Waiting For It

by Rhyannon Byrd

  Waiting For It

  Rhyannon Byrd

  Chapter 1

  The woman behind the counter had the largest set of breasts Taylor had ever seen. They swayed with an endless jiggle, requiring a marvel of engineering to keep them contained—which she obviously didn’t possess. The tiny pink buttons on her uniform barely held her in as she flashed her most malicious smile. It was all teeth and red smeared lips the locals all claimed had been packed full of collagen.

  Taylor felt a little sick every time she saw them.

  Not with jealousy. Not of Wanda Merton. No, it was just the image of those crimson colored things wrapped around her ex-husband’s cock that made her queasy as hell. It’d been over a year now, but she could still see the two of them writhing across her bed as if it had been only yesterday.

  There were just some things a woman could never forget. Taylor assumed finding your husband in bed with the town whore must be one of them. Everyone in Westin knew Mitch had screwed around on her, but it was finding the two of them in her own bed that had finally given her the motivation to kiss his sorry ass goodbye.

  She’d stayed married to the miserable jerk for seven years—seven years too long in her estimation. And that was never as obvious as when she came face-to-face with Mason’s Groceries’ checkout clerk.

  “Bet you didn’t know Jake Farrell’s back in town,” Wanda sneered, hitching her beefy hip against the register. “Tucker over at the Gas and Dash said he just filled up a shiny new truck ‘bout twenty minutes ago.”

  For a split second, Taylor’s heart stopped. It hung heavily in her chest, a tight ball of warring confusion and lifelong desire, suspended in time. Then it kicked back in with a hearty vengeance, pumping blood through her thin frame in a dizzying rhythm. It was all she could do to hide her stunned reaction from the cruel bitch who was supposed to be ringing up her juice and eggs.

  Trying to sound unaffected, Taylor struggled to make a casual reply. “Jake Farrell back in Westin? I wonder what on earth could’ve brought him back to this place.”

  “Aw, I don’t know,” Wanda drawled, smacking her lips around a huge, nauseating wad of grape-colored bubble gum. “Maybe he just came back to rub your snotty nose in the dirt some more? Never was anythin’ more entertainin’ back in school than listenin’ to Mitch tell everybody the latest Jake had said about you. That guy musta hated your skinny ass somethin’ fierce.”

  Something in Taylor’s chest died a little at the spiteful words. Oh, she knew Jake hadn’t liked her back when they were in school, but she’d never really understood why. He’d left the summer after he graduated and she hadn’t seen him since. Not even her ex-husband Mitch—Jake’s best friend—had heard from him in all that time.

  As far as Taylor knew, no one in the whole town of Westin had ever set eyes on him again. He’d lived with an uncle who had moved over to Pressmore when he left—so all ties to Westin had been broken the moment he’d driven away.

  After ten years, it seemed beyond crazy that she could still feel so wounded by the fact that Jake Farrell hadn’t liked her, but she did. She’d tried to get beyond it—to forget him—but it killed her a bit more every time she thought about him.

  As ridiculous as it was, she’d loved that gorgeous boy from the moment she’d first set eyes on him at the silly age of sixteen. She’d been mystified by the tall, dark-haired, green-eyed football player. Panting breath, damp palms, and red-faced every single time he’d looked at her. He was two years older, and back then—well, eighteen had seemed like a lifetime. He’d been the sinful, sexy, older man of her dreams and she’d never forgotten him.

  Hah! Like she ever would. She’d spent the past ten years poring over all the delicious details of him imprinted in her memory, transforming them into life with her paint and brush.

  Of course, it was going to be a cold day in hell before Taylor let Wanda Merton catch so much as a whiff of her interest in the man. Talk about inviting trouble. Not that it was anything but blatantly obvious to anyone with half a brain who’d ever seen her work, but then she doubted Wanda had ever lain hands on one of her books. If she had, it’d probably been to toss it on the floor and stomp on it with her two big feet.

  Swiping her check card, Taylor managed to mumble, “Well, I’m sure you know more about him than I do.”

  In fact, she knew she did, and it was a memory she’d wasted what seemed like forever trying to forget.

