Smiling, she shook her head. “Maybe another time. I’m just kind of comfortable here, enjoying learning about my new home.”
He draped an arm on the wheel, the other resting across the seatback. He looked good sitting like that. His worn baseball cap lent him bad boy charm, and the twist in his torso stretched his shirt over his chest. Since his jacket hung open, she ogled all she wanted. Because she knew what that chest looked like naked.
“How comfortable are you Elle?” His voice dropped a suggestive octave.
Not comfortable enough. The stirring of desire she’d been holding at a sane limit roared right past those barriers. She’d expected to go home, have a solitary dinner, and read until bed. But here sat a sexual god that could turn her legs to jelly and make her voice raw from passion.
“Shut off the headlights.” She sat forward to take her jacket off.
“Yes, ma’am.” He shut everything off and killed the engine.
The console was raised to its upright position. He leaned over, closing the space between them, his face close, lips hovering just above hers. Reaching to the other side of the seat, he pulled a lever and her seat tipped back.
She yelped. He chuckled, following her down to capture her lips.
God it felt good to kiss him again, to have his weight settled on top of her. Except…
“Dillon,” she managed to get out while he was kissing her senseless. He waited, his lids heavy. “I don’t want to, you know, undress all the way, in case…” Getting busted naked at Lake Osborne wasn’t on her grown professional woman bucket list.
“I got an idea,” he said licking the seam of her lips. “Undo your pants.” She complied, he unbuttoned his. Caressing the side of her face, he murmured, “Roll over.”
She turned, figuring out the logistics as she went, her insides going wild at his plan. The lot they were parked in sat lower than the highway, but there’d be enough light from the moon, not to mention any approaching car’s headlights, that they could see what was going on inside.
She was willing to risk it; she needed him inside her.
He maneuvered behind her, and yanked her pants down. His erection strained out of his zipper, rubbing between her ass cheeks. He reached around to ready her, his fingers hitting the mark immediately. The thought of being with Dillon had already dampened her panties.
She groaned and pushed back into him. He stroked her for only a moment before freeing himself to push in. She couldn’t spread her legs like she wanted, her face was shoved into the seat back, but none of it mattered when he seated himself inside. He pumped, she held on, afraid she’d put claw marks in his new ride.
“I’m not going to last long, Elle,” he whispered harshly in her ear. She shivered against him and raised her head. “You’re so fucking wet, I can’t slow down.”
Headlights appeared in the distance. Her eyes widened, he followed her gaze and increased the pressure with his fingers.
“Come for me, Elle.”
Absolutely. He surrounded her; his breath at her neck, his fingers at her sex, thrusting into her from behind. The headlights and their voyeuristic effect had her grabbing the seat sides and slamming back into him.
He worked her ruthlessly until she shook underneath him, swearing her heart would give out or her climax would last until the car was close enough to witness her finish. With a grunt, and three more slams into her, he hugged her tight and moaned into her neck.
There was no time to bask in the afterglow. Dillon rolled off her and helped adjust her clothing, before settling his back into place. Both of them stilled, watching the headlights come closer. Would the car keep going, or turn off to check on them?
Elle sagged in relief when the car passed. Dillon stared at her with a bemused expression.
“Can I help you?” she asked archly.
Slowly, he grinned. “Oh, honey, you already have.”
Thankfully it was dark and he couldn’t see her blush. Sex in a vehicle was marked off her list and she hadn’t known it’d been added. With Dillon, sex was always off the charts, so powerful it clouded her thinking.
That was a sobering thought. “I’d better get home. I don’t want to be short of sleep this early in the week.”
His smile died. He fired up the engine and they drove back to town. He pointed out places they passed and filled her in with its history and information, which she acknowledged with one- or two-word answers.
As Dillon walked her to her door like a gentleman, she wasn’t sure if he’d ask to come inside, ask to stay the night. She wasn’t sure she’d say no, but she had to think about herself and her job.
He gave her a sweet kiss, said he’d call her later, and left.
She went inside and watched him drive off, giving a little wave. Already, she wished she had invited him in.
Chapter Sixteen
Dillon slept too late again. The weather was supposed to cooperate today and the spring sun had dried the fields enough he could get back in them and he’d lost three hours. It’d be a late night to make up for it.
He rolled off the couch. The pile of silver cans on the carpet mocked him. Last night had been a mind-blowing experience with Elle in his truck. She’d wanted him as badly as he’d needed her and they came together explosively, like two horny teenagers who were so addicted to each other they snuck around anytime and anywhere. His mind started imagining what it’d be like to take Elle to the family’s fishing hole, pack a lunch and a comfy blanket, and make love under the stars. Or wrap up with her on the back deck. Soon he could pull the grill out and surprise her with a romantic picnic right outside the sliding doors.
His pants hadn’t even been zipped shut when she’d closed herself off to him, destroyed the bubbling well of fantasies as soon as they’d started.
Running a hand through his hair and groaning, he stooped to pick up the cans. The familiar headache and cotton mouth called for a solid breakfast.
