I went to the coffee shop and was surprised to find Dad at the front counter. His blue eyes brightened at the sight of me. For the first time since Mom’s death, the dark circles from beneath his eyes had faded and a pleasant smile tilted his mouth.
“Pickle. Come here. Give your old man a hug.” He spread his arms wide, and I fell into them. No one gave a better hug than my dad, except maybe Rhett. He smelled of shampoo and aftershave, not a hint of beer on his breath.
“Hi, Daddy. What are you doing here?” We broke apart when a customer came to the counter. I waited while he took the order and rang it up.
“Your sister needed help.” I ignored the dig at my absence. “Business is booming.” His chest swelled with pride. “She’s done a great job of turning things around.”
“Yes. She’s amazing,” I said. He’d never shown this much excitement over any of my accomplishments, but if it got him out of the house, I was good with it. I didn’t need his approval to know I’d made a success of my life. The realization hit me like a fist to the gut. I was going to be okay. “Is she here?”
“Jo, get your ass out here.” Dad bellowed her name, his voice booming around the shop, causing the patrons to smile.
“What?” She pushed through the swinging doors, wiping her hands on her apron as she walked. Her gaze fell on me and a pucker appeared between her brows. “Oh, hi.”
“Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling nervous. Her happiness meant a lot to me, and I’d made her unhappy.
“What’s up?” She leaned a hip against the bakery display case. I should have known she wouldn’t make this easy.
“I came to apologize. I’m sorry for being shitty to you the other day.”
A glimmer of tears sparkled in her eyes. The line of tension across her forehead softened. “Oh, pickle, I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose into your personal life. You’re a grown-ass woman, and if you want to spend time with Rhett, it’s not my business. I know you’re responsible, and I’m proud of the woman you’ve become.”
“Thank you.” I threw my arms around her neck and squeezed until she protested. “And I’m sorry I called you an old maid. You’re not old or a maid.” She giggled and pushed me away. “But you are bossy.”
“I know.” She dabbed at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I’m a mess, aren’t I?”
“Yeah, but you’re my mess, and I love you.” We smiled at each other. It was the best feeling, having her back in my life.
“So, what happened with Rhett? He sure gave me a piece of his mind the other day. I almost liked him,” Jo said.
“You talked to Rhett?”
“Yeah.” A blush of embarrassment tinted her cheeks, and she glanced away. “I went to his office after our fight and lit his ass up for treating you so badly after the Seaforth party. He didn’t tell you?”
“No.” I bit my bottom lip, contemplating the implications. She’d tried to protect me, as she always had, and Rhett had stood up for me. Warmth spread across my chest. Maybe he cared for me more than he’d let on. “He asked me to be his girlfriend.”
“No way. Shut the fuck up.” Jo shoved my shoulder, her mouth agape. Just like that, we were back to our old selves and everything was right with the world.
I filled her in on the events of the past few weeks, leaving out the sexy parts, because those were too personal to share with anyone. Jo listened, her dark eyes intent on my face, hanging on every word. And that was why I loved her—she listened, she cared, and she was my best friend.
“You deserve to be happy, Bronte. I’m excited for you.” The smile fell from her lips when the bell rang over the door. I followed her gaze across the room to the muscular, bearded guy approaching the counter. “Fuck. It’s him.” She ducked down, pretending to inspect the floor behind the cash register.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “Who’s him?”
“That guy. He’s Rhett’s friend, Carter. He was there when I was giving Rhett hell.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “He’s been in here every day this week.”
“And people say I’m crazy,” I said with a laugh, watching her cringe as Carter approached.
“Hey. You must be Bronte.” He jerked his chin at me. My eyes met the clearest, most ornery pair of brown eyes I’d ever seen. “I’m Carter. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Hi.” We shook hands. I waited for the shyness to overtake me, but it never came. Rhett had nothing but good things to say about Carter, and I trusted Rhett’s opinions. “Can I help you?”
“Well, yeah. For starters, I’d love to know what your sister is doing down there.” One of his thick eyebrows lifted.
“I have no idea.” Jo pinched my shin. I winced, smiling anyway. “She’s strange like that.”
Jo slowly rose to her full height, her cheeks crimson. She cleared her throat. “I dropped—something.”
“Think I could get some coffee?” he asked, staring straight into her eyes. Sexual tension stretched between them, so thick and so obvious that even I noticed it.
“Sure.” Her blush deepened to the color of a tomato.
Carter turned and sauntered to one of the small tables—Rhett’s table.
“Well, go on,” I said, shoving a menu into Jo’s hands and nudging her toward Carter. “Try to be nice.”
“He makes me nervous.” She tugged her lower lip between her teeth.
“It won’t kill you to make a little conversation with the customers.” I pushed her shoulder. “Now, get over there and pretend he’s ugly.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bronte
Rhett dangled the car keys in front of my face, a grin curling his lips. We stood on the curb in front of my shiny, new-to-me Chevy sedan. It wasn’t flashy or fancy like his Porsche, but it would serve the purpose. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. When I told Dad and Jo I was buying a car, my father had cursed, and my sister had said nothing, the frown on her face expressing her feelings on the matter. This time, however, I’d let their disapproval roll off my back, confident in my ability to learn something new.
