He almost didn’t care, but managed to rein in his movement anyway. She countered with deep, enthusiastic suction.
“Christ, you feel so good,” he gasped, as the lightshow behind his eyelids flickered again. Realizing he’d relinquished his view of her, he forced his eyes open and stared at his lap.
Virginia rose onto her knees and changed the angle to take more. Not yet. He tightened his fingers in her hair, held her head still, and withdrew a few millimeters. She made an impatient sound and her hands tightened on his thighs. “A minute,” he managed. “Give me a minute. Once I get going, I won’t be able to savor this—the hug of your lips, or the heat of your mouth—because I’m going to go hard, and I’m going to go deep. So do us both a favor and give me a goddamn minute.”
As it turned out, he didn’t have a minute in him. His hips tightened and flexed of their own accord. With one hand twisted in her hair, and the other gripping the seat of the sofa, he thrust. It wasn’t easy. Their position worked against him, but he couldn’t sit still. She dug her fingernails into his legs, held on, and hummed her approval as he thrust deeper—all the way to the soft, snug cavern at the back of her throat. She lowered her head to take just a little more, and the edges of his vision went gray. He eased back and then surged upward again, reflexively, forcefully, in rapid succession. Some detached part of his brain warned him to take care, because he didn’t want to make her jaw ache from the strain of holding him, but she wouldn’t tolerate any restraint. She kept him sealed tight while her eager tongue explored every inch it could reach.
Oxygen became a critical thing. His heart hammered in his chest. His breaths quickened as his thrusts became faster and shallower. Somebody was talking. Rambling, incoherent nonsense reached his ears over the drum of his own pulse. Curses…prayers…he couldn’t be sure. And then he lost the thread of it completely because she sucked hard on his cock and the tension gathering at the base of his spine coursed downward toward his balls.
Before he could draw another much-needed lungful of air and brace himself for what came next, she speared two fingers behind his sac and found the exact spot where the pressure concentrated. Ribbons of heat scorched a path straight up his shaft. Light exploded behind his eyes. A hand dislodged his from its death grip on the sofa, and deceptively delicate fingers threaded through his, holding fast as the orgasm tore through him.
Who knew he’d survive four years at Annapolis, six years as a SEAL, dozens of dangerous missions all over the globe, only to die in Bluelick with a smile on his face, his extremely grateful dick limp in his lap, and a gorgeous redhead completely at fault?
The feathery tickle of eyelashes against his chest suggested maybe his nervous system was still plugged into his brain. He pried his eyes open and watched as the redhead in question pressed a kiss to his pec, then his collarbone, and then his temple. He contemplated saying something… Thank you? Give me five minutes and I’ll return the favor? But suddenly she stopped, buried her nose in his hair and sniffed.
“Why does your hair smell like my soap?”
He tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned up. “I don’t want to shock you.”
She drew back and gave him what he could only classify as a horrified look. “Oh, no. You didn’t…”
“Your shampoo is pink and smells like an herb garden. I took the soap—”
“Body soap.”
He shrugged to show her what he thought of the distinction. “I scrubbed it over my head, which happens to be attached to my body. Then I rinsed.”
Her fingers sifted through his hair, as if assessing the damage. “Bar soap isn’t chemically formulated for hair. It’s going to leave the strands weighed down and lifeless.”
“It’s hair. It’s already lifeless.” He tucked her back against his side.
“Neanderthal,” she grumbled, but settled into a comfortable position.
The sense of contentment subsided a little when she trailed her index finger across his chest, tracing the letters of his tattoo. Not that her touch didn’t feel like heaven—it did—but questions wouldn’t be far behind and he was talked out on the subject of his military service. A part of him couldn’t believe he’d opened up like he had, simply because she’d asked him. The odd thing was he did feel better. Something about the unflinching way she handled the ugly mess he’d dumped on her—something beyond the amazingly restorative power of a great blowjob—made him feel almost…normal. He caught her hand and linked their fingers.
