Slow Ride

by Lori Foster

  Getting rejected because another woman showed up didn’t sit well with her, whatever the reason for the interruption. She didn’t know who Charlotte was to him, and she damn well wouldn’t ask because it didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter.

  That didn’t stop it from hurting.

  He glanced her way. “The two of you didn’t talk.”

  “So?” Conversation hadn’t gone anywhere because Ronnie had been too intent on stewing in anger and Charlotte had concentrated on driving the short distance in the nasty weather. “Were we supposed to?”

  Using his mirrors, Jack switched lanes. “Charlotte said you were distracted.”

  Distracted? More like furious. “She complained about me?”

  “No. But she said she didn’t get a chance to explain who she is.”

  Oh, now that was interesting. “No one owes me any explanations.” For her own sake, she needed to keep it that way.

  Of course, Jack explained anyway. “Charlotte’s been working with us since she was sixteen. She’s an office wizard and keeps everything in order, but she’s more than that, too.”

  Perfect. Just what she didn’t need to know. “She looked really...wholesome.”

  Taking the description as an insult, Jack sent her a look of reproach. “Her mom died when she was eighteen after a long illness, and my mother stepped in where she could.”

  Ronnie almost groaned. So they were all do-gooders? Clearly they were nothing like her. Shame made her mouth pinch. “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  He flashed a rare, very genuine smile. “You’d like Mom.”

  Good God. When it came to mothers—including her own—she batted a big fat zero. And he thought she’d like his? “Why?”

  Surprise made him pause. “Why what?”

  “Why do you think I’d like your mom? Just because she birthed you?” Ronnie shook her head. Meeting his family would only complicate things further.

  “Well, there is that.” This time his smile was the practiced, too-polite gesture she’d already grown used to.

  And she hated it. It meant she’d insulted him and that hadn’t been her intent. Not this time. It was just... “Nothing against your mom, Jack, but mothers and I don’t mix.”

  Confusion sharpened his expression. “I’m not sure what that even means—”

  Good. The less he knew about her and her many failures, the better.

  “But Mom is genuine. You could trust her, Ronnie, and I have a feeling you don’t trust easily.”

  With damned good reason. Feeling self-defensive always brought out the worst in her, making her tone sharper, her replies harder-edged. He had no business digging into her psyche, analyzing her and what she did or didn’t need. “One minute you tell me you want to fuck but nothing more. Then you throw your mom out there like she’s bait I can’t resist? Is that how you seal the deal?” Her laugh sounded as ugly as she could make it.

  Annoyance carved a frown into Jack’s usual complacent expression. “You know I didn’t mean it that way. She’s a nice person. Everyone likes her. Everyone confides in her.”

  His mother sounded like a martyr to her, and Ronnie wasn’t interested. “What makes you think I want a confidant?” She didn’t. She couldn’t.

  He took the ramp onto the highway, silent as he checked the traffic and moved into the passing lane. Finally he said, “Everyone needs someone to talk to.”

  “Maybe you like a good shoulder to cry on, but not me.” She’d cried enough tears over the years and they’d gotten her exactly nowhere. Never again would she allow herself to be that weak.

  Something shifted in the air, spurred by the sudden quiet. Had she hit a nerve? Was it her insinuation that he was a mama’s boy, her indirect insult to his mother, or her refusal to share?

  Could he be tired of her being a bitch? Probably.

  Throat thickening with an emotion she didn’t want to name, Ronnie turned away from him. Good. Let him despise her. Maybe that was the trick to make him back off.

  Then she could get on with her life.

  Alone.

  Fifteen minutes later, she acknowledged that the problem, at least for her, was the closeness in the car. Mustangs, while being very sharp vehicles, especially Jack’s 2005 GT, weren’t exactly what she’d call roomy.

  Ronnie could almost swear they shared breath. She definitely felt his heat, scented by his big body. Hell, she could almost hear his heartbeat, the slow, steady thumping that her own heart gradually matched.

