by Jennie Marts
Colt was coming in from outside, his cowboy hat pushed low on his forehead, when Chloe carried the cat crate out of the mudroom. He was so handsome, it hurt her stomach, and she had to look away. Her knuckles turned white as she clutched the handle on the top of the crate.
He didn’t seem to notice as he reached for the crate. “I took your stuff out and got the truck all warmed up for you.”
Wow, that was fast. He must really want her out of there.
The wind had picked up and was as cold as the tendrils of anguish snaking around her heart. Colt whistled for the dog, and Watson jumped into the truck and settled on the seat between them. Neither moved to shoo him out of the way, and he laid his head on Chloe’s leg.
The ride back to town was quiet, except for the soft rumble of Colt’s deep voice humming along to the radio and an occasional disgruntled squall from the cat. Chloe looked out the window, dread settling in her stomach as they got closer to the house. What would happen then? Would he drop her at the curb and drive away?
She doubted it. No, he would be a gentleman and carry her things in. Then what? Offer her a chaste, “friendly” kiss on the cheek? How humiliating.
Should she thank him for the weekend? He had let her stay with him. Hey, Colt, thanks for the warm bed and for all the hanky-panky that happened in it. Yeah that sounded really clever. Maybe she could just tell him thanks for the ride and the ride.
She mentally groaned. Maybe she should try to laugh it all off—act like she knew it was all physical the whole time, and she was totally cool with it. Hey, thanks for the two hots and a cot and that thing you did with your tongue. It was amazing.
Yeah, that sounded like her. And she could follow it up with casual chuckle. Ha ha. Don’t worry, I do this all the time. I’m a totally cool and carefree chick. Ugh. She couldn’t even make herself buy that one.
Colt pulled up in front of the house and hopped out of the truck, saving her from having to imagine any more mortifying pseudo-conversations with him. As predicted, he grabbed her bags and the cat crate, and she and Watson followed him around to the side kitchen door, reminding her of the fact her front door was nailed shut.
A shudder ran through her, and she glanced nervously around the yard. Rank was still out there. He could be watching them now.
Colt’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the yard, apparently thinking along the same lines. “I don’t see anything strange. And he knows the cops are looking for him now, so he’s most likely to be lying low.”
He was probably right. It still didn’t keep the fingers of dread from tickling her skin. She passed Colt her keys, the sparkly pepper spray hanging from the ring, and tried to imagine being brave enough actually to squirt someone in the eye with it.
She let out a relieved breath as they stepped into the kitchen, and she saw everything neatly in its place. The countertops gleamed in the faint moonlight coming through the window, and the canisters were still perfectly lined up in a row against the backsplash.
Colt entered the house in front of her, turning on lights and checking the rooms and peeking into all the closets. “Everything looks okay. And there’s no sign that he came back this weekend.”
Bile rose in her throat at the thought of Rank being in her tidy home, touching her things with his nicotine-stained fingers.
“You all right?” Colt asked, reaching out a hand to steady her. “I swear the color just drained clean out of your face.” He pulled out one of the kitchen chairs. “You want to sit?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m not all right. I’m creeping around my yard hoping my neighbor’s ex doesn’t attack me, my front door is nailed shut, and I’m afraid to walk into my own house. I just want my life to go back to normal.”
A week ago, the most exciting thing that had happened to her was unexpectedly finding a ten-dollar bill in the pocket of a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in a while. This week, she was flinging her naked self at a sumptuous cowboy, coaching a kid’s hockey team, filing police reports, and having the kind of sex she’d only read about in books.
Being home in her well-ordered environment brought everything to a head, and she wanted to crawl into bed, under the covers that she’d washed with exactly one level scoop of her favorite detergent.
“I’m sorry.” She scrubbed her fingers across her forehead. “I don’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s okay. It’s been a rough couple of days. I’ll get out of here and let you get some rest.” He leaned toward her as if to pull her into his embrace, and she suddenly felt awkward and shy and wasn’t sure even how to touch him.
She wanted to hug him, to melt into his arms and have him carry her off to bed. She wanted to put all this doubt aside and go back to the fun, easy way they’d been the past two days, but now something felt off, like they didn’t quite know how to act around each other. She wasn’t sure if it was her fault or his, or a combination of both, but she knew something felt different. Some slight thing had changed.
Watson nuzzled her hand and wiggled his furry behind against her, drawing a smile from her and a chuckle from Colt. But it was enough to break through at least the top layer of the awkward ice.
Colt leaned forward, gave her a quick hug, and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “Get some sleep, and you’ll feel better. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Locking the door behind him, Chloe watched him walk down the driveway. He did have some great swagger in those boots. Watson stayed next to him, and Colt must have been talking to him, because the dog’s head tipped up as if he were listening intently, his attention solely on the tall man next to him. She knew the feeling.
I’ll see you in the morning. The last thing he’d said before disappearing into the night. So, apparently he still planned to pick her up for school in the morning. That was something. Wasn’t it? Or was it just another gesture of kindness?