“The only easy day was yesterday?”
“It’s an unofficial SEAL motto. I got dragged out for standard commemorative ink after my first mission.” Ironically, the words had never really felt true until after his last.
“A bunch of us did the same thing after graduating from cosmetology school.”
“Seriously?” He’d inspected every inch of her mouthwatering body and he never noticed a tattoo.
She gave his chest a playful swat. “Hell, no. The idea of lying still while someone stabs me repeatedly with a needle to shove ink into my dermis sounds like a cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Depends on your definition of unusual, I suppose.”
She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. He could have sat there for days, in comfortable silence, listening to the rain patter on the roof, but for some screwed up reason he asked, “Why run for mayor?”
She let her head roll back so it rested against the couch. Their bodies didn’t lose contact, but he no longer had her breasts resting against his chest or her thigh next to his. And that was a damn shame. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if didn’t want to know. Don’t trust me with the truth?”
“No. I trust you. I’m just not sure this is a good topic for us.”
“Why?”
She looked uncomfortable with the question, even though they both knew the answer. “Because your dad is my opponent.”
“Despite my last name, I don’t really have a horse in this race.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because the cabin I’m staying in is outside the city limits. I’m not a Bluelick resident and, therefore, not eligible to vote.”
“Huh. Funny how that worked out.”
“Totally unplanned”—not that he was complaining—“but as a consequence, I’m asking out of personal interest only. Why run for mayor?”
She exhaled a long breath and turned her head to face him. “I don’t know if you remember Grandma Boca?”
He searched his memory for a face, but came up blank. “No.”
“No reason you would, but she played a big role in my life. No pun intended,” she added under her breath.
“Sorry?”
“Bad joke. Grandma was, well, larger than life. My mama used to say she had a problem with her glands, but as I got older, I realized she had an eating disorder. She was addicted to food, which is a tough addiction to break because you actually do have to eat. Her size made normal activities like walking and riding in a car an ordeal. She couldn’t just drive down to Boone’s Market to shop, or scoot over to Dalton’s Drugs to pick up a prescription, or even attend church. As she got wider, her world got very narrow—about as narrow as the four walls of my parents’ home—and I became her link to the rest of Bluelick. I loved my grandma and I didn’t want her to feel like she was missing out, so I made a point to talk to people, and listen, and learn everything I could about what was going on so I could share the news with her when I got home.”
Shaun imagined a teenaged Virginia talking with her grandmother, bonding over all the shit he tried to avoid…details about who was getting married, having babies, achieving something, or suffering a setback. “I’m sure she appreciated spending time with you, and the effort you took to make her feel included in everyday life.”
“She did, but she also pushed me to do more than just relay the information. She asked for my thoughts, my opinions, and my solutions. I can still hear her saying,
‘Peanut, if you were in this person’s shoes, what would you do?’”
“Peanut, huh?”
She narrowed her eyes and aimed her finger at him. “I’ve let you get away with calling me Virginia. Do not press your luck unless you’re ready to sacrifice a couple nuts of your own.”
He couldn’t fathom why the threat of having his balls torn off made him smile, but it did. “You were saying, Virginia?”
“I was saying Grandma B encouraged me to think about people’s problems, and what I could do to help. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she enjoyed a juicy piece of gossip as much as the next person—maybe more—but along with that, she had genuine concern and compassion, and a lack of patience for people who sat around complaining about a problem rather than trying to solve it. She always urged me to get involved. And I have, in my own little ways, but I can do more. For way too long I’ve sat around complaining about certain things that can only be fixed at the town council level, and it’s time for me to put up or shut up.”
Her mouth twisted into a self-conscious smile. “If you haven’t figured out by now, I’m not one to shut up, so…”
“So, you’re the bimbo running for mayor.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that’s me. I like to think Grandma wouldn’t put it quite that way.”
