When the Stars Come Out--A Cottonbloom Novel

by Laura Trentham

  Jackson Abbott was special. He’d been her crush since the first day she’d walked into Abbott Garage. She idealized him until she watched him struggle with his father’s death. The pain he did his best to hide under a stoic mask had turned her crush into something muddled and complicated. But now everything was clear. She had fallen for him. Hard. Like Wile E. Coyote, she’d fallen off a cliff and left a Willa-shaped hole in the ground.

  Had her fate been set before she’d even met him though? Had her past choices destroyed any chance she had with him? A bittersweetness had her burying her face in his neck, afraid he would guess the truth.

  She loved him.

  Somehow, he opened the barn door with her still in his arms, and River shot out to do her business. He left the door cracked for her return and weaved past the punching bag and the tarp-covered cars to the loft steps in the back.

  On the cusp of a new year, the night teetered on a beginning or an ending.

  Once inside, he put her down and his suit jacket fell from her shoulders to the floor. With callused fingertips, he traced the side of her neck and across her shoulder. Shivers passed through her, tightening her nipples and growing the ache in her belly that wasn’t merely sexual. It was longing.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Her first instinct was to deny, but in his eyes, she felt beautiful for the first time in a long time. Maybe forever.

  “Thank you.” She took hold of his tie and ran it through her fingers. “You’re awfully handsome too.”

  “I know it’s not a typical dude line, but I want to slip into something more comfortable. Apparently, I’ve put on some weight since Pop’s funeral.” He loosened the tie, pulled it over his head, and unbuttoned the top buttons of the dress shirt.

  Now he mentioned it, she couldn’t help but notice how tight the shirt was along his shoulders. Her gaze trailed lower. And how his butt and thighs were outlined in the pants. What he’d put on was all muscle.

  “It’s all the punching you do because of Ford.” She ran her hand over his biceps, feeling it twitch under her touch.

  “I haven’t punched Ford one time. Not even when we were kids. I left that to Wyatt.”

  “Not the actual Ford, but the bag in the barn. It was every day for three months after your pop died. And then again the last month and a half.” How long would it take to get him out of his shirt?

  “You noticed?” The edge of wonder in his voice brought her gaze up to meet his. His eyes reminded her of his father’s. More depth and more complicated than they first appeared. But mostly, they were kind eyes.

  Beginnings … endings … Either way, why not finally be honest? “Of course, I noticed. I notice everything about you, always have. From the day I started, I had a huge crush on you, but it seemed safe.”

  He put his hands on her waist and walked her backward. She didn’t fight him or ask him where they were going. She wanted him with an urgency that scared her.

  “I’m a fool for not noticing you sooner.”

  The back of her knees hit his mattress. “I did my best to make sure you didn’t. It’s too … complicated.”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing.” He wrapped a hand around her nape and massaged. She tilted her head back into his touch. Everything he did to her felt amazing, and it was about to get even better. Case in point, while his hand turned her neck to taffy, he traced the neckline of her bodice. “This dress needs a warning label.”

  “Something like ‘may cause spontaneous combustion in men’s underwear’?”

  His laugh charged all the tiny nerve endings in her body.

  She touched the place where his dimples had flashed. “I used to try to get you to smile, even for a second, so I could see these.”

  “You were obviously desperate.” His voice was self-deprecating in a way that made him even sexier in her eyes.

  “I was obsessed. Day and night. Even in my dreams.”

  “As much as I want to rip this dress off you, Sutton would kill me.” He pulled her closer and worked the zipper. The fabric sagged. “Tell me about these dreams.”

  “Some were very, very naughty.”

  “But some weren’t?” How did he cut straight to the heart?

  She didn’t want her nightmares to intrude on the moment. The ones where he discovered the truth and hated her. Or she had to leave him behind. Or Derrick appeared and hurt him.

  “Some weren’t.” She stared into his eyes, and he seemed to understand her fears. Or maybe that was what she wanted to see. Forgiveness.

