by Heller, JB
I snort to myself as she hoofs it back to the service counter and starts picking out some of my favourite treats.
I needed a stiff drink after that run-in with the redhead. I’d hoped it would help deflate my stiff dick.
So here I am, taking up space against the bar at Hank’s Tavern. I can’t remember the last time I set foot in this place. My eyes roam over the dark-stained wooden shelves filled with booze and backed by mirrors. The place has a classy feel to it now that I definitely don’t recall it having back in the day.
My forehead wrinkles as I take in my reflection behind the bar. When did I get so old? Glancing around, I notice the crowd is mostly early twenty-somethings bumping and grinding on the dancefloor. There are only a few couples around my age sitting in the booths that line the left wall.
“Need another?” Hank asks me, pulling me from my perusal.
Facing him, I grin. He looks the same as he ever did: grey hair shaved close to his scalp on the sides and styled to perfection on top. The guy’s a silver fox, and the ladies love it. I reach out and shake his offered hand.
“What the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods, Eli? I haven’t seen you in here since, well, I don’t even know.” He shakes his head, an easy smile on his face as he says, “Elijah Marshall. Now that’s a name I haven’t said in years.”
“How you doin’, old man?”
“Who you callin’ old?” he grunts.
The truth is, Hank is only a couple of years older than me, putting him in his mid-thirties. Poor guy started going grey before he even left high school. But he went with it. I couldn’t imagine him any other way now.
I roll my eyes at him, knowing he’s not offended. “Looks like some things never change,” I say, flicking my gaze to the end of the bar where half a dozen chicks take turns sending him come hither glances. Super grey, but super fit—that’s Hank.
He smirks. “You know it, brother.” He winks then hands me a fresh beer. “You hanging around for a bit? We should catch up. I’ll take a break in a few.”
I shrug. “I ain’t got nowhere else to be.”
Settling into my stool, I take a swig from the bottle clutched in my hand. Asher’s words play on a loop in my head. I guess I could hand a little more of the load over to them, but Asher’s got his graphic design shit going on, and Juda’s still a kid. I want him to decide what he wants for himself, not be stuck on the farm out of a misplaced sense of duty or obligation to me.
“You look older than me, mate. What’s on your mind?” Hank asks, sliding onto the stool beside me.
I sigh. “The boys think I need to get laid.”
Hank snorts. “Amen to that. When was the last time you were with a woman? By the look of you, I’d say it’s been at least a year.”
Frowning, I scrub my palm over the scruff on my cheek. Is it really that obvious? “It’s been a while.” There’s no way I’m telling him exactly how long. That shit’s embarrassing. “I’m busy, man.”
“Aha, let me give you some solid advice.” Hank rests an elbow on the bar and leans closer to me, his expression serious. “If you don’t take care of your man”—his eyes drop to my crotch for a fraction of a second—“he’s going to stop working altogether. You know the saying, ‘If you don’t use it, you lose it’? It’s true. So, get your head out of your arse and go get some.”
“That’s it. That’s your solid advice?” I ask, feeling dejected. “I was hoping for something insightful.”
He shrugs. “I own a bar; what do you want from me? I’m not Doctor Phil.”
I tip back the rest of my beer and place the empty bottle on the bar. Slapping Hank on the back, I tell him, “Thanks for the chat.” My stool scrapes against the floorboards as I stand. “I’ll see you around.”
Trudging out to the parking lot, I have no more clarity than I did when I left the house.
This is not happening. I groan, dropping my head to the steering wheel as smoke pours from under the hood of my car. Maybe it has something to do with that stupid little red light on the dash I’ve been ignoring for the last two weeks?
I should have had Rhett check it out when he and Reagan were over the other day. But I was too busy drinking all the wine.
Pulling my shoulders back, I hit the hood release button and get out to inspect the damage. I cough and splutter as I attach the little latch to keep the hood up, then step back. Smoke continues to billow. I swipe my hand around my face, trying to get a clear look at what’s going on in there.
