More memories flickered, of a time when this man had owned her body. Her soul. Delon’s hands explored her, those same slow, bone-melting strokes over her ribs, her belly, her thighs, lingering to cup her breasts as if measuring, calculating the changes in her body. The air caught in her chest at the faint rasp of calluses against her skin.
Not the same. Not at all. This was now, and these calluses were on his right hand, because of her. This wasn’t the old Delon. And it sure as hell wasn’t some random body she could use to get anything over with. He deserved better.
They both did.
“Turn on the light,” she said. Too loud. Too abrupt.
Delon froze for a heartbeat. Then he clicked on a small lamp at the head of the bed. Tori sucked in a breath.
God, he was beautiful.
His skin glowed in the soft light, his body a bronzed study in male perfection. He was still, watchful as she reached out to trace his muscles with her fingertips, mesmerized by the contrast of satin over steel. Trapezius, pectoralis, serratus, latissimus—the names were a seductive whisper in her head as she explored each in turn. Then she moved on to that perennial favorite, rectus abdominus, giving each ripple its due as she worked her way down.
And speaking of erect…
His stomach twitched in anticipation, but she veered to the side, following the clearly defined curve of his obliques. “These are new.”
“Thanks to you.” His voice was a low rasp, his touch featherlight as he drew one finger along her forehead to skim back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. “All those damn medicine ball routines of yours.”
Her hand stilled as if fused to his skin. Like the calluses on his right hand, she had helped build this small part of him—and she felt a rush of intense possessiveness. This muscle, these fibers were hers, as surely as if they’d been grafted from her body to his. She leaned down and replaced her hand with her mouth, drawing a line of slow kisses, on the verge of love bites, over the curve of his hip to his navel.
“Geezus!” The air exploded out of him when her cheek brushed his erection. He hitched his hands under her armpits to drag her up, an electric slide of skin against skin. He twisted, pinning her under him as his mouth took hers. Deep. Greedy. All semblance of patience gone.
She responded in kind, driving her fingers through his hair and arching into him, craving the weight and the heat and the hardness of him. Those quick, magical fingers played over her skin, setting her blood to pulsing like one of his favorite songs—the beat heavy, relentless, demanding. She slid one hand down the sleek curve of his back to close around his butt—sweet heaven on earth, he had an amazing butt—while the other hand reached down and fumbled in the pocket of her sweatshirt on the floor. Delon plucked the condom out of her fingers and ripped it open with his teeth.
Oh dear Lord…
And then he moved over her. Into her. Sure and swift, making her gasp with the exquisite shock of it.
He paused, pulsing inside her, his eyes dark and intense. “Okay?”
In answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him even closer. He made a noise low in his throat—half groan, half curse—and began to move. She matched him, their bodies finding perfect unison in this primal dance. He reared back onto his knees, his fingers digging into her hips as he lifted her to drive even deeper. Harder. His thumb finding and stroking that certain spot that electrified her, an explosion of white-hot sparks that sizzled down every nerve. Through the waves of crackling sensation she heard him give a harsh, guttural groan and felt his body jerk with his release.
Boneless, mindless, she sprawled on the bed, making a small mmm of protest as he eased away. Before the stars stopped pulsing behind her eyelids he was back, nudging her over so he could stretch out beside her on the bunk. He switched off the light and gathered her up, spooning around her, a living wall between her and the world.
“Okay?” he whispered again.
“Fantastic,” she said.
But as her body cooled and her mind cleared, the enormity of the moment struck, a blow no less painful for being expected. That last tenuous connection broke, the frayed ends slipping through her fingers as she finally—finally—let go.
Tears slid, fast and silent, down her cheeks and into her hair. If Delon felt or saw he didn’t let on, but his arm tightened around her.
And then she slept. The dense, dreamless sleep that had evaded her for so long.
The place, the night, Delon—came back to her in layers as she surfaced, then floated, feeling an odd lightness, as if she’d shed a burden. She waited for it to crash down on her again. Guilt. Regret. Shame. Instead, there was only acceptance. That final stage of grief she’d described to Delon as if she knew what it meant. Now it flowed through her like a sip of strong whiskey that both burned and warmed as it smoothed away the last ragged edges of pain. She hugged the blanket around her and sighed from pure, blessed relief.
“Are you awake?”
His voice was pitched low and came from too far away. She scrubbed her palm across heavy eyelids. At some point he’d left, replacing his warmth with a soft cotton comforter. She forced her eyes to open and focus. He was in the driver’s seat, swiveled to face her, arms folded across his chest and earbuds dangling, fully dressed. She pushed up on one elbow, clutching the blanket to her chest. How long had he been sitting there, watching her? She glanced at the illuminated clock on the radio and jerked upright.
“Four-thirty! I’ve been asleep for…” She shook her head but was unable to make even that simple calculation. Hours. How long had it been since she’d slept for hours? She raked her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. I just…crashed, I guess.”
“It’s been a long couple of weeks,” he said, voice noncommittal.
She couldn’t decipher his expression. She looked past him, out the windshield. They were parked in front of her barn. “You brought me home?”
