It's In His Arms (A Red River Valley Novel Book 4)

by Shelly Alexander

  That he was. He pulled off his shirt and kicked off his boots and pants with lightning fast movements. Completely naked, he stepped into her and covered her hand against the wall with his again. He moved the tiny black string to one side and bent his knees to enter her from behind. She was wet and ready and tilted one knee out to take all of him in.

  The air around them became as thick and tense as his erection as he rolled his hips against her firm bottom and came up so deep that he filled her completely. Her head fell back against his shoulder, and he placed his mouth against her ear.

  “You’re so damn beautiful it hurts.”

  A shudder racked through her so fierce, so fast, so full of fire, that he had to grit his teeth to stop an orgasm from overtaking him. He found the pulsing nub between her thighs again and stroked it with his thumb in the same rhythm he stroked the most intimate part of her with the tip of his shaft.

  One of her hands slid down to cover his, and she followed his movements. “Oh God, Mitchell.”

  The desperation in her voice drove him on, and his thrusts went deeper and faster until her body started to tighten around him. Just a slight tremor at first, then it grew and expanded until she exploded into an earthquake of quivering flesh that sent an orgasm thundering through him too.

  When the last waves of it receded, she turned into his arms. This time he let her, and she went in for a soft, sweet sigh of a kiss. He wrapped his arms around her so tight that he could feel her heartbeat against his chest.

  He never wanted it to end. Never wanted to let her go. Never wanted to leave her.

  Never was a long time. But they had now, and maybe now could grow into forever.

  His palms skimmed down her slender back and over the soft flesh of her ass. She squeaked when he lifted her, and her legs instinctively closed around his waist, her heels digging into his backside.

  “Christ, Sparky, I already want you again.” She did a nice grind against his groin, and he moaned. Loud.

  “I didn’t quite get that,” Minx purred from Lorenda’s phone. “Could you repeat?”

  Oh yeah, he planned to repeat, but not with a cell phone monitoring him. “Grab your phone.”

  She did. “Now open the drawer.” She did that too, and he let go of one of her cheeks long enough to snatch the phone and toss it in. He slammed the drawer and gripped her ass again. Her flesh felt so good filling his palm.

  “I’m getting you another phone the next time I drive into a bigger town where they actually sell quality devices.” He walked to the sofa. “With a service that doesn’t spy on our love life like the NSA.”

  “I signed a contract for two years.” She clamped her arms around his neck.

  “I’ll pay for both.” If she kept him around that long. Right now, though, he didn’t want to talk about the phone. “What are we celebrating?” He nodded to the champagne and candles.

  She smiled and gave him a soft, contented kiss. “Besides the cataclysmic orgasm you just gave me?”

  He laughed.

  “I sold a big property today, and I plan to donate some of it to the music program.”

  He drew back, his brows pulling together. “I thought all the students dropped out?”

  “Um . . . a few reenrolled.” When she chewed her lip, and her eyes flitted away, Mitchell knew something was up, and he wasn’t going to like it. His gaze raked her face. “What aren’t you telling me?” Because this might be a problem, unless she planned on finding a new place to rehearse.

  She gave him a knowing, naughty smile. “We can talk about it later. For now, we’re celebrating.”

  He laid her back on the plush sofa. She stretched out. Both hands behind her head, strands of gold and amber glinting against the afternoon light that filtered through the blinds, small triangle of lace covering the sweetest piece of real estate on earth, and her long legs crossed at the ankles still sporting those fantastic heels.

  Whatever she had to tell him could wait.

  He found his jeans and slid them on. He zipped his pants but left the button undone, then walked to the coffee table. The tip of the match hissed when he struck it against the pack, and each candle flickered to life. He picked up the chilled bottle and peeled off the foil covering.

  Lorenda propped on one elbow to watch, completely unashamed at the way she admired every inch of him from head to bare feet. Her wandering gaze made him go hard again.

