by Cherrie Lynn
“Oh, fine. Great. Working a lot, you know.”
A waitress came by and placed beers in front of him and Brian. Macy’s pulse hadn’t slowed a bit. What was up with that? He was pressed in so tight against her she wondered if he could feel her racing heart, prayed that he couldn’t.
Ghost leaned across the table toward Candace and Brian. “Candace,” he said, and for a moment Macy thought he might actually say something sincere. No such luck. “I really advise against leaving him alone with me again. Two hours away from you and he was coming on to me.” Everyone else at the table broke up in laughter. It only egged him on. “I mean, I know he wants me. He’s made it clear. And I’m growing weak, I tell you. I missed him. If he does it again, I’m gonna give it to him.”
Brian was shaking his head. “God, we missed you,” Candace said.
“Did we?” Brian asked.
Ghost reached over and placed his hand on Candace’s. “Don’t worry, though. We’re not going to shut you out. You’re welcome in our house anytime, sweetheart. I might even share him with you. As long as, you know, I can watch.”
“This is actually pretty hot,” Samantha observed, and Macy could just imagine the sparkle of interest in her eyes.
“You can come too,” Ghost said, earning Sam’s flattered laughter.
“Fuck you, man.” Brian punctuated the words with the corresponding hand gesture, but Macy could tell from his grin he was probably the happiest person at the table to have his friend back.
“I’m trying so hard to resist that, Brian. You damn moody Capricorns. You would only hurt me in the end.” Ghost drew a shaky breath. “But I think…I’m ready to take the chance.”
“You’re gonna have a hell of a fight on your hands,” Candace told him, running her hand over Brian’s shoulders. “This one belongs to me.”
“Yeah. Stake your claim, baby. Save me from him.”
As the banter continued to fly and Macy slowly began to realize it seemed to be just business as usual here, she found herself relaxing. She took a deep breath, distancing herself from the memories of what she’d allowed to happen between her and the guy sitting next to her not long before he left town.
That’s it, get a grip. So what, you were confronted with him when you least expected it. That would throw anyone.
But it shouldn’t. Not her, no way. He was part of a world so separate from her own it would be impossible to bridge the chasm between them. He was heavy metal. She was all country, all the time. He wouldn’t belong at a rodeo, and she wouldn’t belong at one of his wild concerts where they probably sacrificed live chickens or bit the heads off bats onstage.
That was that. Since the accident that had damn near killed her, sensibleness had ruled her world, not impulsiveness. And certainly not her heart or hormones. She was the one in control here, and she liked it that way. If she messed up, she could at least mess up knowing she’d weighed all her options and made the best decision possible.
Even being miserably single on Valentine’s Day wasn’t enough for her to give up that position.
Ghost’s thigh pressing more firmly against hers was cause enough for her to do a quick reassessment.
Sam’s boyfriend joined them soon afterward, and the party was in full swing. Despite everything, she marveled that she had friends who were willing to do this for her—take her out, buy her drinks, try their damnedest to hook her up—at the expense of their own plans. Surely Candace and Brian had way better things to do on their first Valentine’s night than babysit her. Same with Samantha and Mike, even though those two had been together for years.
“It’s damn good to be back with you guys,” Ghost announced, holding up his beer. Bottles clinked as they toasted.
“I’m just damn glad to have you back at the parlor.” Brian grinned, sporting two dimples that belied the image conveyed by all the ink and piercings and longish, unkempt black hair. Unkempt mainly because Candace couldn’t keep her fingers out of it.
“Oh, is that all I am to you? Your fuckin’ workhorse?”
“Whatever else you are, the fact remains that we’ve been busting ass since you left. And now Connor is gone, so it’s not going to get much easier, but at least it won’t get any worse.”
“I can’t wait to get back at it. But I can’t help you out Saturday.”
Brian’s bottle thunked down. “What?”
“Can’t do it. I need to practice with the guys.”
“But dude. Saturday.”
