by Cara McKenna
“He’s not my man. Not really.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, he’ll want to know his kid’s taken care of, at any rate.”
“He doesn’t know about it. Yet. We’re not together anymore.” Again, she touched her belly as though worried someone might hurt it. “I’m not sure he’d want me to keep it, if he knew.”
Shit, if this wasn’t a fucking invitation to drama . . . The curvy way Abilene was built, she could probably keep that secret hidden till six months, give or take, but not forever. Still, a friend’s kid was a friend’s kid, whether the man knew about it or not. That was clear-cut enough for Vince.
“I need that money back, I’ll find some way to collect from your ex. And I don’t exactly issue itemized bills, so there’s no reason he has to know why. Okay? He won’t ever need to know. You and me never talked.”
She smiled tightly, a healthy mix of relieved and freaked, he thought.
“Cash okay?” he asked.
“Yeah, whatever works.”
He jerked his head to tell her to follow him, then bade her to wait outside the garage’s office. Far as anyone knew, this place was a private workshop, period, so the room resembled little more than a supply closet. Vince shut the door and grabbed a box of spark plugs off a high metal shelf. He set plugs on the old desk, then counted eight fifties from the stash he kept underneath. He made a mental note to jot that down, once she was gone. He needed a secretary to keep all these caches straight. A few here in the shop, a couple at home. Janky-ass system, but hey—he wasn’t looking to be a kingpin. Just liked helping out people who needed it, the way Nita had always looked out for his mother. The exact opposite of how his father had operated.
He folded the stack, then opened the door, bidding Abilene inside. She swallowed as she accepted the money, tucking it in her purse.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
“You’re gonna need more, if you got a long road of this ahead of you.”
She frowned. “I’m five months now.”
“Cheaper to get yourself and that baby some insurance.”
“I will. This first appointment . . . It was a surprise. I didn’t have time to get it all figured out.”
“Still gonna be a big expense, on a waitress’s wages.”
“I know. I’m hoping eventually I can get a job at the casino, when it opens.”
He nodded. “Cute gal like you would clean up.”
Her face grew pensive again as she scanned his for intentions, then eyed the closed door.
“I’m not hitting on you,” he said mildly. Seemed his dick was a one-woman operator at the moment, anyhow. This girl’s looks were little more than a fact to him. Weird. “Just meant you’d make great tips. When I say you don’t need to pay me back, I mean that. Period. Not with money or any other thing. You follow me?”
She nodded, shoulders loosening. “Yeah. Sorry—I wasn’t trying to . . .”
“You were, but any smart girl would. No apology necessary. Now, go pay your tab with the doctor. And get yourself and that Sea-Monkey some insurance.”
“I will.”
“Hit Raina Harper up for some bartending shifts at Benji’s,” he added as he opened the office door. “Better cash than you’ll make slinging coffee.”
“I don’t know how to tend bar.”
“If my useless brother managed it,” Vince said loudly, drawing Casey’s attention, “you’ll pick it up in no time.”
“Managed what?” Casey called.
“Telling this girl to get herself some work at Benji’s.”
Casey laughed. “If you can hold a pitcher under a tap, you’re more than halfway home.”
Abilene smiled, and their eyes lingered a beat too long for Vince’s liking. As he walked Abilene toward the exit, he told her, “You got enough drama on your plate right now, girl. Don’t let my brother get you into any more.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Sure you weren’t. Just take care of yourself, and that little secret of yours. Tell Raina I sent you.”
“I will. Thanks.”
He watched her go, thinking that what the girl really needed was to get the fuck out of Fortuity. She’d fled something, for sure, to have wound up here. But a trouble-magnet like that wouldn’t last a month before she got led astray by some man or other. Desert dirtbags would sniff her out like coyote after carrion.
“So,” Casey said as Vince returned. He kept his eyes on his task, always a giveaway, undermining his casual delivery. “Who was that?”
“That was absolutely none of your business.”
“Wouldn’t mind making it my business. I like a girl with some meat on her.”
