by Cat Johnson
“Relax. I’m keeping an eye on the clock. You still have a few hours.” He might say he was watching the time, but he still took advantage of her position as she leaned over him. He pulled her down close enough to draw her nipple into his mouth.
“Stop that.” She slapped at his shoulder. “I don’t have that long. Not long enough for another one of your long rounds.” Becca now knew from experience that even if the first time was fast—if you could call a solid quarter of an hour of muscle-clenching, body-writhing climaxes fast—the next round immediately following could go on for an hour or more.
He let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, all right. I’ll just have to be satisfied with the short round then. I’m gonna shower quick. Don’t go anywhere.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t.”
“Promise?”
She laughed at that. “Yes. I’m not sure I can walk yet anyway.”
The self-satisfied grin he sent her on his way to the bathroom was purely male.
Becca took the time he was in the shower to locate all her scattered clothes. By the time the sound of the water stopped and then the bathroom door opened, she was dressed, but not prepared for what came out.
Tucker wearing nothing but a towel draped low on his hips striding across the room was enough to draw and hold her attention. But when he grabbed his cowboy hat from the dresser and planted it on top of his damp hair, the sight would be enough to make any woman melt. She swallowed hard and tried to wrestle her libido into check and drag her gaze from his torso, glistening with water droplets.
In the light of day she noticed little things about him she hadn’t seen last night while in the midst of a sexual frenzy. There were deep bruises on one side of his rib cage. Probably from a bull, if she had to guess, though she hadn’t seen him fall last night. But who knew how often he rode . . . and fell. Then just above his left shoulder blade was the tattoo of a cross with something written below it that she couldn’t make out.
All tiny details uniquely him. Details she’d probably still remember years from now, because there was no way she’d ever forget this. She thought it best to take her mind off it all—how tempting he looked, how dangerous his job was, how it didn’t matter anyway since she’d never see him again. She pocketed that sadness and bent to retrieve the scattered empty condom wrappers from the floor.
“You know, we only used three out of the six. You must be slacking off.” She glanced up and saw his brow rise at her comment.
“Skip that meeting of yours and we’ll use those and then I’ll go out for another box full.”
Regret filled her. “I wish I could, but I can’t. This meeting is the whole reason I flew out here.”
“Next time, then.” He walked over, leaned low, and dropped a surprisingly chaste kiss on her forehead.
“Next time,” she repeated, knowing as well as he this was a one-time thing. There wouldn’t be any next time.
“Bye, Becca.” Tuck did his best to ignore how hard it was saying good-bye to this woman after only having spent one night with her.
“Good-bye, Tucker. And thank you for everything. Uh, I meant the beer and corn dogs and being so nice at the rodeo. Not the . . .” She glanced at the bed. Watching her cheeks turn pink as she stumbled over her words, he couldn’t help smiling. She let out a sigh, apparently giving up on clarifying her thanks. “Anyway, it was really nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” Out of the blue, he decided he couldn’t let her go quite yet. Even though she was already out in the hallway as he held the door open, he reached for her. With one arm around her waist, he dragged her close, angled his head, and gave her one last kiss to remember him by.
When he finally released her, she looked a little unsteady. The muscles in her throat worked as she swallowed. “I should . . .”
“I know.” He nodded.
Becca took a step back, putting her farther into the hallway and out of his reach. “Bye.”
“See ya.” His smile would have been genuine if, as she started walking away, she’d turned back. Said she’d ditch her meeting to spend the rest of the day rolling around with him in bed.
She didn’t.
He took small solace in the fact she looked as reluctant to leave as he was to let her go. Tuck watched her walk down the hall until she turned the corner toward the elevators and he couldn’t see her any longer.
With an uncharacteristic feeling of loss, he let the door slam. Usually he was the one who couldn’t get away fast enough from the women he’d had sex with. It was easier that way. Otherwise the girl might get ideas and think he was the marrying type. Which he wasn’t. At least not anymore.
This morning was a rude awakening for him. Now he knew what it felt like to be the one left behind. It sucked.
With a hollow feeling of resolution and a little bit of hunger in his gut, Tuck grabbed his jeans off the floor. He found his cell phone in the pocket and pulled it out. It wasn’t so early he couldn’t call Jace, and too bad even if it were.
“Dude, about damn time you called.” Jace answered on the second ring and didn’t bother saying hello.
“I need food. Where are you?” He cut to the chase himself. He wasn’t up for small talk. Maybe he’d be less cranky after coffee and eggs, though a full belly still wouldn’t make up for his feeling crappy about watching Becca walk away.
“I’m home.”
“You’re home? Huh . . .” He’d half expected Jace to say he was in Emma’s room here at the hotel. “All right. I can be at the diner near your house in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll see you there.”
Of course Jace had agreed right quick. Tuck figured he wanted a report on how he and Becca had spent the night. Too bad for Jace, he wasn’t in the mood to give him one.
“All right. See ya there.” He disconnected the call, tossed the phone on the rumpled bed coverings, and started to scan the floor for his socks and underwear.
