Driven to Distraction

by Lori Foster

It made her look as if she had no figure at all, and suddenly she resented that. What difference did it make if other men ogled her boobs and butt, when she had Brodie’s appreciation?

  God, and didn’t that make her sound like a desperate virgin anxious for a man’s approval? Never.

  She squared her shoulders and met his gaze.

  An odd expression, maybe caution, moved over his face. “Tell anyone what?”

  She held the door open until he got Howler inside. “About us.” That made her shake her head and she rushed to add, “Not that there’s necessarily an us.”

  “Pretty sure I wasn’t jacking off all night.” He cocked a brow in a look of irritation. “We were both there.”

  Good Lord, the things he said. “That’s not what I meant.” Being an us implied they were a couple, and she didn’t want to be presumptuous.

  “Two,” he stated, “equals an us.”

  “What I meant is that this—” gesturing, she indicated the mussed bed and room in general “—should be kept strictly private.”

  His dark brows came together in a fierce scowl. He set the tray on the dresser and turned to unleash Howler. The dog promptly plopped down to stare at the food.

  Ignoring Mary, Brodie drew two dishes from the bag. Into one he poured dry food, which had Howler scowling, too. He carried the other into the bathroom to fill it with water.

  Foot tapping in growing anxiety and annoyance, Mary waited. She’d given it a lot of thought, and if anyone discovered that she’d thrown professionalism out the window, she could be ruined. She loved her job with Therman. He paid her well.

  It was a respectable job, proving her as respectable. Risking that would be beyond stupid.

  So why did it feel as if she’d insulted Brodie?

  Maybe because he’d uncovered a part of her she hadn’t known existed, a part she’d always longed to find but couldn’t. For years she’d searched...before finally accepting defeat.

  She’d thought herself unemotional. Detached from physical pleasure.

  Oh, how Brodie had proved her wrong.

  Hand to her stomach, Mary watched as Brodie went to his knees by the dog and lifted a nugget of food. He pretended to toss it into his mouth, then fake chewed.

  It was an endearing thing he did for the dog. Acknowledging his innate kindness added to her inner turmoil.

  “Well?” she asked, wanting, needing him to say something, hopefully something that would reassure her, that would make her feel like herself again.

  Howler looked skeptical, so Brodie did it again, even adding an “Mmm, mmm,” then smacking his lips.

  The dog gave the food a second look, bent to sniff and started to eat.

  “God, he’s a tough nut to crack.” Getting back to his feet, Brodie asked in forced nonchalance, “What’s it going to be, Red? Donut or scrambled eggs and bacon? You should know, though, the eggs are powdered and taste like shit. Howler’s food might actually be better. The bacon’s okay, though. Hard to mess up bacon.” After all that nonsense muttering, he picked up a strip of crispy bacon and bit off half.

  She heard his teeth snap together, saw the harsh clenching of his jaw as he chewed. Anger?

  She searched his face and found it closed. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Yeah, I heard.” He forked up some of the eggs, eyed them grumpily, then ate.

  “I’m serious, Brodie.”

  “Yeah, I know.” His gaze flicked over her. “The ponytail says it all.”

  She knew she should have pinned it up. Everyone took her more seriously when she put on her armor. There’d been times, though, when she thought Brodie saw through it.

  Like now.

  “Thing is,” he continued, in that grating indifference, “I’m trying not to get pissed. You’re making it tough, the way you keep insulting me.”

  Folding her arms and feeling defensive, Mary gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Because I want my private life to stay private, you’re insulted?”

  He rolled a shoulder and drank some coffee. “There’s two ways to look at it. Either you’re embarrassed to have slept with me, the lowly driver, or you figure I’ll go running my mouth, bragging about what an easy lay you are.”

  Stunned by his asinine conclusions, her arms dropped. “It’s neither of those things!” God, for a badass, he was awfully sensitive. “How could you even think that?”