“Far as you know, you never seen her before. Certainly not here.”
“Hard to unsee eyes that blue,” Casey countered, swapping wrenches.
“Give me half a reason and I’ll impair your memory.”
“Christ, Vince. Just tell me you want dibs and I’ll back off. Figured you were busy enough with Kim for the moment.”
“It’s got nothing to do with Kim, or me for that matter. That girl’s more trouble than you know.”
“Trouble never scared me.”
Vince smiled grimly, knowing precisely what did terrify his brother—commitment. The kid hadn’t stuck around for his own mother. No way in hell he’d stand by a stranger—a soon-to-be single mom no less, carrying another man’s baby.
“Trust me on this one, Case. You can’t handle her kind of trouble.”
Chapter 21
Kim had woken up sore again that morning—sore in her hips, tender between her legs, and with a small dark bruise from where Vince had pressed her against the edge of the dresser. She rubbed at the spot, rather liking it. And she’d loved the sex—the best of her life, no question. The energy of it, the openness. Vince’s unstifled moans and orders, above anything else. Intoxicating.
Selfishly, she wished she could have woken up with him—out of nerves, she assured herself. He was the most familiar person to her in this town, after all, and the thought of having that reassuring body against hers all night was magnetic. She wanted to know how he’d treat her, first thing in the morning. A fond smile crinkling sleepy green eyes? A kiss on the forehead and mussing of her hair? Those were the things she wanted, deep down. But his true intentions remained as shrouded as the finer details of his mother’s prophecy.
She spent the morning selecting and ordering and captioning her final photographs for the marketing people, and sent them off with a good half hour to spare. And just like that, her original reason for being in Fortuity was done. The realization was like the moment a helium balloon finally bid farewell to the ceiling and began its sad descent to the floor.
Restless, she found Christine at lunchtime and was gratefully delegated a bunch of housework. She threw herself into it, needing to quiet her mind—drown out her fears over what she’d heard, and her confusion over what she felt for Vince.
Around five, a sharp rumble in the distance cut through her music and had her sitting up straight on the laundry room’s tile floor. She’d been scrubbing the neglected grout, and the ache in her elbow registered, trance broken. She tugged her earbuds out and waited, heart thumping.
That familiar voice sounded from down the hall. “Kim?”
“Laundry room.”
A different trance entirely took over when Vince’s big frame filled the doorway.
“Well, well. They put you to work, Cinderella?”
She stood, smiling. Couldn’t help the smiling. “Yeah. My photos are turned in, so I figured I may as well be useful. Get my brain off . . . you know.”
He nodded, his expression growing grave.
She stripped her gloves and rinsed her hands in the utility sink, dried them on her jeans. They were standing perhaps four feet apart, but it felt like miles. Her body was screaming that this man was her lover—hers to touch when and how she wished. But her brain was unsure exactly what they meant to each other.
“Get everything done at the garage?” she asked.
“Yeah, all set. I just caught Miah outside—he and Case are gonna do a little nosing around, now that the sites are starting to shut down for the day.”
“Good.”
He stepped closer, voice softening. “And ready or not, you and I are heading to town. To see if maybe you can ID one of those men.”
She swallowed her fear, nodded. “Sure. The bar?”
He smiled at that. “Only place in town with a pulse after dark, so yeah.”
“Fine by me. I’ll need a drink, I’m sure.”
He reached out to stroke her hair, the touch distracted and his words mild. “I’m real sorry you’re wrapped up in this shit.”
“I’m not.”
His brows rose a tick. “No?”
“No. It’s scary, but I’m your best chance at uncovering the truth. And your mom made it sound like it goes beyond just finding out what happened to Alex. Like maybe this is only the edge of something bigger.” And beyond his mother’s prediction, Kim couldn’t help but feel this was the start of something big. An adventure beyond what she’d ever even pined for. Scarier, too, but the intensity made it seem as though it must be worth the risk. The things Vince made her feel . . . physical highs she’d never even approached before. Plus a growing attachment that was equal parts unlikely and addictive.