“Don’t be nervous,” Rhett said before pressing a kiss to my forehead. We’d been together almost a month, but I still got butterflies when his lips touched me. “You’ll be fine.”
Carter had delivered the car a week earlier. He’d taken it as security on a failed bond from one of his clients and sold it to me for pennies on the dollar. Yesterday, I’d driven it around the parking lot of an abandoned factory. Today would be my first time on the road.
“Easy for you to say,” I replied, wiping my damp palms on my skirt.
“If anyone should be nervous, it would be me. You almost killed us yesterday.”
“I did not. Not even close.”
“I’m teasing you.” He chucked me under the chin and opened the passenger door for me to slide inside. Although the worst of my OCD behaviors had subsided, I still didn’t always comprehend innuendo, subtext, or sarcasm and probably never would.
We headed toward the country with Rhett driving. Once we left the city, where I could drive without the interference of heavy traffic, we changed places, and I took the wheel.
“Left foot on the clutch. Right foot on the gas,” Rhett said. “Now ease out with your left foot.”
I pressed the pedals. The Chevy lurched, hopped, and jerked to a stop. “Shit.”
“It’s okay. Try it again.”
After a deep breath, I gave it another go. Rhett braced a hand against the roof of the car, swearing under his breath. The vehicle jumped forward, slamming both of us back against our seats. I smothered a giggle. My foot slipped off the clutch, and the engine died.
After the third attempt, I managed to drive us to the next stop sign. We were out in the middle of nowhere. Rolling pastures surrounded us. The road stretched on into infinity.
“Again. Not so hard on the gas this time.” Rhett gripped the dash, his knuckles white and straining.
“I’m not touching the gas,” I said.
> “Yes, you are. I can see your feet.” Rhett leaned toward me, glancing down at the pedals. A wave of his cologne drifted past my nose. I inhaled, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second, to enjoy his fresh, clean scent. “Shit! Bronte!”
My eyes flew open as the car veered toward the ditch. I yanked the wheel, overcorrecting, sending the vehicle into a slow skid. I hit the brake.
“No, not the brake. Downshift. Clutch! Clutch!” Rhett shouted, but it was too late. The car shuddered and stalled.
“Oh, man.” I drew in a deep breath and turned the key.
“No. Put it in gear.” His mouth turned down. Judging by the tension in his voice, his patience had worn thin. “More gas. You keep forgetting the clutch.”
“Stop yelling at me. Why are you yelling?” My hands shook as I tried to force the car into gear. A horrific grinding noise scalded my ears.
“I’m not yelling. I’m being informative.”
“I can’t do this. It’s too many things at once.” My brain whirled with his commands.
He must have heard my panic, because he put his hand over mine, the one gripping the gearshift. “Hey, hey. You’re doing fine.” When I glanced up at him, his eyes sparkled with humor. “Take a deep breath.”
“You’re a terrible teacher,” I said, still frustrated. His laughter reverberated through the car. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“Angel, I’m not making fun of you. I’m laughing because you’re right. I suck at this. I am a bad teacher.” The smooth glide of his fingertips over my cheekbone distracted me from an impending breakdown. “And Carter’s a dick for getting a five-speed instead of an automatic.”
“Maybe Dad was right. Maybe I should stick to public transportation.” I searched his eyes, filled with uncertainty.
“We can sell it and get something else.” Rhett smiled at me, his profile sharpened by the sunshine.
“No. I don’t want to give up. Not yet.” I drew in a deep breath, unwilling to accept defeat. “If can recite the periodic table, surely I can drive this thing.”
“You can get this. We both just need to calm down.” He drew my face to his and pressed his mouth to mine, forcing my lips apart with gentle pressure. His tongue probed, sweeping and dancing. A thrill of desire washed over me. I forgot to worry about the car or the gears or the freaking clutch. I buried my fingers in his hair and tilted my head to one side so he could go deeper. When we pulled apart, the car filled with the sound of our heavy breathing.
“You suck at teaching, but you’re absolutely the best kisser ever,” I said.
A blush pinked his cheeks. It was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen, and I appreciated him more for it. I liked everything about this guy—the scent of his shampoo, the taste of salt on his skin, the sincerity in his smile. The more time I spent in his company, the more relaxed I became.
“Have you kissed many guys?” His eyes darkened and the smile fell from his lips.
“A few.” I ducked my head, attempting to avoid this topic.
“What’s that mean?” His tone had morphed from playful to irritated. “Like, two?”
“I don’t know.” Lying never came easily to me. I didn’t want to deceive him, but I didn’t want to admit that I’d been less than virtuous during my high school years. Although Walt had been my only sex partner, I’d made out with more than a few guys before adopting a life of celibacy.
“Yeah, you do. You’re a numbers girl.” He fell silent. The weight of his gaze swept over me. I stared out the windshield. After a dozen heartbeats, he shrugged. “There’s a car coming. We need to get going.”
“You’re angry with me,” I said.
“I’m not mad.” He sighed before shoving a hand through his hair and turning to stare out his window. “I’m jealous.”
