Well, she thought to herself, maybe some things just aren’t meant to be. Then she smiled and had to stop herself from saying out loud: But that doesn’t mean that a girl can’t try.
She brought the beers back to the couch and sat down before handing one over to Brody. She had tried to sit closer to him but somehow, as she sat down, he had scooted over slightly so that there was still a slight space between them.
They sat silently sipping their beers for a long while before Brody suddenly said, “Must have stopped raining between here and Little Rock.”
Vanessa had no idea where that comment had come from until he pointed at the TV. The picture was now crystal clear. She could see that the score was 94 to 83, but she had no idea who was winning because she didn’t even know who was playing.
She shook her head and looked again at the score. That didn’t seem possible. The game was in the first half when she had sat down. Had she fallen asleep? Had they really sat there in silence for that long? Had she gone so deeply into her own thoughts that she didn’t notice the passage of time? Surely that much time had not passed. But there was a little clock in the corner of the screen, and it had only three minutes on it. Her beer was also empty. So was Brody’s.
“Let me get that empty,” she said and leaned across him to take the bottle from his right hand. She could feel him move away from her as her body brushed against him. “Is there someone else who you’re keeping yourself for?” she asked.
She almost didn’t expect him to answer, or if he did to say, “Not exactly.” Instead he sighed slightly and said, “No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” she asked.
A horn from the TV announced that the game was over. Brody turned it off and said, “How about a piece of Momma’s pie before you bed down for the night?”
“That wasn’t an answer,” she said, trying to sound stern, or at least frustrated. She didn’t have to fake the frustrated.
“Momma’s pie is the answer to everything,” he replied. The twinkle was back in his eyes. He lifted a plastic pie-saver that was sitting on the counter, revealing a homemade apple pie. “She always pre-cuts it,” he said. “Always six pieces in hopes that I’ll stay at least six days.”
He set a piece of pie in front of Vanessa. “Do you?” she asked.
“Do I what?”
“Stay six days.”
“Almost always,” he answered. “I owe it to Momma.”
“Is Momma why you’re avoiding me?” Vanessa asked.
“Not exactly,” he replied. Then he blew out a heavy breath and said, “No, exactly! Momma is very special to me and she taught me not to hurt people who love me and depend on me. If someone loves you, you’re supposed to love them back, not hurt them or abandon them or take advantage of them. Even if that love seems too sudden and impossible to be real, you don’t take advantage of them. You don’t hurt them.”
“Sounds like you’ve been hurt a lot in your past,” she said. She was hoping that he would say more, but instead he answered, “Not exactly,” and the twinkle was gone from his eye.
She was wishing that she had asked instead about the sudden and impossible love that Brody had referred to. What did that mean? Who was he referring to? Was it her? Was it possible that, in not saying it, Brody was telling her that he loved her more truthfully than any man had before? Was it love that was keeping them apart when she so desperately wanted to be held tightly in Brody’s arms?
She was trying to think of a way to ask when Brody stood and cleared the dishes from the table. He then turned and asked Vanessa, “Do you want the couch or the bed?”
She stood up and answered, “I want you.” She threw her arms around his neck and pulled herself against him. This time she didn’t intend it to be a peck on the cheek. She intended her mouth to crush against his.
He pulled back away from her and started to say something, but she put her finger against his lips. “I want it.” she moaned into his chest. “I need it,” she said desperately as she clung to him. “I want and need to be with a good man for once in my life.”
“I’m not as good as you think I am,” Brody said quietly. “And I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want you to feel worse in the morning.”
Vanessa answered almost with a laugh, “I just ran away from a psycho ex-boyfriend and a sleazy pimp who wanted to set me up as a whore above his strip club. I don’t think it would be possible to feel worse than I did before you came into my life.”
Brody’s response was to stand silently, looking into her eyes, for several long moments. There was an argument going on in his head; Vanessa could see on his face that he was being pulled in two directions. Then the tension left his face. He didn’t exactly smile, but it something pleasant reflected from his face and especially from his eyes. Brody’s eyes were amazing. Though his face was almost expressionless, his eyes were smiling.
CHAPTER FIVE
Wordlessly, he picked her up and gently carried her into his bedroom. He set her down standing beside the bed and slowly began to unbutton the front of the work shirt. Vanessa shivered as he reached the bottom buttons and let the shirt hang open.
He reached inside the shirt and slowly moved his hands up the sides of her body until, grazing past her breasts, he reached her neck and slid the garment over her shoulders so that it dropped to the floor behind her.
She pressed her naked body against him as he ran his hands up and down her back. Each time he reached the bottom of her ass, he would slide his fingers slightly between her legs before they made their upward journey. Vanessa was moaning softly, and her legs were beginning to tremble.
