by Taryn Quinn
He paused long enough for her to wonder if she’d hurt his feelings with the age crack. She didn’t care if she did but still, she wondered.
All right, so she cared. So she liked the lug. So what? It couldn’t go anywhere. He was a man-child with impressive equipment he might not even know how to use properly.
Then again, he might.
“So that’s why you booked. I was wondering.”
“One reason among many, stud.”
“I’m twenty-five, not twelve. You’re thirty-nine, not eighty.”
His incessantly patient tone grated on her frayed nerves. “Fourteen years difference is more than half of your life. What could you possibly want from me?”
“Sex,” he said simply, causing her to spit out her coffee on the dash.
All. Over. The. Dash.
She tugged a tissue out of her purse and tried, rather ineffectually in light of her shaking hands, to pat the dashboard dry. “What did you say?”
“Need a napkin?”
“I’m good.”
“I don’t doubt that.”
She dropped the mug in the cup holder and wagged a finger in his face. “No. Do not do that. Do not make sexual entendres. It isn’t appropriate. My last name is on your checks. Checks you probably don’t need because I’m half convinced you’re secretly a drug dealer for the mob—”
“What?” He laughed and flipped on his signal. She didn’t know why he bothered because they were practically alone on the roads. Someone must’ve called a town-wide snow day when she wasn’t looking. “Some imagination you have, O’Halloran.”
“You came up with that fanciful story about some old lady benefactor but why should I believe you? You’ve already shown yourself to be a liar.”
“Because I’m telling the truth. The only reason I lied about my age is so you wouldn’t shut us down before we even started. I could tell you were in classic doe mode—”
“Excuse me?”
“You know, skittish, afraid of people getting too close. Men,” he clarified. “I’ve been there too. With women, I mean.”
“Me skittish? Like you? Hardly. We are very different.”
“We’re more alike than you think.”
“Sure we are.” She shoved the soaked tissue into the front pocket of her purse and stared straight ahead into the whiteout beyond the windshield. Not that anyone would ever guess it was anything but a sunny day from the relaxed, capable way he was maneuvering the tow truck on the icy roads. She picked up the coffee he hadn’t touched and took another long drink. “I really don’t appreciate you making me act like such a raging bitch. I’m not one normally, so why do you bring it out in me?”
“Sexual frustration?”
“I had an orgasm last night, thank you very much. One orgasm. Which is all that will be occurring between you and me.”
“Hmm.”
God, this man. She wanted to punch him and fuck him simultaneously. “Did you read one of those articles where it said all women near forty need sex twenty-four hours a day or something? Am I your idea of an easy mark?”
“No. But I can tell you that twenty-five-year-old men pretending to be thirty definitely do, especially when they’re suffering through the longest dry spell in the history of ever.”
“My dry spell could beat yours.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” He reached over and flipped the lid on the coffee mug to closed a second before they took a sharp curve. Then he opened it up again once they’d gone through it. “Sex isn’t the only reason I’m interested in you.”
She stared at his hand, now resting confidently on the bottom of the wheel. Where did men that considerate even come from? She sure hadn’t known any. Except her brother and even Brad wasn’t that helpful. He started Sara’s car for her on cold mornings but he didn’t monitor mug spillage. “Oh really. Do you find my lack of knowledge on fuel injectors cute?”
“I bet your knowledge about birds and how to keep your gift-shop customers happy makes up for it.”
“Smooth talker.”
“You’re also funny and smart and the wrinkle you get between your eyes when you’re concentrating or pissed off is extremely sexy. You love your brother and want to make him happy. And you don’t like being seen as soft so you do your best to seem hard.” He reached over and did the coffee move again as they made the last turn before the shop. “How did I do?”
“Fine.” Too fine, she admitted, flicking away his fingers before he could open the top of the mug again. “That still doesn’t explain why you want to go out with me. Surely you must have women your own age willing to play in your sandbox.”
“Oh, we don’t have to go out, we could stay in.” He grinned.
And much to her consternation, she grinned back.
Somehow he’d finagled another chance.
That night after class, he and Kim found themselves back at The Bottomless Cup. They’d run into each other outside—intentionally on his part since he’d come by in the hopes she might show up—and she hadn’t objected to his suggestion of coffee and pie.
Not the sweets he wanted most but the night was young.
“So you’re done with art. Turned in your final project tonight?” Michael stirred cream into his coffee, focusing on the task to avoid glancing into her melted caramel eyes. They weren’t gold and they weren’t brown. Hazel was probably the correct term, even if it didn’t begin to describe the heat and life and humor that burned behind them.
“Yeah.”
“Of me.”
Kim sighed and sipped her coffee. “Of you. No, I didn’t spend extra time elongating your penis. You got what the Good Lord gave you and not an inch more.”
He laughed and marveled that they could be in the same diner again, and it could feel so natural even with so much sexual tension between them. Kim wasn’t Roch and apparently he wasn’t the man he’d been a few years ago either. Just fun had become a misnomer, at least in regards to the woman sitting across from him. She captivated him on so many levels he was having trouble simply slotting her into a bed partner role.
