by Nicole Snow
“Love you, Tory. Always have and always will,” I growl, this new dark energy in my blood, this need to speak the more perfect language of flesh.
I begin moving, thrusting faster, harder, and her bleary-eyed smile widens as she lets out the sexiest purr in existence.
She’s divine.
Everything about her comes in waves of hot need, making me jealous as hell to keep it.
How her hair splashes across the pillows just right.
How she rises up effortlessly to meet every thrust, like she’s always in my head.
How her face scrunches in this adorable, sexy as hell way when she comes to the edge, under a minute from giving up another screaming hot release on my cock.
I go slower, relishing every second, enjoying this place we create that’s only for us.
My pleasure surges, emanating from the base of my spine.
Hers, too.
It’s reflected in her eyes, etched on her face, whimpered in low sexy moans and fevered gasps, in the way she clings like I’m one more of those damn silks she climbs.
“Quinn...”
“Peach,” I throw back, loving how she moans.
“Quinn!”
She shouts my name again before her peak hits and takes me with her.
I come so fucking hard I wonder if I’ve just blown out my mind, plunging into her, pouring so much thick, hot release in her cunt I feel it spilling out around us, leaking on the sheets.
Her convulsing pussy pulls at every inch of me, greedy for more than it can hold, milking me dry.
We shake together, a full-bodied frenzy, like coming through a hurricane unscathed.
Leaving me as close to being reborn as I’ll ever be.
With our hips still connected, I lower my head and kiss her smile right off her face.
“That. Was. Amazing,” she whispers.
“Not half as amazing as you, Peach,” I say, meaning every word.
Giggling, she kisses me, suddenly the shy girl again.
“Thank you.”
Then, wrapping her legs back around mine, she says, “Now that I have you where I want you, there’s something you should know.”
Damn, even after having the most satisfying sex ever, I still want her. I’m already getting hard again.
“What?” I manage. “Tell me before my dick won’t let you.”
She swallows a laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, and nobody can make me. I promise I’ll be careful.”
My heart sinks as I kiss her nose.
“I don’t want you getting hurt. You’ll come right back after this bullshit ends.”
“I won’t.” She arches, pressing her hips tighter against mine. “I’m with you, Quinn, and that’s the safest place I’ll ever be. I can’t let you face this alone.”
A weird pride fills me, knowing she feels safe and loved in my house.
If she’s gonna be that stubborn, well...
Whatever.
I’ll make it work. Ensure she’s nothing but safe and secure.
Another Siren kiss from her seals the deal, and she runs her hands down my sides.
“Could I interest you in another workout before dinner?”
“Darlin’, kindly shut up.” I grin. “You know I’m already interested.”
And just like that, we melt back into our passion, and round two is just as mind-blowing as round one.
The next few days are as close to paradise as any I’ve ever known—even if they’re also so tense it’s a battle not to snap at everything.
Lazy mornings spent checking goats, watching Tory exercising in the barn—now with a newly installed net I picked up from a farmer who used to moonlight in a traveling circus—and making love to her whenever I damn well please.
Our days and nights feel natural, so right, like I’ve found something I never knew I wanted.
Peace.
Too bad it’s an illusion.
Drake’s flyover with the chopper found signs that somebody’s been staying at the old Maddock place.
The buildings are old and falling down, but he’d spotted two trucks parked under some trees near where the overgrown driveway ends.
A red Chevy and a beat-up Dodge, out there more than once.
He’s also fixed the cameras at Granny’s place. Sure enough, some bastard cracked them open and removed both batteries.
He’s moved them, and so far, they haven’t been tampered with again.
Nothing unusual has happened there, either, other than the work crew making good progress on Granny’s remodeling job.
Hardly any comfort.
But the cameras at my place haven’t picked up anything worrying either, and the goats are just chewing away at the dairy farm with no new interruptions.
Some nights, when everything seems so distant and Tory’s in my arms, I wonder if I’m making more out of those incidents than I should.
Fuck no, you’re not, my gut tells me.
Bat Pickett’s playing a slow, careful game. Undoubtedly trying to lull me into a false sense of security.
Just like the bloodthirsty beast they named him for on the streets, something I always thought was just a stupid-ass play on his real name, Bart, till I read his file.
Now, I get it.
He’s gonna show up soon, no ifs, ands, or buts.
I get a hard knot in my stomach every time I think about Pickett exiting his cage, throbbing with this twisted need for revenge the whole time he was locked up.
Goddamn.
This whole thing feels as off as the costly bust with Jake. Why?
I can’t put my finger on it, just like I couldn’t with what went down with his brother. That’s another reason I’d taken the sabbatical my supervisor offered after Justin’s death, and then made that break permanent.
It wasn’t just the guilt that chewed me up and shat me out. The day I brought Laura Franklin her husband’s badge and broke the news about Justin scarred my soul for life. She deserved to hear it in person, from a friend—a friend who couldn’t save her man’s life.
The guilt, the helplessness, it hurt. So did my fear that I thought I’d lost it.
