Texas Twist (Texas Montgomery Mavericks)

by Cynthia D'Alba

  And getting the memory of her thigh pressed to his out of his mind was proving damned near impossible. Just remembering the heat from where she’d touched him sent blood rushing south. And when a man had a hammer and pry bar in his hands ripping up old flooring, he certainly didn’t need his Johnson in the way.

  “So what’s for dinner?”

  Cash turned around and almost swallowed his tongue. Good Lord all mighty. Paige wore a pair of shorts that ended no more than three inches below the junction of her thighs. He wondered if the back covered as far down as the curve in her ass. The white wife-beater shirt was so thin that he could see the lace outline on her bra, but he muttered a quick, “Thank you, Jesus” that she wore a bra. As he slid his gaze down her body to the red tips of her naked toes, he knew was going straight to hell.

  At least the table would hide his stiff cock. She’d never know the effect she’d had. Keeping his hands off her was the kindest thing he could do for her. For him? Not so much. But definitely better for her.

  “Cash? What’s wrong?”

  He swallowed or tried to. His spit backed up behind the huge ball of lust lodged in his throat, making him choke. He coughed.

  “Are you all right?”

  He cleared his throat. “Fine. Sorry. I was drinking something and it went down the wrong way.”

  Yeah. He was drinking her in and it had sure gone down the wrong way…all the way to his dick.

  “So.” She looked around. “Are we eating in the dining room? I saw plates on the table.”

  “Yup.”

  The dining room table was larger than the small table in the kitchen. He could sit farther away.

  “Carry this,” Cash said, handing her a platter with bacon and slices of buttered toast. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  When he got to the dining room with the scrambled eggs and jelly, Paige had rearranged the table, moving her plate and utensils from one end of the table to the side next to his place at the other end. There was nothing he could do but sit down beside her. Anything else would have been rude.

  Once they were seated, the dining room temperature skyrocketed, or maybe it was just him. He couldn’t stop watching her eat. The way her lips wrapped over the fork. The slow way she pulled the fork from her mouth. The way she flicked her tongue out to catch a stray toast crumb or lick the dab of strawberry jelly at the edge.

  Breathing became a struggle. Forget even trying to eat. He feared he’d aspirate the eggs into his lungs with his gasps every time Paige did anything remotely connected with her mouth. He had to get his mind somewhere else, but where?

  Oh yeah. On why she deserved better than him.

  “Let me ask you something,” he said.

  She took a drink of water then nodded. “Sure.”

  “Today at lunch, when the waitress asked you if you wanted something from the bar, you sort of looked my way and then said no. I noticed we don’t have beer or wine or anything alcoholic in this house. Is all that because of me? Because you think I’m an alcoholic?”

  She gasped, her mouth dropped in surprise. Then she shocked him when she started laughing.

  “Cash. I’m a grown woman. If I’d wanted a drink, I’d have ordered one. You had nothing to do with why I didn’t have a drink today or why I don’t have booze in the house. Let me ask you something. Friday night when you examined my tonsils with your tongue, did you taste or smell booze?”

  He held her gaze, even as he wanted to dip his head. She’d given a pretty good description of their kiss two days ago.

  “Tonsil exam? Really?”

  She shrugged and then grinned. “Not that I’m complaining, because I’m not.”

  Her comment metaphorically slammed him back in his chair. She wasn’t upset by the kiss, and if the look on her face was any indication, she wouldn’t send him away if he kissed her again. Not that he would.

  “To answer your question, no, I didn’t smell any booze on you.”

  “Exactly. I don’t drink much, Cash. A glass of wine or champagne at weddings. A beer with pizza. But that’s about it. I don’t buy it because it’d be flat or stale or whatever between the times I wanted it.” Her face grew serious as she leaned toward him. “Were you looking for a drink?”

  “So you do think I’m an alcoholic.” He tried to put both hurt and anger in his voice. This was great. He could pick a fight, go upstairs and not be faced with all her incredible sexiness.

