by Becky McGraw
“Good gawd, Hooty—someone said it was you, but I didn’t believe them! You look like a million bucks! Where the hell have you been?”
Melanie peeled his fingers off of one shoulder and his hand dropped from the other. She took a step back and met his gaze.
“I’ve been somewhere they don’t call me Hooty,” she replied shortly.
“No, I imagine they call you Foxy now—wow, you sure have changed,” he said, not realizing that was exactly what they called her now, at least behind her back. Yeah, and she’d changed enough that this knucklehead who’d been hit one too many times in the head noticed her now. Too late, bucko. Definitely not interested.
“They actually call me doctor,” she informed snottily.
“Are you moving back to Sunny Glen?” he asked, wiggled his eyebrows then his eyes tracked down her body. “Because if you are, I might need a physical for my new job at the meat-packing plant.”
Melanie absolutely could not believe he grabbed his cock when he pulled out that old line she’d heard a million times. Mostly from young football players when she had to do physicals during her clinicals—college-aged jocks with more testosterone than brains—not thirty-two-year-old men who were stuck in their heyday.
“The perfect place for a meathead to work,” Melanie replied, and his smile faded.
“One thing hasn’t changed—you’re still the rudest bitch I ever—” he started, but Melanie was pushed aside and Brock stood where she’d been standing.
“And you are the crudest bastard,” Brock growled, as he planted both palms against the man’s chest and pushed hard. He stepped forward to put his nose to Carson’s. “I’d suggest you apologize to the lady, if you want to keep those pearly white teeth you paid so much for with your job at the car lot,” he grated.
“It’s a dealership,” Carson corrected angrily. “I sell sports cars, and—”
“You’re the best used car salesman in Georgia. That I believe. Now fucking apologize or follow me outside,” Brock snarled.
Carson’s face heated, and his eyes darted to Melanie.
“I’m sorry, Hoot—” He didn’t finish because Brock pushed him again and he staggered back. “I’m sorry, Doctor Fox,” he growled as he glared at Brock, before he turned and stomped away with Brock’s hot eyes burning holes in his back.
Warmth oozed through Melanie as she slid her arm through Brock’s. “Thanks for sticking up for me,” she said, and he looked down at her. He was the first person in her life who ever had.
“It’s what I should’ve done fourteen years ago,” he replied gruffly. “I’m sorry I was a member of the douchecanoe club with that asshole. By not calling them on it, I condoned it and probably made it worse.” He surprised her when he dropped his arm over her shoulders and pulled her into his side. “Let’s get out of here.”
Melanie took a step, but stopped. “I have to find out from Mom what time they need to be picked up.” She looked back over her shoulder, but couldn’t see her mother in the group of women, which looked like more of a gray-haired gang, now on the far side of the room.
“They don’t have to be picked up,” Brock informed, and his smooth, deep voice rumbled through her.
“Why not?” she asked looking up at him.
“Because your aunt’s new boyfriend Lester said he’d bring them home and get them settled, which I think means he’s going to be sleeping there tonight.”
Which means you can spend the night at my house.
Melanie heard the words as surely as if he’d spoken them as his eyes glided down to the vee in her t-shirt and something hot sparked in his gaze. His lips curled, that dimple appeared and her nipples hardened as a shiver rocked her. There was no missing that bad boy Brock Cooper was back in residency inside the big man beside her, and man was she glad to see him.
Welcome to the party, Coop, she thought, as she grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the front door of the gym.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Brock did not waste time going around to the passenger door. He stopped at the driver’s door and his hand shook as he inserted the key into the lock. He opened the door and all but tossed Melanie up onto the seat, then pushed her over with his body as he hurriedly cranked the truck. They could not get back to the ranch soon enough, he thought, throwing the SUV into reverse and glancing in the rearview.
Need clawed at his insides like barbed wire, electrified wire that set every nerve in his body on fire. It had been that way all afternoon, but he’d fought it. Brock was done fighting something Melanie obviously wanted as badly as he did.
