Mustang Summer (The Walker Five Book 2)

by Marie Johnston

  He couldn’t help a sheepish smile when he straightened and withdrew from her. Grasping her hands, he helped her off the car and inspected the hood for damage.

  Josie located her shirt and shook it out. Then she was next to him, using it wipe the metal clean of the condensation of their coupling.

  “Thanks.” Satisfied in more than one way, he picked up the rest of her clothes before he took care of the condom in the barn trash and found his shirt.

  She was dressed by the time he was, but she wasn’t standing around awkwardly. The door to the Mustang was open and she was leaning inside. He almost groaned at her ass sticking out with those curvy legs braced and commanding admiration. Her sassy hair was mussed and clinging around her face and neck from the humidity. A gearhead’s wet dream.

  The mugginess of the air settled heavy around him. Was it thicker than when he’d barged in here?

  He frowned, walking to the barn door. He’d only used the side door so no extra fresh air was getting in, but the mugginess seemed worse than before.

  He wasn’t usually weather ignorant, but he hadn’t listened to the news this evening because he’d been dining with a beautiful woman. He didn’t often forget to track the weather, his farming blood demanded it.

  Walking out into his yard, he spun in a three-sixty.

  Shit.

  “What’s going on?” Josie exited the barn but didn’t shut the door. She came to stand next to him and looked to the west where he’d stopped. “Duuude.”

  “Looks like a nasty storm cell.”

  Across the horizon, a deep blue haze stretched from end to end. And above it, columns of fluffy white clouds piled high. He wasn’t a meteorologist, but he equated the look with a wicked storm. No lightning lit up the sky yet, but it was coming, had to be with those clouds.

  “Is it heading toward us?”

  “I have to check.” He pivoted to march toward the barn where he locked everything as tight as he could. For good measure, he checked all the doors. The chicken coup needed a once over to ensure it was secure.

  “They’re cute.” Josie had been trotting behind him the whole time, but she kept her distance from the chickens.

  She was shifting from foot to foot. Bare feet. A smile tickled his mouth. No wonder she wasn’t getting close.

  “Are you going to shut them in?” she asked.

  He was inside the pen checking to make sure everything was secured and to set their water holders inside the back of the barn that was their home. “No. We don’t have the big door open for them and they’ll get out of the weather before it starts. Actually…” he stopped and pointed to the smattering of white fluffballs clucking around. “Most of them have gone in. A good sign bad weather’s heading this way.”

  He latched the gate and started for the house. His truck was in the house garage, everything that could be sheltered was. Except for Josie’s car.

  “Your car will fit in the garage next to my truck.”

  “Oh, I didn’t even think about that. I was worried about the chickens.”

  “They’re fine.” He glanced to the west one more time. This time, the whole sky was deep blue. The storm was getting closer.

  They got Josie’s car parked in the garage and she was busy wiping her feet on the welcome mat while he went in to turn on The Weather Channel.

  He was planted on the edge of the couch with his elbows on his knees when she sat beside him.

  The radar showed a red swath approaching Moore and in the middle of the red was some pink and even a few dots of white.

  Josie whistled. “Damn. Tornado?”

  “No.” Brocks words were terse. “Hail.”

  “Thank you for getting my car inside.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She studied him, a slight tilt to her head. He ran the conversation over in his mind. Had he said something wrong? Not said something? She said thank you and he was programmed to at least say you’re welcome.

  She rested her hand on his knee. “Where should we wait out the storm?”

  “I’ve got a weather radio downstairs.” He flicked the TV off and stood. “Grab your stuff.”

  Chapter Eight

  Josie padded downstairs after Brock. The bottom level of the split ranch was cooler, but cozier. Wall-to-wall carpet squished between her toes. His parents had sprung for the good stuff.

  Brock flipped on a light in the main area and she stopped short to look around in awe. A sensory mecca was the only way she could describe it.

  The plush carpet she’d already been introduced to, but the walls were painted the most pleasing shade of taupe. A free-standing hammock sat at one end of the room and candles were scattered along the ledge of the wainscoting.

  “Whoa.” She spun a small circle.

  It was like a DIY spa. The smell was even relaxing. She picked up the nearest candle. Vanilla lavender. She checked the label: soy wax. Weren’t those supposed to be less toxic? Her gaze lifted to land on speakers. There were four—one mounted in each corner.

  Brock had gone into an adjacent room, and she stepped to the doorway. He rummaged through a shelf in the corner, then withdrew a radio. The makeshift storage room looked like it could’ve once been a bedroom. Boxes with the names of car places and car parts on them were stacked along the walls. The closet door was open, the space was filled with various pairs of overalls.

  All of it was tidy. If she were to shout a make and model of air filter, Brock could probably point to exactly where it was stored and how many he had. Hell, his overalls were probably categorized by task, like snow removal, mechanic work, and whatever else a farmer would use coveralls for.

  Boots lined the floor under the hangers. Snow boots. Ski boots. She peeked in farther and saw cross-country ski equipment and snowshoes.

  The Walkers had this awesome acreage and were still able to do all the snow sports that she either couldn’t afford or didn’t have time for.

