A warm hand covered my cheek. “You okay?”
I glanced from Charlie to Tango. They wore the same worried frowns. “I’m fine. What happened?”
“I got her, Charlie. Can you give us a minute?”
Charlie waited for my approval. I smiled, nodding, and he slipped through the door, closing it behind him.
“What the hell is going on with you? You’re keeping something from me. I can see it’s scaring you. Now you’re fainting at work.”
I couldn’t have read that man’s vest right. The Satan’s Slayers never came near our town. And Dane had promised. Promised they would never come back. I was just tired, and stressed. My head screamed at me to get up and get my ass far away from Tango. My body, my heart, wanted to curl into the man holding me, crawl inside him, let him carry me forever.
“You were mumbling Addison’s name,” he said, his voice deep and pained.
“I was?”
“Yeah. Just before you came to.”
Shit. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. Walked in as you went down.”
God, he smelled good. “I have to get back to work.”
“You’re not going anywhere. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”
“I didn’t eat this morning. My blood sugar must be low, that’s all.”
“I don’t believe you. Try again.”
I reached up and cupped his clean-shaven jaw. “Okay. Okay. We’ve established that I can’t lie to you. So here’s what we’ll do. There are things I am not going to tell you. You can pry until you’re blue in the face. I won’t bother trying to lie. It’s exhausting, and really, why do I have to answer any of your questions? You’re not my father. You’re not the police. I don’t owe you anything. You don’t get to know my business. From now on, when you feel the urge to get personal and in my face, I’ll give you this signal.” I flipped him the bird. “That’ll be your reminder that it’s none of your damned business. How about that?”
“You’re a feisty little shit.” He captured my wrist and pulled my offensive finger into his mouth, sliding his silky tongue to my knuckles then back to the tip.
Thank goodness nobody could see my toes through my shoes, because they were doing serious yoga moves.
We shared a long, challenging stare-down, and he sucked hard before releasing my digit with a pop. “I missed you so goddamned much,” he groaned, before bending down and smothering my mouth with his own.
I was caged in a tight embrace, my arms pinned between us. I didn’t fight to free myself. Kissing him was wrong; deep down I knew there’d be consequences. There were always repercussions. But Tango was here, holding, kissing, wanting me. So I let him, and I returned the favor, softening for him, fisting his shirt, pulling him deeper into my mouth. I kicked guilt aside, dropped my walls of self-preservation, and allowed myself to indulge, to feel, to take what I needed—and oh God, did I need to get lost in the powerhouse that was Tango Rossi.
My insides warmed and opened to him, like a flower blooming for the first time. He was the sun, calling me to life, awakening a part of me that had lain dormant for far too long. Although I knew it was wrong, I savored every breath, every stroke of the tongue, every moan, and I let him breathe new life into me.
His cocked swelled, pressing into my hip. I shifted to straddle his thighs, settling my core against his erection. Tango moaned into my mouth. Oh, how easy it would’ve been to take him. To be a woman—not a boss, or a mom, but a soft, vulnerable, horny female. Take back what was stolen from me.
What Tango had stolen from me.
Oh, dear God, what was I doing?
I flattened my palms against his chest and pushed, breaking the kiss. Through thick, black lashes, his eyes blazed with desire.
Tango drew a sharp breath and gripped my hips, holding me still. “Slade. Christ. I didn’t mean for that to happen again.”
I don’t know why, but it made me smile, knowing I’d unnerved him.
He pushed my hips, moving me away from his arousal, but he didn’t let go of me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” His fingers tightened, curling painfully into the soft flesh of my backside. “I’m sorry about everything. For letting you go, for hurting you.” He squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his forehead to my chest. “I’m a fucking idiot for not fighting for you, and I’ll have to live with that regret for the rest of my life.” He sighed, long and deep, trembling against me.
I cupped his face, pulling his head up to look at me. The Tango I remembered wasn’t there. A man, broken and lost, met my gaze.
“I’m not sorry that you kissed me,” slipped out of my mouth before reason could stop such nonsense.
