Shades of Desire: 10 Sweet & Spicy Romances

by J. A. Coffey

  "Okay." She let him lead her back to the table, only to be greeted by a frowning Milo.

  "I thought you said dance, man. What's up with the kiss?"

  Sierra planted herself on Milo's lap. "Don't worry, honey. I was only doing a favor for a friend."

  Milo lifted a brow at Jerry.

  "Kimber showed."

  "And I got rid of her," Sierra added before she placed her cherry lips on Milo's for a wet kiss that had the rest of them rolling their eyes.

  "I guess I can live with that," Milo said and squeezed her waist. "We should dance. It's our song."

  The band had switched to a country love song, and it only took Milo and Sierra a few seconds before they were on the dance floor, their bodies intimately moving as one.

  "I need another beer," Jerry called to the passing waitress. She nodded and continued on her way, carrying her tray of empty bottles toward the bar.

  "Can we talk?"

  Every one of the men's head snapped up at the sound of Kimber's voice.

  Jerry slowly turned toward the beautiful voice that had haunted his dreams many, many times. When the hell had she come back inside? "I don't think so." Everyone at the table silenced as a musky, rose scent reached out and grabbed him like a shackle around his wrist. He tried not to breathe.

  "Seriously? You can't give me the courtesy of five minutes?" She glanced at his friends, an awkward expression hovering in her eyes, and he recognized his shield. As long as he kept his friends close, he was safe.

  "Why should I? All I got from you was a cold email." Why did she have to press it and force him to be a dick?

  "Whoa," Tyler whispered.

  "Harsh," Scott agreed.

  Jerry hated putting her on the spot like he was, but who the hell did she think she was coming in looking all sexy and acting like she hadn't broken his heart?

  She visibly swallowed. Her bottom lip quivered, betraying her cool demeanor and making him feel like shit. She opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She turned and walked away, dragging the pieces of his heart behind her. It was better this way.

  The guys stared at him like he was an alien.

  "What?" he said to the group.

  They exchanged glances.

  "She's still in love with you, man," Milo finally offered.

  "The hell." He challenged them all with a glance and then looked toward the bar. "Where's my damn beer?"

  *****

  Kimber climbed into her Mazda and shut the door. She would not go back in a third time. She inhaled and slowly exhaled, letting her whispering breath calm her. She hadn't expected his anger to be so strong. Hadn't expected him to look so good. His dark eyes had always weakened her, although in the past that had been in a good way. The expression in his eyes tonight had been a mixture of anger and something else, and none of the sexy tease she was used to.

  She'd thought she could hold her own, but this was too important to her, and she'd let him intimidate her. He'd always been a man worth a second look with his towering height and impressive muscles, but now his body seemed more hardened. It was as though his time overseas had toughened him inside and out.

  She summoned her own anger from deep inside because that made it easier to handle his.

  To hell with Jerry. Yes, she'd been an idiot and had sent him that fateful email in a moment of fear and uncertainty. Yes, she deserved some of his anger. But he hadn't completely held up his end of the bargain, and she didn't deserve the cold humiliation he'd just tossed in her face. She started her car, but instead of driving, she hit redial on her cell phone.

  After six rings, Noelle answered.

  "He's a total, complete ass."

  "Didn't go so well, huh?" Her friend's voice echoed with compassion.

  "No." Tears welled behind her eyelids, and she tried to coax more anger to the surface. Crying equaled hopeless, and she couldn't accept that. "He refused to talk to me."

  Silence ensued from the other side, and she heard a male voice ask who was on the line.

  "Oh, God. You're with Ian. I'm so sorry." She had to stop being so self-focused.

  Noelle giggled and then cleared her throat. "It's okay. I'm here for you."

  Kimber didn't want to picture what she might have interrupted. "No. I'm going to let you go."

  "I'll see you tomorrow at the derby, then? Did you finish painting your car?"