  He pushed the dress over her hips to puddle at their feet. She forced her hands to stay down. Standing there in only a pair of heels and a lace thong, her heart ripped from its protective cage, she was exposed in every way.

  “I’ve dreamed about you too.” He worked his shirt buttons open, his gaze on her breasts. His heat and desire would have been apparent even without the display in his pants.

  She didn’t second-guess herself and laid her hand against the length of him. His hips bucked. He was even bigger and harder than last time.

  “What did you dream about?” she asked.

  “That you were going down on me in the middle of the garage. When I saw you the next morning, I was sure you’d know, but everything was normal. Except, I kept having dreams.”

  She was glad not to be alone in her nightly torment. And if it was in her power to make his dreams come true, shouldn’t she try? She sat on the edge of the mattress, grabbed his hips, and pulled him close. Going purely on instinct and what she’d read, she ran her mouth over his cloth-covered erection.

  “What are you doing?” Even as he asked, he speared his hands into her hair and held her fast.

  “Making your dreams come true. Or one dream, at least.” Her voice was muffled against his pants. He undid them, and she helped push them down. His underwear followed to sag low on his thighs. His shirt hung open, exposing a muscled line of his chest, dark hair in contrast to the pristine white.

  There was something decadent about coming together half clothed. It wasn’t neat and tidy, and she appreciated messy. Even more, she was turned on by it. Rolling her hips on the bed didn’t appease her need. Only one thing would. She took hold of him at the base and licked across the tip. Not sure what to expect, she savored the taste of him and explored the shape of him with her tongue.

  “Quit teasing me, woman.”

  The growl in his voice gave her the confidence to take him in her mouth and hollow her cheeks. A sound of pain-pleasure rumbled from his chest, but his hands in her hair held her fast. While still working him in and out of her mouth, she glanced up and stilled. He watched her with an intensity that veered the moment from playful to serious.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  He replied by pushing her to lie back on the bed with his torso. She scooched farther up on the bed and welcomed his weight between her legs. He ran a hand down her calf and slipped the shoe off, massaging the arch of her foot. He did the same with her other foot. His touch was both a relief and a pleasure. She squirmed like River getting a scratch behind the ears, wanting more.

  His chest hair sent tingles spiraling through her, gathering between her legs. All that stood between them was a thin layer of lace. If she pulled the fabric aside, he could be inside of her in a heartbeat.

  Her need veered frantic. She was empty in so many ways, but he could fill her. She slipped a hand between them and shifted the fabric. The hard length of him slipped along her folds, but didn’t press for entrance. She raised her hips, trying to beg without words.

  He pressed his lips against her temple. “What are you doing?”

  Frustration was adding fuel to her need. “What do you think I’m doing, Captain Oblivious?”

  His rocky laugh was sheer beauty and her focus shifted. Tilting her face, she could see half his smile and one dimple. She kissed his cheek. Being the cause of his laughter and happiness meant more than she could even express.

  He pushed off to
stand at the side of the bed. The loss of him felt more than physical. Even this small distance between them made her heart ache.

  He finished undressing and knelt between her legs. “I don’t want it to be over so soon.”

  She tensed, her heart picking up speed, the pounding like white noise in her ears. She didn’t want it to be over ever.

  Before she could put the wealth of feelings into words, he continued. “And if I’m inside you, I won’t last.”

  Sex. He was talking about sex.

  “Scooch back on the pillows.”

  She didn’t argue or question him. Her nerves were too raw. Sure he could see everything she couldn’t put into words on her face, she lay back on the pillows and felt as vulnerable as a car that had been stripped to its chassis.

  But he didn’t call her out. Instead he came back over her and kissed her. A carnal kiss full of promises of pleasure but nothing more. Still, it worked a languorous magic, sugaring her limbs and making her forget her worries about tomorrow. She would live in the moment with him.