  Her eyes filled with raw emotion. The same raw emotion he’d been feeling deep in his soul. He’d thought it was gone forever after spending so many years in a foreign desert so far away from home. But Lorenda had somehow been able to tap into it, and he’d felt more human these past few weeks than he’d felt since he was an eighteen-year-old kid getting his head shaved on the first day of boot camp.

  Forget the champagne. He just wanted her.

  He slammed the bottle to the table and had her under him quicker than he could blink.

  “There’s something I want you to think about,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Oh, I’m thinking about plenty right now.” His mouth smothered hers again, and he went in for a deep, sensual kiss.

  She started to protest, but he pressed his hips into hers.

  “Oh!” She arched into him, her legs wrapping around his waist.

  He groaned and then pulled a taut nipple between his teeth, sucking it into a hard peak.

  She fisted the back of his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. “I want you to stay here. With me,” she whispered against his lips.

  Scalding desire rushed through him.

  “Baby, I’m not going anywhere. Except down.” He feathered openmouthed kisses all the way down her center to that erotic triangle of lace.

  The champagne stayed on the table, unopened and forgotten, but he made sure they celebrated in a whole different way.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Monday afternoon the seats Lorenda had set up in the gym were filled with students who had rejoined the music program. She and the kids had a lot of work to do to get back on track and prepare for the concert, which was less than two weeks away. Unfortunately, the bleachers were filled with angry parents who kept spearing Mitchell with dirty looks and then turning them on Lorenda.

  This wasn’t exactly what she’d pictured when she’d asked Bart to put his support behind the program and encourage the parents to let their kids come back.

  Dylan passed out sheet music to the kids, and Lorenda adjusted her music stand.

  As whispers buzzed through the crowd, Mitchell lounged in the back corner of the gym, arms and ankles crossed, trying to look inconspicuous. Inconspicuous was impossible for a well-built, good-looking bad boy like him. He’d added a pair of aviators to his standard-issue black T-shirt, faded Levi’s, and combat boots. She suspected the aviators served as a shield against the hard scrutiny of the townsfolk. With his arms crossed, his thorny tattoo was taut over a large flexed bicep.

  And the jeans? They hinted at his powerful thighs. Thighs she’d spent most of the weekend wrapped around.

  She’d asked him to stay with her. He’d said he wasn’t going anywhere. With the house to themselves until Sunday evening, they’d demonstrated in every way possible how they felt and what they meant to each other.

  But his insistence that Bart was behind the mugging and the fires and Mitchell’s refusal to let her out of his sight was too much. After getting no attention at all in her first marriage, Mitchell’s concern was touching. It was also bordering on obsession and was crossing a line to domineering.

  The angry buzz of whispers escalated a little more with each passing minute.

  “Lorenda,” Dylan said so only she could hear. “Maybe we should get started.”

  “Just a second.” She picked up her phone and sent Mitchell a text.

  Can you wait in the parking lot? I’ll be fine.

  His phone must’ve dinged, because he retrieved it from his back pocket and his head tilted down like he was looking at the screen. H
e typed something back and then shoved his phone into his pocket.

  Her phone vibrated.

  No.

  She glared at him.

  His jaw hardened in response.

  “What’s he doing here?” One of the parents pointed to Mitchell.

  That’s all it took for an avalanche of complaints to come barreling at her from every direction. Lorenda held up her hands and tried to quiet them.

  Wasn’t happening.

  She tried again, only to have the crowd’s angry chatter turn to a low roar. Her gaze roamed the crowd as it spiraled further out of control.

  A loud whistle ripped through the gym. Every mouth closed, and every head turned to Mitchell. He’d moved to stand behind her, and his fingers were still between his lips. “My wife has something to say.”

  “I . . . um . . .” She smiled at him, then turned to the crowd. “I invited the parents to observe because I thought it would settle your doubts. So please, give me a chance to work with your kids this week. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “We don’t want him around our kids.” A mother stared at Mitchell.