Chapter Ten
Becca stood outside the room she’d thought she’d be sharing with her sister last night and took out her keycard. What were the chances Emma would still be sleeping? Or even better, out getting breakfast. Even if Emma had encouraged her to go for it with the cowboy, Becca still considered coming home in the morning wearing last night’s clothes a walk of shame.
Desperately hoping she’d be able to avoid Emma and her questions, at least until after she’d showered and dressed for her interview, Becca opened the door as quietly as possible. She knew by the bright lights on in the room that Emma was definitely awake.
“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Emma was not only up, but dressed and standing, arms crossed, looking too much like their mother.
Becca avoided eye contact, thinking that was the safest course of action. “Morning. I gotta shower and get dressed or I’m going to be late for this interview.”
She’d only taken a step toward the bathroom when Emma said, “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Playing dumb seemed like a very good plan at the moment.
“Don’t you dare think you can walk in here practically glowing, twelve hours after I last left you with a cowboy hot enough to melt ice cubes just by looking at them, and not say a word to me about what happened.” Emma planted her fists on her hips.
“I could say the exact same thing. I left you with Jace, didn’t I? Are you going to tell me what happened?” She turned the logic back on to her sister. Offense was the best defense, after all.
“No.” Emma’s face blanched before she recovered. “Besides, that’s different.”
Interesting. Now Becca was really curious. “Oh, really. I don’t see any difference at all.” She folded her arms and waited.
Emma let out a huff. “Okay, we’ll agree to no details about the guys or our nights.”
“Good.” Becca spun toward the bathroom.
“But I need to know one thing.”
She released a loud, lip-flapping breath and looked back at Emma. “What’s
that?”
“Just tell me you had a good time.” Emma’s voice softened, sounding as if she really did want to know Becca was happy. That figured. Her sister always could melt her heart, even while annoying her.
“I had a good time.” She indulged Emma with an answer, even if that response was the understatement of the year. Good was so not the adjective she should use. Incredible. Unforgettable. Orgasmic . . . But there was no way she was going to tell her sister about Tucker’s unbelievable skills in bed, or her multiple orgasms, or how she’d felt a strange sadness when she’d walked away from him just now. Nope. Not gonna happen.
A wide, satisfied grin settled on Emma’s lips. “And?”
“And what?” Becca frowned. She really did need to finish up this chatter and shower.
“And what happened when you said good-bye? Are you going to see him again?”
“You said one thing, and I told you. No more.” She had to hide her own smile as Emma frowned and looked totally frustrated she wasn’t getting more information. “Besides, I still have to shower, dry my hair, and get dressed so we can check out, drive to Stillwater, and hopefully get something to eat before my interview.”
Becca glanced at the clock again. She wasn’t kidding. She really did have to get ready, but it was also a good excuse to avoid giving Emma details she’d rather not provide.
Emma pouted, looking more thirteen than thirty. “Fine. Get ready, but we’re not done here.”
“No, we’re not. Fair is fair. I answered your question so you still have to tell me one thing about your night with Jace, and I still have an interview to hopefully not screw up.” Now, without Tucker as a distraction, her nerves about the upcoming meeting with the dean at OSU began to kick in full force.
“You’d better not screw it up.”
She heard her sister’s last bossy order on her way to the bathroom. “I’ll do my best.”
After she’d taken the quickest shower of her life, Becca tried to ignore the tug of her sex-induced muscle soreness as she stepped over the edge of the tub. When she wiped away the steam from the mirror, she discovered yet another memento when her reflection came into view—the bruise Tucker had left on her throat.
When the hell had that happened?
There apparently would be no forgetting Tucker soon with all the reminders he’d left her. She shook her head at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. A hickey. At her age and on a day she had a huge interview that could mean the difference between her having to take a job checking out customers at her local supermarket or becoming an associate professor, even if it was halfway across the country from everything she knew and loved. No pressure there.
“I’m ironing your blouse for you. It got wrinkled in the suitcase.” Emma’s voice came through the closed bathroom door, making Becca feel guilty for hiding in there so she didn’t have to answer any more questions about last night. Her guilt didn’t make her open the door and face her sister, however.
With a huff, she grabbed her makeup bag from the vanity and pawed through to find her cover-up, all while hoping Emma hadn’t noticed the mouth-shaped bruise.
“Thank you.” Becca swiped a thick layer of makeup over the spot on her neck. She followed it with powder and decided that was the best she could do.
She stared at her reflection in the streaked mirror. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, but at the same time, they’d never looked so bright, and her cheeks were flushed with a healthy glow. One night of crazy sex with a cowboy and she barely recognized herself. As she searched beneath the vanity for the hotel’s hair dryer, she tried to decide whether that was a good thing or not.
A knock on the bathroom door made her jump. Ready or not, she reached for the doorknob and found Emma on the other side. “Hey. You need to get in here?”
“No. Take your time. I finished ironing your shirt. I thought you might need it. Though if you went without the blouse under your suit jacket, you might really be a shoo in for the position.” Emma smirked.
Becca laughed. She reached for the hanger Emma held out to her, all the while praying the makeup covering her hickey was holding up to the sister scrutiny. “Thanks for this.”