  The kiss went on and on, their tongues playing, their teeth nipping, their lips tugging. She was breathless by the time he moved south to perform a similar alchemy on her nipples. While his mouth worked one, his fingers rolled and pinched the other, until one need smothered any other thought.

  She pushed his shoulders down, ignoring his soft laugh. Instead of ripping her panties off, he ran a finger down the center of the lace, but she was in no mood to be teased or to go slow. She was ready to detonate.

  She hooked a finger around the cloth, pulled it aside, and lifted her hips. “Please, Jackson.”

  Later, no doubt, she’d be mortified by her begging, but he didn’t seem bothered. In fact, just the opposite. He scooped his hands under her bare bottom and squeezed, raising her another inch and tilting her. His earlier humor was gone and he looked … hungry.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, baby.”

  At the first swipe of his tongue, her eyes closed. Pleasure streaked all the way to her toes, and fingertips, and scalp, but mostly it was centered between her legs.

  She wanted it to last forever, but she’d been on the edge for too long already and a slight nip of his teeth sent her careening into an orgasm so intense her world narrowed to the two of them and nothing else. She bit her bottom lip and turned her face into the pillow to keep from saying something she’d regret.

  Before she’d recovered, he got rid of her panties and pushed inside of her. The stretch of her already sensitive body sent a shock wave rolling through her. Wrapping his hands around her thighs and opening her, he muttered a curse and pumped, long and hard, on his knees.

  She pushed against the headboard to keep from moving up the bed with every strong thrust. With a roar, he held himself deep and pulsed inside of her. She tightened her muscles around him, wanting to give him everything she could.

  His grip on her thighs loosened, and too soon, he pulled out of her. He disposed of a condom she hadn’t even realized he’d put on and hadn’t thought to ask for. At least one of them had been able to maintain rational thought.

  He gathered her close and pulled the cover over them. “Happy New Year.”

  She smiled and kissed him on the mouth. “You too.”

  He played in her hair as she traced the ridge of his back muscles under his smooth skin. Troubles were waiting outside the door, but for now, they were safe.

  “Are you making a resolution?” He ran his hand from her hair down her spine to cup her bottom.

  Her breathing quickened. Was that all it took to get her motor running again?

  Distracted, she said, “Haven’t thought about it. Are you?”

  “I’m going to tell the truth no matter what.”

  The tension flipped as fast as a coin toss from sexual to defensive. She pulled back, but his hand kept them pressed together at the hips. “Have you been lying?”

  “Not lying. But omitting some truths.”

  What was happening? She couldn’t think with him so close. She pushed at his chest, sat up, and pulled the cover around her.

  “What truths?”

  He propped himself up, the sheet riding low on his hips. “Truth number one: I love you.”

  It took a long second for the words to penetrate. He loved her? Everything inside of her took flight. She opened her mouth, then closed it. His brows rose at her silence as if daring her to argue. His defiance took the sentimentality out of the confession.

  He demanded the truth.

  “I love you too,” she whispered.

  The smile he gave her was the one she had only seen at the end of a well-executed project. It didn’t matter that he loved her if lies still lived between them like poisonous mushrooms in marshy ground. He moved closer, but she drew away. His smile darkened.

  “There’s something else I need to tell you. About my past.” She pulled the cover tighter around her, feeling more exposed than she had been naked with his mouth on her.

  “Is it worse than what you’ve already told me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. The other stuff was sort of out of my control.”

  “I’m glad you can admit that much at least. It wasn’t your fault either.”

  “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t go that far, but anyway … Willa Brown isn’t my real name.”

  “What is it?” His voice was calm and when she forced herself to meet his gaze, no surprise or shock masked his face.

  “It’s Willa Buchanan. Wilhelmina, to be exact. My dad’s ‘Buck’ Buchanan. My POS car was my grandmother’s. She had told me she was going to give me the car, but got sick with dementia and went into a home. When I needed to get out of town fast, I stole it.”