  Little by little, her skin prickled with responsive awareness.

  No other man had affected her so strongly—and she knew why. Jack wasn’t only good-looking. Only sexy. He was also friendly and funny, open and caring. Pushy and protective. She wanted him...and she liked him. She couldn’t help herself. He both tantalized and threatened, drawing her while making her equally determined to get away.

  For now, she was stuck. Sex wasn’t an option, and neither was escape. So what to do?

  Not the silent treatment. That was a loser since it clearly tortured her more than it did him.

  Grasping for the first topic to come to mind, she said, “I like your car.” Weak, but she couldn’t think of anything else so she forged on. “How long have you had it? Did you spiff it up yourself?”

  He remained quiet just long enough to make her think he wouldn’t answer, and it stressed her horribly. She usually didn’t offer olive branches for this very reason—she despised being rebuffed. Never again would she deliberately set herself up for—

  “It’s a complicated story.” His gaze shifted over her in what felt like quick judgment, then returned to the road. “But I don’t mind explaining if you actually want to hear it.”

  “I asked, didn’t I?” Damn it, Ronnie, stop sniping. Something about Jack Crews brought out the absolute worst in her. Maybe it was sexual deprivation. She didn’t like being denied. More likely it was the sharp contrast he provided. The man had close family, an upbeat disposition, a home, and job he loved. He didn’t have to prove his strength to anyone. His confidence wasn’t contrived. She doubted he’d ever felt alone. Or afraid.

  Had she really sunk so low that she resented others for having what she couldn’t? That would make her a pretty miserable person—a person she didn’t want to be.

  Feeling like a spoiled brat and hoping to salvage his offer, she sighed. “We have a long drive ahead of us yet. Might as well chat.”

  “Might as well,” he agreed, always polite.

  That damned politeness also got on her nerves, to the point she wanted to growl. “Great.”

  His small smile proved he wasn’t fooled by her fake enthusiasm. “The long and short of it is that my dad gave each of us a car for our eighteenth birthdays.”

  Wow, nice gesture. When she was eighteen, her “dad” had his revelations...and it wasn’t a car she got.

  “But if you knew my dad—” there he went again, with the family introductions “—you’d know it’s no surprise that I didn’t get the car until I was twenty-four.”

  Her brows jumped. “Wait. If you were twenty-four, then how was it for your eighteenth birthday?”

  “Exactly what I said. Dad claimed he’d lost track of time.”

  “For six years?” She couldn’t claim to have great math or an error-free memory, but that defied all logic.

  “I wanted to tell him to take his gift and disappear. Again.” He shifted, his hands tightening on the wheel, muscles in his jaw flexing. He was the one growling when he added, “Mom talked me out of it. She’s always made excuses for him.”

  Whoa. So there was trouble in paradise? Something about his life wasn’t golden? She could honestly say she wasn’t happy about it. Hell, she didn’t want to see anyone be unhappy. But it did make him feel more...relatable. Less like a hot, shining example of perfection.

  It was like a l
ayer of protective ice melted away from her heart. Studying his stern profile, Ronnie said, “I’m not sure I’m following.”

  “Dad never could remember our birthdays.” Jack ran a hand over the back of his neck as if rubbing away an unpleasant memory.

  And of course, being the base creature she’d become, she noticed the flex of his biceps, how his shirt pulled taut against a flat middle.

  She also noticed that this was difficult for him, which told her he didn’t share the story often. Crazy enough, that made her feel...special.

  Ronnie forced herself to focus on the topic. “So he might’ve forgotten the exact date. I’m not great at noting memorable occasions either. But still, six years?”

  “Half the time he forgot me, so yes, a birthday wasn’t a big deal to him.” Jack gave a small shake of his head, denying the importance. “Dad was—is—the complete opposite of my mom. Much as she mothered Brodie and me, Dad only remembers us when he needs something. Otherwise, he’s an absentee father. Worse, he was a perpetual cheater, always chasing something better, younger, freer.”