He had never in his fucking life wanted a woman as bad as he wanted the one sitting beside him. Right now. Not tomorrow, not next week. Right damned now.
The tires shrieked and the SUV lurched when he threw it into gear and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. Melanie’s body pitched forward, her hand landed on his thigh and Brock groaned as her fingers dug in and fire shot up his zipper to scorch his painfully engorged cock.
Her muscles tensed and he looked down into rich, gold-flecked pools of need and her hand slid higher on his thigh as he held her gaze. Tires squealed, a horn blew rudely, and Brock woke up, slammed on the brakes and flew toward the steering wheel.
His heart pounding in his ears, Brock frowned at the older lady in the baby blue Cadillac who glared at him from her position half-in and half-out of the last aisle in the parking lot. His middle finger itched, but he was the sheriff in this town. He didn’t flip off old ladies—even the ones whose license should be revoked, he thought, as he stopped at the main road. When he found an opening he pulled out and turned right to head toward the ranch.
Reaching down, he undid the button on his jeans and slid his zipper down an inch because it was cutting off his circulation. He put his hand back on the wheel, and was surprised when the zipper moved to the bottom of the track. Looking down, he saw Melanie’s fingers pinching the tab then met her eyes. She licked those porn star lips of hers that tasted like cotton candy, then turned in the seat, smiling a smile that tightened his balls.
No, she isn’t thinking that. You’re dreaming, dude.
“Lift your hips a little, sheriff,” she said, taking a firm hold on either side of his jeans to tug them apart. The look in her eyes, her words which rang inside his head, made his heart pump blood through his body like a high-pressure water main.
God, he wasn’t dreaming. Electricity buzzed through him as he tensed his muscles, lifted and tried like hell to stay on the road while she jerked his jeans lower on his hips.
Brock hadn’t had a blow job in a vehicle in a very long time. He hadn’t had real sex in a long time either—at least three fucking years. If Melanie put that beautiful mouth on him, there was no guarantee it wouldn’t be over for him in seconds.
But there was no way in hell he was going to stop her when she lowered his underwear and her warm palm closed around him, dragging a throaty groan up from his toes which were curled inside his boots. Her head descended and his breathing became non-existent as her hair covered his crotch, her hot breath warmed his cock.
He had to see her do this, he thought, his right hand falling to grab the ends of her hair and hold them back. Fuck, it was dark—he couldn’t see a damned thing except when they passed a street light. Letting go of her hair, he reached up to turn on the dome light and Melanie leaned up to look at him.
“I need to watch you,” he croaked, his hand shaking as he grabbed the ends of her thick, silky hair again to hold it back. The corner of her mouth ticked up, before her head lowered toward him again. Her palm closed around him and she squeezed, right before her hot breath brushed his skin. Brock hissed a breath, every muscle in his body went rigid with anticipation and a tremor rocked him when the wet warmth of her lips surrounded his head.
“Oh, my God,” he rasped, flinching when she ran her tongue over him.
Brock’s eyes dropped to his lap and he whimpered at the amazing sight of her mouth on him, which sent him into s
ensory overload. Gritting his teeth, he dragged his eyes back to the road, fighting the orgasm barreling down on him, but it inched higher and higher with every hot circle of her tongue on his shaft.
The sucking noises and wet heat drove him wild until he squirmed in the seat, his hips moved with her mouth, and her throaty little moans vibrated up his skin to tease the head of his cock. When she went down on him, Brock swerved and his left hand almost bent the steering wheel. His fist twisted in her hair and he groaned as he watched her wet mouth slid down to meet her hand until he throbbed against the back of her throat.
“Holy shit—” he wheezed, breathing hard as she made a few slurping sucks that were like a sexual soundtrack designed to make him come.
When Brock couldn’t take the intense sensations any longer, he yanked her hair, but her lips pinched around him, and her teeth grazed his shaft as she dragged her lips slowly up to his head, pulling a wave of come up with them.