“No problem.” Emma leaned against the door frame and didn’t look like she was going anywhere.
Becca hung the shirt on the towel bar and reached for the hair dryer. The heat and the noise from a good old blow dryer set on high should hopefully do the trick to drive a nosy sister away.
“Can I ask you something?”
Crap. Emma had snuck her question in before Becca had a chance to even turn the dryer on.
“Um, I guess.”
“What are you going to say? If they offer you the job after this interview, will you take it?”
The same question had plagued Becca ever since the call from the dean. A week ago, she hadn’t been sure of the answer. Now, however, what she needed to do seemed to be clear. Though foreign and far from everything she’d ever known, Oklahoma seemed nice enough—what little she’d seen of it. And she really was working toward the bottom of her cash savings. And this was an associate professor position, which was what she’d been working toward and never got at Vassar . . .
“If they offer it to me—and remember, there’s no guarantee they will—yes, I think I’ll accept it.” She flipped on the dryer before Emma could comment on her response, but as she reached for the hairbrush, she didn’t miss her sister’s smug look.
Emma obviously assumed it was the night of hot sex with Tucker that had swayed her decision. Refusing to even think that might be true, Becca frowned at her reflection and began to blow her hair into submission when a folded newspaper landed on the vanity in front of her. She glanced at it, and the many circled listings.
“What’s that?” She had to shout over the noise of the dryer, but she wasn’t giving Emma the satisfaction of turning it off. Besides, that interview was growing nearer by the moment.
“Apartment listings.”
“Em, I don’t even know if I have the job yet.”
“There’re a couple of one-bedrooms for six-hundred dollars a month. Utilities included.”
She lowered the dryer. Six hundred? With utilities? Wow. She could actually do this. Move here and live very comfortably. She raised the dryer again and ignored the satisfied expression on Emma’s face in the reflection in the mirror. “I’ll take a look at it later. I can’t be late for this interview if you really want me to get this job.”
“Oh, believe me. I do.”
And she knew the reason why Emma was extra determined she get this job. His name was Tucker.
Twenty minutes after he had called Jace from the hotel room, Tuck found his best friend in the diner.
Jace glanced up from his cup of coffee. “So? What happened?”
Tuck shook his head and let out a short laugh. “A hello would be nice before you start interrogating me. And you know better than to ask that.”
He slid into the booth and eyed the mug in Jace’s hand. Wishing coffee would magically appear in his, he looked around for a waitress.
“Why shouldn’t I ask?” A deep frown furrowed Jace’s brow. “You used to tell me everything about your women all the time. Hell, I was in the same room with you for one of them. I had to pretend I was sleeping while you got all the pussy. Granted I was a little shitfaced after polishing off that bottle of bourbon with you, but I was still there and I heard every damn Oh, Tuck all night long.” The scowl told Tuck Jace hadn’t been too happy about it, either.
Sad, but true. But that was a time in his life that was over now. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out hard. “I know, and I’m sorry about that, but last night was different.”
“Oh, really? And why is that, exactly?” Jace looked more smug than interested in what Tuck had to say, as if he already knew the answer.
“Because.”
“Because . . .” Jace let the very leading sentence trail off and waited for Tuck to finish it.
He was too tired and hungry to deal with Jace’s questions. He probably did need a little bit of self-analysis about last night and this morning with Becca and its lingering effects on him, but he didn’t want to do it with Jace. Though there wasn’t anyone else he could talk to about this. Jace had been there right up until the post-rodeo activities had begun.
“I guess because Becca’s different. She’s a lady.” Tuck’s mamma might have had her hands full raising him and his brother, not to mention his younger sister, but she still got through to him a man needed to treat a lady like a lady. Becca was that.
“You sure that’s it?” Jace’s brow rose.
“Yes. What else could it be?” Tuck clenched his jaw. Jace was almost making him angry in his attempt to get him to admit something he didn’t want to. The truth. That he liked Becca, a lot, and hated that he’d never see her again.
“You sure you don’t want to discuss Becca because you actually want more?”
“Of course I want more. Who wouldn’t? You saw her.” Tuck put him off like it was all about the sex.
Jace shook his head. “Joke all you want, but I think you can see yourself starting something with her. Like a relationship.”
What the hell was with Jace, playing therapist all of a sudden?
“A relationship? No. That’s ridiculous.” He twisted in his seat and looked behind him. Where was that damn waitress? He needed some coffee and a distraction to get Jace off his back.
“It’s been long enough since the divorce, Tuck. Why not a relationship?”
“Why not? Are you kidding me?” Besides the catastrophic end to his last serious relationship and the scars it had left? “For starters, she lives in New York. Even if that weren’t a thousand miles and worlds away from Oklahoma, she didn’t give me her number. If she’d wanted to contact me, she would have at least asked for my number, and she didn’t, which proves it was a one-night thing. For both of us.” He added the last part without much sincerity. He definitely wouldn’t have minded if it hadn’t been only one night.
It sucked watching her leave his room knowing he’d never see her again. Shit. Maybe he did want that serious relationship after all. That was as frightening as it was depressing since, want it or not, he wasn’t going to get it.