  "My dad helped." A watermelon-sized tub of anxiety bottomed in her stomach. Surely, Jerry wouldn't be driving. With him just getting home, there's no way he'd have a car ready in time.

  "I can't wait to see it. Afterwards, we'll come up with a kickass strategy that will have that man begging at your feet."

  A laugh spilled from her, relieving some of her stress. "I love you, Noelle."

  "Love you, too. Good night."

  *****

  Jerry woke the next morning sprawled in the bed of his youth, his mouth as dry as the Afghani desert and his head pounding like rapid gunfire.

  He groaned and rolled over, his thoughts immediately returning to Kimber. He wished to hell someone would have told him that all the drinking in the world wouldn't erase her from his thoughts. He'd done a damn fine job trying, though.

  He'd spent the rest of his night trying to ignore the sick feeling churning inside him. No one brought up Kimber's name again, and neither did he. But the pain he'd glimpsed in her expression had burned into him much like looking at the sun before closing his eyes. He'd tried to distract himself by drinking and by dancing with a few more ladies, but he could not get the scarring image out of his mind.

  He and his friends had stayed until the bar had shut down, and he vaguely remembered the five of them piling into the back of someone's truck. He'd passed out until his friends had tossed him out near his front porch. He'd managed to make his way to his bed, but still wore the clothes he'd partied in.

  The hell if he'd do that again. His days of acting like a teenager were over.

  He made his way to the bathroom where he popped a couple of aspirin and downed a large glass of water before climbing into the shower.

  When he stumbled downstairs thirty minutes later, his head still pounded, but he believed he might survive.

  "Morning, sunshine," his mom said as she rolled out the pastry for a pie.

  He grunted in return and filled a cup with coffee. She'd be entering that in the yearly contest as usual.

  "Your friends are out in the garage working on your derby car."

  He glanced outside, spying his newest vehicle parked in front of the house. "How did my Camaro get home?"

  "Luke and Milo brought it this morning. Crazy night?"

  "Yeah," he whispered. Fucked up, crazy night. He poured his coffee into a plastic mug and set the cup in the sink. "I'll be outside."

  As he entered the garage, his friends quickly stopped talking and eyed him with wary looks.

  "What?"

  Luke focused on the car's engine, and Milo shrugged. "Just wondering how you're feeling this morning?"

  "Like a semi dragged my ass down five miles of pavement," he snapped. "How the hell are you feeling?"

  Luke looked at him beneath raised brows. "Feeling a little grumpy this morning? I'm not surprised after how much you drank last night."

  Jerry looked at his friends like they'd lost their minds. "I wasn't the only one."

  Luke glanced at Milo with a grin. "You going to tell him, or should I?"

  "We might have all had a few beers, but you were the only one who was muttering about Kimber after passing out on Tyler's lap on the way home," Milo said. "I won't mention how you tried to hug him."

  "No." He would not have embarrassed himself that way.

  Luke snickered. "Yeah."

  He stared at his friends for a moment, not certain what to say. They were known for pulling pranks on him, but little snippets of memory flashed in his brain, and he was pretty certain they told the truth. God help him.

  Instead of replying, he walked to his tool
box and grabbed a screwdriver. "If we're going to get this beast running, we'd better start fixing that carburetor."

  Milo and Luke exchanged glances, and Jerry didn't give them a chance to change the subject back to Kimber. "Well? If we don't get our asses in gear, we're not going to have her ready in time."

  Chapter Six

  It took most of the afternoon, but by the time four o'clock, Saturday night rolled around, Jerry, with the help of Milo and Luke, had his old New Yorker loaded onto the flatbed trailer, and they hauled her to the town's rodeo grounds.

  The afternoon sun hovered in the sky, sitting at the perfect angle to blind Jerry whenever he looked west across the field of cars and drivers. Engines roared and sputtered in preparation for one of the town's favorite annual events. Some of the drivers were pretty serious about winning, but most of the entrants just wanted the chance to bash another car, him included.