Missed something critical about the Pickett operation that might’ve spared Justin’s life, and the poor woman who tried to get away from her abuser.
Maybe that’s why I want action.
Now.
This waiting game is driving me insane.
For Tory’s sake, I’m trying to keep things normal. That’s why I take her out and treat her like the lady she is.
I glance at her as I park the truck at the Purple Bobcat, and my heart skips.
She’s so damn beautiful in the moonlight.
Some days, I find myself doing nothing but staring at her when she thinks I’m not looking—especially while she’s working out on her silks.
The girl’s been dancing a lot for exercise, too. She’s so talented, so graceful, I’m awestruck while watching her.
“What?” Frowning, she flips down the sun visor to look in the mirror. “Do I have something on my face? In my teeth?”
“Worse.” I flip the visor up. “You’re stunning, and I can’t help but stare.”
Laughing, she leans over and plants a quick kiss on my lips.
“You sure are good for my ego.” She opens her door. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”
Grady’s bar is hopping tonight, and we’re lucky to snag the last booth.
We order cheeseburgers and beers, a classic pair. It ain’t quite Mack burger level diner grub, but Grady’s got himself a good cook. While we’re eating, this country rock group shows up, and the music gives the soft purple lights shining down a whole new pulse.
“I need to dance,” Tory says, scooting to the edge of the booth.
“You danced all morning,” I tease. “Didn’t you get it out of your system then?”
“Not with a partner!” She’s already pulling at my hand.
Whatever else is on my mind, I’m not rude enough to leave
a lady high and dry.
I let her lead us to the floor and pull her close.
Big surprise, she’s as graceful moving to the soft twangy guitar notes and lilting voices as she is doing her artsy thing in the barn.
Just as sexy, too.
Her body sways against mine, heating my blood, turning my relentless dick to granite.
With a glowing smile, she transitions seamlessly into the next song with a fast-paced western beat.
The music is uplifting. I can’t help but laugh as she spins, swinging off the floor with her hands on my shoulders, then flashing me a saucy wink as she lands.
I catch her hand and give her a whirl.
Of course she does it perfectly, clicking a heel on the floor. She sashays around me like the ghost she is.
It’s actually fun.
I keep up with her moves, but I’ll never be the match she deserves for her skills. Her grace in each and every move draws plenty of attention. Especially mine.
It’s impossible not to be in awe. The applause erupting when the song ends is more for her than the band.
She doesn’t even notice as she slides up, gives me a quick kiss, and asks, “One more?”
Though I’ll never match her skills, I love seeing her happy. So I grasp her hand, twirl her beneath my arm, and pull her close.
“For you, Peach, I’ll manage,” I say with a grin.
Then I dip her in my arms and, without giving one damn who’s watching, kiss her through the start of the next song.
19
You Goat Me Wrong (Tory)
Just when I thought I couldn’t love all things dancing more than I already do, Quinn takes it to a whole new level.
Dancing with him in this nowhere bar with ten shades of revolving purple disco lights is better than performing in any show. Whether the songs come fast or slow, his movements are perfect.
I think I could dance with this man for the rest of my life.
Somehow, he even knows how to line dance.
Something I freaking love and never got a chance to try out except in private.
Before you can shout yeehaw! we’re stomping, twisting, clapping, and clicking our heels in perfect sync, and I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt.
It almost feels wrong, having this much fun.
And I can’t stop smiling, even as the song ends.
Not when he envelops me in one of those big spontaneous hugs from the sexiest man alive.
“Shit, I need a break,” he says, wiping his brow. “You’re wearing me out, woman.”
I giggle because I know better. He’s being modest.
His stamina is impeccable.
I’ve experienced it in bed every single night since we became more than just roomies and friends.
“Fine,” I say, giving him a teasing eye roll. “We’ll sit the next one out.” As we approach our booth, I give his arm a squeeze. “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room. Grab me another beer, please.”
“Will do.”
My heart does a double somersault at his parting wink.
He’s so handsome in the simple checkerboard flannel shirt he’s wearing tonight with jeans, it isn’t fair. I have to remind myself it’s not all roses.
The last couple weeks have been too easy, even with the drama.
I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, frowning as I enter the restroom.
How can I call it paradise when I sense how worried Quinn is over this creepy Pickett thing?
Not for himself, of course, but for me.
Oh, he tries to keep it normal, but the tension rolls off him in waves whenever we’re together.
He never lets me out of his sight when we’re doing the simplest things around the house or heading into town to pick up food.
Clearly, it’s wearing on him. My presence, my vulnerability, frays him. And so does the apparent lack of progress with heading this off before a dangerous killer shows up on his doorstep.
I just wish there was something I could do to help.
I’m not even sure he sleeps at night when we’re done wearing each other out.
Every time I wake up, he’s gone, whether it’s the middle of the night or early the next morning.
Talk about unhealthy. He might be Hercules reincarnated, but a sleep debt the size of an elephant catches up with everyone sooner or later.
