re not en
gaged? Just to be clear, you were never engaged?”

  “That’s correct.” I winced. “And I know it sounds crazy—”

  “Not that crazy.” Jackson chuckled, facing the fogged-up windshield and rubbing his forehead.

  “It’s just how things are there. So many relationships are for the purpose of publicity, to get more attention, more coverage. It was for my career, to raise my profile.” Ugh. The reasoning sounded even more paltry this time.

  “I get it.” He nodded. “I really get it. You don’t have to explain.”

  “You do?”

  “I do.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Now I’m really sorry I said anything about Harrison cheating on you. You must think I’m an ass.”

  I grinned, so incredibly relieved, and then I laughed. “No. No, I don’t. Not at all. Not even a little.”

  He lifted an eyebrow, and the look on his face was so disbelieving and therefore charming that I laughed harder. “I promise. I wouldn’t have asked you to spend the night with me if I—if I thought you were . . . that.” I swallowed the last word, the nervous flutter of excitement returning ten times ten. And this time, I didn’t feel guilty.

  If this conversation were measured in heavy stares, this one would’ve weighed a ton. His deep-set eyes—his bedroom eyes—heated, scorching me with their abrupt intensity and the mystery of all the thoughts they concealed. The interior of the Mustang felt downright cool in comparison.

  The tension between us grew unwieldy in the prolonged silence, the humid air thick with electricity. For some reason, a quote from Pythagoras—one of my mother’s favorite philosophers, and something she’d said often to me growing up—floated through my mind, Be silent or let thy words be worth more than silence.

  I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath, this silence intensified and roared, and I became acutely aware of my labored breathing.

  Eventually, I couldn’t stand it. I decided I would have to make my words worth more than the silence. “Jackson—”

  He shook his head, tearing his gaze from mine and closing his eyes. “God, but you are temptation,” he growled, his jaw tight.

  His statement and voice made my lungs feel too small, my heart race, and a sharp twist of an ache in my abdomen had me pressing my legs together in anticipation.

  I licked my lips, saying on a rush, “It could be like before, no strings. Once we do the deed, I’ll disappear. And this time I promise I won’t show up at your work with pie. I promise. This time I’ll leave and never come back, I’ll—”

  Abruptly, he opened the passenger-side door, stepped out into the pouring rain, then shut the door, leaving both his umbrella and hat behind. I was suddenly and thoroughly overheated. With embarrassment.

  That went well, Rae. So much for not coming across as desperate. Gold star.

  I was still processing the impressiveness with which I’d crashed and burned when my door opened, revealing a stern—and very wet—Jackson James.

  “Grab the umbrella, and please come with me.” His tone was remote, official, and broke no argument.

  It took me a moment to work out that he hadn’t left me, and another to process what he’d said. I reached for the umbrella, and he stepped back so I could open it. Leaving the shelter of the car, I shut the door and turned to him.

  Glaring over my head, he gestured to the building and ushered me forward. “Let’s go.”

  He steered me to the front where there was no longer a line for the ATM. He didn’t join me under the umbrella as we crossed the parking lot, but instead held himself away, the rain pelting his grim face and uniform.

  I was so confused. What were we doing? Was he going to escort me to the ATM so I could finish up collecting the cash and then we’d—what? Leave? Go back to his place? My place? Or would he then drive off and leave me?

  Before I could open my mouth to ask, we’d made it to the awning. And instead of moving to the ATM, he pulled me toward the double doors leading to the bank’s interior lobby. “The real reason I’m here is because of your ATM withdrawals,” he ground out.

  “My . . .” I glanced at the cash machine to our left. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve visited more than ten local banks today and withdrawn the maximum at each ATM. This set off some alarm bells with the banks, and they called the station for us to investigate.” He wiped his face of rain.

  “Oh. I see.” I didn’t know how to feel about this information. That must’ve been what he meant when he’d said I’m here for you upon first sliding into the passenger seat.

  “Usually, folks walk into a branch if they want to withdraw more than $300 and do it all at once. Multiple visits to ATMs in the area is unusual behavior unless the person has a stolen card.”

  “I didn’t want to go into a bank.”

  “Why?”

  I thought about telling him I’d wanted to give myself a tour of the area and used banks as my excuse but decided against it. Instead, I told him the other reason I hadn’t withdrawn all the money at once. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, walking into a bank and taking out thousands of dollars. Am I in trouble?”

