Chapter Thirteen
Jo shivered and wondered just how fast he could drive them back without breaking too many laws or getting pulled over. The ridge of his cock had been so hard, so full against her stomach as he’d pressed into her, she knew he was hurting as much, maybe more than she was. Ready, primed to go.
Apparently, Trace wasn’t concerned with the drive back. He vaulted into the truck like a cat, crouching over her, blocking out any of the miniscule light from the lone lamp in the parking lot. His figure was only a shadow over her, poised and ready.
But she knew him. She knew the shape of his face, the angles and planes of his body, the gentleness he used when he wanted to. The tenderness she sometimes caught him watching her with. That same tenderness that made her want to jump at him and wrap her limbs around his torso and never let go. The tenderness that made her want to sprint for the hills and never look back.
“I’m at the point of no return here, Jo. So if you want me to stop, say it.” He pressed the hard length of his erection against her crotch, the panties and denim a pathetic barrier between the heat they both burned with.
“Don’t stop,” she managed to gasp. It seemed like hours—but was really less than a few seconds—before he lifted himself off her to reach in the glove compartment and fish out a condom.
“The glove compartment? Really? Aren’t you worried your parents might find that when you return the truck at the end of the night?” she teased.
“The way you make me feel, stashing these babies all over the damn state wouldn’t be enough.” He slapped her thigh playfully. “Take those panties down. Now.”
She’d barely managed to get them off one leg when he was back on her, thrusting her knees wide and pushing inside her. Her whole body tightened, contracting under him, around him, and they both groaned.
In their frenzied pulsing together, she knew it wouldn’t last. Couldn’t last. Nothing this intense, this primal could go on forever. Could even go on for more than a few minutes. They’d combust otherwise.
And her body responded to the urgency, the danger of being caught and the unholy pace Trace was setting. After only a few more thrusts, she tightened and her body vibrated with an impending climax.
“Baby, I hope to God you’re close because—”
“Yes.” She placed a palm on either side of his face. “Yes, yes, oh, my God . . .”
The rest of her prayer was lost as his mouth took hers and he joined her in climax.
“Well.” Jo sat up beneath him and wiped a hand across her face. A piece of hair stuck to the corner of her mouth and she couldn’t seem to get it. He reached down and fixed it.
“Thanks.” She settled herself a little more. “Wonder if any of the staff came out here and saw us.”
Trace snorted and hopped down to the pavement, the open door sheltering him from anyone inside the restaurant. “If they saw the truck rocking like I think it was, they’d have been idiots to come investigate.”
He wasn’t sure how he expected her to react to that. Blush? Moan? Hang her head in her hands?
Nah. Not Jo. A small, secret smile crept across her lips, like she was the cat who found the stash of cream and was quite pleased with herself at the discovery. “You’re right. Besides, no need to make anyone jealous.”
Damn, he wanted her again already. Wanted to taste that satisfied smile, spend hours rediscovering all the secret places on her small, curvy body. Only this time, he’d rather do it in a bed.
He bent one knee, shook it a little, trying to work out the stiffness. After his fall from Lad, the leg was still giving him some trouble when he didn’t move it around enough. That would ease over time, though. He’d had enough experience with being thrown to know that.
“Ready to drive this thing home, cowboy?” Jo patted the dashboard, and he realized he was still half-frozen, hand on his belt, pants not quite fastened yet.
“Yeah, sorry.” He finished dressing and closed her door, walking around the front to get in and start the truck. As the engine came to life, he knew what he wanted to say next. Needed to say next.
“I like you.”
Jo’s hands paused in the middle of pulling her hair into a tail. “I like you, too. That’s why we went out to dinner, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is.” He rubbed a hand down his face. Why wasn’t he good with words? “I mean, I really like you.”
Jo just shook her head. “I got it. We did our date thing.”
“I want another.”
She opened her mouth—likely to argue—then shut it again. “Why? What’s wrong with what we had? Sex when we want it, no commitment when we don’t. No obligation.”
“Because there’s more here.” He watched her, focusing hard on her face in the dim light. Damned if he was going to turn on the cab light just to have this stupid conversation. One he should have waited until they were at home to have. “I want to try having more with you. You’re not an obligation to me.”