  Wanda knew it too, but it didn’t stop a feral, Cheshire Cat smile from spreading slowly across her smug face. “Down to the last thick inch, Taylor Moore.”

  She tried, but she couldn’t help it. She went absolutely breathless at the thought of Jake Farrell’s long, thick inches.

  “How, uh, lucky for you then, Wanda,” she wheezed around the lump of lust in her throat, barely able to draw enough air.

  Then there was no breath at all as a deep, smoky voice behind her rumbled, “I must be luckier than I thought to have found you so quickly.”

  Oh, Jesus.

  Jake Farrell was standing at her back, the heat of his big body kissing the entire length of hers! His breath brushed the back of her neck through the heavy mass of her hair, sending chills racing across the surface of her skin. And when she looked down, his large, rugged hands were braced against the counter on either side of her, caging her in.

  Holy ever-loving hell.

  When she didn’t move or make any attempt to respond, he leaned closer and she heard him say, “Taylor?”

  Heaven help her. His lips actually brushed against her scalp that time. She could hear the question in his sexy voice.

  She was going to have to do something, but what? What? In all the lovesick scenarios she’d concocted over the years, she’d never imagined this—having him standing at her back while Wanda Merton looked on with a vicious scowl on her sour face.

  “Come on, Taylor Moore,” Jake teased over the fierce pounding of his heart, praying he could put her at ease before she ran from him. He could sense her indecision—her nervousness—while his senses ran wild in a chaotic, exhilarating jumble of need and lust and raging emotion. He was more than willing to chase after her if she made a break for it, but the fucking wait just might kill him.

  Hell, it was all he could do not to toss her up on the checkout stand and bury himself in her sweet little body right then and there. “I know you haven’t forgotten me that easily, honey. Stop playin’ possum.”

  Taylor didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. He’d used her maiden name. Did that mean he knew about the divorce? Knew she was single? Geez, did he even know she’d ever been married?

  Ignoring Wanda, she turned slowly within the circle of his strong, tanned, muscled arms, her heart stuttering at her first look at the man who’d stolen her heart a decade ago.

  God help her. Please. Jake Farrell was everything she’d remembered and more. And any second now she was going to melt into a big, sopping puddle of need on the scarred linoleum floor. “No, I haven’t, um, forgotten you—Jake.”

  How could I ever forget you?

  Jake smiled down at her, his dark green eyes moving over everything at once. He seemed to drink her in, consuming her like a beast craving blood after a lifetime of tasteless water.

  His avid gaze touched her hair and the delicate, almost fragile features of her face, from her small nose and wide set sable eyes, to her finely arched brows and lush pink mouth. He even studied her ears and the long, glossy strands of her hair all the way down to where the curled tips lay against her small breasts.

  Beneath his hot stare, Taylor remained trapped in the moment. She swallowed again at the suffocating desire and her nipples went rock hard, spiking against the thin fabric of her shirt.

  “I don’t believe it,
” he rasped, deep voice full of wonder. “You’re even better than I remembered.”

  Better!

  Better than what?

  Taylor didn’t know what she might’ve said to the strange comment, but Wanda suddenly gasped behind her, rearing her ugly head.

  “What are you doin’ wastin’ your time with this little runt, Jake? Everyone round here knows how much you’ve always hated her.”

  Jake answered the vindictive woman without ever taking his eyes from Taylor’s. “Wanda, for once in your bitter life, why don’t you try minding your own business?”

  “What’s got up your ass, Jake?” she sneered, raising her hackles like a she-cat preparing to swipe her claws. “You used to know how to give a woman a good time. What are you throwin’ it away on her for now? Mitch’s told everybody in town she’s drier than sawdust.” Her pouting lips sneered like a sick rendition of a reptilian smile, cruel and menacing. “Said it was like fuckin’ a plank, sinkin’ between her skinny spread legs.”

  Taylor had finally had enough. Well, she’d had enough about a decade ago, when she had first moved to town with her mother, but having to listen to Wanda put her down in front of Jake Farrell was too much even for her. She opened her mouth to say God only knew what, comebacks having never really been her strong point—at least not in the heat of the moment. Give her an hour and she’d be raring to go, the perfect blend of wit and scorn poised on the tip of her tongue. Of course, by that time, she was usually the only person left to impress.