Shuffling into the kitchen, he aimed for the fridge. He poured himself some orange juice and turned to consider the bags of groceries resting on his counter. The juice hit the spot and drove off some of the headache. He tackled the unloading, grateful he hadn’t been so unsettled from Elle’s reaction after sex to forget to put the cold items away.
Kitchen cleaned up, he dressed, packed a lunch for the field, dug out headphones to listen to tunes on his phone, and locked up the house.
The morning had been good up to that point.
Score marks on the door frame and around the knob marred the exterior of the door. He stepped back to appraise his driveway, his stomach sinking and churning at the same time. Tire tracks that weren’t from his vehicle decorated the space in front of the shop. There weren’t skid marks. Someone one had driven up just to bust into his shop?
He dug his phone out of pocket and called Brock.
His cousin answered. “The tractor acting up again?”
“I haven’t made it to the field yet.” Admitting his lapse in responsibility stuck in his craw. Brock had probably been up since before sunrise to tinker on his Mustangs. Dillon mentally snorted. Brock probably slept in his ’Stangs.
“What’s going on, then? Missed my voice?”
“We’ve had a visitor again.”
“I’ll be right over.”
Dillon snapped pictures and called Deputy Max—a routine that was becoming all too familiar.
Both men arrived, hugging the edge of the driveway so Max could inspect the tracks and the damage.
Another hour ticked by. He’d be lucky to finish his work before sundown. He might as well pack dinner, too.
Max left after gathering his own pictures and Dillon’s statement.
Brock adjusted his Ford racing hat, a nervous tick when he didn’t want to say what he was thinking.
“What’s going on in that thick head of yours, Brock?”
“I was just wondering why you didn’t hear this guy pull up.”
Dillon flushed hot under his collar as he scowled
. “It’s not like they came rolling up with an engine roaring like your Shelby GTO. Modern cars are quiet, his lights were probably off. I can’t hear the crunch of gravel from my bed.” Or the couch, where he’d actually spent the night.
“What time did ya get home last night?”
“I wasn’t at the bar if that’s what you’re asking. I was out with Elle. Got home and went to bed.” After easing his frustrations with the gorgeous counselor by relaxing with a few beers. “I don’t need to be interrogated. I’m not the one picking locks.”
His cousin took off his cap, ran his hand through his jet-black hair, and set his beloved cap back in place. “I know, man. Keep an eye out. Maybe we should look at getting a security system.” Brock hissed in disgust. “It’d cost a fortune to set up five homes.”
Dillon had come to the same conclusion. “Better sooner than later. I got a feeling he ain’t done with us.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to the others while you’re working. Aaron is hitting the quarter behind his house and Travis is helping Cash with the cattle.”
Dillon clapped Brock on the shoulder and headed in to get the tractor fired up. He ambled outside and maneuvered it in front of the chisel plow attachment to hook on for a day that included lunch and supper in the cab of the tractor and a sore ass. Throwing his cooler and gear into the storage area behind the driver’s seat, he stepped down to give everything a once-over before he headed out.
The approach of summer was evident in the warmer winds and longer days. Trees would soon fill with green buds and the lilacs surrounding his place would be in full bloom and even as a dude, he had to admit, shit was pretty. He couldn’t wait to show Elle around the farm when the land hit its lush state.
She’d never been fishing, he doubted she’d ever ridden a horse. His summer goals were to remedy that, after conquering her fears about them as a couple.
How she’d grown up created an obstacle. Sneaking around is what he felt like he was doing with Elle. Only Brock knew about them. At best, his other cousins might suspect he was seeing someone. He’d bet all the silver cans lining his fridge that she hadn’t told anyone.
She was the best thing to happen to him—ever—but he didn’t want to be her dirty little secret. Ashamed of being seen with him wasn’t her hang-up. He was a good-looking guy, well respected around town by those who knew him. As for the work issue, rip it off like a Band-Aid. Waltz through town, her hand on his arm, proving they’re a good couple and appropriate.
He wanted to take her out for dinner, maybe some dancing, but she’d sounded noncommittal to every suggestion. “How about a movie,” he’d asked.
“Maybe,” she’d replied, “see how the weekend goes.”
Again, it went back to her dad. She was afraid he was like her dad, was unwilling to be stuck taking care of everything while he wasted away in his mental illness.
He wasn’t an alcoholic and if she spent more time around him, she’d realize that.
Whittling Elle’s resistance down became top priority for him. Business might be heading into the busy season, but he’d never be too busy for Elle.
***
“It’s Mental Health Wednesday,” Betsy sang at the door to Elle’s office. “I’m not giving up on yo-ou-ou-ou.”
Elle grinned and spun to face her friend. “If I say yes, will you quit singing?”
Betsy gasped in false outrage. “I have never had any complaints about my singing—for at least two weeks.”
“Same place, same time?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m almost done and I’ll meet you there.”
Betsy pinned her with her sternest mom look. “I’ll believe it when I see it, chickadee.”
“I promise,” Elle called to Betsy’s back as she walked away.
She wrapped up her documentation, grabbed her stuff, and walked briskly to her car. Excitement about the night out with friends bubbled over until she smiled to herself. The lot was almost empty, her car the last one, and an older pickup she’d never seen before parked down the street. A sense of déjà vu swept over her. Only Brock’s truck was nicer.