Her shoulders slumped forward, as if defeated. That was not the reaction he was trying for, and he felt guilty for a moment. But only a moment.
“What if I say no? Are we done? Done with everything?”
“No,” he said slowly. “That’s shooting myself in the foot for spite.” He grinned sheepishly. “Much as I like you, I like being with you in bed, too.” She snorted, and he shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Why deny it?”
She laughed hard, shoulders shaking, her hair falling from the messy tail and framing her face. She laughed so hard she had to reach up and wipe tears away.
“You know, just when I think I have you pegged, cowboy, you surprise me. I like that. It keeps me on my toes.”
He leaned over to haul her against him. “Say yes.” He nibbled at her lips, along her jawline. “Say yes, Jo.”
“So . . .” Her voice was breathy, as if she couldn’t get enough air in to make the words solid. “So we’d, what? Be going steady?”
He didn’t respond to that. He was too busy with a delicious spot just below the ear where several earrings decorated her lobe. The delicate skin seemed especially tender at the moment.
“Would you let me wear your varsity jacket?”
“They don’t give letter jackets to rodeo kids.” He licked a patch of skin, blew gently against it until she shivered. One hand rose up to cup her breast, the nipple peaking into his hand.
“I’m at a loss as to how to define us.”
“Us.” His other hand came up to massage the other breast. “Isn’t that worth leaving labels behind?”
She was silent, long enough that he wondered if his attention to her body had been a mistake. But then she whispered, “Yes.”
Triumph surged, and he knew if he didn’t get the truck on the road in the next ten seconds, they’d be in for a repeat performance. Only his body just wasn’t up for another round of truck sex, much as his hormones begged to differ. He slid back, pushing gently on her shoulders until she was a good foot away.
Her eyes, dreamy and half-closed, snapped open. “What?”
Trace buckled his belt and nodded at her. “Seat belt.”
She just stared at him, mouth open.
“I can’t drive without you buckled in.”
Jo’s mouth set in a serious line and she faced forward with a cute little huff. But she latched her seat belt and he started the drive home.
“If I hadn’t pulled back, I wouldn’t have stopped,” he said quietly. The only noise competing for sound was the tires rumbling over pavement. The night was clean, clear, and quiet.
“Who asked you to stop?” Jo’s arms crossed over her chest.
“I did.” He smiled a little and angled the truck toward the highway. “Next time I get inside you, I want a mattress. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
She smiled a little at that, and he let her ride in silence.
She was so worried about being pegged into the domestic role, so worried about being tied down. He had to approach things more cautiously from here on out. He’d managed to corner her into agreeing to the relationship . . . sort of. Into an “us,” which he wasn’t sure was quite the same thing. But he’d take it.
His gaze slid over the dashboard and across the clock. He calculated how much longer he wanted to spend away from Seth before heading home.
Seth.
Damn. In all their time together, he’d never mentioned his son. That hadn’t entered into the arrangement. He’d even liked that she hadn’t known, hadn’t heard gossip and been one of the women wondering what had happened to Seth’s mother. Now that he’d brought Jo into the “us” category, dragging her heels, it would be awkward to spring news of a son on her. Damn it.
His hands gripped the wheel. They’d play it by ear, that was all. Dating was all about getting to know each other. He’d ease that one in. Get her comfortable with the relationship and then casually mention it. That was reasonable, wasn’t it?
He’d walked himself into this mess—albeit unintentionally—now he had to walk himself back out of it.
Trace raised his legs toward the ceiling, keeping his feet flat. “Here goes the airplane!” To his son’s delight, he made the engine sound and jiggled him. Seth laughed and drooled a little, but it landed on Trace’s shirt rather than his face, so he let it pass.
“Looks like fun. Can I have a turn?”
Peyton lay down next to him, her feet going the opposite direction so her head was right next to his.
“Sorry, riders must be two feet or shorter and weigh less than twenty pounds.” Seth wriggled his body a little in a c’mon gesture and Trace obliged, swirling his legs in a circular motion while still keeping a firm grasp on his hands.
