20
A Ride
Mari had discovered something. The more she smiled, the more Jack talked.
So, by the end of dinner, her face was fantastically sore, her ears hummed with the sound of his gravelly southern drawl, and she’d barely remembered to eat a bite of her delicious citrus-infused chicken.
“. . . And I was so sure I was gonna impress my big brother by bagging a deer before hunting season ever started. Instead, I ended up mowing lawns all summer to pay the vet bills on the neighbor’s Jersey cow.”
She burst into giggles, covering her mouth in chagrin. “Oh, I shouldn’t laugh, I shouldn’t! That poor cow.”
Jack grunted, taking a slug of his soda. “My aim was a whole lot sorrier than that cow was. Barely managed to wing her.”
“Was that why you switched from hunting with a gun to a compound bow?”
“Nah. Just shot one at the range once and it fit my hands.” He paused, his eyes flicking up to hers. “Felt right.”
She was disappointed when the waiter interrupted—again. She’d never been so frustrated by good service. He picked up the already paid bill and told them to take their time, but Jack shifted in his seat like he felt bad occupying a table when they were already done. It was the same probably baseless guilt that always nagged at her in restaurants, so she smiled and said, “You ready to go?”
“Uh, sure,” he agreed, but somehow she got the feeling he meant just the opposite. No matter how much she told herself it made her a petty, egotistical person, she liked that very much.
Jack kept his eyes on the road as he drove them home. The waiter had looked at him a little oddly when she ordered wine and he insisted on a Coke, but Leroy had wrapped two trucks and a borrowed Honda Civic around assorted trees in Alabama. He swore he drove better when he had a little drink on, but Jack had never seen him wreck a car sober. Then again, Jack had rarely seen him sober.
Either way, he wasn’t taking the slightest of risks with Mari in his truck. He only let himself glance over when he stopped at a light. She was messing with the radio, her shoes kicked off and legs curled up underneath herself. That dress of hers was about the best thing he’d ever seen: red as tulips and nipped in at her tiny waist, flared out so it danced around her knees. A neckline that swung round and came down to a little point, showing the slightest shadow of cleavage that was driving him to distraction.
He loved the dress, how it made her look like a pinup with her long, elegant neck and upswept hair. But he loved even more how she always curled into his truck seats as if she were home on the couch. It made him especially glad he’d covered the duct-taped rip in his seats before she rode in his truck. The whole drive over, he’d been stiff with worry that she’d move the wrong way and hear the duct tape crinkle. It was still under there, still trashy as shit but veiled for the moment.
Now . . . she looked so comfortable he somehow doubted she’d recoil even if she did hear the tape crinkle. They’d had a whole conversation about that once, about how they both liked old trucks better than new ones.
“It’s green,” she said.
He frowned, wondering how she’d known he was thinking about his truck.
A horn blasted behind him, and he came back to the moment with a jolt, hitting the gas. So much for attentive driving.
The motel came up too damn soon, its dusty facade looming like his father’s scowling face, announcing the end of any fun being had.
Jack took as much time parking as he could get away with, then busted ass to get around the truck so he could open her door this time before she did. She waited, and accepted his hand to hop down. She made the jump lithely, but wobbled the landing in her red high heels. He touched his other hand to her waist because their joined grip didn’t seem like it was going to be enough to keep her from rolling her ankle.
She looked up, but she didn’t move away. Jack had been debating for the whole date if it would be okay to kiss her when they got back. Mostly, he’d decided it was safer not to try. But now . . . now he wanted to so damn bad.
He leaned in. So slowly it could have been awkward, just so she had every chance to push him away or even change expression to indicate this wasn’t something she wanted.
She held perfectly still. Her eyes were so warm and soft, with this light to them that looked a little like hope.
At some point he lost track of the caution of leaning in and kind of melted in around her, his hand cuddling farther around her back as their lips came together. Her mouth was just as forgiving as her gaze, welcoming him until he never wanted to be anywhere else.
Somewhere, dimly, he knew he ought to keep it short. It was just their first date. But he kept coming back for just a tiny bit more, one last touch. And then her tongue teased at his and he wanted to feel exactly what she was doing there so he leaned in more. His hand that had been clasping hers found her neck instead and the line of her jaw was terribly small and warm. He brushed it with his thumb while she kissed him, stroking her like he could soak up that much more of being with her.
The curve of her breasts thrilling his chest was his first clue that he’d pushed her back against the truck, and he hurried to step away. “Shit, sorry. I washed the truck, but your dress . . .”
Her eyes were a little hazy, but they focused at his words. “Oh no, did I stain it?” She twisted to try to look behind her. “Can you see?”
He tried not to look at the curve of her lower back sweeping into her rounded little bottom, his gaze scouring the fabric instead.
“I borrowed it from Ivy, and I don’t want her to be mad at me,” Mari fretted.