“Not even after last night? I would assume that would get me halfway to hero status.”
She dumped more sugar into her coffee and sipped. “In spite of what transpired between us last evening, I am not sweet on you. Just saying.”
“You’ve only known me forty-eight hours.” He kept his voice even. “That would be impossible.”
“Of course it is. And your junk isn’t so magical that you’ve been elevated to hero yet.”
“I was referring to rescuing you by the side of the road. Though that was technically this morning.”
“I don’t even—” She broke off, her eyes narrowing. “It was you.”
He didn’t ask what she meant. He already knew. “I was wondering when you’d remember.”
“Two months ago, the night my tire went flat. It was raining out and you came when I called the shop. You told me to call you Mike.” She frowned. “You’re so not a Mike.”
“Michael sounds a little pretentious for a tow truck driver, dontcha think?”
“I asked you how long you’d worked for my brother and you said two hours.” She smiled faintly. “I was your first call, wasn’t I?”
“You sure were. And you didn’t identify Brad as your brother.” He sampled his coffee. “Some impression I made that you just remembered, huh?”
“You had a cap on and a slicker. It was dark out and I could barely see your face.”
“I saw yours.”
She snorted. “Really. I suppose you recognized me the moment you first saw me in Randall’s class too?”
“Not the first moment but the first night for sure. I figured it out after class when I was trying to understand why I couldn’t get your face out of my mind. That night on the side of the road you were wearing a knockout red dress and killer heels, showing off all those curves, and you couldn’t stop swearing to yourself as you texted. Looking all fierce.” He shook his head and sip
ped. “It was all I could do not to laugh while I changed your tire.”
“Good thing you didn’t. I probably would’ve kicked you.”
“You seemed mad enough to.”
She made a face. “My ex Gary decided to leave me high and dry that night. We’d split up a while before but we’d agreed to go to the sanctuary’s fundraiser together that night. Instead he started texting me all this crap about how I was a shrew who didn’t like to swallow. Really nasty stuff.” She sighed and picked up her fork to dig into her slice of pumpkin pie. “Turned out he was drunk. The next morning he begged me to take him back.”
“Did you?”
“Hell no. I have more self-respect than that.”
“Good.” He set down his mug and decided to go for it. “So is that true about the swallowing thing?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m curious. There’s no wrong answer—” Laughing, he ducked as she threw a balled up napkin at him.
“Insensitive prick.” But she was laughing too.
“Sorry. I couldn’t resist.” He lowered his voice and leaned forward until their foreheads were practically touching. “Oh and my prick’s very sensitive, I assure you.”
She rolled her eyes and popped a broken piece of crust in her mouth. She also didn’t try to put more space between them. “If I answer that, you have to answer a question of an intimate nature.”
The gleam in her eyes made him decidedly nervous but he couldn’t say no. “Deal.”
“I wouldn’t swallow with him because his stuff smelled like pool cleaner. Normally I have no problem. My turn.”
He smothered a laugh in his fist. “Shoot.”
“Why did you have such a long dry spell? It’s not like you’re ugly or anything.”
He ran his fingertip around the rim of his mug. “Maybe I was afraid I’d become addicted and wouldn’t be able to stop.”
“Well, duh. That’s how it’s supposed to feel. So good you want to die.”
Her easy acceptance made him want to tell her more. All. His virginity seemed like a deterrent to the kind of relationship he’d always yearned for: sex and companionship without anything messy to get in the way. He already had a family to support so he wasn’t necessarily looking for someone else to worry about and protect. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a good time together, become friends and enjoy the physical side too, for as long as it lasted. No strings. Uncomplicated.
Of all the women he’d met, Kim seemed most likely to appreciate that sort of setup. If only he wasn’t a fucking virgin. That changed things. Gave them unintentional weight. Most likely she’d assume he was religious and wanted to marry the first girl he boned or else she’d figure he was all kinds of screwed up. She’d probably find it insane that he’d been faithful to a woman who was his financial provider and as time passed, little else. But he’d promised Roch he wouldn’t stray and he hadn’t.
Still hadn’t, more than a year after her death. Until last night.
“It’s not only that I’ve had a long dry spell. I haven’t had that much experience,” he hedged, the truth close enough to taste. Far enough away he couldn’t force it out. What did it matter, really? If they became intimate, his virgin status would no longer be an issue.
She gave him a sly smile. “You’re damn good at working your cock.”
Even without seeing his own face, he knew he’d blushed as red as the pleather seats underneath them. Heat scalded his neck and ears. So freaking embarrassing.
“God, you’re cute.” Her smile widened. “I’m going to hell for corrupting you. I can’t believe I’m saying that to a guy I watched nude model and mutually masturbated with but there you go. Strange days, my friend.”
Sensing his chance, he pushed aside his practically untouched pie and grabbed her hand. “What if that invitation to hell came engraved in gold?”
“Come again?”
“We’re friends, right? You said it yourself. And friends do things for each other.” To each other, he added mentally. “You don’t seem to want to go out with me on an actual date. So we should consider other options for getting to know each other.”