“That’s awful brave of you,” he said.
She shrugged, downplaying her anxiety. “Whatever gives everybody involved some peace of mind.”
He smiled at that, hand dropping to stroke her arm, electricity humming in the contact. “You gave me a real different sort of peace of mind, last night.”
Kim blushed, her own smile dorky and impossible to hide.
“All teasing aside,” Vince said, “I appreciate you sticking around. More than you know. I can’t guess how scared you might be after yesterday, yet here you are.”
“Here I am.” She studied him, realizing something in that moment. “You know . . . You care a lot more than you want people to realize. Or to admit to yourself.”
“Do I?”
She nodded. “About your mom. And your friends. And the families of those guys you know from prison.”
He shrugged. “Well-rounded man can be an asshole and a decent human being, maybe.”
Kim had to smile. “You’re not an asshole. A dick maybe, but only sometimes.” He was so many things, both thrilling and infuriating. Even tender, in rare glimmers here and there.
He leaned in, blocking out the overheard light, casting her in his shadow. “You due a break soon?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh good. So tell me—if the two of us made our way to your room, which man would you want to be with? The decent man or the asshole?”
“Surprise me.”
Taking her hand, he led her wordlessly down the hall and up to the guest wing, knocking her door shut behind them. He cocked his head and leaned in, their lips just barely touching. His fingers curled in her hair, thumbs cradling her jaw.
Her hands found the buckled straps that hung at the bottom of his open jacket, fisting the short lengths of leather. Though she held him, it felt like the reverse. As his mouth took hers, the kiss captured her utterly. She couldn’t have pulled away if she’d wanted to. Every inch of her body came alive, remembering the things this man had made her feel and craving them with an urgency like hunger. He drew her close by the arms, their mouths separating as their chests pressed together.
His lips moved against her temple with the words, “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to quit worrying about what I want,” she whispered, and squeezed his shoulders, awed by the power there, the sheer size of him, his height. “And stay right where you are.”
She moved to her knees. Vince’s hands rose from her arms to her neck, his fingers slipping through her hair.
“What’re you doing, sweetheart?”
She slipped her thumb under his belt to slide the leather free of the buckle. Funny how they’d done so many things, but not this, not yet. And how when she’d met him, it seemed so exactly like the act he’d default to. Pushy. Selfish. Brash. Him looming, her bowed. Yet it had taken her to initiate it, and well after she’d felt his mouth between her own legs—
She froze when Vince’s phone chimed in his jacket pocket.
“Keep going,” he said, muting it to a plaintive buzz.
“It might be important.”
“Nothing’s as important as this right now.”
But now a different intrusion nagged at her, sending her gaze to the doorknob—no lock. She imagined Christine Church popping in after a cursory knock with a cup of coffee, and that mug dropping to the floor as she saw . . .
Shit, this was so tacky. Worst houseguest ever.
It seemed Vince could read her mind, in addition to fucking up her judgment. He squeezed her hand to his cock, making her pulse spike and her priorities blur. “No one’s going to hear.”
“Just don’t moan really loud or anything.”
“Your fault if I do. Plus, if you knew how fucking worked-up I am, you’d know that’s impossible.”
“Just try. I have to face those people tomorrow at breakfast.”
“Seeing you on your knees like this, trust me—I’ll do just about anything you tell me to.”
His fly came free with the pluck of her fingers and slide of the zipper, just as he let his jacket fall from his shoulders. With the leather gone, she could smell him. A sliver of bare skin peeked from between his waistband and the hem of his tee, a thin trail of dark hair. A peek of this man, coupled with his scent, his pulse, his shadow. Soon enough, his taste. Just about the only detail of him she’d yet to uncover.
Her hair went weightless, gathered in his hands as she eased his jeans down to midthigh. She could hear his breathing, heavy and dark to match his excitement—the weighty arousal straining at the black cotton of his shorts. She cupped him, unsure if the gasp she drew was his or her own.