“So, gonna tell me who his mother is?”
“Nope.”
She shrugged, as much as his sister could while flat on her back. “Well, whoever it was, she must have been beautiful. Because this little cutie looks nothing like you.”
In fact, he looked quite a bit like his father, but Trace could take the jab. Peyton’s routine of asking once a week—give or take—hadn’t slowed down one bit. He figured she would give up asking after awhile. Emma had, and Emma was a pit bull with a bone when it came to that sort of thing. But if Emma was a pit bull, Peyton was a liger.
Yeah. A liger.
Emma walked by and stared down at them, hands on her hips. “Is this how you two spend a Sunday morning?”
“We would have gone to church, but we didn’t want to get fried by lightning,” Trace said innocently.
“If you—”
“Neeeerrrrroooom!” Seth squealed in rapture.
“It wouldn’t be—”
“Bbbbbbbrrrrrrwwwww.”
His son nearly fell from his perch, saved by some quick maneuvering from Trace.
Emma eyed him narrowly. “That’s not—”
“Pfffffttttt.”
“Amusing!” she yelled before he could make another plane noise. She dropped the wet dish towel on Peyton’s face, stifling his sister’s laughter. “Just for that, Trace Muldoon, you get to go on the grocery run.”
He froze, Seth still stuck in a half nosedive. “Aw, Emma. C’mon.”
“Someone’s gotta go, and you just got yourself nominated.” The housekeeper shot him a grin a shark would turn tail and hide from. “I’ll have the list ready in ten minutes.”
Peyton turned and watched him for a moment. “Don’t even think about hiding. She’ll just find you and add more to the list. I know. I tried it once.”
“Damn,” he muttered and lowered Seth to his chest. “Well, little man, looks like we’re going shopping.” He shot his sister a look. “Unless Auntie Peyton wants to bond with you a little. . . .”
“We bonded last night. I’m off poop duty today.” She rolled to her stomach and pushed up to her feet. “Besides, you had your hot date last night. I’ve got one for myself today.”
“Where’s Red taking you?”
“Red?” She huffed a laugh. “I’ve got a buyer coming in. One with quite a bit of disposable income, if word is correct.”
Since Red was likely where she got the word, and Red knew everything, Trace figured correct was an understatement. “Good luck with that.”
“You should hustle back and talk to the guy. He saw you and Red about two months ago.”
“Name?”
She described the man and he shook his head. “Don’t remember.”
“Well, either way, he was impressed with both of you. Try to get back so you can pander and strut a little.” She reached over and pinched his cheek before he could evade. “The customers really like it when you boys strut.”
“Trace!” Bea’s voice carried down the stairs like a whip. “Are you going to the grocery store?”
“Yeah,” he called back up. “If your list isn’t ready in five minutes, it’s not coming with me.”
“I’m coming with you. I need things and I can’t trust you to get them.”
“What the hell, am I incompetent?”
Her head popped around the railing, as if leaning over without taking the next few steps down. She smirked at him. “Fine, if you want to pick up my tampons for me . . .”
“You have ten minutes to be in the car.” He rolled his eyes and hitched Seth up on his hip. “Time to get changed. They don’t let men shop in their footie PJs at the store.”
Jo opened her small pantry and scoffed. Right. Should she have the stale bread or the handful of goldfish crackers for breakfast? She let the doors close with a snap and tried the fridge. Unfortunately, it seemed her grocery shopping genie hadn’t shown up for work. After a quick debate, she decided she needed to suck it up and get some food. Real food. Not just whatever she could make herself from the stash downstairs. Adult food.
She dressed quickly, not bothering with makeup. An old sweatshirt, a pair of jeans from the floor, and her long hair in its customary ponytail and she was ready to rock. She grabbed her keys from the table and locked the door behind her. She’d only get a few bags and walk rather than drive the three blocks. It was the beauty of living above the bar. Everything was handy.
She was nearly down the stairs when she spotted the truck sitting at the curb. Her heart did a traitorous little dive into her gut before she realized it wasn’t Trace’s.
Jeff stepped out and she groaned. Her first thought was why me? The second was . . . how long had he sat in the truck waiting for her? How long had he already been there?