  A twinge of jealously flared, but she couldn’t hold it against Brock. He worked hard for everything and everyone around him.

  Most girls would’ve been offended that he’d inspected the car for damage immediately after doing it on the hood, but not her. He’d said he was restoring it for someone and in the little time she’d known him, she’d seen how much his work meant to him. So the fact that he’d lost his common sense to take her on it in the first place was incredibly flattering.

  A vibrating sound jerked her out of her musings.

  Brock glanced at her backpack where her phone was going off before he went back to fiddling with the weather radio.

  She went back into the relaxation room and dug out her phone.

  Her heart sank. It was her father.

  “Hey, Bill.” She’d called him that for so long, it didn’t faze him anymore.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “I didn’t have any weekend plans so I came down to see Jesse.” Not exactly a lie—she’d probably visit him before she left.

  Bill’s long-suffering sigh clenched her gut. “I know you and your brother are close, but you can’t waste all your time and money on the boy. He dug his own grave.”

  A small wave of guilt washed through her. Bill was worried about her, and she was mostly lying to him. To take her mind off her deceit, she watched as Brock moved bins around and pulled out one.

  He pulled out items inside to check over and her mouth quirked. An emergency kit. Of course, he’d have one.

  “I should be back tomorrow night,” she said. “But…we need to talk. About the books.”

  Bill was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

  She sucked in a deep breath. It was time to tell him. “We didn’t get the Shelby, Bill.”

  Bill swore. “What happened?”

  “He found another buyer.” Eventually, that would be true. “How are you going to pay the money back?”

  “I said you don’t need to worry about that.”

  “B
ut I work for you.”

  “Josephina—” there was the don’t-argue-with-me use of her full name, “—I’ve got it taken care of. We have business coming in, I’ll get an extension, it’ll be fine.”

  Either he was fooling himself, or trying to not worry her, or both. But they weren’t fine, and they didn’t have a hundred thousand dollars of business coming in. Then there was the interest—higher than any bank would offer, and no bank would’ve floated Bill the loan.

  “All right,” she conceded. “There’s a storm coming, so I’d better curl up in a corner.”

  She exhaled after they disconnected, trying to let all her anxiety flow out with it.

  Brock came out of the room with the plastic bin and dropped it at the edge of a loveseat.

  Loud pelts of rain started hitting the windows. The curtains were drawn downstairs, but it was dark behind them. The edge of the storm had reached them.

  Tension lines edged Brock’s mouth and eyes.

  “Are you okay?” She moved in front of him and rested her hands on his defined chest.

  “I just don’t like storms.”

  “Have a bad experience with one?”

  He shook his head. That was all she was going to get.

  Waving her hand around, she asked, “What’s with this room?”

  He swallowed and stared at the room. “It’s, uh, it’s my…”

  It was for him? “You come here to relax?” she finished for him.

  “Yeah,” he said, gruffly. “Not so much anymore, but when I was younger, I used to sleep in the hammock most nights.”

  Rain hit the windows with more force. Sounds of steady water running through the gutters was as loud as the rain.

  “Geez, it’s pouring out.”

  Flashes of light flickered across the curtains. Peals of thunder rattled seconds later.

  “It’s getting closer.” Brock’s fists clenched and unclenched. “If it hails, we could lose a lot of crop.”

  Ah. She understood his fear better. But then another round of thunder made him flinch. The wind was picking up and sheets of rain nailed the house.

  Call her selfish, but she hoped to take his mind off the storm.

  “Sit down.” He dropped on the loveseat. She located her backpack and dug around for the impulse buy she’d picked up on the way to Moore. Feeling silly at the time, her little box seemed like an intuitive idea now.

  She palmed the box and held her hand out to Brock. His eyes narrowed, then his brows rose.

  “Do you think this’ll make the storm better?” She tried for innocence, but her question came out sultry.

  His gaze heated. He took the box from her to set aside. “Yes.”

  Then he grabbed her hand to tug her on top of him where he dragged her head down for a kiss. She straddled him as their tongues dueled and lifted his shirt back up. This time, she wanted him to be naked.

  As the force of the storm picked up, Brock’s movements became jerkier. He hung onto her like she was his life line.

  Did he ride out these storms all by himself? If the candles were for relaxation, they were probably powerless against the stress of a storm. Were they for if the power went out?

  She broke the kiss to get his shirt off. Backing off him, she stood and shimmed out of her shorts. He broke his attention to free himself from his jeans.

  Never would she tire of seeing him. Muscle rippled over a hard body as he moved, but his shaft and what he could do with it transfixed her.

  He opened the box and fished out a condom. He was about to tear it open when he paused. “They’re neon.”

  She shrugged as she was yanking off her top. “Gas station purchase. I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t think I’d need them.” She smiled as she stood naked in front of him. “But I’m glad I do.”

  “Me, too.” He rolled it on. Neon green looked good on him.

  She crawled back onto his lap. His gaze was at her sex. For a man who didn’t emote much, the hungry way he watched her turned her on more than any sweet whisperings. He wanted her and it was written all over his face.

  While he was riveted, she placed herself over him. Pleasure flitted over his face as she eased herself down.