It pulsed right at the head of his cock, tremors rocked him and Brock struggled for breath as he fought to hold on. He looked back at the road, and was relieved to see they were almost home. He was going to pay her back for this tenfold when he got her to his bedroom. Right now, he needed to focus on getting them there alive.
But just as he whipped into the driveway and rattled over the cattle guard, she sucked him hard and he couldn’t tell if his teeth were chattering from that or the tremors shaking him as she held him to the roof of her mouth with her tongue. Blood rushed to his head making him dizzy, the ranch house blurred and he pressed on the accelerator to get to the house faster.
Her mouth pulled one more time and Brock twisted his fist in her hair to yank her off of him. The holding off was over, he thought, slamming on the brakes. Dragging in ragged breaths, he fisted his cock, threw his head back and moaned in relief as hot waves of come erupted onto his stomach. Weak and swimming in endorphins, he leaned his forearm on the wheel and rested his forehead on it.
“Goddamn, Hooty—I think you could suck a golf ball through a garden hose,” he said as he gasped for breath.
“Don’t call me that,” Melanie said darkly, as she lifted up and his eyes fixed on her deliciously swollen lips.
“I’m sorry—I promise it won’t happen again, baby.” Brock reached to pull her toward him for a kiss but she pulled away. Damn, just that fast he’d ruined things, because he was a dumbass.
“No, I don’t think it will—not tonight at any rate,” she said, her gaze darting to his still rigid cock. “You might want to put that away and take me home, because I think you have company.”
She sat back on the seat, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then folded her arms over her breasts as she stared at the house. Even though he didn’t want to, Brock looked toward the house, and groaned when he saw Lucy’s van parked there and her out and on the move toward the SUV. He quickly took off his hat, tossed it on the dashboard and pulled his t-shirt over his head to clean up. He threw it on the floorboard, then lifted his hips to pull up his jeans and zip them.
“I feel like I’m the other woman,” Melanie said, as Lucy stopped to rap her knuckles on Brock’s window, while she glared across the cab at Mel.
Brock sighed and rolled down the window. “What do you want, Lucy?” he asked gruffly.
“I want the father of my son to give a damn about him,” she said waspishly. “I gave you an ultimatum this morning and you’re with her tonight? I thought you had better sense, not to mention better taste.”
“And I told you I’m not going to put up with being threatened,” he fired back. “He’s not your property Lucy and I’m not going to allow you to control me with him.”
Lucy growled, notched her chin and glared at Brock. Melanie reached into the slot in the dash to grab Brock’s cellphone, because she had a feeling fireworks were coming and she didn’t have time to get hers from her purse.
“Make a decision, Brock. It’s Brady or her—you tell me which right now. I talked to my mother tonight who told me you were with this tramp at the school. It’s embarrassing to me, them and Brady. My parents fully support me if I want to sue you for full custody because of your neglect. Oh but be warned, my attorney says that you’ll still have to pay support, even if I decide it’s not in his best interest to have you in his life anymore.”
Melanie saw Brock’s knuckles go white on the steering wheel and his jaw work as he ground his teeth. He glanced at her, then looked back at Lucy. “You do what you feel froggy enough to do, Lucy, but I won’t be manipulated or blackmailed.”
“Well, I guess you can call it what you will, sheriff,” she said with a sly smile. “I call it doing what I need to do to protect my child…and myself.”
“I’m sick of the games, Lucy. You are trespassing here—you weren’t invited—so unless you want me to handcuff you and haul you to jail, I suggest you leave.”
“You wouldn’t haul me to jail with your son in the van,” Lucy challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. “You wouldn’t arrest me either, because you’re too much of a pussy to do that. Everyone in town would—”
In the overhead light, Melanie saw Brock’s face turn bright red and his throat blotched too, with what looked to be hives. This woman gave her hives too. His breaths came in short, uneven snatches as his head did a slow spin on his neck to meet Lucy’s eyes.