All this second-guessing was making her head pound. She needed to turn her brain off, to go to bed and sleep. Flipping off the kitchen lights, she headed toward her room and spent the next twenty minutes going through the steps of her nightly routine, every practiced movement working to loosen the tightness in her chest. She washed her face, smoothed moisturizer onto her cheeks, and brushed her teeth for a full two-and-a-half minutes.
Quinn had given her a hockey jersey earlier that summer when she’d helped out in the snack bar at the alumni game. They’d all worn matching red and blue jerseys with the word “JAMES” lettered across the shoulders, and she’d been wearing hers as a nightshirt all fall. Stripping down to her panties, she slipped the jersey over her head, then stuffed her feet into a pair of fleece-lined slippers.
Tension stiffened her shoulders as she walked through the house checking all the windows and doors. Colt had already checked them once, but she needed to do it again, to pull on the knob, to verify the latch was secured.
Pulling back the curtain in the living room, she spied Colt’s truck still sitting at the curb. What the french fry? Why was his truck still here? Had he stopped in at Tina’s? Had his battery gone dead?
The hair on her neck lifted as she feared that Rank had caught him on the way out of her house. Heedless of the threat of Rank waiting outside, she raced through the kitchen, ran out the side door, and down the driveway. “Colt!” she yelled into the chilly air.
A sharp bark answered her, and she jerked her head toward Colt’s truck. Watson’s head appeared in the back window, and she ran to the side of the truck, cold wet snow seeping through the thin soles of her slippers. Peering through the window, she saw Colt bolt up from the seat, the sleeping bag he’d been under falling to the floor of the pickup.
He pushed open the door, alarm registering on his face as he panned the yard behind her. “What’s wrong? Did Rank show up?”
“No. I mean, not that I know of.” She shook her head, as if to clear her thoughts. “What are you sti
ll doing out here? And why do you have a sleeping bag?”
“Get in,” he told her, his gaze dropping to her bare legs.
A shiver ran through her, either from Colt’s cool gaze or the cold night air whistling under the hem of the hockey jersey. She climbed into the truck, and he reached an arm around her to pull the door shut, then drew her close to him, unzipping his coat and enfolding her inside it and against his warm chest. Watson jumped to the floor of the cab, whining as he tried to find a place to lick her.
Colt rubbed his hands over her arms. “What are you doing out here? You’ve got to be freezing.”
Her inner temperature had just spiked about ten degrees as he pulled her bare legs up and under the sleeping bag and wrapped himself around her. “What are you doing out here? I saw your truck and thought something had happened to you.”
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “So you thought you’d run out here in your slippers and nightshirt to save me?”
Okay, so it didn’t sound like the smartest plan the way he’d said it, but it had made sense to her at the time. “I wasn’t thinking. I was just reacting. I thought you were in trouble.”
“I appreciate the effort, but you just put yourself at more risk by leaving the safety of the house.”
“Forget about me and my safety for a minute. I’m fine. Except for being totally confused by what’s happening here.” She lifted the corner of the sleeping bag. “Are you sleeping out here?”
“Not yet. Especially not with Watson barking his fool head off. But I was planning to eventually get some shut-eye.”
“In your truck?”
“Darlin’, I’ve slept in a lot worse places.” He patted the seat next to him. “This bench seat is downright comfy compared to sleeping on the ground with a rock or two digging into your back.”
“But why? Why would you sleep out here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Really? Have you forgotten about the newly released convict you recently pissed off who threatened to come back for you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Neither have I. And I’m not about to leave you alone here without someone to watch your back.”
Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and she could hear the blood rushing in her ears. He was sleeping in his truck, in the cold, for her? Her skin tingled and she wanted to touch him, but she didn’t know how, so she kept her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Were you planning to sleep out here all night?”
He shrugged again. “Not all night. I figured I’d get out and walk around the house a couple of times, just to keep an eye on things.”
That hadn’t been what she’d meant. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You didn’t have to do this.” She tipped her head up, realizing suddenly how close her face was to his. Even in the semidarkness, she could see the dirty-blond scruff of whiskers covering his cheeks, and her chest burned with the memory of those whiskers abrading her tender skin. His hat was wedged between the windshield and the dash, and his hair was tousled as if he’d just run his hand through it. She itched to run her hand through it, to feel the soft strands between her fingers.
“I wanted to,” he whispered back, his voice huskier than before. “I told you I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t speak if she tried. Her gaze was captivated by his as he looked down at her, his expression both hard and somehow soft at the same time. She swallowed and licked her lips. His glance dipped to watch the movement, and heat coiled in her stomach.
His hand rested on her leg under the sleeping bag, and he made the slightest movement with his thumb, raking the side of it against her skin. Her breath caught at his touch. He spread out the fingers of his hand, sliding them across her upper thigh. His pinkie brushed the hem of the hockey jersey, which had already ridden up her leg when she’d climbed into the truck.