I bite my lip as I peer at the setting sun. Darkness is encroaching. This is not an ideal situation. I’m stranded on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Shit. Climbing over the driver’s seat, I rummage for my phone in my big bag. Relief sweeps through me when my fingers curl around the smooth rectangle, only for my heart to sink when I see that my battery is dead. I pace back and forth a few feet away from the smoky mess that is my vehicle. It’s okay. No need to panic. Someone will drive past and offer you assistance any minute now, and everything will be fine.
Country folk aren’t usually serial killers, are they?
Oh God, I’m going to die. A psycho, plaid-wearing redneck is going to abduct me and lock me in their sex dungeon.
I’m hyperventilating. I need to calm down, but I can’t. Pressing my hand to my chest, I bend at the waist and try my best to take deep breaths into my lungs. Then, the sound of tyres crunching on the loose gravel at the side of the road steals my attention, and panic really sinks in.
My fight-or-flight instinct kicks into action. When a tall guy approaches me through the fog of smoke, I send my booted foot in the direction of his crotch as hard as I can. My boot meets his jeans, and he sinks to his knees instantly. I take the opportunity to run to the open door of his truck, praying I’ll find a phone.
Before I know it, big hands wrap around my waist and tug me backwards into a hard chest. I scream and thrash with all my might.
“Jesus, lady, what the hell?” a deep voice grumbles as strong arms curl around my body, pinning my flailing limbs to my sides as I continue to kick and squirm.
“Let me go! I will not be your sex slave!” I scream into the night air.
He freezes.
Then drops my arse to the ground.
I catch my breath before I turn to face my attacker.
You have got to be shitting me.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I look down at the woman crumpled at my feet only to be met with the same hazel eyes that were taunting me earlier this afternoon. But this time, they’re filled with fear.
Then, her fear morphs into annoyance, I think. Reaching down through the smoke that’s pouring from her engine, I blindly offer my hand with what I hope is a friendly smile. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure her. The “sex slave” comment ricochets around inside my brain. What has she been watching?
She blinks up at me, then gingerly places her palm flush against mine, wrapping her fingers around my hand. The contact feels good. The press of her soft skin against my rough skin—although completely innocent—has the hairs on my arm standing at attention.
As soon as she’s back on her feet, she yanks her hand free of my grasp. Her eyes narrow to slits as she glares at me. “Are you following me?”
I snort, shocked at her accusation. “Not likely.”
Her glare only intensifies. “So how do you explain this then?” She gestures wildly between us with a pointed finger.
Strands of rich red hair hang in her eyes. I itch to move them, tuck them behind her ear, but she’d probably kick me in the balls again. “Explain what? That I saw a car broken down on the side of the road and pulled over to help?” I shove my hands into my pockets, pushing down the urge to touch her.
She swallows, and her tense facial features relax ever so slightly. Then she goes and licks her top lip like she did earlier, and my dick twitches in my jeans.
After what seems like a lifetime of silence, she stretches her hand out towards me. “I
’m Charlotte. Thank you for stopping. There seems to be something wrong with my car.”
I glance at her offered hand, taking it with caution just in case she freaks and tries to karate chop my arm off. Her delicate hand fits right inside mine. So perfectly. I hold onto it for a beat too long before releasing it. “Elijah. I’ll, uh, take a look for you, but I can’t make any promises.”
The smoke that surrounded us moments ago has dissipated somewhat, and I poke around under the hood until I find the problem. “I think you’ve got a busted head gasket.”
“What exactly does that mean?” she asks.
Gripping the back of my neck, I try to explain it to her. “Basically, you shouldn’t be driving it anywhere. You’re going to need a tow truck to pick it up and take it to a garage.”
She licks her lip again. Jesus, she’s trying to kill me. My heart thuds as she stands there staring at me with a blank expression on her gorgeous face. “I can take you back to my place so you can call someone?”
She raises a brow. “Can’t I just use your phone here?”