  The timing couldn’t have been worse, because Bart walked in before Lorenda could defend herself or her husband.

  He stopped. Took in the audience. “Folks, give us a minute.” He walked to Lorenda. “I need a word with you alone.”

  Mitchell eased another step closer. “Not alone.”

  Lorenda glanced over her shoulder, irritated at Mitchell for butting in. “What could possibly happen?”

  He didn’t back down. “Not alone, Sparky.”

  Bart’s gaze bore into Mitchell. Finally Bart said, “This is why no one wants their kids in the program, Lorenda. I’ve tried to help you. They’re here now because I called them like you asked, but there’s nothing more I can do.” He kept his voice low enough so only they could hear.

  “You asked him to help you?” Mitchell said.

  Her eyes slid shut.

  “I’m the only one trying to make her life easier here, Lawson.” Satisfaction glittered in Bart’s eyes. “You’ve been making it harder since the minute you stepped back into Red River. You don’t deserve her.”

  Mitchell’s fists clenched, and he took a step toward Bart, whose eyes flew wide with fear.

  The crowd gasped.

  So did Lorenda. “Mitchell!”

  “Whoa.” Dylan stepped in between Mitchell and Bart. “You don’t want to do that, buddy. Not with all these people watching, trust me.”

  “Lawson, I’ve allowed your presence here because of Lorenda, but you start a disturbance everywhere you go,” Bart said. “I have to look out for the students, so you’re no longer welcome on school property.”

  Lorenda had to do something to salvage the situation. “Bart, that’s a little drast—”

  “Then my wife can’t be here either,” Mitchell said. Like she wasn’t even standing there.

  “I can speak for myself,” she ground out.

  His stare, which had Bart zeroed, was lethal. “We’ve already talked about this, Sparky.”

  This had to stop. This wasn’t the time and the place, but Mitchell’s imagination was running wild and making an already difficult situation worse. She understood that he was accustomed to war, and being in a little town like Red River didn’t provide the constant adrenaline rush he was used to, but this was bordering on delusional.

  Tugging his arm, she pulled him away so they could have some privacy. “No, Mitchell, you’ve talked about it. I’ve listened, but I can’t do that anymore. Your preoccupation with Bart needs to end.”

  “You’re taking his side, Lorenda?” He didn’t call her Sparky this time, and it made her pause.

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side.”

  “That’s funny, because the only side I’m on is yours.” Mitchell’s words clipped out, like he was angry. Or maybe hurt. “I thought that might be worth something to you.”

  Lorenda knew he wasn’t just talking about the music program. Cameron had never been on her side. Never been there for her at all. Now Mitchell was overcompensating with overkill protectiveness.

  “Is that why you’re acting so crazy and blowing the situation out of proportion? Because you’re trying to make up for Cameron’s lack of interest?”

  A muscle in Mitchell’s jaw ticked. “Is that what you think? That I’m acting crazy for wanting to protect you?”

  “No!” She lowered her voice. “No, but I don’t think Bart is capable of all the things that have happened.”

  “He’s capable of far more, and even if you can’t see it, I want you to trust me.” He closed the small space between them. Leaned in so that his quick, angry breaths washed over her cheeks. “And none of this has to do with my brother, Sparky. I’m looking out for you because I—” He stopped.

  Her breath caught, and she held it. Time slowed, and she waited . . . wanted him to say, “Because I love you.”

  “Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to you,” he finally finished.

  Her heart dropped to her toes. More of his martyr heroics. She wasn’t sure why she’d expected anything different. But somehow she had. She’d lost her heart to him, and he couldn’t give all of his in return. Over the weekend, she’d convinced herself that he loved her.

  Obviously, her imagination was working overtime just like Mitchell’s.

  “Bart got all of these parents to give me another chance. He deserves some credit for that.” She stood her ground. Daniel Summerall had told her to go after the things she wanted, and she wanted the music program to work.