“Really?” To my knowledge, no one had ever been jealous over me before. And if he was jealous, it meant he cared. I bit my lower lip to hold back a smile.
“Pull over up here.” He pointed to a dirt road ahead. It led to an abandoned barn surrounded by pasture. A screen of aged oaks and mulberries shielded the property from the road.
I shut off the motor and turned to face him. The heat in his eyes hit me in the pit of my stomach. “What are we doing?” I asked, suddenly nervous.
“Get over here, Bronte.”
I scrambled over the console to straddle him. His hands gripped my butt. We studied each other. Usually, his face carried hints of good humor in the curl of his lips and the corners of his eyes. I searched for traces to indicate he was playing but found nothing. I cupped his jaw and ran a finger over his soft, wide bottom lip. He nipped the tip of my thumb.
“You really are jealous,” I murmured.
“I don’t like the idea of anyone kissing you but me.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone but you in a very long time,” I said, continuing to trace the lines of his face with my hands. His features felt solid and masculine under my touch.
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” He shifted, pushing his hips upward. The thickness of his erection pressed against my panties. I’d worn a loose teal dress, a denim jacket, and cowboy boots—my favorite outfit. His hands slid beneath the hem of the dress and up my bare thighs.
“Does driving always turn you on like this?” I asked, palming his zipper.
“No, but you do.” One of his hands snaked out to cradle the back of my head. Our mouths snapped together. My fingers flew over his belt buckle and the button of his fly. The zipper growled as I drew it down. “Condom. Back pocket.”
While he lifted his hips, I drew out his wallet and found the foil packet. Our harsh breathing fogged the windows. He pulled the cotton panel of my panties to one side with an index finger. I sheathed him and two seconds later, he was deep, deep inside me. The sensations of fullness and pressure made my body crave more. More kisses. More sex. More Rhett. No matter how much time we spent together, I couldn’t get enough of him. We groaned. I dropped onto him again, taking control. He braced a hand on the ceiling.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “What are you doing to me?”
“Fucking you?” I replied, confused by his question. “I think this is called the cowgirl position.”
“I know that.” His words were clipped, spoken through gritted teeth, laced with a chuckle.
“Oh, that was rhetorical. I thought you were being literal.”
Outside the car, soft rain pattered on the roof. Tingles shot down my legs and into my toes. I rocked faster, lifting and sliding over his cock in long smooth strokes. The outside world faded away until it was just him and me.
“These need to go.” He jammed a finger into the fabric of my panties and with a quick twist of his wrist, tore them in two. This primal act stripped away my self-control. His big hands found my hips and pushed me down onto his erection. The warmth of his fingers, their strength, their gentleness—they were my undoing.
“I’m going to come,” I said as a precursory flutter seized my sex.
“Look at me, Bronte. Let me see those pretty eyes.”
I blinked up at him, unaware until then that I’d had my eyes squeezed shut. Something inside me broke loose at the naked lust in his gaze. I forgot about Walt and all the boys who’d come after him. Rhett became my present and future, consuming my body and mind, stealing my breath, and squeezing my heart.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rhett
The week of Bronte’s class reunion, I accompanied her on a shopping trip for an outfit to wear. We’d been together almost every day for the past three weeks. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we had lunch together. With the weather turning colder, she came to my office, or I went to hers. In the evenings, she spent the night at my apartment since my place was closer to work, and we could sleep in an extra hour.
As we walked along the sidewalk in front of expensive boutique stores, I watched her from the corner of my eye and bit back a smile. She held my hand tightly in hers, stepping carefully over the cracks in the cement. When we arrived a
t the crosswalk, she took an extra, tiny step.
“What was that for?” I asked.
“What?” She cocked her head like a bird. The ends of her hair fluttered in the cold breeze.
“That little hop at the end.” My voice shook with laughter.
A blush brightened her fair skin. “Um, I always try to stop on an even number of steps.”
“You’ve been counting?” She’d hid it well. I hadn’t noticed and assumed her compulsion with numbers had eased up.
“Well, not all the time and not as much.” She bounced on her toes. Her breath floated in white clouds when she spoke. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her warm. “Sometimes I forget.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” I searched her eyes. Every now and then, the intelligence in them made my pulse jump. I’d never understand the way her mind worked, but I’d never give up trying.
“Yeah. I guess so.”
The light changed from yellow to red, and the little crosswalk man appeared. Her foot started over the curb. A pickup truck, racing to make it across the intersection, barreled through the red light. In an instant, I relived those last few seconds with Amy. I saw the bus behind her, heard the screeching of tires, the screams of pedestrians, and Amy’s startled expression.
I grabbed Bronte and clutched her to my chest. The truck chugged past us. People flowed into the street. We stood there together, her in my arms. I buried my face in her hair, squeezing the breath out of her.
“Rhett? What’s the matter? You’re suffocating me.”
“Sorry,” I muttered into her neck, inhaling her strawberry scent. I didn’t let go.
“I can’t…breathe.” She wriggled until I loosened my hold. One glimpse at my face brought a worried pucker to her pink lips. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a ghost.”
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