“Chloe,” he said, one word, one soft whisper. But she could see his breath in the air, and it was as if the crystalized mist cast a spell on her, drawing her closer, making her forget every other thing except this man and his palm pressed against her thigh.
She leaned in, powerless against his pull, her bare nipples tightening against the rough fabric of the jersey. Her lips parted, as if inviting him to kiss them.
His fingers tightened on her thigh, sliding up under the jersey to grip the curve of her hip as he dipped his head and captured her mouth with his. He didn’t offer her a sweet peck or a gentle brush. He kissed her with the hunger of a man who hadn’t eaten in weeks. His tongue pushed between her lips, delving, tasting, taking.
She forgot about her worries, her self-doubt, and responded with the same primal need, as her arms circled his neck and she pressed her breasts to his chest.
Sliding his hand under her butt, he pulled her onto his lap. She straddled him, her knees pressing to either side of his thighs as his hand slid up under her jersey and found her full aching breast. Cupping it in his palm, he squeezed and caressed, rolling the hardened nub of her nipple between his thumb and index finger.
A soft moan escaped against his lips, as she moved her hips, rubbing against the rough denim of his fly, the thin fabric of her panties the only thing between them. The friction and movement had heat and need building between her legs.
Both of his hands were under her jersey now, skimming over her skin, caressing, squeezing, touching her everywhere. She couldn’t get enough of his hands on her, and she arched into him as he filled his palms with her breasts.
The windows fogged as their breath came in ragged gasps, and the cab of the truck warmed with the heat of their bodies. Either that, or she just didn’t notice the cold. She couldn’t seem to focus or care about anything more than getting closer to him. And he seemed to feel the same way as he lifted the front of her shirt, baring her breasts and slanting his head to savor them. His mouth burned a hot trail along her skin as he moved from one to the other, licking, kissing, then sucking each tender tip between his warm lips. She arched into him, planting her palm on the back windshield for support and smearing the condensation.
Watson let out a sharp bark, and she squinted at the flash of the high beams of a car driving down the street. Holy fork. She froze—like a half-naked deer caught making out in the headlights.
Then she did what any other sensible schoolteacher who had been spotted bare-breasted and straddling a hot cowboy in a pickup outside her house would do—she ducked.
Diving for cover seemed like a good idea, except the hem of her jersey was pushed up and twisted around her neck, and as she moved to the side, she got caught on his hand, which was trapped under the back of her shirt, so as the lights of the car flashed across the back window, she flashed them back with headlights of her own.
Colt’s body shook under her as he tried to both pull his trapped hand free and lift the sleeping bag to cover her. She whipped her head back. “Are you laughing?”
He pressed his gorgeous lips together and shook his head, but his eyes crinkled at the sides as he tried to hold back his laughter.
“This isn’t funny. I’m a teacher, for fox sakes. I’m supposed to set an example, and I just motherforking flashed my liberty bells at an innocent member of our community.” She tugged the jersey down to her hips.
“Liberty bells, huh? Well, catching a glimpse of your bells probably just made their night. I know they just made mine.”
She glared at him.
He tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t quite manage it. “Well, they did. They’re pretty spectacular bells. I might even go so far as to call ’em real traffic stoppers.” A laugh finally busted out of him.
A giggle bubbled up in her chest, and as hard as she tried, she couldn’t hold it in. She buried her head in his chest as she laughed out loud. Watson jumped up, planting his feet in her lap as he tried to lick her laughing face. It felt good to laugh. Almost as
good as it felt to be wrapped in Colt’s arms, feeling the rumble in his chest and hearing the deep tone of his laughter.
“Maybe you should go back inside before somebody calls out the Neighborhood Watch. I don’t want to be the one responsible for giving you a bad reputation.”
If only. Whoa. Where did that come from? She’d never wished for a bad reputation in her entire life. In fact, she’d spent a considerable amount of her time doing just the opposite—trying to be a good girl, an obedient daughter, an excellent student. But something about the way this handsome cowboy made her feel inside had her throwing “good sense” and caution to the wind, as evidenced by the fact she’d been less than a minute away from getting naked and down and dirty in a pickup truck in her front yard.
“I think that’s a wise idea,” she told him, then laid a hand on his muscled chest. “Do you want to come in with me?”
“Try and stop me.”
An impish grin pulled at the corners of her lips as she pushed open the door of the truck and slid out. A shiver ran through her, but she had a feeling it was more from Colt’s promise than the winter night air. Tilting her head, she offered him a challenge. “Try and catch me.”
A low growl sounded in his throat, and she let out a tiny shriek of laughter as she took off across the yard. Watson raced ahead of her, getting in on the game, and her heart leapt as she heard the truck door slam and Colt scrambling across the grass behind her.
He caught her right outside the kitchen door and swooped her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. He responded with something hard of his own. “You better take me inside before I take you against the side of this house, and we really get in trouble with your neighbors.”