Jeff stood by the side of the truck and waited for her to hit the bottom step. She debated walking on and making him chase her if he wanted something, but that seemed petty. He wasn’t worth even a petty gesture.
“I came over to apologize. I’m sorry.”
The words softened her. A little. But not much. The kid looked like hell, though, and that softened her more. “You should be.”
He raised his hands, as if not sure what to do with them, then stuck them in the pockets of his jeans. One sneaker kicked at the dirt, and the entire performance reminded her of a sullen little boy. “I misunderstood the situation.”
Misunderstood, her ass. Maybe he’d misunderstood if she was interested, at first, but there was no mistake after she’d started pushing him.
When she didn’t reply, he went on. “I got lonely and freaked out about school and I just sort of lost my head a little. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
It wasn’t an excuse, but she understood. A young kid made mistakes. She’d made more than a few, and was lucky enough none of them had been permanent. She made a split-second decision—some of her best decisions were in the heat of the moment, after all—and ran with it. “Just remember that for the next time. Otherwise, you might get your ass handed to you.”
He grinned, quick as lightning. “You woulda laid me out, wouldn’t you?”
She shrugged, then smiled a little. “If I felt it necessary.”
He stepped forward, then back again, hands still in his pockets. “Can I still come by before I head out?” When she watched him, he clarified, “The bar, I mean. Like for lunch.”
“Sure. I know you’re good for the tab.” The joke made him smile again, and she waved and walked off to the grocery store, feeling a little lighter.
He wasn’t a bad kid. Just a moment of stupidity. Hell, they all had them. Like her, the night before.
What had honestly possessed her to think a relationship with anyone—least of all someone rooted in this community—was a good idea? She was a business owner in a tenuous position. The outsider still trying to prove herself. A woman in a man’s business, trying not to get kicked in the teeth with ass-backward cowboys. And she had to go and add feelings to the mix.
Brilliant. How the hell had Trace talked her into that?
Her body tightened at the reminder of exactly how he’d primed her for that one. In a parking lot, no less, like a couple of teenagers. Christ.
She paused and made a big show of window shopping in the closest store. Somehow, she didn’t think anyone would believe she was deeply considering buying a muumuu in size triple XL with puppies frolicking on the front. But she needed a minute to calm the flush or she’d really embarrass herself.
Nothing like the word muumuu to stifle a sexual heat wave.
As she reached the grocery store, she grabbed a basket, then debated and put it back in favor of a cart. She needed to stock up. If she was going to have Trace over more often, she’d have to feed him meals. A man like him ate, and ate well. She smiled at that, and considered the various ways of serving meat and potatoes without being tedious.
“Jo.”
She turned at that, recognizing Bea’s voice. “Hey. What’s up?”
Bea practically sprinted at her and hooked one arm around Jo’s elbow. “You’re just the person I needed. I’m looking at this pitiful selection of dog toys they carry and I’m not sure which one to choose.”
“Shouldn’t you go to the feed store for that?” Jo looked back toward the produce she was being dragged away from. “I need food, Bea.”
“You’re in a grocery store. You’ll get it. But this is important. Look.” She halted at an end cap and held up two toys. “The blue one? Or the pink one?”
“He’s a boy, right?” When Bea raised a brow, Jo shrugged. “Just checking. The blue.”
“But this is the twenty-first century. Why can’t men have pink?”
“The pink, then.” A headache loomed like a black cloud over a picnic. “I need to go get something other than instant soup for my kitchen.”
“Oh, great. I love veggies.” Bea swung her arm around Jo’s shoulders and tossed the pink toy in Jo’s cart. “Let’s talk cucumber.”
“Do we have to?” Jo eyed her warily. “What’s going on with you?”
“Me?” Bea’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Jo picked up a head of lettuce and ignored Bea’s feigned innocence.
“Not that one.” Bea handed her another head and grabbed the first to put back.
Jo rolled her eyes and stuck the bundle of leaves in her cart, moving on to the tomatoes. When she picked up a four-pack of prepackaged ones, Bea moaned quietly.
“Oh, my God. What is wrong with you?”