I shake my head. “We’re in a dead zone. There’s no service, but we’ve got a landline back at the house.” I point towards the porch lights shining in the distance. “That’s my place there. It’s only about a K or so up the road.”
Charlotte glances in the direction I’m indicating, then squints. Releasing a deep sigh, she runs her hands down her sides, straightening her dress. “Okay. But I swear, if you try to shove me in a dungeon or attempt to turn me into a skinsuit, you will regret ever meeting me.”
My lips curve despite my efforts not to smile. “Understood,” I tell her, then open the passenger door and help her climb into the cab.
The drive is short, and Charlotte mumbles to herself the whole way about country folk giving her the creeps. I don’t take offense. It’s clear she’s a city girl, through and through. Pulling into my parking spot, I notice Juda is home from his exploits. This ought to be interesting.
Charlotte meets me in front of my truck, and I offer her my arm. Tentatively, she curls her fingers around the crook of my elbow, and I lead us up the path to the house.
“I should warn you. My brothers are home, and the youngest one can be a bit …” I try to think of a way to accurately describe Juda. “… over the top.”
Lifting her chin, she frowns up at me. “Okay …”
I can see the question in her eyes. “Sometimes, he’s a bit much. I just wanted to warn you, because he’s probably going to make inappropriate sexual remarks when we walk in the door. He’s been on my back about my lack of a sex life ...” Christ, I can’t believe I just said that out loud. My mouth slams shut, stopping any other embarrassing facts from pouring out.
A wicked grin twists her full lips, then she winks. “I think I can handle him.” Her eyes make a slow run down my body then come back to meet mine.
I swallow. Yep, definitely trying to kill me.
The second we’re through the door, she shocks the shit out of me by spinning on her heels and pressing her body into my chest, then backing me up until my body hits the hard wood. I blink down at her. “What are you doing?” I whisper as she pushes up on her toes, bringing her mouth closer to mine.
She glances over her shoulder at my brothers sitting on the couch, their jaws unhinged. Charlotte smirks at them, then wraps her hands around the back of my neck, tugging my face down to meet hers. Her eyes fix on mine, then her tongue caresses my bottom lip in a long, smooth stroke. My eyes close—it feels so damn good. She tilts her head to the side, then her sweet tongue is inside my mouth.
My dick hardens as I taste her. I dig my fingers into her full hips and squeeze, lifting her and urging her legs around my waist. She complies, hooking her ankles at my lower back.
I switch out positions, pinning her to the door and taking over the kiss. She moans softly and wriggles her hips against me. Fuck, I want inside her so bad my balls throb with every slide she makes against my denim-covered dick.
Breaking the kiss, I press my forehead to hers, staring into her eyes as I pant for air. It’s been a long fucking time since I kissed a woman like that. And it’s got me wanting more. My heart hammers behind my ribs, and my cock pulses with need.
“Charlotte,” I breathe, “what are we doing?”
She swallows, her eyes glazed with lust. “I …” She releases a heavy sigh, then shakes her head. “Shit, I’m sorry. Please put me down.”
What am I doing?
I didn’t mean for it to go that far. When he mentioned his brother giving him shit about his sex life, I thought it would be funny to screw with him. And then I saw it was the cocky kid from the bakery on the couch, and next thing I knew, I was kissing Elijah like my life depended on it.
Elijah’s forehead is still resting against mine. “Okay. Sorry, I got carried away,” he says softly.
I feel every word against my damp lips and wish like hell I could keep kissing him. He tastes so good: like beer and man. I sigh as he gradually lowers me to my feet, letting me feel every part of his hard, sculpted body on my way down.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Stupid hormones, sending me on an emotional rollercoaster just for the hell of it. I’ve felt too many varying emotions in such a minimal timeframe: frustration at my car, anxiety because I couldn’t fix it, annoyance at the battery life of my phone, terror at the possibility of becoming a skinsuit, then all-consuming lust.
Exhaustion takes over, leaving me feeling tired and heavy on my feet. Tonight has been… I don’t even know what to call it. Overwhelming? Yes, that’s definitely the word.