  As he exited his dad's old truck, his gaze constantly wandered to the stands. It was a relentless battle between his subconscious who couldn't resist looking for Kimber and the smarter half of him who wanted to kick his subconscious's ass.

  "Dude."

  Milo's voice jerked him from his reverie, and he glanced to his friend with raised brows. "What?"

  "If you don't get your ass out of the way, you're going to be your car's first hit."

  He focused on the scene in front of him and realized if Luke had backed the car off the trailer another inch, he would have taken him to the ground. "Shit," he whispered and moved out of the way. With all of the engines roaring around him, he hadn't realized one of them had been his.

  "Are you sure you're okay?" Milo asked, studying him with a discerning gaze.

  "Of course. I'm ready to kick some ass," Jerry responded. He needed to burn off his frustrations somehow.

  Milo hesitated a moment longer before nodding. "You sure? Sometimes that Afghani heat can really mess with a guy's head, if you know what I mean."

  Jerry shook his head. "No. I'm good." He wasn't denying that his service to his country had changed him forever, and for a while, he'd struggled to manage his issues, but things were better now.

  "Then it's Kimber," Luke commented as he joined them.

  "Do you have to keep bringing her up?"

  Luke adjusted his ball cap. "Just calling it like I see it. I think you're a little more whipped than you're letting on."

  "Shit. How about we just don't mention her name again?"

  "You sure about that?" Luke lifted a teasing brow, making Jerry want to punch him in the gut.

  "Damn sure." He turned to Milo. "Did you get me registered?"

  "Yep. You're in the first round."

  "Good." He climbed into his car and slammed the door. He did not need this shit from his friends. The engine growled as he revved it, and he gave the car a little extra gas as he started toward the opening to the arena. He took a fair amount of satisfaction knowing the wheels had spit some dust at his friends in his attempt to show off.

  He joined the line of cars waiting to be announced as they entered the arena. When the announcer called out The Smashmaster, Jerry circled the dirt-covered area, doing brodies that created a cloud of thick dust. Man, it felt good to do something a little wild and reckless after the last four years of regimented days.

  When he finished showing off, he backed up his car until it bumped against the tractor tires that lined the boundaries of their playground and waited with the other drivers. A few more cars followed suit, creating enough dust to have the fans choking.

  "Uh-oh." The announcer's voice rang through the air. "It looks like we also have a Crashmaster this year. That sounds a lot like Smashmaster..." He let his voice trail off, encouraging the crowd to speculate if there would be a rivalry.

  Jerry couldn't agree more. This idiot needed to come up with his own name, not a rip-off of Jerry's. Whoever it was had more or less painted an invisible target on his car as far as Jerry was concerned.

  A neon pink Grand Prix entered the arena and created enough of a brown haze that he couldn't see the driver. When it came to a stop, the driver had parked on the opposite side of the ring.

  Jerry revved his engine in response.

  The announcer laughed. "Looks like the Smashmaster has thrown down the gauntlet. We'll have to see if the Crashmaster accepts."

  A loud muffler-less growl roared from the Grand Prix, drawing cheers from the crowd.

  Game on. A grin spread across his mouth. There was no way a Smashmaster and a Crashmaster could civilly share the same arena. Not if Jerry had any say.

  He held his excitement in check while the rest of the cars joined them. Then the announcer along with the crowd counted down to one.

  A cacophony of engine roars filled the air, and he pulled out into the fray. Straight in front of him, a big, green station wagon was backing wildly across the arena toward a black Caprice with painted flames licking its sides. He couldn't pass up the opportunity.

  Jerry threw it into reverse and headed after them. The driver of the wagon kept his attention on the Caprice, which was what Jerry had hoped for, and a second after the wagon hit the Caprice, Jerry slammed into the hood of the station wagon.

  It made a nice vehicular sandwich, if anyone asked him.