  “No. But I’m here to escort you inside so you can withdraw whatever amount you need.” His tone was all business, and when he lifted his gaze he focused it over my head again, like he didn’t want to look at me.

  My heart sank. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “No. I mean, I’m almost done. This is the last stop. I only need another $200.”

  “Oh.” His attention flickered to me and then away. “Okay then.” He looked a little lost, or maybe I was misreading him and projecting my sense of lostness on him.

  Unsure what to say—because what else was there to say?—I turned from all-business Deputy Dreamy and stepped up to the cash machine, pressing my lips into a line as I navigated through the screens on autopilot.

  You are temptation, he’d said. That meant he wanted me, right? Or he was tempted at least. But something held him back?

  I wish I knew what it was that held him back from giving into temptation.

  If you knew him better . . . if you stayed for the summer.

  A bitter kind of amusement had me shaking my head. Here I was again, considering an extension on my time in Green Valley, Tennessee, all for a man who didn’t want me enough to do something about it. I’d offered myself to him that night, so long ago. He hadn’t taken me up on the offer then, and clearly he wasn’t going to take me up on the offer now. So why stay?

  The machine beeped at me, and the screen came into focus. I’d been lost in my thoughts and hadn’t realized it had already withdrawn the money. It sat there, spit out of the feeder, waiting for me to collect it and leave.

  Sighing, I grabbed the bills and stuffed them into my back pocket. And then I turned to Jackson, giving him a closed smile, and said, “All done.”

  His eyes were on me now, narrowed in a glare, his forehead creased with lines. “Rae. I want you.”

  I straightened, my lips parting. “You do?”

  “Yes.” He stalked over to me suddenly.

  Surprised, I backed up a step as he advanced, but then I held my ground. Don’t back up! Stay right where you are. This is what you want.

  His rough palms slid against my cheeks, cupping my jaw, and he tilted my head back. “I want you, Rae. Very, very badly. You’ve taken up a lot of space in my thoughts for a lot of years.”

  Oh.

  I opened my mouth to express some sentiment, probably happiness or curiosity about the location of the nearest hotel, but he wasn’t finished.

  “But I’m trying to be a better man. I want to be a better man, a serious man. Reliable. Consistent. Trustworthy.” His tone brusque, his expression severe, I got the sense he needed me to understand this, that this was very important. But I also got the sense he was saying all this out loud to remind himself. “Someone people in this town and county take seriously. I’ve drawn lines in th
e sand, and I don’t cross them. Ever. Because what is the value of a man who doesn’t even keep his promises to himself?”

  I swallowed thickly, my eyes darting between his.

  “I don’t do no-strings, not anymore. That’s one of those lines. I’m all about the strings. So, no. I will not be spending the night with you, and this is goodbye.”

  Ugh. Crushed. I felt crushed. But I began to nod, because I respected his reasons, and so be it, but I was crushed.

  But then he stepped closer, lowering his mouth to just a hair’s breadth from mine. Gasping, I gripped his wrists.

  “But there is something I want, something I’ve wanted from you for a long time.”

  “What’s that?” I whispered, telling my hot and needy body not to arch and press against his despite all the instincts and reflexes and impulses demanding that I do.

  He brushed his lips against mine, just the barest touch. My breath shuddered out of me.

  “I want a kiss goodbye. I want to kiss you goodbye. Please.”

  Oh God, I wanted that. I lifted my chin, holding my breath, my lips parted in offering. Yet he hesitated, like he was waiting for permission and needed more than physical cues.

  So I said, “Kiss me.”

  No sooner had the words left my mouth than he was on me, around me, surrounding my body with his strong arms, turning and backing me into the ATM machine. His mouth on mine, a deep, tortured groan rumbled from his chest.

  OHMYGOD!!!

  His tongue. His blessed, miraculous kraken tongue. I’d missed it. So long and perfect, stroking the inside of my mouth with masterful skill, somehow both wild and controlled, starving and satiated, the hot slide of it turning my center to liquid fire. I felt the kiss in my toes and—I swear—in the tips of my hair. I loved how tightly he held me, his hands roaming from my torso to my backside, grasping, pulling me closer, and stepping between my legs.

  He lifted me, and I automatically hooked my ankles behind his back. Jackson rolled his hips into the apex of my thighs, and I gasped. So good. Panicked he’d use the brief separation to end the kiss, my fingers grabbed the front of his uniform for purchase as I returned to refasten our lips. We fit perfectly, and this felt so good, and hot, and we were both so wet, and hot. And I never, ever wanted it to end.