“I need more time with you. I can’t leave yet. I don’t know why. I just need more time. Need more you.” He slid his hands up my back and tangled his fingers in the hair at the base of my skull. “A few more days, then I’ll leave you alone … or not. Whatever you want.”
What did I want? I wanted Tango Rossi to have never broken my heart. I wanted to not have been forced to make impossible decisions. I wanted Tango.
It was selfish and dangerous to want him, to even consider another day, or week. Every moment I spent with him, every passing tick and tock of the clock, brought me closer to losing everyone else I loved.
I put my finger over his wet lips to make him stop talking. “You have to go. You know we can never go back to what we were.”
The longer he stayed in town, the weaker my defenses. The pull between us was too strong, too intense. I didn’t know how long I could bear the strain of pushing him away. It wasn’t a matter of if I’d give in, but a question of when I’d crack.
I COUNTED CRACKS in the ceiling for the umpteenth time. Slade’s house needed a major facelift. It hadn’t been painted since … well, shit, it was the same color as when I’d met her in first grade. I was convinced only divine intervention held together the bones of the neglected structure. Despite its haggard appearance, the tired Victorian was more a home than mine had ever been.
My phone buzzed with an incoming text—Aida Voltolini.
Where r u? Have a situation.
I hadn’t said goodbye to Aida. My intestines knotted. Not the reaction one should get from his ex-fuck buddy. I hadn’t touched her in months, but mine was still the number she dialed when she was lonely, or whenever she wormed herself into a jam. Christ, I needed to leave that world behind.
I shot back a short but sweet:
Out of town. Sorry, princess, gonna have to get yourself outta this one.
Tito and I worked for Aida’s father, a childhood friend of Dad’s, who’d been all too eager to nudge his daughter my way. Luciano Voltolini was not a man you said no to. He suggested you took his daughter on a date, you obliged. Lucky me, the girl gave good head. What red-blooded, single male wouldn’t take advantage of that? Did it make me a dick? I didn’t give a shit. Keep the boss’s daughter happy, keep your head attached to your shoulders. It was a matter of survival. That was how things worked with the Voltolini family.
“What are you doing?” Slade’s voice bounced off the walls of her bedroom. “How’d you get in? I locked the damn door.”
Sweet mother of mercy, what a sight. Hair pulled back, loose strands framing her delicate face. Her work T-shirt pulled tight across a pair of fabulous breasts. Blood filled my cock.
“I’m counting the cracks in your ceiling. There are twenty-seven. It’s a miracle the damn thing hasn’t caved in yet.”
Her glare sliced to the longest crevice, then back to me. She shifted her weight onto one leg and folded her arms. “Yeah? Well, raising a child and running a business tends to suck up your free time and your disposable income.”
I curled my fingers into tight fists and bit my tongue to stifle the expletives trying to escape. My girl shouldn’t be a single mother, and sure as hell shouldn’t have to work so goddamned hard to make ends meet. I was supposed to take care of her.
“How’
s Rocky?” I asked, testing the waters, hoping she’d come clean.
Slade dropped her worn handbag to the floor and stomped to her closet. As if I wasn’t there, she pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it into the small laundry basket by the door. Her jeans followed suit. She had never been modest around me, and my dick was happy that hadn’t changed.
“He’s...” She shook her head. “He’s having so much fun.” Her voice trembled. When she turned to face me, her tits bounced in her thin, cotton bra, and tears splashed the beautiful exposed skin.
“Shit.” I jumped from the bed and pulled her against me, squeezing tight so she couldn’t pull away. Slade didn’t cry often. Well, not before I’d left anyway. When it had happened, I’d always known there was something genuine backing her tears. “What is it?”
“It’s the first time I’ve been away from him. I miss my baby,” she mumbled into my shirt. “I didn’t know it would hurt this bad.”
I held her steady, nose in her hair, while she pulled herself together. She smelled like cooking grease and bleach. Fuck me, but I’d take that over expensive perfume any day.
Slade lifted her head. Despite the black shit smeared under her eyes and her red, drippy nose, she was the most soul-gutting, beautiful creature I’d ever laid eyes on.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “Sorry about that.”