“I’m picking up what you’re puttin’ down, honey bunch, but they’ve been panicking, and they’re going to end up kicking me out of the band if I can’t make the next gig.”
Macy grinned at the endearment he tossed in. Brian shook his head wearily, sitting back in his booth. “You son of a bitch.”
“Look at him pout. Don’t pout, dude. Ross the boss will get the job done.”
“A helluva lot easier if I had the Ghost with the most at my side.”
“Aw. Is that a proposal? See how he loves me? Candace, you don’t stand a chance.”
“Oh, will you stop? Macy’s going to get jealous.” Candace winked and jumped in her seat as Macy kicked her in the shin.
But Ghost didn’t miss a beat in his exchange with his friend, shaking out his right hand. “I might be a little rusty, Bri. Can I practice on you?”
“Hell no.”
He leaned his shoulder into Macy. “How ’bout you, sweetness?”
“Um, no. No ink for me.”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Candace said. “She would shriek and run if that needle came anywhere near her.”
“It’s not the needle. It’s the thought of being permanently…marked.” The very idea gave her the heebie-jeebies.
She nearly leaped out of her skin when Ghost’s pinky finger traced the edge of her denim mini under the table, coming dangerously close to her flesh. “Maybe it’s all about who’s doing the marking.”
“No, it’s definitely…” His fingertip grazed the top of her thigh. She tugged the collar of her shirt. “Ahem. Definitely not something I’d be interested in, no matter who’s doing it.”
“But I do it so well.”
Macy narrowed her eyes at him, pouring all the will she had left into her gaze. He did a lot of things well. That didn’t mean she had to let him do them to her. “I know you do. But it’s still not happening.”
His hand left her leg, and he faced forward again, his grin as infuriating as she’d ever seen it. “All right.”
Dammit! When she realized her words hadn’t held a double meaning like his, she hated herself. She hadn’t meant for him to stop touching her.
His long fingers curled around his beer bottle, when they could’ve been on her. She watched in helpless fascination as he lifted it to his mouth…one of the best mouths she’d ever seen. Full, sensuous and defined, yet devastatingly masculine. She could apply that description to every part of him, really.
“Macy!” A familiar voice yanked her from her greedy perusal. Her heart sank as she looked up and saw Jared passing by their table, a big grin on his handsome face that clearly said he’d had a few too many.
Forcing a smile, she gave him a wave she hoped was a good balance between friendly and dismissive. “Oh, hey. Good seeing you.”
“You’d better dance with me before you leave here, girl!” And the crowd swallowed him back up.
Brian and Candace exchanged a glance and although Ghost didn’t comment, she could sense the tension that seeped into his body.
Really, though, what did he care if she danced with someone else? They’d had sex in his car once. Very, very good sex, but still. Big freaking whoop.
She drained her beer and waved for another.
Somewhere in the steady stream of alcohol the waitress—God bless her—kept bringing Macy, she found Ghost’s hand back on her upper thigh. She might have even grabbed it and put it there herself. Who knew? All she cared about was that his palm was big and warm and possessive, and she
liked it being on her skin. But damn if she was going to let him get between her legs—
Oh. Crap. He was going there. And she was letting him. The heat coming from her sex wouldn’t allow for anything less. She squirmed in her seat, the tiny motion making her skirt ride up more. His fingertips followed, feathering higher up her leg. He was almost to the edge of her panties, which had gone incredibly damp since—
“Are you all right, Macy? You look a little flushed.”
Just as Macy began to nod quickly, Ghost swigged his beer and jerked his head in her direction. “She looks that way because I have my hand up her skirt.”
He did not just say that. She went ramrod straight and snapped her legs closed as everyone at the table laughed. Candace said, “Oh, you wish.”
All Macy had succeeded in doing was trapping his hand between her thighs.
His thumb stroked across her skin, coaxing her to open to him again. She wanted to. But if he was only going to embarrass her in front of everyone…
She gave the back of his wrist a little warning smack. Beside her, his lip quirked, and he gave her a see what I did there? wink.