  That dark gaze pinned her. “How could I not?”

  Her hands clenched together and her lungs squeezed. God, she was making a muddle of things, but this was all so new to her. Being thirty hadn’t automatically given her the experience needed to deal with the proverbial “morning after,” not under these circumstances. Not when she’d enjoyed herself so much.

  Not when she wanted to enjoy herself again. With Brodie.

  Did valuing her privacy really come off as insulting? He should know better. After all, he had plenty of experience.

  Recalling that brought back a touch of irritation. “They’re dumb assumptions to make and you know it.”

  The coffee cup half hid his face as he said, “Really? You’re the one who’s always reminding me that I’m just the driver.”

  Mary shook her head in denial. Yes, she’d given him some reminders—when he’d overstepped. It didn’t make him lowly.

  Guilt still crept up on her. Now that she felt closer to him, she realized how arrogant she’d probably been.

  Huffing, as much in regret as exasperation, she said, “One, I’m not at all ashamed of what we’ve done, so please don’t ever think that. You being the driver is an important part of the job. Very important. But as a professional, this shouldn’t have happened.”

  As if he didn’t care, he ate more bacon.

  “Two,” she pressed, reaching for patience that ran thin, “I have never been an easy lay. Most would say I’m difficult.” Her face burned with that admission and took some of the crispness from her tone. “And they’d be right.”

  Brodie stilled.

  “I know it’s true because until now I’ve never...” She faltered over the personally difficult truth, but Brodie deserved to know. “That is, I haven’t...”

  He waited, his expression not exactly sympathetic, more like understanding. And very curious.

  Better just to spit it out and get it over with. “I didn’t know sex could be that good.” Good was such a wishy-washy word, but she’d feel foolish saying stupendous, magnificent or life altering.

  Actually, she couldn’t think of a really appropriate description. Because she hadn’t known it could be anything other than embarrassing and uncomfortable, he completely changed her perspective—on sex and, in some ways, on life. She felt changed. Permanently altered.

  It was so very uncomfortable—while also being indescribably wonderful—but she didn’t have the words to explain it to him.

  Setting aside the coffee, Brodie shifted his posture, going more alert, less insolent. “You’re saying it was so good, but you already want to ditch me?”

  “I don’t! God, no.” Ending this, when it had just gotten started, was definitely not her intent. Hoping to show him what she couldn’t seem to say, she stepped up to him and slid her arms around his waist, absorbing the warmth of his skin radiating through his T-shirt. Her palms encountered solid strength as she spread her fingers to touch more of him. The differences in their height put her cheek directly over his steadily beating heart. Near her ear, she felt his warm breath.

  Crazy as it seemed, her pulse raced at the simple hug.

  Was it possible she’d already missed him?

  Yes, she relished the strength in his body, his heat and scent. Yet she also liked him, him, not just his wide shoulders and muscled thighs and...his large cock.

  As if he suddenly understood, he crushed her close. “You aren’t, huh?”

  Now t
hat she was touching him, Mary forgot the topic. “What?”

  “You aren’t ditching me?”

  “No, of course not.” She gave him a tight squeeze. It was dangerous to feel this way about him; she hadn’t navigated the perils of a romantic relationship in a very long time.

  Actually, she’d never navigated anything with a man like Brodie.

  Because he was so boldly plainspoken, without an ounce of pretense, it might be easier. There’d be no guessing, no worrying what he thought. Except that he was also a rock—in more ways than one. Rock-solid, rock steady.

  Stubborn as a boulder.

  The analogy amused her. “I want you, Brodie, very much. But I also want us to be private.” Leaning back within his embrace, she smiled up at him. “I was actually looking forward to more.”

  He gave her a quick hug.

  “The thing is, I love my job and I don’t want to do anything that might give Therman a reason to fire me.” Unlike her mother, she wouldn’t place a man above everything else. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, be that person.

  “I don’t think he’d do that, hon.”