  “Doesn’t matter what I think,” she said, her voice as smooth, calm and cool as water at daybreak on a lake. “It only matters what you think. Do you think you have a drinking problem?”

  “You sound like a shrink.”

  She snorted. “I have a degree in psych, so I probably do. So do you? Have a problem, I mean?”

  This time he couldn’t hold the gaze. He looked away, out the French doors at the end of the room. “No.” He knew he sounded defensive, but damn, did everybody around him think he was a drunk?

  “Great.” Paige continued to eat as though he’d just told her the weather forecast.

  “Okay. Maybe I did. But I don’t now.” His defensiveness continued. His plan had been to pretend to get angry and leave, but this discussion about his drinking had him actually feeling more than a little testy.

  “Okay then. Issue settled. We’re a non-drinking house by choice. But if you ever want to talk about what you went through over the past seven months, I’d be glad to listen.”

  He set his fork on the side of his plate. “I don’t want to talk about it. Look, I’m heading up to watch some television. Don’t let me hurry you. I’ll carry my stuff to the kitchen.” He stood and gathered his dirty dishes.

  “Cash. Did I say something to upset you?” Her gaze up at him was filled with kindness and, damn it, affection.

  “No. I’m sorry. It’s just that my brothers are always all over my ass about it and I guess I got a little touchy. Sorry. Finish eating. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After putting his dishes in the sink, he headed upstairs with a wave of his hand to Paige still sitting at the table. As soon as Cash stepped on the top floor, Buster came flying up the stairs to join him. He dropped onto his couch, his left leg throbbing, which was unusual as it’d hadn’t bothered him much in the last week or so. Buster climbed on the leather sofa, fully aware this was taboo, but tonight, Cash needed the company. Between petting Buster and whatever inane program he could find to watch, he was sure he would be distracted from the pain. At least his penis had gone back into sleep mode.

  From downstairs, the sounds of Paige clearing the table and running water in the kitchen floated over the railing. He laid back. What was he going to do about her? His brain said to push her away. But other parts of him wanted to do the opposite. He wanted his brain to win this battle.

  The soft tap of a footfall on the lowest step had Buster jumping up and off the sofa. He raced to the top of the stairs and let out a welcoming bark.

  “Hi, Buster,” Paige said. “I brought you something.”

  Buster’s tail wagged briskly. When he turned away from the step, he was carrying a large rawhide bone. He disappeared into the bedroom with his prize.

  “I don’t think he’s going to share,” Paige said. “So I brought you something else.”

  “Oh?”

  “Blueberry cobbler and ice cream. You interested?”

  He laughed. It was impossible to be mad at her. Hell, he couldn’t even maintain a fake anger.

  “Did you heat the cobbler?”

  “You’re kidding, right? Of course.”

  He sat up on the couch and she sat down beside him. “Your mom might have mentioned that you had a thing for blueberry cobbler so I thought I’d surprise you.”

  He took a bite and moaned. “This is better than Mom’s. Don’t tell her I said that,” he added quickly.

  “Our
little secret. What are you watching?”

  “I have no idea. It’s just on for noise. Why? Is there something you’d like to see?”

  “Nope. I was just going to put some music on instead.”

  He handed her the remote. “Have at it.” But if she put on some love-song station, he’d have to put his foot down. She didn’t. She flipped immediately to contemporary country. They ate in silence, him tapping his toe and her bouncing her leg to the music until Faith Hill’s “Like We Never Loved At All” started playing. She stood and held out her hand.

  “Dance with me, Cash.”

  He swallowed. This was not a good idea. This was the song that they’d danced to all those years ago. Of course he remembered. Every Faith Hill song dredged up memories of what a shit-heel he’d been. But then she smiled and wiggled her fingers. What else could he do?

  He stood, took her hand and pulled her into his arms. They swayed to the music, moving in slow steps around and around. She sighed, her warm breath sliding across his neck like silk.

  He tightened his arms to pull her closer and…wham! Excruciating pain shot through his injured leg. His left thigh muscle contracted into an unrelenting spasm.