“I’m sure she’d be proud of you.”
Ginny glowed. “Just for that, I’m going to give you dinner.” She leaned in and kissed his cheek, and the pure affection in the gesture caught him by surprise. His body’s reaction was significantly less surprising, but before he could catch her around the waist and pull her down on top of him, she bounced off the sofa. “Come on into the kitchen. Everything’s ready.”
Before dinner went on the table, he had some cards to put there first. He stood and snagged a couple fingers into the back pocket of her jeans, stopping her in mid-stride. She turned to him and raised an eyebrow.
“I may not be pursuing many at the moment, but I know what goals are. I understand why running for mayor is important to you. I realize this”—he pointed to both of them—“is complicated, and risky, and a really bad idea, but we both know it’s going to keep happening. For some reason, right now, we both need this in our lives. I can’t explain why, but I can tell you one thing. Uncle Sam trusted me with all kinds of delicate situations, and you can, too. I know how to be discreet. I’m trained for stealth.” Time for the hard sell, because this mattered. Apparently he did have a goal, after all. “I can get you off like a personal toy all night, every night, and nobody in town will be the wiser.”
Big green eyes found his and held. “I’m counting on it.”
Chapter Eleven
Do I snore? Hog the covers? What?
Ginny scowled at the useless questions circling around in her head as she followed Melody out of the pew and into the line of congregants waiting to file past Reverend Carlson. He stood at the open doorway of Bluelick Baptist, wishing his flock a final farewell as they exited into the sunny Sunday morning.
“I can’t believe you were late for church,” Melody muttered. “Shameful.”
Ginny silently agreed, especially since she had no excuse for lingering in bed this morning, considering she’d woken up alone. Again. For the last week Shaun had shown up on her doorstep after sundown, sometimes with dinner in hand, sometimes just a hungry look in his eyes, and proceeded to rock her world in whatever way he saw fit.
She liked to think she gave as good as she got, and she certainly hadn’t heard any complaints out of him, but she hadn’t inspired him to spend the night either. The fact that she wanted him to aggravated her all the more, and explained why she’d feigned sleep last night when he’d slid out of her bed and dressed in the dark. It had been on the tip of her tongue to call him out on his disappearing act, but then he’d leaned down and brushed a whisper-soft, unbearably tender kiss on her forehead, and she’d kept her eyes shut and let him have his easy exit before she said something stupid like, “Don’t go.”
Because he needed to go, dang it. How could she convince the entire town it was time to get out from under Buchanan’s political agenda if people discovered she couldn’t get out from under her opponent’s oldest son?
“Tom was on time.” Melody nodded to the exit, where Tom stood between Justin and Brandi, shaking hands with Reverend Carlson. Ginny automatically searched for Shaun, even though she knew better. If he’d decided to take in the service, she’d have sensed his dark eyes on her from the back of the church, but he wasn’t the type to loiter on the front steps, chatting with the reverend. Unlike Tom.
“Bet he’s got a pocketful of talking points, too,” she muttered.
“That’s a safe bet,” Melody agreed. “Are you ready for a church-front debate?”
“Of course. I’ll be the embodiment of tact and diplomacy.” She winked at her friend, but said a silent prayer as she approached the exit.
Reverend Carlson smiled at her and took her hand. “Ah, here she is—our other candidate for mayor.”
At least he hadn’t said, “Speak of the devil.” She returned his smile, and expanded it to include Tom, who smiled back like a shark, and Brandi, who was absorbed in touching up her makeup, and Justin, who stared at her as if he could see through her clothes. Joy.
A cluster of the faithful gathered around, because hey, everybody loved a show.
“I enjoyed the sermon, reverend. It really spoke to me, especially your observation that the church, like society as a whole, thrives on new ideas, and should strive not to become entrenched in the status quo.” Of course he’d said it in the context of helping the stodgy, old ways-and-means committee figure out how to raise funds for new hymnals, because nobody needed another all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast or spaghetti dinner, but still.