I slump against the door.
Elijah’s calloused palm cups my cheek. “You okay?”
Nodding, I gaze up into his concerned eyes and plaster on a fake smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I wink. “Put on a good show for your brothers, huh?” Shifting my gaze for a moment, I see they’re still watching us closely, their eyes wide.
Elijah straightens, dropping his hand from my cheek and taking a step away from me. “If it was all for them…” he shakes his head, “…you shouldn’t have.”
I bite down on the corner of my lip, drop my gaze from his, and shrug. “It was nothing. I just thought you might like a little payback on your brother. Sounded like he was getting under your skin.” I will absolutely not tell him that it may have started out that way, but he’s the reason it escalated. I only planned to flirt my arse off and maybe kiss him. Just a peck or two.
His jaw clenches and he turns his back to me. “The phone’s this way,” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards a hallway, and I follow.
He leads me to an office with a large timber desk backed by larger glass windows and bookshelves lining the walls on either side of it. Elijah shuffles some papers around, locates the phone, and hands it to me. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he says. Then he’s gone, and I’m left alone.
I round the desk and take a seat in the high-back leather chair before spinning it to face the window. All I see is black. Glancing back to the phone in my hands, I press the green Talk button and dial Reagan. It’s the only number I know by heart. Nobody memorises phone numbers anymore—that’s what mobile phones are for.
It rings and rings, then rings some more before connecting with her voicemail. I wait out her recorded message, then leave one for her. “Hey, Reags, it’s me. I’m stuck in Bumfuck, Nowhere, and my car broke down. Please call me back. I need you to come get me. Some guy stopped to help me and said it’s a… umm…”
“Elijah?” I call out, hoping he’s nearby so I can ask him what’s wrong with my car.
A moment later, his head pops around the doorway. “Yeah?”
“What’s the thing that’s busted on my car called?”
He props himself against the frame, his ankles crossed. “The head gasket.”
“Right,” I mutter, then go back to leaving my message for Reagan. But I’m met with a dial tone. Crap, it cut out. I punch in her number again, then start my new message whe
re the last one left off. “So, Elijah says the head gasket is blown or busted or something. The point is, I can’t drive it, and I’m stuck in a house full of strange men. My phone is dead, so call me back on this number. Love you.” Satisfied with the information I’ve provided, I blow a bunch of air kisses into the receiver then hang up.
I can feel Elijah’s eyes on me. I swallow, then lift my eyes to meet his.
Ever so slowly, one of his thick, dark brows arches at me.
“What?”
Crossing those damn sexy arms over his broad chest, he says, “Stuck in Bumfuck, Nowhere, in a house full of strange men?”
My focus is still stuck on his defined forearms when I answer him. “Well, what would you call it?”
His deep chuckle has my eyes darting back up to his face. “Now what?”
A sexy grin curves his lips, and dear God, the man has dimples. This isn’t fair. The arms, the dimples, the thighs … God is definitely testing me.
It’s been an hour, and Charlotte’s friend still hasn’t called her back. She’s sitting on the couch watching a movie with my brothers, and I’m sitting at the dining table, staring at her.
She seems relaxed, comfortable even. And I can’t make myself look away. She’s a breath of fresh—albeit crazy—air. She already told Asher and Juda about mistaking me for a serial killer and kicking me in the nuts, which they, of course, found hilarious.
Juda keeps looking at her like he wants to eat her, and Asher has his arm draped over the back of the couch behind her. Both those little fuckers are trying to steal her from me.
No, wait. She’s not mine.
But tell that to my pounding heart.
I grit my teeth, the direction of my thoughts darkening my mood.
Delilah trots down the hall, spots me at the table, and breaks into an excited gallop-bounce-run-type thing that looks comical. “Hey, baby, you been napping?” I ask, giving her a scratch behind her big, banana-shaped ears. She nuzzles into my chest, her front legs propped on my lap.