I almost wish something would happen.
This limbo crap is killing him.
We haven’t seen that ominous blood-red Chevy since our one-time run-in.
Add in my mother’s constant calls and text messages, and I’m ready to just squeeze something until it pops in my hand. Can a person get mad enough to rupture an eggplant?
Ugh.
I’m just glad Mother hasn’t followed through on her threats of coming out here herself to drag me home. Her latest message said time’s running out.
And if I don’t return ASAP, I won’t have a career to come back to.
Huffing out a breath, I wash my hands and walk to the restroom door.
She’s right, of course. I won’t have a career if I stay away much longer. I’m surprised Jean-Paul hasn’t sent me a Dear Jean—pun intended—termination letter from the company after Quinn savaged his ego.
It’s equally incredible and gross that my mother’s money must speak louder than his own wounded pride.
My knee gets better by the day, at least. The silks help limber up everything and strengthen my whole body. I’ll continue practicing while an angsty part of me wonders if I want to have a director career.
As I open the restroom door, a woman whips past, heading for the back door at the end of the hall. I instantly recognize the ratty bleach-blonde hair stacked on her head.
Carolina Dibs.
I shoot a quick glance into the bar area and see Quinn still talking to Grady. They’re close, serious-looking, talking in low voices...
Obviously about the Pickett situation.
Quickly, before he spots me, I hurry to the back door. I have no clue if Carolina knows anything or whether she’ll tell me if she does, but I have to try.
It’s dark outside. The door leads to a small patio smoking area lit up by a long string of lights hanging from the tall wooden poles.
Carolina is the only person around, standing near a tall pub table. Even the long shadow she casts looks more crooked than the Road to Hana. While lighting a cigarette, she gives me a sneer as I close the door behind me.
“You smoke?” she asks, giving me a flippant once-over look.
“No,” I answer. “Just needed a touch of fresh air.”
“Should’ve used the front door. It’d be an easier walk in those two-bit heels.” She blows a puff of disapproving smoke my way.
Be nice, I tell myself.
“This one was closer,” I say with a shrug. Then, lifting my hair off the back of my neck, I add, “I worked up quite a sweat dancing.”
“Uh-huh. That wasn’t all you worked up, ya little attention slut,” she says, taking another angry puff off her cigarette.
So, this is going well.
I lift a brow.
She lets out a hoarse laugh that ends in a rough cough.
“Faulk couldn’t keep his hands off you. You really must give good head or somethin’.” She shoots me another nasty look and spits on the ground.
Can she be any more charming?
The jealousy in her voice matches her sour expression.
Understandable, I guess, but fair’s fair.
It seems insane I was jealous of her only a little while ago when I briefly thought Quinn had any interest. Poor guy.
Truth is, I’ve always been a little jealous of any woman—or girl years ago—who I thought Quinn might have taken a shine to.
Knowing that I’m that woman now, the one he’s interested in, gives me a powerful sense of pride. It also makes it pretty freaking difficult not to rub it in Carolina’s ugly face.
I flash her a people-eating smile. “Honey, this mou
th might do some favors, but that’s not why he sticks with me. We’ve got the two most important things I bet you loved in school—history and chemistry.”
Her eyes turn to spears as she glares at me.
I shrug again, nonchalantly, and step closer to the table.
“I can’t keep my hands off him, either.”
She averts her gaze and takes a long drag off her cigarette like it gives her strength.
Uncle Dean stopped by to pay me this afternoon. Cash, of course, because he doesn’t believe in banks or doing a page of paperwork more than he needs to.
Digging in my back pocket, I pull out two crisp Benjamins, a chunk of this week’s pay. Goat wrangling will never make me rich, but for small-town life, it’s not bad.
There’s nothing else I’d rather spend it on right now if it gets her to spill something useful.
“What the hell’s that?”
“Money. You do use it, right?” I ask cheerfully.
Her eyes narrow. “What for?”
“You.”
Carolina stubs out her cigarette in the sand-filled can. “Why? What do you want?”
“Information.”
“Oh, because I look like a frickin’ library?” she snorts, shaking her head.
“I think you know things,” I say.
Her eyes haven’t left the money, and neither has my hand. I’ll give her until the count of ten.
I get to four before she opens her mouth.
“What kinda information you after, bitch?”
“That guy who was at your place when I dropped off the goats...how well do you know him?” I meet her eyes, already looking for lies.
“Marvin, you mean?” She shrugs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Haven’t much seen him since that day Quinn chased him off. He left town. Didn’t leave me a number, but we were just fuckin’, so why would he?”
“He didn’t leave,” I snap. “And I think you know it.”
Honestly, I don’t know that for sure, but I did overhear Quinn talking to Drake about the old Dodge.
Carolina pulls out another cigarette and lights it, deep in thought.
C’mon, lady. Take the bait.
I push the bills closer to the center of the table. “He’s a criminal, isn’t he? Associated with some pretty dangerous people. Guys from prison down south, right?”