“Never be sorry for needing a shoulder, especially when it’s mine.” Dear God, I wanted it to be mine. Forever. I needed her to need me, more than I required oxygen.
“Seriously, how’d you get in?” she asked, pushing away from me and wiping under her eyes.
I had snagged my own set of keys—a detail I’d failed to mention after I’d installed her new locks. A fact I decided to keep to myself a while longer. “I’m not saying I snuck through the window, but that’s always been a fantasy of mine.”
Her lips quirked on one side. Amusement, or maybe annoyance, flashed in her eyes before she turned and headed down the hall. “I guess I’ll have to put locks on the windows now, too.”
Yeah, like that would stop me.
“I’m taking a shower,” she yelled. “There isn’t a lock on the bathroom door, but if you come in, I’ll cut you with my razor.”
I’d no intention of following her, but shit, was it tempting. I’d crossed a line by kissing her, numerous times now, and I didn’t want to push too hard.
The photo of Slade, Addy, and Dane lay picture side down on her bedside table. I picked it up and studied the subjects. Well, one subject in particular: Dane Reynolds. Addison’s cousin. Scary as fuck. Body piercings. Tats. Dropout. In and out of juvie. Hated his father. He seemed to be the only person, aside from Slade, who gave two shits about Addy. Far as I could tell, he was the only other guy besides me who didn’t fall for her bullshit.
He’d had a thing for Slade back then. Everyone did. Only reason he didn’t go after her was because I’d warned him off. Well, me backed by the Whisper Springs High football team. He had seemed to respect that I had her back and had assured me his only concern was protecting Addy from his father’s piss poor choices and dangerous as fuck associates.
I looked closer at the photo. Green eyes. Dark hair.
Mother. Fuck.
There was a resemblance.
It couldn’t be. If Dane were Rocky’s father, Slade would have no reason to keep that fact from me.
I needed to discover what Slade was hiding. I couldn’t move on until I knew she was safe. I had turned her house upside down earlier, looking for anything that could clue me in to her troubles. Found nothing of significance except for Rocky’s birth certificate. No father listed, but he was born in Montana, which made no sense to me. Why Montana?
I’d also found boxes buried in her basement, jam-packed with everything having anything to do with me. Photos, mementos, every gift I’d ever given her, every note passed at school, every poem or stupid joke I’d written, every article of clothing she’d “borrowed,” including my football jersey, all buried in a dark corner of her musty basement.
I headed downstairs and into the kitchen, stopping at the fridge. I studied the photo pinned to the door with a magnet. Rocky stood proud, holding a trout. A large, blond man squatted next to him, smiling wide, arm around the little boy.
Couldn’t be Rocky’s father. The two looked nothing alike. Still, the fact that he’d spent time with her son, and that the photo claimed center spot on her refrigerator, meant the man was significant somehow, and fuck if that didn’t amplify the annoying boom, boom, boom in my chest.
I felt the boom, boom, boom underneath my feet before I could discern the source. When I shut off the water, Salsa music blared through the house and the smoky scent of bacon wafted up the stairs.
I should’ve thrown him out when I’d found him lounging on my bed. Scratch that. When I found the Rover parked in my driveway, I should have run the opposite direction.
Truth was, just like when we were kids, finding him in my room had filled me with a sense of comfort. Hell, he’d spent more time in my home than his own back then.
On a normal day, I would’ve pulled my hair into a bun, climbed into my pajamas, and called it good. Having a sexy man cooking in my kitchen made me feel extra girly. So I fluffed my waves, put on some mascara, and dug my Kimchi Blue baby doll dress out of the closet. It was cool, and comfy, and I didn’t have to wear a bra, because it was just tight enough across my chest to offer support. Bonus. Because who wanted to wear a bra on a hot summer afternoon after working ten hours?
Although it wasn’t necessary, due to the wall-thumping volume of the music, I tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. A shirtless Tango stood at the stove, whisking something, and shaking his rock-hard ass to the music. Dear Lord, the way the muscles in his back rolled, the way his jeans hung low on his waist, it was like he was meticulously designed to inspire procreation.