  Freer...meaning, a woman free of kids? His kids? What a prick! Frowning in commiseration, she shifted toward him. “That must’ve been tough on your mom.” Ronnie related to this glimpse of his life, the disappointments and imperfections. Now that he’d started talking, she wanted to hear more. Unusual for her because she tended to avoid anything that even resembled “getting to know each other.”

  “You know what bugs me the most?”

  Why it felt so natural playing his confidant, Ronnie didn’t know, but damned if she didn’t like it. Encouraging him, wanting, maybe needing to know how despite the problems, he had such a seemingly happy life, she guessed softly, “Not having a dad?”

  Using one of her favorite expressions, Jack snorted.

  The sound almost made her grin. “No?”

  “I can’t say we ever missed him much. Mom made up for any lacks.”

  But his mother was only one person and given his apparent bitterness, he had felt the lack. All Ronnie could think to say was, “I’m glad.”

  “It wasn’t that he’d leave for long stretches, or the string of other women he’d drag around when he finally remembered to visit, which was only when he needed something. And it wasn’t that he’d claim bragging rights when Brodie kicked ass in football or I scored high honors in school.”

  Funny how he used those two examples to describe his and his brother’s different youthful accomplishments. Brodie was more physical. And Jack obviously prided himself on being smart.

  Staring ahead with stony irritation, he said, “It’s that he always tried to cozy up with Mom. The bastard would have some young thing tagging along, and still he’d try sweet-talking her in front of us, finding reasons to touch her like he actually cared. Acting as if she hadn’t booted his ass to the curb.”

  Wow. What a weak-ass. Caught up in the story despite her usual resolve to stay detached, Ronnie asked, “How did she handle it?”

  A slow grin chased away the darkness. “Mom would drag him away because she didn’t want us to see them fight, even when we were older. But when she’s pissed, there’s no mistaking it. She’d give him holy hell and by the time she finished setting him straight, he’d be dragging around like a sad sack.”

  Okay, damn it, she was starting to like his mom after all. How could she not? “Why didn’t she just chew his ass in front of you?”

  Jack shook his head. “She always encouraged us to accept him for who he is.”

  Floored, she stared at him in disbelief. “An asshole?”

  He surprised her by laughing. “Basically, yeah. She claimed Dad did the best he could and we should enjoy the good times with him while they lasted.”

  That was a little too much roses and sunshine for Ronnie. “Doesn’t sound to me like you’re enjoying him much.”

  Another laugh. “No, not much.” Then he added, “You know what will surprise you? She was always nice to the women he brought along. They really were young and sometimes didn’t realize where he was headed. I think that’s what infuriated her more than anything. Mom is all about respect, and Dad doesn’t show it often.”

  Ronnie was pretty sure she couldn’t do the same, so yeah, major props to his mom for having such a big, understanding heart. “Younger women liked him, huh?”

  “Mom claims he’s still good-looking.”

  Ronnie eyed him. “Do you look like him?”

  His mouth quirked. “Brodie and I have Mom’s eyes and her coloring, but we got Dad’s nose and shoulders, his height and strength.” Jack glanced at her. “Mom’s a shortie.”

  She smiled, too. “What about your brother? How does he deal with your dad?”

  “Overall, Brodie seems okay with him. Whenever Dad comes around, Brodie steers him away from me as much as he can.”

  Always the big brother, she supposed. That was nice. How different would her life have been if she’d had someone like that around? Someone who looked out for her, no matter what?

  This new closeness with Jack, talking to him about important stuff, learning more about him, had the dual effect of softening her guard while also reminding her of things she didn’t have, and never would.

  “At least your dad gave you a sweet ride.” She ran her hand over the black leather seat. “It’s in great shape.”

  “It is now,” he agreed. “I did the work myself, with Brodie helping on occasion.”