“Those are so bad for you. The prepackaged ones are always hot house tomatoes, which are tasteless and devoid of any real nutrients.”
“Not what I meant,” Jo muttered, but put down the plastic with caution and picked out a few from the bin individually.
Bea hovered, but kept her mouth closed, which suited Jo just fine. And when Bea nudged one tomato over toward the sack with her index finger, Jo figured the silent gesture was better than listening to a lecture, so she gracefully accepted the tomato and moved on.
“Where are we going next?” Bea bounced next to her.
“Frozen foods.”
“No!” Bea grabbed the cart and swung it around, nearly knocking Jo into a display of Oreos.
“What the he—Bea!” Jo regained control and avoided a collision with a mom and two toddlers by inches. “Jesus, what’s your problem?”
Bea ran a hand through her hair until little blond tufts stuck out awkwardly. “Frozen food is awful for you. All those preservatives and nitrates and . . . stuff. You know. Let’s revisit the fresh vegetables. So much better.”
“I happen to like preservatives and nitrates.” Jo yanked the cart back in the direction she’d originally intended. “And it’s easy to pop in the oven when I’ve had a long day. Which I almost always do.”
“Okay, but first . . .” Bea glanced around and pointed. “I need your opinion.”
Jo sighed. “My opinion is you’re being a pain in the ass.”
“I’m not—hold on.” Bea held up a finger and reached in her bag for her phone, currently belting out the theme song to Legally Blonde. Oh, for the love of God. “Let me just . . . oh, damn.”
“What?”
“My agent. We’ve been playing phone tag for a while. Stay right there.” Bea shot her a dirty look. “Don’t you dare move.”
“Okay.” Jo shrugged and watched Bea answer the call and wander off, one hand over her free ear to block out noise. After she’d taken a few steps and looked suitably busy, Jo swung the cart and headed for the frozen food section.
Yeah. She’d lied. Oh, well. All’s fair in love and frozen pizza snack bites.
She turned a corner and smiled when she recognized Trace. Or rather, his back. She should have known Bea wouldn’t come to the grocery store alone. Or at all.
God, he looked good. Even just from the back. The way he stood there, weight on one leg so his hip cocked out, one hand in his back pocket, stretching the aging denim quite nicely over his adorable ass. She could barely see a piece of paper over his shoulder, and she could imagine, thanks to the way he stood frozen, he was reading an entire list of things he had no clue about. Men sent grocery shopping . . . not always a good idea. Well, she would just have to save him.
Slowly, Jo crept up behind him, then reached around and covered his eyes with her hands.
“Cut it out, Bea.”
Jo pressed her breasts into his back and whispered, “Not Bea.”
“Jo?” She thought she heard him mutter, “Jesus,” but she couldn’t be sure, and then he turned around. “Hey. What are you doing here?”
Why was everyone asking her that? “A girl’s gotta eat. Listen, I was thinking about picking up some steaks for tonight. Do you want to . . .” She trailed off, her eyes catching something to the left of Trace’s sleeve. “What’s that?”
“What?” He looked behind him, and froze again. But not in that cute I’m so confused, what’s the difference between virgin and extra virgin olive oil? sort of way. More like in the oh, shit, I’m caught sort of way. Which really had her heart racing. “It’s a baby.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” The fact of its existence made her want to take two steps back for sheer preservation. “Why is it in your cart? Are you cart sitting?”
“Cart sitting?”
“Yeah, you know . . .” Her mind raced as she stretched for a plausible reason why a baby would be in Trace’s cart. One that wouldn’t ruin the very thin, tenuous thread of happiness they’d started to build on. “Someone needed to pop into the other aisle so you, you know, offered to watch the cart in case some weird baby snatcher came by. Cart sitting.”
“Are there a lot of baby snatchers running around the Piggly Wiggly?” He looked a little horrified and started surveying the aisle, as if some masked robber was going to pop out from behind a freezer and yell “Gotcha!”
“Not the point.” Okay. Starting to sound a little hysterical. Breathe. Breathe. “Whose kid is this?”
Trace reached back and rubbed one hand gently over the kid’s head. “He’s mine.”