She wouldn’t have paid much attention, but compared to what the Walkers drove, the truck looked so…used and abused. Was she developing a nothing-compares-to-a-red-Chevy complex?
Nothing compared to the man who drove one.
Dillon filled her thoughts on her way to the bar and grill. She only thought about him twenty times—a minute. He wanted a date, had asked her officially, and received no real answer from her.
Commitment issues, party of one?
Solid reasons formed her misgivings and one of them sat grumbling in a nursing home a mile away. Elle mentally prepped herself for a weekend of moving him into the assisted living apartment that would be his new home.
Dad will be fine. He had no car, and nurses monitored his meds. He actually appeared excited and her new reality might include more freedom.
Hadn’t she thought that before? Then he’d gotten cancer and she couldn’t bear to move out on him. Like her, he had no one else.
None of those thoughts tonight, she resolved as she strode into the noisy bar and grill. Betsy whooped and waved for her to join them.
The night went by in a blur of good food, rowdy laughter, and loud music. One by one, her coworkers filtered out, all citing an early morning. Elle should be leaving too, but dang it, she was having fun.
Betsy sat with her for another hour before looking at her watch. “Well, the kids should all be in bed. That means all the work is done and it’s safe to head home.”
Elle gasped dramatically. “You were just using me?”
“Of course. Why do you think I’ve been nagging you to come out?” Betsy shrugged on her coat and waited for Elle.
“Go ahead, Betsy. I need to hit the ladies room first.”
Betsy went out the front and Elle went in search of the bathroom.
She should’ve paid more attention exiting the bathroom, but she was straightening her purse strap to sling it over her shoulder and ran smack into another body. Her purse dropped to the floor, keys and lip gloss spilling out.
“Sorry!” She bent down to pick her stuff up.
“It’s no problem,” a deep voice answered. A large man knelt down in front of her. “It’s my fault.”
Scarred, tanned hands helped gather her things. Flustered, she tossed them into her bag and straightened.
He stood, his deep brown eyes sweeping her body with open male appreciation. His attention did nothing for her rattled state.
“It was an accident,” she said, breathless from the quick squat and grab, which unfortunately sounded flirty.
Avid masculine interest was rare for her. And when she was in emotional turmoil about what to do with Dillon? Her frayed nerves prepared to ward off another six-foot-two male, because one was too many, thank you very much.
Brown eyes twinkled, a slow smile spread across his lips. “It’s never the woman’s fault. My mama taught me that.”
She answered with a quick smile, barely able to hold it with the man’s full presence towering over her.
With his swarthy good looks, he wouldn’t have trouble casting a net for lonely women and reeling it in plum full. His use of “mama” made her think of Dillon, like everything else did. Guilt rose, as if being in a bar, getting hit on by a hot guy put her on the wrong side of right with Dillon.
“Your mom was right. It’s good of you to remember. Thank you for helping me pick my things up.” She pivoted to move around him.
“Are you from here?” He sidestepped in front of her. “It’s just that I’m new to town, don’t know many people.” He stuck out his hand. “Jesse Rodriguez.”
No way to extract herself without being rude. “Elle. And no, I’m not native to Moore.”
He shook her hand like a caress, and pre-Dillon Walker, she would’ve been open to his flirtation.
“How long have you lived here?” Slowly he released her hand, his eyes neve
r leaving hers in a way that made her feel like the only woman in the place.
“I moved in the last year.” She was never too specific with strangers, especially men. Pointing in the direction of the parking lot before he could ask any more questions, she said, “I need to get going. Nice to meet you, Jesse.”
“Nice to run into you. It’s a small town, maybe see you around?”
She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t invite unwanted attention, so she left with a small nod and wove through the throng of people. A month ago, running into Jesse would have been a welcome occurrence, now…Dillon Walker.
Driving out of the parking lot, she saw the same beat up truck that was parked near her workplace.
Huh. It really was a small town.
Chapter Seventeen
“Movie night tomorrow night?” Dillon asked Elle hopefully, the phone with shitty reception pressed to his ear.
He was perched in the cab of the tractor. His dinner, a cold sandwich, rested on his knee, but he couldn’t wait any longer. By the time he got home, she’d probably be in bed. He hadn’t talked to her since Monday evening. It was Thursday and he got tired of waiting for her to call.
“I went out with some coworkers last night and I think I’m still recovering. Not used to all this socializing.”
She’d gone out? While he’d been bumping along, staring at a stretch of black topsoil, planning a date with her. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with—normally. And it wasn’t envy, but rather resentment because of her resistance to him.
No, he wouldn’t go there. Good for her. Her coworkers may be able to loosen her up so she’d realize dating in a small town wasn’t the gossip fest she thought. It was Moore. Half her coworkers might have met their spouses through work.
“Movie night in, then? I can come into town after work so you don’t have to go anywhere.” And no one has to see us.
“I don’t have cable. Can you bring the movie?”
He’d take every advantage he could. “Absolutely. Are you in the mood for something exciting or something mellow?”
Conflict of Interest (The Walker Five Book 1) Page 13