“It’s all right. Ain’t stained.” He brushed a little dust off the hem. “You ought to keep it, though. Ain’t no way it looks better on her.”
She snorted. “Have you seen Ivy? She’s about twenty-five with green eyes like a mascara model.”
“She the drill sergeanty one? One always going on about every bird for miles?”
“Ivy has an avian specialty, yes.”
He humphed. “Didn’t think she’d have a reason to own a dress like that, much time as she spends with those bird books.”
“Well, you shouldn’t judge. She’s very good with birds, but I hear she’s a heck of a dancer, too.” Mari looked amused. She glanced at her motel room door.
There was no logical reason for them to do anything other than go back to their rooms, but he did not want to do that. He just stood, refusing to even introduce the topic.
“You know, it’s early yet,” Mari ventured.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Sure is.” Jack had no notion of what time it was, and he could not possibly have cared less. “Wanna go someplace?”
The notion of “someplace” was pretty vague in his head, but he figured there were a whole lot of places all bundled up on this planet, and if pressed, he could find one to take her to. Especially when the alternative was going back to his dingy little room alone. Always trying to remember that he wasn’t back in Alabama, and Leroy wasn’t going to stagger in with his pupils blown wide and start stacking the furniture against the doors.
Mari was looking at his bike, her gaze running longingly over it in a way that made him shift his weight and fidget.
“You know, I could change into pants,” she said. “If you wanted to take me for a ride.”
The blood revved in Jack’s veins. He was not in favor of her changing out of that dress, but he was very much in favor of taking her out on the bike.
“Yup,” he said. “You go change and I’ll get you a helmet. Back in five minutes, maybe less.”
She raised her eyebrows but didn’t ask. He liked that she trusted him, even if it was just something small, like being able to find her a motorcycle helmet on short notice.
“See you in a minute.” Her fingers brushed over his arm in farewell as she turned toward her room. He grabbed his helmet out of the truck toolbox, jumped on his bike.
He didn’t have a spare helmet. No reason to, when no one had ever ridden on the seat on the back. But Ron, the project supervisor, was even more into bikes than Jack. Ron had three or four different helmets in the construction office a few blocks away. Never could decide which one made him look “cool” enough, a trait Jack had always scoffed at before, but now was grateful for.
Mari was waiting outside when he got back. He handed her his helmet, because he knew it was clean and had never taken a serious impact, and he didn’t know much about Ron’s helmets. She already wore jeans and cowboy boots, but he wrapped her up in his lightest leather jacket. “Safer,” he said. “Know it’s hot, but it’ll be all right once we get going and there’s a breeze.”
“I feel like an astronaut,” she said, her voice muffled until he flipped up the face shield of the helmet. Inside, she was grinning hugely.
“You look real tough,” he promised.
She mimed flexing her biceps under the oversized jacket, and he snorted out a laugh.
“Easy there, killer.” He pulled on Ron’s fancy helmet and straddled the bike. His heart pumped like he’d been pushing the triple digits on the speedometer, and he hadn’t even hit first gear yet.
It was too soon for him to even think about going home with her. He never would have asked; he felt guilty and worried every time he ever even thought it. But when she swung on behind him, her thighs coming up tight beneath his, his muscles flexed all in a rush like he was ready to thrust. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, hide her under him. Strip off every bit of fabric she was wearing so he could kiss the precious skin beneath.
Basically, he was losing his mind.
“Hold on,” was all he said as he booted the kickstand up and started the bike.
She took him at his word, holding on not just at his sides but wrapped all the way around to where his abs flexed under the leather jacket he’d thrown on in a nod to safety—mostly in case he got distracted enough by her touch to lay the bike over.
He wanted to roar out of the parking lot, his fist eager to crank the throttle. Instead, he made himself take the acceleration slow and smooth, letting her get used to the open air and balance of the bike. Her fingers clung tightly to him for the first few starts and stops, but once they got out on the desert highways, she warmed up right along with the engine. Melting over his whole back and resting into him, letting him lean into the curves, and mirroring his movement like they’d been riding together for decades.
He revved the engine and finally let it roar. She pressed against him, seemingly eager for the speed. He wondered if the growl of the bike massaged all the way down to her bones the way it did for his.
It was heat and speed and the thrill of promise for something exciting. Just out of reach but undeniably there.
The light around them deepened until the sky was a midnight blue, the first few stars sparkling at the edges. Jack flicked on the headlight and checked the gas gauge, but when the turn came up for the motel, he veered the other way and took the long way back.
If sex had ever been as effortless as this ride, thrilling and warm all at once, he might have been crazy enough to ask her if she wanted to come back to his room. But it wasn’t, at least not for him. Even if he had gotten so lucky that this incredible woman actually liked being on the back of his bike, it was all going to come crashing down if she started hinting toward wanting more.
Jack hit the next gear and let the engine howl, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of tomorrow bearing down on them.