  “Wilhelmina Buchanan.” He huffed a laugh. “You were named after your grandmother.”

  “Yeah.” She fell back into the pillows, feeling like she could float away. Everything. He knew everything. “Do you still love me?”

  “Of course. I knew you had to have had your reasons for taking the car.” He leaned in and kissed her.

  Instead of getting lost in the sensation, her mind sifted through their conversation trying to pinpoint what was bothering her.

  She turned her head to break the kiss off. “Hang on. How did you know I was named after my grandmother?”

  “I didn’t. Not until tonight.”

  “Yeah, but still, how did you put that together?”

  “Lucky guess?” He tried to reinitiate their kiss.

  “What about your resolution to tell the truth?” she asked against his lips.

  He pulled back a few inches and sighed, his mouth thinning. “I asked Gloria down at the station to run your plates.”

  “When?” Her lips felt shot with Novocain.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Was it before or after we slept together?”

  The fact he fought himself on the answer was enough. “After,” he finally said.

  “Why didn’t you say something?”

  “Because I decided it didn’t matter. Who you were back then doesn’t matter.”

  The lie and betrayal cut deep even though she’d lived lies and told lies for so long, she had no right to outrage. But Jackson was supposed to be better. Better than her.

  She scrambled out of bed, turned her back to him, and shimmied the dress back on, ripping a layer of delicate fabric in her rough handling. Another beautiful thing destroyed. Not bothering with her underwear, she picked up her heels but didn’t slip them on. They would only slow her down.

  Jackson was up and dressing too, but he was slower, lacking her urgency. She was almost to the door when she realized what he already knew. She had no way to escape.

  Her car was at Sutton’s, but the Mustang’s keys were lying on the table. Taking his precious car would be the final rending of their relationship. He would never forgive her. She might as well go out like a true renegade.

  She grabbed the keys and skipped down the loft stairs. River was curled
up on the couch and stretched herself up when Willa approached. She couldn’t take a dog with her. Her future was too shaky. No matter what, though, the Abbotts would take care of River.

  She heard the door at the top of the steps open. She kissed the top of River’s head, tears blurring her vision, and ran.

  The grass was cold and damp, and mist hung around her ankles. It was like one of her gothic romances, but she was no Jane Erye. She had more in common with the dastardly Rochester. She was shivering by the time she reached his Mustang. She slipped behind the wheel. It took two tries to get the keys in the ignition. The engine cranked with a roar. Jackson was outlined by the red brake lights, ghostly in the swirling mist.

  Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them away as much as she could. Later. She could cry later. Now, she needed to get gone.

  She hit the parish road with a squeal of tires. Jackson would hate her for that alone. She didn’t have much time. He would grab a spare car from the garage and follow her. She pressed the pedal to the floorboard. More cars than she’d expected were out because of New Year’s, and she got caught behind a slow car on the parish road.

  Checking the rearview mirror, she imagined the distant headlights meant Jackson was bearing down on her like an avenging angel. She punched the accelerator and the Mustang leaped like the horse it was named after, passing the car with little effort.

  She turned onto Sutton’s street. The houses slumbered. Wyatt’s car was still gone. They were either still partying or spending the night at her parents’. She parked the Mustang and stashed the keys on the visor. Her shoes were in the passenger seat. She didn’t need them where she was headed.

  Barefoot, she was halfway to her car when she had second thoughts, not about the shoes, but the keys. Not only would the visor be the most obvious place for them, but someone else could steal the car. Not likely maybe, but it would break Jackson’s heart.

  Would her leaving Cottonbloom break his heart? She hesitated with her hand on the Mustang’s door. Did he really love her? She scrubbed a hand over her face. Later, maybe later, it would all make sense.

  She moved his keys from the visor to under the seat, hoping it would slow him down. She cranked her car and prayed it would start and get her where she needed to go. She pulled out of Sutton’s driveway with a grinding of gears and squeak of brakes. Her car in comparison with Jackson’s really said it all.