  Thankfully, Jake had no such problem with spontaneity.

  “If Mitch never got her dripping,” he drawled, “then it was his own pathetic fault for having a useless little prick. Something my uncle tells me you should know a lot about, Wanda. Didn’t your Mama ever teach you not to fuck around with another woman’s husband—even if he is the town sheriff?”

  Wanda’s face mottled the same crimson shade as her blusher, completing the clown-like effect of her makeup beneath the bright ruby sheen of her hair. “Feelin’ jealous, Farrell? Mitch’s got a lot to offer a woman where it counts.”

  Taylor watched the most sinfully sexy man she’d ever known, the one whose image haunted her dreams and still woke her in the dead of night with her panties slick—her aching pussy gone warm and creamy—flash the woman behind her a taunting smile.

  “You call that a lot, Wan? Next time you’re pretending he can make you come with it—remember I’ve got a helluva lot more.”

  His attention shifted back to Taylor, not that it hadn’t been on her all along. His big, rough hands tunneled into the sides of her hair, holding her face still as he lowered his mouth toward her quivering lips.

  He wasn’t finished putting Wanda Merton in her place, though, and Taylor could feel the heady warmth of his breath as he spoke.

  “And when Taylor’s taking every inch of me, she won’t have to pretend. She’s gonna come till she’s sticky sweet and my ears are ringing from the screaming.”

  His intense gaze roamed over her face, sending a wave of pure heat to her already flushed features. Taylor knew she must look dumbstruck, staring up at him like a deer caught in the headlights. But there wasn’t anything else she could do. She was dumbstruck, shocked straight down to her toes.

  She really couldn’t help herself. She’d been stunned mute by his presence and his bold, outrageous words. And they were only getting bolder.

  Keep ‘em coming, baby, her Jake-starved body demanded. Just keep ‘em coming. There was a wild, rough ride of lust and want pounding through her veins that had been gaining momentum since the first time she’d ever set eyes on the man.

  “And that’s just the first time,” Jake went on, the deep timbre of his voice doing all kinds of warm, wicked things to places deep inside of her. “After we take the edge off, it’ll only get better. Creaming for me is gonna become Taylor’s favorite pastime. All day and all night, she’ll just come all over me—my fingers, my cock, my face. We’re gonna be swimming in it, Wanda, and your and Mitch’s sorry asses won’t be crossing our minds even once.”

  Okay, she was not going to think about what he’d just said. No way in hell! At least until she got home. Then she’d savor every fantastic word, playing them over and over in her mind while she slipped her fingers between her thighs and struggled for release.

  Then he moved closer, and Taylor thought he was finally going to kiss her, but he brushed his thumb across her lips instead. His gaze was transfixed, concentrated, as if he were comparing their shape and texture to a memory.

  “So, if you’ll excuse us,” he groaned with a hungry smile, “we’ve got things to do.”

  His eyes burned on Taylor, promising to make the outrageous claim a reality. But no—he couldn’t possibly be serious, could he? The “things” they needed to do couldn’t really be each other, could they? She was just a—well, she was just Taylor, while he looked sexier than a man should ever be allowed.

  Who would ever believe the hero and the misfit? She sure as hell couldn’t.

  And he’d only gotten better with time. She loved the crinkles at the corners of his gorgeous green eyes. Loved the grooves that bracketed his sinful mouth. Loved the sun-bronzed gold of his tan and the musky outdoors scent of his skin.

  He held out his hand and she took it as if she’d done it a thousand times before, when in reality, this morning was the first time they’d ever even touched.

  Jake pulled her along beside him, her groceries and Wanda Merton left behind—forgotten—and Taylor followed the man of her dreams through the door, out into the brilliant, blinding light of the sun.

  Chapter 2

  When they reached her Jeep parked at the curb, Taylor turned to face the man who’d been both the bane and blessing of her entire existence.