She peeled the elastic down, exposing him. The most male part of him—starker than his mean face, his scarred fists, his branded skin. She gripped him, prepared to make this act hers. To be the one taking, even on her knees.
His breath was shallow above her, his scent strong and intoxicating. She drew her lower lip softly along his crown, and felt those restless fingers seize, clasping her hair.
He didn’t rush her. Didn’t force her or even urge her, didn’t do a thing aside from stand there, tense with anticipation. She rewarded that with a lap across that smooth, sensitive skin, and was repaid by a harsh suck of breath above her.
Beg me, she wanted to say. She wanted to hear proof of how bad he wanted her, like those needy whispers in the hotel room, even as his body had owned hers.
Another lap, another, but she held back taking him for real. Beg me.
In that deep voice, came the softest, “C’mon.”
Close enough. She took him between her lips. Nothing but heat and the salty-sweet taste of sex, potent for a pass, then easing. She couldn’t take all of him—not in a million years short of making this uncomfortable for herself, so she made up the difference with her fist. Her hand stroked upward each time her lips moved down, the two meeting and parting, meeting and parting. The mechanics of this had never felt so incidental. It was just natural—the smell and heat of his skin, the sound of his shallow exhalations and soft grunts. The way his soft skin moved in her grip around his rock-hard shaft, that most wonderful male contradiction.
His hips told her what speed he wanted, his noises told her harder, good, like that. Defying all expectations, there was no degradation to this—not even of the welcome, taboo sort. Too elemental. One lover pleasing another. Pleasure from receiving, pride from performing.
In time, he grew close. She sensed it in his taste—a subtle spiking that gave him away as surely as the moan that chased it.
“You’re gonna make me come.” He said it like he was scolding her, and god
damn if that didn’t send a fever beating through her. But just as her body was screaming to taste his surrender, he eased her head back. She tilted her chin up, finding that broad chest heaving, mouth open, eyes dark and half lidded.
“Gimme your hand.”
She did. He drew her to standing, easy as if she’d been a shed piece of clothing.
He clasped that same hand around his throbbing sex, still wet from her mouth. In the slowest strokes, he moved her fist up and down from his head to his root. “Feel how close you got me?”
“I’d have taken you even further.”
He shook his head. “Not now. Some other time, some night when I’ve left you too sore for any more of the real thing.”
She blushed at that, light-headed from the threat-promise.
“But not now,” he repeated. “Not until I know what you need from me.”
She craned her neck to eye the bed. What, indeed? What did she need to feel?
Safe wasn’t quite it. But something akin. Not protected by his strong body, but united with it. Made one with it.
Her glance at the tangled covers was all the answer he needed. He nodded to it, merely a dip of his chin, but it rippled through her like a resounding order. He was on that mattress with her the second he’d stripped bare, knees pushing hers wide, big hands peeling her shirt up and off. Bra freed, legs jerked up, pants and underwear and socks gone in a breath.
“Condom,” she muttered, impressed she managed to think of it with that incredible body looming. Even more impressed to find he’d had the forethought to stock his wallet. After a quick scramble for his jeans, he was back on the bed and rolling the rubber down.
“You ready?” he asked.
“I think so.”
One firm hand held her thigh as the other dipped between her legs. She could tell from the smooth, slick intrusion of his two fingers, yes, she was ready—and from anticipation alone.
He muttered the dirtiest, most perfect, “Nice,” then pushed her legs wider, planting his knees. Like last night, there was no show, no cocky easing in. He was deep in three thrusts, and his surging rhythm spoke of need, not showmanship. She told herself she’d reach a hand down soon enough, tease herself home. It wouldn’t take much. But before she did, something gave her pause. A tension, a heat stoked in time with his penetration. She felt all that sensation normally limited to the head of her clit, only inside, somehow. His length was rubbing her in the most thrilling, relentless way, like nothing she’d felt before. The pleasure was nearly frightening. Out of her control. New and strange and intense, like the too-much sensation of being stimulated right after orgasm. But she let it happen, eager to see if a crescendo was to come, and if that, too, would feel this scary-good.