“The people of this town already think I’m a pussy for putting up with your crap for as long as I have. Now, if you don’t haul your ass back to that van and take Brady home, I’m calling Rowdy. I’m sure he will take great pleasure in arresting you.”
Lucy stared at him a minute grinding her teeth, then turned and stomped back toward the van. His shoulders finally relaxed when the brake lights on the van turned red, before Lucy did a three point turn and zoomed past them on the gravel driveway.
Melanie clicked off the recorder, handed Brock his cell phone, then scooted over on the seat. “Make sure you save that recording to your cloud. If she sues you for custody, it’s proof she’s playing games.”
Brock just sat there for a minute staring at his phone, before he turned his eyes to her.
“Thanks, but I won’t be needing this because I know she’s blowing smoke. They’re not going to help her exclude me from his life because I do too much for her and Brady. It would be a waste of their time and money to try, and it would mean they’d have to do more. I’ll apologize to her tomorrow and it’ll blow over.” He tossed the phone into the console, put his foot on the brake and grabbed the gear shift. “I’ll just take you home.”
“You’re going to let her win—just like that?” Melanie asked turning in the seat to face him as he put the truck into reverse. “Maybe her summation is right then, but I’d add coward to that too and maybe quitter. That’s why she continues to do this to you, Brock.”
Brock’s foot hit the brake again hard, throwing Melanie toward the dash. He slammed the truck into park, then opened the door. “Take the fucking truck home. I’ll get Rowdy to pick me up in the morning to come and get it.”
With that he shut the door and stormed toward the house, leaving Melanie to watch. He was almost to the stoop when his knees buckled and he fell in the yard. In the headlights, she could see his shoulders shaking. Raw, agonizing pain sliced through her chest, pressure built in her skull and Melanie bent over feeling sick. It was like his pain transmitted across the yard to her and became her own. Hollow, empty, desperate—alone.
Help him.
Fist at the center of her chest, Melanie reached for his hat on the dash, turned off the truck and headlights, then opened the door. By the time she made her way across the dark yard to the stoop, Brock had gone inside but the door was open so she went in.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Brock?” Melanie said, as she laid his hat and keys on the kitchen table.
She called his name a few more times as she walked through the dark house, because it was very quiet, she knew he had guns there and she did not want to get shot beca
use he thought she was an intruder. Every few seconds she’d stop to listen for an answer—or a sound of any kind—but heard nothing. She stood at the end of the hallway she assumed must lead to the bedrooms and listened again.
A faint agonized moan came from the end of the hall and she quickly ran that way, her heart rising closer to her throat with every step. She stopped at the last door on the right, and heard another weak moan. Without thought, Melanie opened the door and flicked on the light. Her eyes followed the trail of boots, jeans and underwear that led to the bed where she saw Brock curled into a fetal position on top of the covers, his back to her.
The pistol on the bed beside him caused her blood to turn to ice in her veins and she hurried to the bed, picked it up and put it on the nightstand with a shaking hand. Melanie sat on the bed and he mumbled into the pillow he was hugging.
“Go home, Melanie.” The hopelessness in his voice caused that knifing pain to slice through her chest again and she rubbed her sternum.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, swinging her legs up onto the bed, but then changing her mind and going to turn off the light. Some conversations were better had in the dark, she thought, as she pulled the switch down. Melanie left a trail of clothing on the way back to the bed too and was naked by the time she knelt on the edge to pull back the cover on her side.
“My fucking stomach hurts so damned bad,” he moaned, and Melanie’s stomach hurt too.
“Get under the covers, Brock. Let me help you,” she said, tugging them.
“Nobody can help me—my life is a fucked-up mess and it’s all my damned fault.”
“No, it’s only partly your fault for letting manipulative women—a manipulative woman—control you,” she replied, sitting on the side of the bed.
“All women are manipulative in one way or another,” he replied darkly. “The fucking bane of my existence.”
He was obviously painting her with that broad, black brush too.