  “Shit.” Cash dropped his arms from around Paige and began rubbing his thigh and walking. Every couple of steps, he’d stomp his foot.

  “What is it, Cash? What’s wrong?”

  “Damn leg. Hasn’t done this in a while, but when the sonofabitch gets a cramp like this, it takes forever to get it to relax.”

  “Pull your jeans down and let me rub it.”

  He eyed her. Let her rub it? Was she serious?

  “Don’t look at me like that. Pull your pants off and sit down.”

  When he didn’t immediately do what she ordered, she marched into his bedroom. In a minute, she was back with the top sheet of the bed. “Here.” She tossed the sheet on the leather sofa. “If you’re that bashful, cover up. Although I’ve seen a penis or two in my life.”

  She marched away again, but this time to his bathroom and came back with a bottle of hand lotion.

  If anything, the muscle spasm was getting worse, not better. Thank goodness, he’d toed off his boots when he’d first sat down to watch television. That left no obstruction to dropping his jeans to the floor. Afterwards, he practically fell back on the sofa.

  “Put your leg up on the cushions,” she ordered.

  Lowering herself to her knees beside the sofa, she prepared to go to work. She squirted lotion into her hands, rubbed them together and then dug her fingers into the bulging muscle making itself known. Along the edges of the spasm, she worked her thumbs in deep circles, demanding that the cramp give up its control.

  The scent of vanilla from the lotion filled the air. He drew in a deep breath and tried to relax.

  He studied her, her lower lip sucked between her teeth, her eyes focused on the area giving him so much pain. This was not a Paige Ryan he knew. This was not Doc Ryan’s jail bait. This was a take-charge adult female who knew what she was doing when she worked her fingers into the knotted muscle in his leg.

  He groaned. Yes, working out the muscle contraction hurt, but there was also something about having Paige on her knees in front of him. His cock liked that idea too. It began to grow hard and move, as though waving for attention too.

  “Sorry,” Paige said. “I know this hurts, but I think I can get it to let go.”

  He didn’t bother to correct her misinterpretation of his groan. Instead, he grabbed the sheet she’d thrown on the back of the couch and covered himself. If she noticed, she gave no indication. She appeared to be focused on the pain in the leg and nothing else. Should he be pleased that she was so professional and clinical with her touch, or pissed that she hadn’t noticed the affect she was having on him?

  Since he knew beyond doubt that she deserved better than he-who-had-no-future, he decided to be relieved.

  It was then that pain in his leg lessened. The cramp eased up. Paige must have felt the change because she lifted his leg, slid under and took a seat on the sofa between his calves. After resting his leg across her lap, she retackled the area with a renewed sense of purpose, digging deep with her long fingers, forcing the muscle to do what she wanted.

  He couldn’t help but be impressed by this strong, forceful woman. She didn’t take no from him or his leg spasm.

  And then the leg cramp was gone. He blew out a long breath he didn’t realize he was holding and settled back against the arm of the couch, his breath coming in short, choppy rasps, his eyes shut in relief. It’d been a bad muscle seizure this time, one of the worst ever. The house renovation was giving him quite a workout, more than he’d had since his run-in with Bad Bob.

  “Thanks. That’s better. I think you’ve shown that cramp who’s boss,” he said with a light chuckle.

  “Hmm. Looks like you have another congested area that needs a little attention.”

  Before her words could register in his brain, she glided her long, soft fingers the rest of the way up his thigh to his throbbing cock. She grasped his length through his briefs.

  “Paige. That’s probably not a good idea.” Probably? Hell, definitely.

  She ignored his protest, as feeble as it was. She stroked him, running the length of his dick with her fingers before passing her thumb over the head. His arousal fluid soaked the front of his cotton briefs.

  Paige shifted until his foot slipped to the floor, leaving his legs spread. She climbed onto her knees and turned to face him. With a wink and a grin, she snatched the sheet off his groin and tossed it over the back of the sofa. Grasping the elastic waistband of his underwear, she tugged.