For the hundredth time, she thought about how she should stop this. She should. But his fingers curled into her flesh and pulled her leg against the side of his and dammit, she didn’t stop him, couldn’t stop him. Once he had a little room to work with, he slid his hand up, bunching her skirt again.
She killed her drink and ordered another. His pinky finger grazed the silk of her panties, silk he’d find wet and little barrier to the throbbing flesh beneath. Thankfully, the waitress plunked her refreshed drink in front of her, so she had something to hold on to instead of clenching her fists on the tabletop. With the side of his finger, he was drawing tantalizing circles around her aching clit through the damp fabric.
The conversation still went on among her friends. Ghost even took part, laughing and wisecracking while her freaking toes curled and she resisted the urge to…bite him. Or grab his head and kiss him wildly. Or fling herself back in the booth and have a heaving orgasm. Or at least help him pull her panties aside so he could sink his fingers into her.
But she knew he couldn’t. Crammed together in the booth, he didn’t have the range of mobility for such a feat without giving them away. She couldn’t let him make her come or—
“I think you should slow down,” Candace said, and it took a moment for Macy to realize she was talking to her.
“What?” she asked, cursing the husky breathlessness of her own voice.
Candace chuckled. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Enough…no, not nearly enough. Her gaze alighted on her empty drink. Shit. She meant alcohol. How many had she had, trying to squelch the heat and keep her hands busy so she didn’t yank Ghost on top of her right in front of everyone?
“Damn, Mace, you do look shitfaced,” Brian observed.
Her brain took stock of her situation. She was breathing erratically and half leaning on Ghost. A trickle of sweat tickled at her hairline. Her lips felt swollen and…numb, and she swept her tongue across them. Not that her friends could tell, but her nipples were hard as pebbles and rasping against the cups of her bra. “I—I need some air.” She turned pleading eyes on her accomplice beside her. His fingers disappeared from between her legs, and it was all she could do not to go after his hand. Return it to where it belonged. She wasn’t drunk; she was in the wildest sexual heat she could remember since…oh, hell. Since the last time he had her this hot.
“I got her,” Ghost said, sliding from the booth and helping her across after him. She tried to fix her skirt and could only hope she did a passable job as she stood up beside him. For a moment, she feared her shaking knees wouldn’t support her, and she leaned against him as the only stable thing in her world.
“Are you all right?” Sam asked, sounded genuinely concerned as she reclaimed her seat. Michael scooted around to sit beside her now that there was free space.
“She’s straight,” Ghost said. “We’ll go outside for a few.”
“Take care of her,” Candace called after them as he led her away from the safety of their booth.
“Oh, I intend to,” he said, for Macy’s ears only.
Chapter Three
The rush of cold air outside snapped her out of her lust-and alcohol-infused funk. Somewhat. She was still aware of the slippery pool of need he’d inspired between her legs. That heat wasn’t dissipating any time soon, at least not due to any external climate change.
Macy expected to stop outside the door so she could catch her breath, but Ghost kept a hand on her arm and steered her into the parking lot.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m parked out here. Thank God I brought my car.” The last few words were muttered under his breath. He still hadn’t answered her question, but her mind hadn’t stopped functioning so much that she couldn’t figure out the answer.
Ghost drove a shiny black ’69 GTO convertible he’d restored to mint condition. Her heart rate tripled when it came into view. She hadn’t been in that car since—
He wasted no time unlocking the door and ushering her into the backseat…oh, the backseat.
And then the door closed and they were alone and it was dark and he was in her arms, his mouth hot on her neck.
“I can’t do this here,” she managed to pant. But her traitorous body made no move to shove him off. She only pulled him closer, shoving off his cap—yes, still shaved—and absorbing his body heat.
“Just like you couldn’t before? Just like you couldn’t let me get under your skirt in there?”
“I should have stopped you.”