  Maybe not. Therman gave the impression that he cared about her beyond her role as an employee. Still... “Let’s not test it, okay?”

  Running one hand down the length of her ponytail until his hand slipped free, continuing on down her back to her bottom, he said, “We can be as private as you want, but I need something from you.”

  Thinking he’d name something sexual, and already excited by the prospect, she nodded. “All right.”

  “You have to open up a little.”

  “I am open.” To just about anything he wanted to try. As she’d said, she trusted him to ensure she liked it. He’d been right on the money so far, much to her excitement.

  “Love your willingness, Red,” he said with a grin. “But I was talking about your past, what makes you the woman you are, why you hide that smokin’ hot bod of yours, and where you got this crazy misconception about sex.”

  Her heartbeat jumped. He wanted her to... What? Bare her soul? Share every embarrassing secret? Panicked objections rushed forth, but before she could get out a single word, he kissed her, a long lingering kiss that tasted of coffee and breakfast and Brodie.

  A delicious combo.

  He released her and began gathering up his things. “We’ll talk on the road.”

  Dazed, Mary watched as he quickly put the room in order and threw a twenty-dollar bill on his pillow.

  See, he kept doing those things that chipped away at her barriers. A nice tip for the housekeeping staff. It was a pet peeve of hers that too many people were stingy when it came to tipping those who served. Not Brodie, though.

  In fact, he had numerous redeeming qualities: he was a terrific driver, very attuned to danger—and a woman’s body. Reliable, confident, funny.

  Plus he loved his dog.

  And his mother.

  That last made her a little uncomfortable, reminding her why she didn’t want to open up. “All those things you mentioned... They’re not really things I want to discuss.”

  “Why not?” He attached Howler’s leash. “So you bed-hopped with some losers? It’s not the end of the world, though a woman like you should always demand the best.”

  She had a feeling she had the best—and his name was Brodie Crews.

  * * *

  THEY’D BEEN ON the road damn near a half hour, and Mary hadn’t said a thing. He hated to prod her, but if he didn’t find out the origin of her issues, how could they get around them? Sure, they’d made some headway.

  But he wanted more.

  “Time’s up,” he finally said, when she turned to stare out the window. “I need to know what’s up so I don’t stick my foot in my mouth, right?”

  She stiffened but didn’t reply.

  To get her started, he prompted, “Sex before me wasn’t great?” The silence dragged out until he decided she wouldn’t fill in the blanks. “I’m not fishing for compliments—though they’re always welcome. More compliments, I mean.” Maybe joking would help ease her into conversation. “I’m already feeling like a stud. Given the way you—”

  “Sex before you sucked.” Shoulders hunched, she turned farther away. “It was either embarrassing or uncomfortable or both.”

  That sounded a hell of a lot worse than just a disappointing lay. “Uncomfortable how?”

  Her small hand lifted, waving in the air. “Physically, emotionally.”

  Every muscle in Brodie’s body went taut. “Someone hurt you?”

  At his low, lethal tone, she finally looked at him—and softened. “Not on purpose.”

  Just to be sure... “So you’re saying I don’t have to kill anyone?”

  “Definitely no murder on the horizon.”

  Now she sounded vaguely amused, and it was a hell of an improvement over her withdrawn uncertainty. “Okay, so I want details, but not details, you know?”

  She gave him a blank stare.

  Yeah, that had sounded pretty convoluted. “I want to know how you were hurt and embarrassed, but I’m not sure I could take a blow-by-blow report of you with some other dude.”

  She smacked his shoulder. “I wouldn’t tell you details like that anyway.”

  He glanced at her. “Glad to hear it.” To his relief, she was loosening up more by the minute. “What did the bozo do? Rush you? Coerce you?” He might still go after the fuck if that’d happened. “He didn’t get you off?”

  At the last, she whispered, “Bingo.”