  Mitchell stood his ground too. “He did it to stay close to you. Now he’s trying to get between you and me so he has you alone and vulnerable.”

  “That’s silly.”

  “Bart wants me out of the way,” Mitchell said. “The question is, Sparky, do you? Because if you do, I can move back into the garage apartment.”

  Her pulsed kicked, and tears threatened. How could he make her choose? If he really did love her, would he be issuing an ultimatum? She’d given up enough in her life. She wasn’t giving up anything else.

  “This is my dream, Mitchell. The only way I’ll ever be able to make a difference.” She took a step back. “Bart is trying to help me with it.”

  Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest. “His goal is not to help you. Don’t be naïve.”

  Fury bubbled up from somewhere deep inside. Naïve? Naïve was getting married at twenty years old to a man who put her at the bottom of his list. Naïve was marrying his twin brother—who had a martyr complex that could rival Joan of Arc’s—under false pretenses.

  Naïve was thinking Mitchell might love her just because their sex was so good that she’d darned near had an out-of-body experience.

  She pulled her phone from her jacket pocket and held it up. “I’ve got the safety app you downloaded. If I need you, I’ll call.” She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “I don’t want you to be at any more rehearsals.” She swallowed. “Please leave.”

  Mitchell’s posture had already been tense, but every inch of his perfectly formed frame seemed to solidify to stone.

  “Are you going somewhere?” Minx purred. “I can . . .” Minx’s voice sputtered, the service coughing out the last of her words. “. . . provide . . .” She cut out. “direc . . .” The screen on the phone flickered, then died out completely. Lorenda pushed the power button.

  Dead as her music program had been until Bart breathed life into it again.

  Mitchell retrieved his phone from his back pocket. “Use mine.” He put it in her hand. “The boys are on the playground. I’ll use one of their phones until I get you another one.”

  He studied her from behind those sexy aviators, and she almost caved. But she couldn’t. Not when she was so close to success. So she resisted the urge to gnaw her lip, lifted her chin, and refused to look away.

  He turned and walked out of the gym.

  Chap
ter Twenty-Three

  Thursday evening, Lorenda parked in Joe’s back parking lot to join the mommy mafia and discuss last-minute details for the concert dress rehearsal over dinner. She pulled down the visor and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  Delta. Powder and makeup wasn’t hiding the new shiner and swollen schnoz she’d accidentally given herself with a runaway champagne cork. Yesterday evening she’d been so happy with the kids’ progress she’d decided to celebrate, snagged the bottle of champagne from the fridge that she and Mitchell had never gotten around to opening, and popped the cork to have a victory toast.

  By herself, since Mitchell had moved back into the apartment.

  The sting of sadness sliced through her. She’d known what she was getting into by marrying Mitchell, and she’d done it anyway. His overzealous need to protect her might have been in the right place, but it was also ruining her dream. And that dream was all she’d have left if . . . when he left.

  She’d been on her own for so long, it surprised her how quickly she’d fallen into the habit of thinking of her and Mitchell as two halves of a whole. It was time to stand on her own two feet again like she always had.

  She’d started by not checking in with him anymore. This was Red River. She could take care of herself without an alpha babysitter.

  She forced the sick feeling of longing and loneliness out of her mind, even if it did still pound at the door of her heart. She’d been through it before and gotten over it. She could do it again.

  She retrieved a powder compact from her purse, dabbing her nose and around her eye. The cork had caught her right where the two joined, blackening both of them.

  “Ow.” She hissed in a breath when she tried to slide a pair of fashionable sunglasses onto her nose, going for the Garbo look. She pulled them off and found Jaycee’s baseball cap in the back seat. Adjusted the bill so it hung low and shadowed the top half of her face.

  Sierra. She flipped up the visor and stuffed Mitchell’s phone in her purse, since she still hadn’t gotten a new one for herself. It was getting dark. Maybe no one would notice. She snuck in through the back door just in case, and found her BFFs in a corner booth.