“The two times we’ve visited this diner don’t count as dates?”
“They do but I want more.”
“Of course you do.” Using the hand he wasn’t holding, she pulled another napkin out of the dispenser since she’d fashioned hers into a weapon. “Look, I’m not real good with emotional blackmail. It gives me hives.”
“What if you enjoy what I ask you to do?” He hoped she would. She’d seemed to enjoy their first night together but there were no guarantees that would continue.
“I’m listening.”
“I told you I’ve had a long dry spell. And when you’re trying to get back into the dating pool, lack of experience makes things awkward.” He took a deep breath. “I’m asking you to…corrupt me. With my full permission.”
Chapter Six
Michael expected her to say no. The odds were extremely high. They barely knew each other and he’d basically asked her to fuck him blind.
So when she tilted her head and studied him with her sultry eyes before giving him an almost imperceptible nod, he couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. “Really?”
As casual as could be, she picked up her coffee with the hand he wasn’t squeezing into submission. “Really.”
“Oh. All right then.” Exhale, inhale. It’s a simple process. “Good. Great.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” With effort, he relaxed his grip, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to let go yet.
“Clearly you didn’t expect me to say yes.” She turned her hand over and laced her fingers with his, changing the tenor of their conversation with a simple gesture. “I’ve been propositioned in more ways than you can possibly imagine.”
He smiled. “This doesn’t surprise me.”
“You know which one way no one ever tried? The truth. Just saying a simple—let’s do it for the hell of it. Not saying that would’ve worked nine times out of ten but the attempt would’ve been nice for variation’s sake.” She rubbed her thumb over his, sending a blast of heat up his arm. “You were honest. I like that.”
Guilt slammed into him as she let him go to pull her wallet out of her purse. “Kim, wait, there’s more—”
“Do you have change for a twenty? I don’t have anything smaller than ten.”
“I’ve got it,” he said distractedly. “Maybe we should discuss this more thoroughly.” He absolutely did not want to, but he hated lying to her. She was so sweet and beautiful and he’d loved every moment he’d spent in her company so far, even the crappy ones. She deserved more than a half-truth told to serve his own ends.
And his own very excited, already half-hard dick.
“How about a five? Do you have a five?”
“Kim, I’ll handle the bill.”
But she was already sliding out of the booth and striding to the cash register to make change. She walked like a sexy, fully confident woman who had no doubts about her worth. That alone made her more attractive to him than any other he could remember.
God, he wanted her. Badly enough to do something she might regret. Not him. He could never regret anything about Kimberly O’Halloran—despite the fact she had the power to get him fired on the spot once she learned of his deception.
Bottom line, he didn’t know if he could stomach saying something that might drive her away. Virgin sounded a hell of a lot worse than inexperienced. Even his guilty conscience couldn’t compete with the possibility of her turning him down. And he could always admit the truth afterward. He was simply delaying the big reveal.
She came back to the table and set down a stack of bills on top of his twenty. “That’s one hell of a tip, big spender.”
He jerked a shoulder. “So it is. Damn good pie.”
“That you barely touched.”
“We can eat more later.” He flashed her a grin that hopef
ully didn’t convey his nerves and slid out of the booth. “Ready to go?”
“Sure.”
Was that his imagination or had she sucked in a breath? Was she nervous too? He didn’t know why that made him feel better.
Putting his hand on the small of her back, he led her outside into the moonless night. No snow either, though the frosty air felt ripe with it. Or maybe he felt ripe…on the verge of bursting. Not the prettiest analogy but too true.
“Follow me to my place?” he said as he walked her back to the rec center lot to get her car.
“Don’t trust me to lead the way, huh? I have mad directional skills, this morning’s SOS call aside.”
“I have no doubt of any of your skills.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and took the keys from her to unlock her door.
“You won’t by the end of tonight.” She smiled and lightly patted his chest. “You’re not the only one with talents when it comes to injectors…and other things.” She slipped into the car and wiggled her fingers.
Grinning, he shut her door and crossed the street to the diner to get his own vehicle.
All the way home, he kept tossing glances at the rearview. Her headlights washing over the dark interior of his truck reassured him somehow, strengthening his resolve. This wasn’t a mistake. He wouldn’t let it be.
Sometimes a man had to follow a hunch. And his led him straight to Kim.
Once they arrived, he helped her shed her coat and boots and started a fire, something Moose and Clyde—his fat black cats—appreciated. They curled up on opposite ends of the rug in front of the fire while he turned on some music.
“You’re not going to put on one of those booty-popping-type songs, are you? I’m sure they set someone’s mood but they don’t really work for me.”
He glanced back at Kim where she perched on the edge of his couch, copper-painted toes curling into the carpet. She’d let her hair down after they’d come in and he wished he’d gotten to handle the task. Those were the things he missed most—the little intimacies between couples. Undressing, layer by layer. Observing her while she shed her bracelets and watch as she was doing right now, energy shimmering off her in waves. She was excited or tense, he couldn’t quite tell which. Maybe both.