  Ever? Brodie wasn’t even sure how to ask that. So you’ve never screamed and bucked and begged with anyone but me?

  Conflicted emotions dug into his brain. It’d be a rush to think he was the only guy who’d pushed her buttons that much. But a woman like Mary, a woman so warm and smart and confident, shouldn’t have had any issues. Any man who’d slept with her should have made her pleasure a priority.

  Clearly, some dumb fucks hadn’t.

  Thinking of her going home in embarrassment or discomfort, of any kind, bothered him a lot.

  “So,” he said, trying to find a way to ask without offending her, “you were with young guys? Geeks? Virgins themselves?”

  “No. But I can’t put all the blame on the guys.”

  He scowled. “Why not? I can.”

  Her smile made him want her again, right now, even though they were on the road with a snoring dog in the cramped back seat.

  “You’d have to understand—”

  “I’d love to. Explain it to me?” He waited, his breath held.

  They passed an exit in silence and had almost reached another when she said, “My mother sold herself. Often.”

  Stunned, he stared straight ahead, doing his best not to react. He didn’t want to do anything to insult her, embarrass her or stifle her.

  But damn, talk about a shocker.

  Brodie heard her swallow. “She wasn’t high-end.”

  Jesus. His thoughts shot to his mother, his sweet, caring, rock-solid mother, and everything inside him cramped. He couldn’t imagine—didn’t want to imagine—anything that awful.

  With his heart pounding too hard, he asked, “Where was your father?”

  “No idea. Mom wasn’t sure who he was, but she’d sometimes make up stories.” Her gaze slanted at him, defiant and proud. “I know they were made-up because they varied a lot, like she maybe couldn’t keep her own facts straight. One day he was Prince Charming, the next an abusive jerk, and a few days later, she’d say she didn’t know him at all, that he’d been a one-night stand.”

  Brodie wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell her he was sorry because knowing Mary, she’d take it as pity. He already knew her well enough to know how she’d hate that. In fact, he figured a lot of what she did was to repel sympathy of any kind.

 
He couldn’t pretend to understand, either. Few could.

  She stated, “The worst part was the town. Everyone knew everyone else’s business.”

  He gave an inner wince. “Small, huh?”

  “Even smaller than the town you live in,” she assured him. “Because I look so much like my mother, everyone expected me to either grow up the same as her, or to, in some way, be dysfunctional about sex because of her.”

  “Definitely not dysfunctional,” he promised.

  “Well.” She stroked his shoulder. “I know that now.”

  He smiled, even while the muscles in his neck tensed. He tried to picture Mary older, less starchy, but no matter how he envisioned her, she was drop-dead gorgeous. He assumed her mother must have been also.

  The pinned-up hair and unflattering wardrobe suddenly had new meaning. No wonder she was so concerned with being proper.

  Growing up, she’d probably gone out of her way to show a marked difference between herself and her mother, yet from what little she’d said, it hadn’t kept people from judging her.

  It was pity he felt, mostly for her mother, who must have been a sick, unhappy person. What would it be like to be raised by someone like that?

  He also teemed with rage on her behalf. How dare others view her only on the actions of her parent?

  Mostly he was...proud. Proud of a woman he hadn’t known that long, but somehow already felt connected to. It was like the protectiveness he felt toward family, but with the edginess of burning lust thrown in. In other words, pretty damned special.

  And she wanted to keep him at arm’s length.

  Wasn’t that a kick in the balls?

  Because he needed to touch her, to connect with her, he reached for her hand, ridiculously pleased that she didn’t hesitate to lace her fingers with his.

  “You make me feel the craziest things, Red.” He couldn’t define those things for her, not completely, so he stroked a thumb over her knuckles and asked, “Do you see your mom still?”

  “She overdosed when I was twenty-four.” Mary looked at him thoughtfully, as if curious of his reaction. “She was only forty.”

  The math jumped out at him and he whistled. “Had you when she was young?”