“Really, Ginny.” Tom’s smile widened to the point she could count his teeth. “The reverend’s sermon covered many themes. I think his underlying message had something to do with the importance of supporting our leaders—the ones with the education and experience to vet ideas and execute on the ones with merit. A lesson with broader application, don’t you agree?”
So much for tact and diplomacy. “Gee Tom, are you suggesting I lack the education and experience to lead?”
“Why Ginny, you’re putting words in my mouth, but as long as we’re looking at credentials, I invite voters to consider whether they want to entrust the highest office in Bluelick to a hairdresser with a high school education.”
“Maybe doing hair isn’t rocket science, but we don’t need a rocket scientist, we need someone who understands the challenges our town faces and knows how people would like those challenges addressed. Because I own and operate a customer-facing local business—one where people settle in and talk for a spell—I listen to people’s opinions, worries, and issues all day long. I hear what’s working and what needs fixing. I know what’s important to the community, so I consider my job an asset.”
A few murmurs of approval came from the small crowd surrounding them. She spotted Mrs. Carter, her high school English teacher, standing to one side, nodding encouragingly. “As far as my education, I graduated with honors from the Bluelick public school system. If our schools aren’t good enough to produce our leaders, then I suggest the experienced, established politicians have some explaining to do, for letting our community settle for sub-par educational institutions.”
Her comment—okay, accusation—generated applause, and Tom actually looked a bit flustered. “I’m not suggesting our school system is sub-par. My son goes there, for God’s sake.” He pointed at Justin. “But politics can be very nuanced, and complicated. Someone with more extensive education is better positioned to manage all the intricacies, and has strategic advantages when it comes to negotiating.”
The reply garnered Tom some supportive comments. She didn’t have a college diploma. He had her there, but… “Tell me Tom, what’s your degree? The one that helps you understand all the nuances, complications, and intricacies of politics?
Poli-sci? Government? Law?” Risky questions, because she had no clue how he’d answer, but when he turned red, she knew she’d hit her mark.
“Agriculture,” he mumbled.
“Agriculture? Learn how to negotiate a bumper corn crop, did you?” Around them, people laughed.
“It’s a very practical degree, which you might appreciate if you had one.”
His comment elicited a point-scored hum from the crowd, but before she could fire back, Brandi clicked her compact closed, dropped it into her handbag, and looked up. “Tommy, honey, I’m famished.”
He patted her arm and flashed his game-show-host smile. “Reverend, thank you again for a thought-provoking sermon. Ginny, always so…entertaining…to talk to you.”
“That went well,” Melody whispered as the crowd dispersed.
“Yeah, right, if you don’t count Tom getting the last word.”
Melody nudged her with an elbow, and started walking down Main toward the firehouse, where they were meeting Josh for lunch. “Yes, well, he’s got an agriculture degree, and he’s not afraid to use it.”
She laughed, despite herself, and nudged Melody back. “I don’t know who won our little debate. I don’t know who lost. All I know for sure is I’ve had my fill of Buchanans for today.”
At that moment, Shaun walked out of the hardware store across the street and their eyes locked. She stared at him for one beat…two…and then forced herself to turn away.
“Liar,” Melody said.
…
Shaun stepped from the ladder onto the roof of the cabin and watched Tyler Longfoot inspect the weathered shingles. The tall, rangy, dark-haired man Shaun remembered from a lifetime ago knelt and lifted a few loose shakes, then raised a brow at him.
“Yeah, I hate to break it to you, but you need a new roof.”
He’d been up there before, so the news came as no surprise. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. But I also know a roof is a grueling one-man project. I’ve ordered the materials, and I expect them Monday, along with the roll-off bin, but once I tear everything down to the boards I need to throw on the new roof pronto. So my real question is can you squeeze me in?”
Falling for the Enemy Page 10