“Mmm. But you didn’t. And you’re not going to now, are you?”
It was the million-dollar question, and she couldn’t think about it right now while he was nibbling her earlobe, his big body pressing her down into the seat. She had to spread her legs to accommodate him in the cramped space. Her skirt bunched around her hips again, leaving only her panties as a barrier. One thrust of his groin against her throbbing clit would probably have her coming. Despite her protests, she needed this orgasm like she needed the next beat of her heart.
“We have a penchant for backseats, don’t we? What’s it gonna take for me to get you in a bed?” She couldn’t answer him, and she didn’t think he expected her to. His mouth trailed a hot path down to her breast; she could feel the gust of his breath through her T-shirt. He didn’t spend time there, though his hand came up to knead her as he continued his journey downward. She stiffened when he lifted the hem of her shirt and licked a circle around her belly button.
“Fuck, Macy.” His tongue darted into the indentation. “You smell so fucking sweet. You were perfuming up the place in there. I couldn’t wait to get you alone.”
Heat roared in her cheeks until it almost matched that being generated below. She turned her face into the back of the seat, the upholstery cold against her dewy forehead.
She shouldn’t be doing this. She didn’t do this. Not again. But she was deluding herself if she thought she wanted it to end.
Satisfied with his exploration of her belly button, he pushed the denim of her skirt up farther, and his fingers slipped into the waistband of her panties. She whimpered as he pulled them down, knowing she was bared to him now, though she still refused to look at him. He folded her knees to her chest to divest her of her panties.
“Aw, I did get you primed, didn’t I?” His fingertips slid though her swollen, slippery folds, sending an electric jolt through her. She arched against his touch, trying to get those fingers on her clit where she needed them. So gently she wanted to scream, he breached her, only stoking her need as he slid deep and swirled. Her mouth opened in a silent moan. Her nails bit crescents into her spread thighs so that she didn’t grab his head and shove it down to the maelstrom of fiery desperation he’d created between her legs.
“Look at me.” With his free hand he moved one of her thighs to his shoulder and then stroked it from knee to
hip, exerting just enough pressure with his short fingernails to leave tingling trails in their wake. The soothing caress gave her the courage to turn her face to him.
Once she obeyed his request, she couldn’t look anywhere else. There was just enough light filtering in to cast his face half in shadow and put a wicked glint in his eyes.
“You want me here?” he asked. Her internal muscles gripped his slowly thrusting finger.
She sighed as he slid in another, cried out as he pushed them deep and brushed her clit with his thumb. “Yes! Soon.” It was all she could think about. He squeezed a third finger in, and it effectively stilled all her restless movements. “Oh…God.” She held motionless, whimpering, as he worked his fingers deeper.
“Christ,” he whispered. “You feel good. I can’t wait to fuck you.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I will, baby. Long and hard and deep, just like you need it.” To punctuate his words, he dragged his fingers out to their tips, teased her and thrust them back in. “But not in the car this time.”
She moaned, grinding her hips on his hand. Dammit, they’d done it before. “Why not?”
“We just can’t. Not here. Not the way I want to do it, we can’t.”
Everything she’d been thinking in the club, everything she’d been thinking for the past few months without him, was effectively negated with everything she was feeling right now. “I need it. Please, I need it so much…”
With a curse, he shifted and dropped lower. How he was folding himself down to get on her level, she didn’t know, nor did she care. A burst of his breath tickled across her mound, then his thumb was gone, replaced by something warmer and far, far wetter—
“Oh God, yes!” she cried. It inflamed him. His free hand grasped her thigh and yanked it wider, an animalistic sound tearing from his throat. She grabbed whatever she could to anchor herself to the earth as he licked devastating patterns over her clit, hooking his thrusting fingers to find the spot on her upper wall that had her hips wrenching off the seat. Suddenly she couldn’t open wide enough, couldn’t get close enough. Her staccato whimpers dissolved into one long unending plea.