  She bit her lip and moaned as he filled her. His hands went to her waist, but he didn’t urge her into a pace.

  She swiveled and rocked until her juices coated him and he was seated as deep as he could go. His shaft hit all the right spots.

  Lightning flashed, briefly highlighting the room, and thunder cracked. Sharp cracks of hail hit the windows. God, she hated hail and the worry of whether it’d take out the glass or not.

  Brock flinched at the noise. Josie started rocking. She lifted herself and eased back down. With a growl of pleasure, his eyelids drifted shut. Her distraction was working.

  He tightened his hands on her, but he didn’t take over. She kissed him hard on the mouth, trailing soft kisses across his cheek to nibble on his earlobe. A deep groan and more forceful undulations of his hips rewarded her efforts.

  She smiled to herself and licked up the shell of his ear, immediately blowing on the trail she made. He shivered. Ah, he had a ticklish side. Trailing her fingertips down his chest, she feathered them along his abs.

  Now, he took over. He lifted her and slammed her back down, but then abandoned his efforts to nudge her face out of the way so he could maneuver her breasts in front of his mouth. Perfectly fine losing the upper hand, she let him take over.

  His hot mouth covered her nipple, his tongue flicking the tip. When had her breasts become such erogenous zones? She twisted her hands in his hair, afraid he’d abandon his efforts.

  He lavished attention on her breasts and her eyes drifted shut. The bliss roaring through her body was stronger than before, a feat she hadn’t thought possible.

  Why was it so different with Brock? A man who seemed clueless with women handled her body better than anyone else.

  Maybe because his mind wasn’t on others, unlike her ex. Gage was either thinking of himself or the women he had on the side. When Brock focused on her, it was her. He wasn’t coaxing an orgasm out of her to satisfy his male ego. It was like he wanted to drive her body to the limits, but it was unthinkable that he’d satisfy himself without her. That’d be like driving his cars for thousands of miles without so much as an oil change.

  She gasped as she careened closer to an orgasm. Comparing herself to one of his cars didn’t bother her. Not when she saw the care he took of them. In her family, they were a means to money, the interest in them as a work of art long gone.

  But with Brock, she was a work of art. When they were together like this, it was in his expression. He was fascinated by her body.

  Larger chunks of hail hit the window. He tensed even as his pelvis tilted in rhythm to her riding him. She hugged his head into her chest with so much force, he bit into her sensitive skin.

  She cried out, but not in pain. It was like he swelled inside of her when she was already so full with him, yet she wanted as much as he could give. They were both close, but he released her breast and leaned back. He panted with the exertion, his lips parted. His lids were hooded, his cheeks flushed with arousal and his hair mussed. Those blue eyes of his were glued to where they were connected and he cupped her sex.

  Just the touch of his calloused fingertip on her swollen clit pushed her over the peak.

  She threw her head back to call out her ecstasy. Brock’s shouts of coming mingled with hers.

  Her body milked him as she shook, her breasts bouncing in front of his face. His rough hand left her center and he cupped her breasts as he rocked with his release.

  Slumping over him, she had nothing else to give. He’d dominated her. He skimmed his hands around her back and hugged her close. They’d made their own cocoon of peace while the storm raged.

  Behind her closed lids, flares of light brightened the room. A few seconds later, more thunder rolled through.

  The worst of the storm seemed like it was over. T
he hail was done, but it was still raining and the sounds of dirt and debris getting thrown around filled the night.

  Tension was creeping back into Brock’s shoulders where her hands rested.

  “Do you need to go out and check the damage?” she whispered.

  “Not until it clears up, then it’ll be dark any way. I want to stay here, with you.”

  That was exactly what she wanted. She traced her fingers down his rounded biceps. “Do you have any ideas of what we could do?”

  ***

  Brock lay with a hand across his chest, his features softened in sleep.

  Josie stayed curled under his arm. The floor could’ve been more uncomfortable, but the softness of the carpet made it bearable. She’d been so exhausted, she hadn’t cared when she’d finally passed out.

  Flickers of candlelight danced over the walls and the furniture. The curtains were still drawn, but daylight filtered in around them. After their round on the loveseat, he’d spread her out on the carpet and played with her body for another round. He’d dug out blankets and covered them when she’d been too boneless to freaking move.

  Before he’d dropped down next to her, he’d lit two of the biggest candles, ones that could burn for hours while they slept.

  Since he’d still been jerky with the rain and thunder, she doubted it was a romantic gesture, more like he needed the candles to soothe himself. Their soft glow contradicted the wind outside, giving the room a feel of safety.

  He’d gradually relaxed as the scent of lavender vanilla grew stronger and the effects of the lightning were muted against the candles. She learned so much about him without him saying word. Or was it the other way around? He told her so much about himself, allowing a glimpse into how he worked. Did he even realize he was doing it?

  His eyes slitted open.

  “Morning,” she purred.

  “Morning.” He half-smiled before a grim expression took over and he sat up.

  He pushed himself up and it was her turn to ogle. His strong body bunched and flexed as he gathered his clothing. She was content to watch until he walked out of the room and up the stairs.

  Josie looked around the empty room. Well, that was abrupt.