The man could dance, that was for damn sure. Marta had taught him well. Except the way he moved seemed less like dancing and more like he was making love to the stove. Seriously, I was jealous of my oven.
The bodice of my dress tightened around my boobs. Not good. Not good at all, but I couldn’t turn away. Tango had been mine once. I was no stranger to his outrageous physique. I fantasized about his body on a regular basis. When he had been mine, I had been able to touch. Now I could only watch, and hope he didn’t turn around for a long time, because my eyes were greedy bitches and they could ogle him for days and days.
When he turned to grab two plates from the counter, he froze, and a wicked smile spread across his face, highlighting his dimples. Then he reached for the remote and turned down the music. “Sweet Jesus.” He whistled, his gaze traveling from my chest to my feet and back up. “Are you trying to kill me with that dress?”
Darn, I needed an icepack for my cheeks. I shrugged my shoulders.
Tango set the plates back down and stood toe to toe with me, snaking his right arm around my waist and scooping my right hand into his left. “Have you danced today?”
Dear God, those words. His voice. His heat. How could they hold such power? Whatever scent he wore—wasn’t sure if it was deodorant or cologne—blended perfectly with the smoky tang of bacon, cocooning me in homey, masculine comfort. He guided me around the kitchen, stealing my breath, resurrecting buried memories. We had to stop. I couldn’t get sucked into the whirlwind that was Tango. I couldn’t afford to lose myself in him.
I pulled away and made myself comfortable at the table. And I swear, with everything I had in me, I tried to keep my eyes off the half-naked man as he prepared a meal for me. No one had cooked for me, not since Mom had passed. I decided to enjoy the hell out of both his culinary skills and his bare torso. Then I would get rid of him.
“Smells good. What’re you making?” Duh. The heavy aroma of bacon and the bowl of eggshells sitting next to the sink made that a dumb question.
“Being as you don’t have a lick of food in your cupboards, I settled for the old st
andby. I’m going to feed you, because you’re too damned skinny. After that, we’re going out.”
No. Hell no. I was supposed to avoid the man, not hang out with him. “I can’t Tango. I have to get up early tomorrow.” My stomach growled. “And who the hell are you to tell me I’m too skinny?”
His cheeks reddened, and his eyes narrowed. He turned back to the stove and dumped scrambled eggs on each plate.
Damn, that pork fat smelled good. “We’ll eat, then you are cordially invited to leave.”
He chuckled and set a plate of crispy heaven in the center of the table. I wasted no time digging in. I was starving.
“You expect me to believe you put that dress on just so you can kick me out?”
Busted. “This old thing?” I teased, and promptly filled my mouth with food so as not to say something I might regret, like, Damn right, I want to drive you mad with lust so I can kick you out and make you suffer the world’s worst case of blue-balls.
Tango settled himself in his chair and eyed me warily, forking a heap of bacon over his own scrambled eggs. The more I ate, the more his shoulders seemed to relax.
“You know what?” he blurted, breaking the silence.
“What?” I raked my gaze from his chest to his eyes. Why couldn’t he put on a shirt? It’d make digesting my food much easier. Where was his shirt, anyway? “What?” I repeated, because he was smirking, apparently pleased by my blatant gawking.
“I’m not leaving until I break you.” He pointed his fork my way and wiggled his brows.
I choked and coughed, spewing food across the table. Could someone shoot me now, please? Fear and fury swirled through me, two tornadoes wreaking havoc on my insides. “Break me? What exactly do you mean by that?”
Tango flicked a chunk of chewed meat off his chest. “Yes, Slade. I’m cracking your shell. Not leaving until I know what’s eating you, and before you get self-righteous and tell me it’s none of my business, you need to know, I don’t give a fuck. Despite what went down between us, you’re my girl. That alone makes whatever you’re going through my concern. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit back and watch you suffer because you’re too damned proud to ask for help.”
Truck Stop Tango Page 7