“You have work. I figured I’d let you sleep until around five-thirty. Wasn’t sure how long it takes to do your chores and get to the clinic.”
Everything he said was so calm. So thoughtful. And so damn polite it was like a kick in the stomach. She willed him to get up, come to her, kiss her, but he just sat, the only sound in the cab the barely audible rumble of the truck’s engine and the faint screech of music from his earbuds, which sounded suspiciously like “Highway to Hell.” She hoped it was a coincidence and not his opinion of where their relationship was headed. Her skin prickled with unease. He seemed so…grim.
Or he was reacting like any normal man faced with a potentially weepy woman. Not much chance she’d hidden her tears. Plus, Violet was getting married. Giving Beni a stepfather. Serious brooding material there.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and faced him. “That was classy, having my way with you then rolling off and falling asleep. Was I drooling on your shoulder?”
That got a hint of a smile and a shake of his head. “My knee starts to ache if I stay in one position too long.”
So he’d snuck out to sit for hours, waiting, watching over her. Crap. There was that damn lump in her throat again, and the heat behind her eyes, because the whole night had been so…so…everything. She needed a moment, so she reached for her jeans, found her underwear tucked inside, and pulled both on behind the blanket. Then she dug a breath mint out of her pocket and popped it in her mouth.
Cinching the blanket around her like a toga, she stood and leaned over Delon, bracing one hand on the steering wheel for balance. “You are somethin’ else, you know that?”
He blinked, wary. “How do you mean?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She cocked her head and let her gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. “I still wouldn’t call you a nice guy, but you are a very good man.”
She kissed him. A deep, leisurely, morning after kind of kiss. When she pulled away, his
mouth no longer had that grim set, but he looked tired, and no wonder. He probably hadn’t slept at all. She turned, let the blanket fall to pull on her T-shirt and sweatshirt, stuffed her bra in a pocket, then dropped another quick kiss on his cheek and climbed down from the cab. He gave her a single, crisp wave as he backed the truck around and drove away.
Tori shivered in the early morning chill. She turned and found the cat glaring her disapproval from the top of the same fence post. Tori held both hands up in surrender. “Yeah, fine. Walk of shame. And you might as well get used to it. He’s gonna be back, and he’d better not leave here bleeding again or you’re out on your ass.”
The cat narrowed her eyes, as if considering the ultimatum. Then she gave one long, slow blink that either meant agreement or go fuck yourself.
Delon would be back. Tori wasn’t fooling around, playing emotional tag this time. Digging out her phone, she typed in a text message and hit Send before she could reconsider. When am I going to see you again? Let him say she was pushy and overeager. He would not be able to say he didn’t think she cared if he came back. She tucked the phone away and headed for the barn. It was early to feed but too late to go back to sleep, so she might as well do her chores before she went inside to take a shower.
As Tori climbed up the ladder to the hayloft, she heard the scrabble of claws on wood. The cat landed a few feet away and stood, tail twitching. Tori froze. The cat stretched, an indolent ripple from head to tail, then strolled over and sideswiped Tori’s leg with a slow press of her body before hopping up to the top of the stack of bales. Tori let her breath go on a quiet laugh, her heart taking a ridiculous, joyful bound. The cat’s eyes narrowed in warning.
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft.”
The cat sneered at her and disappeared into the haystack.
Tori hummed softly as she walked across the yard, still feeling that odd, weightless sensation. As she let herself into the house, she realized it was a Stoney Larue song. And no, her feet didn’t quite feel as if they were touching the ground.
Chapter 34
Please, God, let there be coffee. Delon shuffled down the back stairs and toward the mechanics’ break room, mug in hand. His head pounded, as if every thought was a boulder slamming around inside his skull, and his body ached like he’d been run over by the Freightliner. He pushed open the back door and sent up a heartfelt hallelujah at the scent of fresh brew. He didn’t bother making his own, when there were drivers who swore they stayed at Sanchez Trucking solely for the premium, high-octane fuel Merle brewed in the battered, olive green, twenty-cup percolator.
He was lifting his mug for the first life-altering sip when Gil stuck his head in the door. “What was my new truck doing parked out at The Notch last night?”
Hell. The GPS. Delon was in no mood to explain himself, so he took his time getting a slug of coffee into his system before he answered. “Last time I checked the sign, there was no Gilbert in front of Sanchez Trucking.”
Instead of snapping back, Gil leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms with a faint smile. “Took you long enough to say so.”
Delon glared at him for a full count of five. He was so not up to this today. He dropped his chin to his chest, winced when it made the boulders rattle and smash inside his skull, and breathed out a heartfelt f-bomb.
“You aren’t even worth picking a fight with this morning.” Gil scuffed over to refill his half-gallon insulated coffee tanker. “Guess you heard about Violet.”