  Surprised, she took in the details in the car more closely. It looked as factory-perfect as a car could, with flawless workmanship. “What do you mean, you did it? It wasn’t like this when he gave it to you?”

  Jack grunted. “Not even close. He gave us beat-up cars on the pretense that we’d do the work together, but of course that never came about. Not that I waited on him anyway. Once Mom convinced me to keep it, I got to work on it and had it pretty cherry within a year.”

  A whole year? Admittedly, Ronnie didn’t know much about restoring a car, but that seemed like a really long time. “A project like that would require a lot of dedication.”

  “True, but the one useful thing Dad ever taught us when we were younger was how to work on cars, inside and out.”

  “You like working with your hands?”

  The knowing look he sent her way gave a new meaning to her question, but his answer was bland enough. “Yes, I do. I told you I’m remodeling my house, too. It, much like this car, was in terrible shape when I got it.”

  “The land is great.” She’d love living in a private, wooded area like that. Free to be herself. “It’s like your very own refuge.”

  “Which is why I bought it.” Sunshine reflected off the windshield, prompting him to take reflective sunglasses off the visor. He slid them into his place, hiding his eyes—but not his satisfied smile.

  This, too, then, was something they had in common. He valued his land every bit as much as she would.

  Feeling relaxed for the first time in...well, forever, Ronnie watched the movement of his hands. It was an odd, very unfamiliar feeling to let down her guard.

  “Your turn,” he murmured.

  “Hmm?” The sunshine warmed the car, making her drowsy. His seats were comfy, the ride smooth on the highway. “My turn for what?”

  “To tell me about your family.”

  The statement ripped away the feel-good moment, leaving her raw and tense all over. “I don’t think so,” she said, with a little too much emotion leaking through.

  “Why?” He reached over to brush his knuckles along her cheek. “Got something to hide?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  JACK MEANT THE words as teasing, but one glimpse of her frozen face proved he’d failed. For the flash of a moment, her gray eyes reflected a hurt so deep, it had left her wounded. His instinct was to reach out, to take her hand, and tell her things would be okay.r />
  She’d probably sock him if he did. Sympathy was not something she’d want, definitely not something she’d accept.

  Yet.

  Understanding her wasn’t easy. More often than not, she behaved like a pissed-off junkyard dog...who’d taken abuse one time too many. Snarling, snapping, ready to bite if he got too close, rather than risk being hurt again.

  At unexpected times, though, she lowered her guard—like while he’d spoken of his dad. She’d listened intently, with a sort of understanding that left him guessing about her past.

  What type of upbringing had helped mold a woman so unique? Had she been coddled, given independence, or left to her own devices? Had her parents been strict or lenient?

  She looked younger than his thirty-two years, maybe twenty-five or six. Had she always been such a strong personality? Or had circumstances made her that way?

  Gently prodding, he asked, “Siblings?”

  Her narrow shoulders lifted with a slow breath, almost as if she prepared herself. “Sister.” Then she flagged a hand. “Half sister, I guess.”

  She guessed? “Were you raised together?”

  “Yes.”

  The clipped answers and reluctance to talk might have dissuaded him from pushing, except that Ronnie never pulled her punches. If she didn’t want to answer, she’d tell him to fuck off. Maybe, even though she’d deny it, she could use a sounding board.

  Maybe she actually needed one?

  He knew he’d felt a sense of relief to unload about his father to someone totally unbiased. His mother didn’t deny him many things, but she always countered his complaints about his dad with explanations and excuses for the man. Since she’d been married to him, Jack didn’t want to say too much in case she thought he questioned her judgment.

  Brodie liked him well enough, so Jack couldn’t bitch to him.

  But Ronnie had listened, her reactions honest.

  And that, he realized, the honesty, was one of the things he enjoyed most about her. She didn’t make him guess on her thoughts, didn’t hedge on her reactions. That pure, unrefined, almost brutal honesty was so damned refreshing.