  The sun glinted behind his broad shoulders, backlighting his magnificent body the way she painted her Faeries and Warlocks. The same slash of a mouth that promised to be ruthless and unforgiving in the pursuit of pleasure. Long, lean muscles that molded the shape of his white T-shirt and worn-out Levi’s. Tall, tan, and ruggedly—insanely—make-your-pussy-ache-just-to-look-at-him handsome.

  And that damn hair. Not short, not long, but just shaggy enough to wrap your fingers in the glossy black locks and take him wherever you needed him. Wherever she needed him. Her breasts, her stubborn clitoris, and then lower, to where he could sink his tongue inside of her the way she’d always read a man could pleasure a woman, but had never experienced for herself.

  God, it was so ironically pathetic. Here she’d spent seven years married to the Westin stud, and she still didn’t have any experience outside of the boring old missionary position. And Wanda was right about the not coming part. A fact Mitch had thrown in her face in defense of why he’d screwed around with half the town.

  “If I can’t make you cream,” he’d told her on countless occasions, “no one can, sugar.”

  Well, Taylor wasn’t so sure about that. Just looking at Jake Farrell made her feel closer to that elusive O than she ever had before. She wanted to break open the silver belt buckle on the front of his jeans, rip open the buttons of his fly, and sink her hand inside to explore the heavy bulge she’d seen there out of the corner of her eye as they’d walked outside. He wasn’t actually hard yet, just beautifully full, as if he always nicely filled out the front of his pants.

  And he did. He always had, even as a young man. Every girl he’d ever dated had said he had the biggest—equipment they’d ever seen. Massive, the rumors had told. Long and thick, and he knew a thousand different ways to make a woman scream with it.

  Man oh man oh man.

  Oh no. Suddenly Taylor realized just what she was doing. Here she was, standing in front of Mason’s Groceries—staring at Jake Farrell’s crotch! And God help her, she didn’t know how long her eyes had been glued to that particular part of his anatomy, but it was growing bigger by the second.

  Her heartbeat, which was already doing double-time, nearly flew right out of her che
st. No, no, no! This was so incredibly embarrassing. Damn the blasted man and this sex-crazed feeling he’d always made her feel, even when he could’ve been halfway around the world for all she knew.

  It was obvious she needed to say something, and she really needed to pull her fascinated stare away from his fly before she started to drool, but her treacherous body parts just weren’t listening to reason.

  Jake finally helped by tipping her face up with the side of his fist, forcing her to meet his glittering green gaze. Oh, he knew exactly what she’d been thinking about, she realized with a horrified groan. Taylor knew he could read it written all over her flushed face, as easy as a book.

  “You okay, Taylor?”

  He wasn’t exactly smiling, but she could hear a hint of humor behind the deep, rough edge of his voice. Not to mention arousal and concern. His calloused thumb stroked lazily against her chin, caressing her flesh, the gentle touch unbearably arousing.

  What on earth was going on? Jake Farrell back in town, acting like he actually wanted her? Nothing so strange or bizarre or unbelievably wonderful had ever happened in her entire life.

  “Uh, yes, thank you. I mean I’m, um, fine.”

  And an idiot. I’m a complete, ridiculous, sex-starved idiot!

  He nodded, his penetrating gaze seeing straight into her, as if he could find out all her secrets with just a look. “I’m sorry if I got carried away back there, but I couldn’t resist. Is she always like that?”

  Taylor knew exactly what he meant, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of Wanda’s “Bitch of the Year” attitude. It would absolutely kill her to have Jake Farrell pity her.

  Pride made her try a small laugh that fell as flat as her chest. “Wanda? Don’t worry about her. This was actually a good day between us. Quite civil really.”

  The sensual line of his lips hardened into a grim line, betraying his anger. “You mean it gets worse than that? Why in the hell don’t you deck her and get away from this hole-in-the-wall town?”

  Because I might never have seen you again, she thought with a violent rush of longing—and in that moment, she knew it was true. That was why she’d stayed all these years. Why she’d faced down all the loneliness and humiliation and painful memories. She’d been waiting for Jake to come home—to come back to her—afraid that if she left, their paths might never cross again.