Brody turned her gently so that her back was pressed against him, and his hands continued traveling down and up the front of her body. As before, at the bottom of each stroke, his hands would dip slightly between her legs, but now they were brushing lightly across her labia and clit. At the top of the circuit, his fingers would toy slightly with her nipples before returning to their downward journey.
Vanessa’s moans were no longer soft, and her legs could barely support her. It wasn’t just the pleasure that Brody was giving her—though it was more pleasure than she had imagined possible in quite a while—it was the fact that he was giving her pleasure, not taking pleasure from her like Duane and the other men she met had always done. Brody was responding to her needs.
Finally, when Vanessa’s legs were literally buckling beneath her and she was crying out each time his fingers brushed past her clit, Brody lowered her gently onto the bed. “Just a minute,” he said, as he pulled his T-shirt over his head and slid his blue jeans down his legs. He even slipped off his socks before sliding into the bed next to her.
Brody’s lips found hers and his fingers once again found her clit. His tongue moved slowly into her mouth and she sucked on it greedily. His fingers swirled around her engorged clit until she was bucking into the air and crying out in passion. He turned away for just a moment and she heard a ripping sound. She would have let him enter her unprotected, but he had quickly slid a condom over his shaft.
Slowly and gently he entered her, letting her set the pace as she thrust up against him. Then he began to take charge as his own needs swelled within him. Once or twice, Vanessa had been able to orgasm before her boyfriend, but usually when she made love she had been left unfulfilled and empty. Tonight, she was in the throes of a tremendous orgasm and Brody was still moving within her. He rode her as she climaxed and then began slowly thrusting again as she moved once more toward a peak.
Brody timed himself so that he climaxed with her second orgasm, and they both collapsed into the bed. After a few minutes, Brody shifted his body and pulled himself out of her. He slid over beside Vanessa and pulled her into his arms, with her back against his chest. One hand was making gentle circles on her abdomen as she fell into a deep sleep.
She was dreaming. It was a very vivid dream. She was riding a wild stallion bareback through the wheat fields on her father’s farm.
She was naked, and with each gallop and jump her naked crotch slammed against the horse’s back.
She was awake and the stallion was Brody... impaling her with his manhood and bucking beneath her as he looked up in wide eyed surprise. It was too late for either of them to stop. She continued riding him until he erupted within her and she collapsed against his chest.
She lay there panting, hugging Brody’s chest as she came down from the heights of her dream-induced passion. “That’s one hell of a way to wake a man up in the morning,” he said.
“It’s one hell of a way for a girl to wake herself up,” she answered weakly.
Brody began stroking her back softly as she lay on his chest. “My real name isn’t Brody,” he said softly.” There was an unmistakable note of sadness in his voice. “And Brody, senior isn’t my real dad. Momma’s not my real mother, either. My real mother used to beat the shit out of me, and pop... well, pop was intent on drinking himself to death so he was never there for me. We were below dirt poor. We didn’t even have enough to be called white trash.”
Vanessa lifted her body slightly to move off of his chest, but he held her tightly against him. “I was twelve years old when I came through Flat Springs. I had run away. There were no relatives to run to, so I was just running. A trucker offered me a ride at a truck stop and I was too young and stupid to know how dangerous it was for me to climb into that cab. I don’t know what might have happened to me if there had been time. I was only with him for a couple of hours. We had only gotten a hundred miles or so from the truck stop when we broke down.
“Brody found me in the sleeper when he came out to tow the semi into town. The only time I ever seen Brody really mad was when he told that trucker that if he tried to take me with him when he left he would personally blow that man’s brains out with his shotgun. He even loaded it and set it on his desk just to make the point.”
Vanessa thought she could feel something warm against her cheek where it was pressed against Brody’s face. “Brody and Momma had a son my age, but he died when he was only eight years old. When the county couldn’t locate my parents or any relatives, they agreed to take me in. I wanted to leave everything behind and start over, so they gave me his name and treated me like their own. Without being able to find my parents, that’s as close as they could come to legally adopting me. That’s why I come home once a year... to thank Brody and Momma for giving me a new life. Your car was sitting by the side of the road exactly where that big blue semi was when Brody came out to tow it into town. Something told me I had to stop.”
Vanessa began moving her body against him. Brody was still inside her and, as she slid slightly up and down against his chest, he began to stiffen. Neither of them said anything. Brody remained motionless, Vanessa was doing everything.
She wasn’t concerned about her pleasure; this was something she was giving him. It was about closeness. Vanessa was merging herself into Brody as she slid her body against his.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but Brody began to lift and thrust slightly against her. It was as if he was trying not to move, but his body would not keep totally still. Vanessa was also rocking her hips slightly as she moved her body in slow circles, keeping as much of herself pressed against Brody as possible.