“Yeah.” Another boulder smashed into his cranium. Violet. Joe. Married. He and Tori…what? Even after all the hours he’d sat, swapping between watching Tori sleep and staring out the windshield, he couldn’t fathom how to make all of those pieces fit together. His head told him people did it all the time. His heart cracked at the realization that he would never again wake up in Violet’s spare room and roust Beni from bed to share a lazy Sunday breakfast, just the three of them, until Cole or Steve popped in for a cup of coffee, or Iris with fresh-baked cinnamon rolls. His imaginary family had evaporated, like the mirage it had always been. And just to drive the point clear through him, Joe had proposed at the Lone Steer, where it had all begun.
“You’ve been there,” he told Gil. “Got any advice?”
Gil watched the coffee trickle into his mug for a long moment. Then he turned bleak eyes toward Delon. “Don’t let yourself get fucked over.”
“How do you mean?”
“You and Violet don’t even have a formal visitation schedule. And Joe’s mother is married to some billionaire in Idaho. What happens when she insists they all spend Christmas break at her ski lodge in Sun Valley? Or Joe and Violet decide to surprise Beni with a birthday trip to Disneyland next year, without bothering to ask how you feel about it first?”
Delon’s skin went cold. “She wouldn’t…”
Gil raised skeptical eyebrows. “I’d like to say you’re right, but as much as I respect Violet, I wouldn’t bet my kid on it.”
In his head, Delon heard the echo of Iris’s words, as they watched Violet and Joe together. This is our family now…
“But I’m a cynic, for obvious reasons, so you might want to take my opinion with a grain of salt.” Gil snapped the top onto his cup. “Now, about my truck…”
Delon dragged his thoughts back from the edge of the cliff his brother had so kindly pointed out. “I think I’ve at least earned the right to go for a drive without your permission.”
“You think so?” Gil prodded the single stale donut from the box Merle had picked up the day before, testing its edibility. The unfrosted ones were always the last to go.
“Yeah.” The muscles in Delon’s shoulders drew up tight, braced for combat.
Gil broke the donut in half, grimaced, and tossed both pieces in the trash before giving a nonchalant shrug. “I suppose, since either directly or indirectly you account for about a third of our current business.”
Delon damn near dropped his coffee. “How the…I’ve barely been here.”
“Don’t need your body. Just that pretty face and spot in the top fifteen in the world standings.” Gil grinned at him, every angle of his face sharp as honed steel. “You think that load of asswipes is the first time I ever whored you out? Think about it, D. What’s the first load you always get when you’re home?”
Sagebrush Feeders. Every damn time. Not that Delon minded the haul from the feedlot to the processing plant, but he’d never once snuck a load out without the loud-mouthed owner, Jimmy Ray Towler, catching him and insisting they have breakfast or lunch or a cup of coffee to “catch up.” Delon could hardly refuse when the contract was every trucking company’s dream—a steady supply of short, local hauls.
“You asshole. You tell him when I’m coming.”
Gil laughed. “Hell, yeah. How do you think we got the contract in the first place?”
Delon felt his aching eyes bug out. “Just so Jimmy Ray can take me to lunch?”
“Your name got our foot in the door. I took care of the rest.” Gil’s mouth curved. “Promised him the best service he’d ever get, short of that whorehouse he pops by on the way home to the little wife.”
“Geezus shit. You actually said that to him?”
“Pretty much. Which is why I can’t be the one sucking up to guys like Jimmy Ray. And Dad ain’t got a bullshit bone in his body. But you—” Gil waved the coffee tanker in Delon’s direction. “You’ve got that crap down pat. Smile and nod, Jimmy Ray gets to brag how Delon Sanchez never makes a trip home without stopping in for a visit, and we get twenty loads a week out of Sagebrush, guaranteed money—which is how we paid for that new Freightliner.”
Whoa. Delon had to lean against the table to catch his balance.
“But you’re worth twice as much to us when you’re gone, so get your ass back out there and ride, Poster Boy. Speaking of which…” A gleam came in
to Gil’s eyes that made Delon distinctly nervous. “I called your therapist this morning.”
Delon snapped upright. “Tori? Why? What did you say to her?”
“Chill. I didn’t ask if she enjoyed gettin’ physical in the Freightliner. Although I gotta say, she sounded a hell of a lot more chipper than you look. Problem there, D?”
Delon gave his head a shake. He only succeeded in rearranging the boulders. “It was fine.”
Amazing. Unbelievable. And scary as hell, how much he wanted her again, knowing full well there had never been such a thing as enough when it came to Tori.
“Fine?” Gil snorted. “What happened to the blew my brain to Mars look you used to have when she got done with you?”
“We grew up!” he snapped.
Gil looked insulted. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Delon hissed out an aggravated breath. “Since you’ve gotta be a nosy prick, it was her first time since Willy died. She was…” He shrugged, unable to find words to describe the instant when that first tear dripped onto his shoulder.
Gil studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then he sighed. “You’re gonna screw this up again.”
“I’m not—”
“Bullshit. I bet you barely got your clothes on before you were dreaming up reasons it won’t work, starting with how she’s just using you to get over her dead husband.”
Delon managed not to flinch at the direct hit. Barely. He stared down into his cup. “It wasn’t supposed to…I didn’t plan it to happen this way.”
Tangled in Texas Page 25