  “Paige.” He leaned up on his elbows, intending to give her a stern look.

  She ignored his warning and pulled harder. “Lift your hips.” She didn’t ask. She demanded.

  This most definitely wasn’t the timid girl he remembered. As if his hips had separate reasoning, he pushed them up and she yanked his briefs down. His cock sprang out like a bull released from a chute. When she licked her lips, he almost lost it right then.

  “Shut up, Cash.”

  Oh crap. He really liked this take-charge Paige.

  She flicked out her tongue and traced the tip along the thick vein on the underside, then swiped the fat surface of her tongue across the slit in the tip of his cock. When she moved her head, her long hair spread over his thighs like a blanket. The flora scent from her shampoo worked its way up his body. His neck wanted to relax, wanted to let his head drop back, but he’d be damned if he could take his gaze off Paige’s mouth as it closed over the end of his penis. He hissed in a breath as though her lips had burned his flesh. Inside her mouth, she caressed his rigid cock with moist heat and a wicked tongue doing twists and twirls. When she slid him deeper and he hit her throat, he couldn’t contain the long, low moan.

  He grabbed the back of the couch with his right hand and the edge of the cushion with his left and squeezed with all his might. Even concentrating on not coming too fast made him want to come.

  Then, to torture him a little more, Paige did this humming thing, which vibrated her throat on his cock’s head. Holy hell. His hips jerked off the sofa. He drove deeper.

  “Holy hell, Paige. I can’t take that.” Her long red hair tickled his balls when she began moving her mouth up and down his penis, which had reached an almost painfully erect state.

  Collecting her hair in one fist, he pulled it off to the side, both to get it off his sensitive balls and to improve his vision. Her lips were red and puffy as she rode him with them. When she sucked, her cheeks pulled inward from the action.

  “Babe. Listen,” he grunted out in a breathless tone. “I can’t…Oh God. That feels so good.”

  He pulled her hair toward him, forcing her down on his shaft. “Fuck. I can’t take much more. Do you hear me?”

  Instea
d of responding, Paige pushed her fingers between his legs and cupped his balls, rolling and fondling them as she continued to draw powerfully on his engorged flesh.

  He ceded the battle to her and gave himself over to the oncoming orgasm. It didn’t take but a couple of additional hip thrusts and an electrical jolt hit his system as he came.

  When his dick finally finished jerking, Paige released him from her mouth.

  “Here’s the deal, slick,” she said with a lift of an eyebrow. “I’m still attracted to you and, if I’m reading your kisses accurately, the feeling is mutual.” She sat back on her heels with a sigh. “I want to finish what we started seven years ago. Don’t freak out,” she added quickly when he opened his mouth to speak. “I’m not looking for long-term or asking for a commitment. Come fall, school’s going to be time consuming and tough. I won’t have the time or the energy for a relationship.” She shrugged. “So for as long as it lasts, I propose roommates with benefits. What do you say?”

  Say? He couldn’t say anything. Who was this creature between his legs? It wasn’t the sweet girl who’d blushed when he’d kissed her at sixteen, that was for sure. And that thing she did with her tongue? Who the hell had taught her that? He’d probably kill the bastard if he ever found out. Then again, maybe not, because oh my God, had she been a good student.

  “Cash? Don’t you have anything to say?” she asked with a frown.

  He shook his head.

  “Good.” Her smiled covered her puffy lips…lips that’d just given him the best head of his life. “What do you think?”

  Cash cleared his throat and pulled to a sitting position. “What about Marc Singer?”

  She did that cute little eyebrow lift again. “What about him?”

  “Aren’t you seeing him?”

  “Ah. Seeing, yes. Sleeping with, no. I don’t sleep with multiple partners at one time. In fact, as long as we are lovers, I’d have to insist you restrict your sexual activities to just me.”

  “Don’t you think the guy you’re seeing would mind if he finds out you’re sleeping with your roommate?”