And then it happened. It wasn’t really an orgasm for either of them. There was no peak of passion. It was more of an intense warmth that spread throughout her body... and her mind. Time stopped. The room disappeared. It was just her and Brody floating together in oneness. She had never felt anything quite like that before, but then again, she had never given herself to someone as totally and intensely as they were giving themselves to each other at that moment.
Slowly they returned to time and space and the bed above Brody’s Repair Shop. She realized that she was clinging tightly to Brody’s chest and he was holding her waist tightly to his. She didn’t want to break the magic of the moment, but it was already slipping slowly away. She asked quietly, “Is your shop out in Colorado big enough to need a bookkeeper?”
“It’s a pretty rough place,” he answered. “A woman working there would have to be pretty sure of herself.”
“And she would need to be properly tagged so everyone knew she wasn’t available to be towed,” replied Vanessa.
“Yeah, there’s that too,” he laughed. “But once Brody—senior or junior—has tagged a tow, nobody ever cuts in.”
They lay there face to face, Vanessa’s body still tightly against Brody’s, and continued to talk until they heard the sound of the large doors opening downstairs in the shop. When they came down the steps, an older gentleman was standing next to a tow truck. “Sheriff’s office called and asked about the tow I tagged north of town,” he said.
“I tagged it,” answered Brody. “Probably just out of gas. I’ll take her back out to the car and she can follow me back in if it starts. Otherwise, I’ll hook it up.”
A woman’s voice came from inside the open door. “It looks like you tagged more than just the car,” she said.
Vanessa held up her right wrist with the green tape wrapped around it and answered, “Hello Momma.” She walked over to the smiling woman and continued, “I was running away from a really bad life and had reached the end of the line. Brody found me and brought me into Flat Springs. He says that new lives can begin here.”
“If she’ll take it,” Brody said, “I’ll give her a new name and a new life, like you and dad did for me.”
As he helped Vanessa into the tow, he said, “Dad, her car is exactly where...”
His voice trailed off, but Brody senior answered, “I know, son. I know. It’s where I found you.”
He looked up with a strange expression on his face and continued, “And I’ve never told you this before, but it’s the same place where little Brody’s school bus slipped off the road in the snow and rolled.” He shook his head slightly and said, “Funny how some things are just supposed to be.”
As the tow truck pulled slowly out from under the canopy, Vanessa rubbed the green bracelet of tape which circled her wrist and said softly, “Thank you. Thank you for bringing Brody Junior to me when I needed him.”
RETURN TO TABLE OF CONTENTS
LAWLESS RIDE
EMILY STONE
CHAPTER ONE
Cynthia waves a hand in front of my face. “Who are you staring at, sweetie?”
I motion toward Peter Gallagher with a raise of my eyebrows.
She chuckles. “You can do better than that, love.”
“Oh yeah?”
Cynthia glances back over her shoulder to where Peter has just moved on to another table of people to chat with. He has their attention instantly—guys nodding and laughing, girls virtually batting eyelashes at him. “He’s a powder puff,” the older woman scoffs. “You want a real man like my Bart. One with calloused hands and a firm butt into his fifties. Peter Perfect there will be a lard ass in a few years. You don’t want that thrusting between your legs.”
I cough, choking on the sip of champagne. “Cynthia!”
“What? There’s nothing better than grabbing hold a firm set of butt cheeks when you’re having a big O.”
I picture Bart thrusting between Cynthia’s spread legs. It’s an image I’ve never encountered before but it’s sexy, even though Bart is a plain looking older man and Cynthia looks like my mother.
“You have an appointment with a real man in the morning as a matter of fact,” Cynthia announces, waving a waitress over with a tray full of fresh drinks.
“Whom do I have an appointment with exactly?”
“A man.”
I raise eyebrows, seeking more information. “I got that much. A male person… in regard to what?”
“No. Not just a male, dear. A man.”
“Whose name is?”
“Mikey Cole.”
The name means nothing to me. I shrug, turning up my hands.
“As in the motorcycle club Cole’s,” Cynthia goes on, replacing our emp
ty glasses with full ones.
“Oh… And what does a biker want with me?” I’m intrigued now. My skin is tingling though. I’ve seen the Cole’s on the news. They look scary.
Cynthia eyes me sideways. “I think he wants a date for tomorrow night. You’re not busy are you?”
My eternally amusing workmate giggles. I do too, at the thought of being dated by a biker. As if!
We laugh together, and spend the evening chatting over too many glasses of bubbly. Ours is about the only table Peter Perfect doesn’t get around to. I guess, since he sees us every day, there’s no need to give us any attention at an after-hours work thing.
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