  He jerked the shifter into forward and pulled away.

  Luckily for him, the neon pink Grand Prix had just smashed into a red Chevy not all that far from him. First round down. On to the main event.

  He crushed his accelerator to the floor, kicking up a good bit of dust, giving the Caprice a final insult. Jerry took a hit to the passenger side before he made it to the Grand Prix, and he was sure it left a nice dent in his stars and stripes décor.

  He didn't give a shit. It was unlikely this car would be worth running again.

  He swiveled his head around, making a mental note to go after that car once he'd taken out the Grand Prix.

  The second he was close enough to the blaring neon pink, he stopped and threw his car into reverse, intending to use his back bumper as the offense in an effort to protect his engine.

  He had a pretty good run going and itched for the moment his car would make contact with the Crashmaster. Seconds before he hit, the banged up black Caprice came out of nowhere, bashing his front end and shifting his course of action.

  He ended up parallel to the Grand Prix, his ass to its engine, the driver side windows of both cars next to each other. He looked over, ready to say some smart ass remark about lack of originality, but his words died on his tongue when he found Kimber's beautiful face peering out of her helmet.

  He sat stunned for an awkward moment.

  She widened her eyes and stared at him with an unreadable expression. Then she revved her engine and shot away from him. Before he could make another move, the Caprice attacked again.

  "Son of a bitch." Who the hell did she think she was copying his name and driving in his derby? If she wanted out of his life so fucking bad, why did she keep popping up in it?

  He twisted his head and found that she hadn't made it far before another car had barreled into her side.

  He had two choices. He could run from her or run her down. And he sure as hell wasn't running.

  He maneuvered his car away from the Caprice and avoided another hit by the green station wagon. On the overhead speakers, he could hear the announcer talking smack about who would take out who...the Smashmaster or the Crashmaster. The townsfolk would eat it up, especially if they knew about his past relationship with Kimber. In his estimation, that would be about everybody in his small town.

  Whatever. Ex-fiancée or not, he wasn't about to be beaten by a woman.

  His engine growled as he made a beeline straight for her tail end.

  His back bumper slammed into hers with a jolt. He cranked his head to find her looking back at him.

  A smile crept across his lips.

  Instead of frowning, she raised a challenging brow, a satisfied grin on her face. The hell. She was enjoying this. A
nd definitely holding her own. The woman who'd always been a little hesitant before had turned into something of a firecracker. Shit.

  She'd turned into a sexier, more powerful version of the woman he'd left, and damn if that didn't turn him on. He looked away before she could read his expression.

  He shifted into drive and tried to pull away from her. She did the same, but neither of them moved. His bumper had tangled with hers, tying them together.

  He pressed harder on the accelerator, his tires spinning in the soft dirt, generating a fair amount of dust. He was going nowhere.

  From across the way, he spied the black Caprice barreling toward his engine.

  "Damn it." He was a sitting duck if he couldn't disengage from Kimber's car. He floored it, but it was to no avail. The Caprice hit him, crushing the passenger side of his front end, killing his engine.

  Jerry glared at the driver, finally taking the time to get a good look at him. Hell if it wasn't Eric, the asshole who'd stolen Kimber from him while he'd been away serving their country.

  He wanted blood. He cranked his engine a few times, but it refused to start. The jolt had broken him and Kimber apart. She sped away, but he was still an easy target.

  Eric pulled far enough away from Jerry to get another running start in his direction. As the Caprice began backing toward him again, Jerry gave the starter one more try, and this time it engaged. He floored it, barely escaping another attack.

  As luck would have it, the owner of the green station wagon seemed to want another shot at Eric as well. He hit the front end of the Caprice with a jarring blow. Jerry took the opportunity and threw his transmission into reverse. He watched over his shoulder as he headed toward the two cars, aiming for Eric's Caprice. The station wagon moved out of the way at the perfect moment, allowing Jerry to show the power of the Smashmaster.