Chance of Rain (6 page)

He wanted to see the world. He needed to fight. She came up with reasons and discarded each one because it didn’t fit with the Sawyer she’d known, the one who had kissed her so sweetly and hinted at forever with private, murmured words. She might not know this man, but the boy of her dreams deserved more from her.

“I can’t leave when you’re like this.”

“Well, you can’t stay.”

They stood in that impasse until lightning flashed, illuminating them. In that second, Sawyer’s gaze lifted to hers, and her breath caught at what she saw there. Shadows under his eyes and lips drawn tight, he looked like a man past his endurance. Though she hadn’t experienced the hardships he had, or the violence, she recognized grief.

She swallowed hard in the dark that followed. “Sawyer?” She glanced at the house, its opaque windows. “Did something happen?”

A coarse laugh sent chills down her spine. “What could happen? No one comes here...except you.”

“You’re here.”

“Not for long. The second I can leave this town, I will. That’s why I can’t start anything with you.”

“Okay,” she said soothingly.

There was something strange in his voice, something strained. She felt his tiredness, his hurting, as if it were her own. The other night there had been only the two of them, but now a specter hovered over them.

“Can I sit with you? We don’t have to go inside.”

Twilight had arrived with the storm, turning the barn into a black sea with blocky icebergs. She took his arm, and though he had four times her strength, he let her lead him to a large, flat bulk. The hay bale was old and musky, but at least it was covered in canvas and softer than the ground. She sat beside him, the outsides of their thighs touching, her fingers intertwined with his.

It began to rain and the sound of it on the roof filled the room, somehow narrowing the world to him and her. This was more than she had hoped for. She wouldn’t have turned down an orgasm—it
had
been awhile—but the quiet intimacy was even better. The chance to be here for him, as a friend if not a lover.

“You don’t have to stay here,” he finally said. “It’s not like I was going to do anything stupid.”

She wondered what stupid meant, and then shivered when she realized. “I don’t mind. I like barns.”

“You like barns,” he repeated. “When was the last time you were in a barn?”

After prom with Rick Thomas.
“A long time ago.”

In fact, Rick had been the first person to touch her after Sawyer. She’d let him lift her skirts in a fit of rebellion. Sawyer might not have wanted her, but there were plenty of boys lined up to take her out. The experience had been less than fulfilling, in multiple ways.

A note of wistfulness hollowed out her voice. “And I didn’t even enjoy it.”

He groaned. “You’re killing me with this.”

Really, the man had a one-track mind. “How did you know I meant sex?”

“I wasn’t sure,” he drawled, “but now I am.”

Her soft laugh drifted into the night air. She settled back, the rough wood at her back and scratchy hay beneath her thighs more comfortable than cushions anywhere else.

Quiet crept over her skin like a balm, soothing her. A much-needed relief, considering the heated socket of his hand around hers. His palm sent messages into hers.
Imagine me touching you everywhere
, it said, and she possessed a very good imagination.

They had no business starting something, but the poignancy of their past easily overpowered the thin hope of a future together. The intimacy of the present seduced her far more than his hard, roughened body—which was saying something.

The barn had become a confessional, though whether that cast her into the role of a sinner, she didn’t know. She certainly had enough dirty thoughts to fit the part.

* * *

The odds of him getting out of this without embarrassing himself seemed slim. But somehow that didn’t matter so much when she squeezed his fingers. How had she known he was upset? Sure, the whole trapped-in-a-barn routine was a decent clue. Still, she had always been like that, knowing what he meant without him having to say it.

Sawyer closed his eyes. Tiredness and arousal warred in his body, heightening his reflexes to each flash of light and crack of thunder. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold himself back, but it was becoming clear he would find out. She couldn’t drive off onto the dirt roads in this weather—a flash flood would sweep her hunk of metal car away.

The thunder clapped above them in a series of booms, one after the other, like gunfire. The barn shook, as if the ground was reeling from an explosion. A small whimper came from beside him, and he realized he was squeezing her hand tight. He forced himself to let go. “Go wait inside the house until the rain lets up.”

“I’m not leaving you here. Tell me what’s wrong. Talk to me.”

He sighed, resigned. No way in hell was he whining about his raging erection to her, but maybe telling her the truth would put some distance between them, show her that they couldn’t be together. Maybe he’d start to believe it too. “You know about water rights?”

“I know yours got revoked.”

“Pretty much. I came here to fix up the house and sell it, but...”

“You hate it here.”

Yeah, he did, and he’d been hell-bent on getting out as fast as he could, except... “I had this idea. It’s a stupid idea. There’s a process for getting revoked. Basically they take away the rights, but I have a full year to contest it.” He paused, weighing the words against the knot in his chest. “In that time the farm would have to produce.”

She was silent for so long, he wondered if she would respond. “So what’s happening now?” she asked. “Are you going to try?”

Was he going to try? The word nicked him in his gut. “It’s not really a question of trying. I mean, the land is in pretty bad shape. The irrigation is so bad a big rain may flood the house. It’s not even close to ready for seeding.”

Her disappointment was almost palpable. He tried to explain. “I was out there all day. Every day actually, since I saw you that night at your place. I’ve turned over soil in the middle of the field to see what’s there.” Every type of vermin he recognized, and some he didn’t. “I’ve catalogued the damage to the equipment, the fences.” Extensive. “I’ve stayed out there until it felt like my back was breaking, trying to see a way to fix this.”

There was none.

Did she see, though, how far he’d come to even consider it? What a chance with her was worth to him? Even if it wouldn’t matter in the end.

“Hmm,” she said, as a peal of thunder crashed over them. He tried, and failed, to relax. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he tensed in response. Another part of his anatomy grew harder too, but she didn’t need to know that.

“You’re so wound up,” she said. “Working nonstop. What do you do for a break?”

He figured “have sex in a storm” wasn’t the right answer. It wasn’t even accurate, just wishful thinking. “I like to stay busy.”

She made a low sound of disapproval in her throat. “And when you’re not busy?”

Then he went to the diner and mooned over a cute waitress who was off-limits. “Something always needs doing.”

“Here.” She shifted beside him, getting up on her knees. “Maybe I could give you a shoulder rub. You know, massage some of the tension out of you.”

Oh
,
man.
He clenched his teeth as she put her hands on his bare shoulders. He shouldn’t let her continue. If she knew the thoughts her touch invoked in him, she’d go running straight back to her diner. Although maybe he was overestimating her innocence.

“
I
should have come here naked.
I
mean
,
with a robe or a trench coat or something.
”

No, he’d had it right.

She might have had sex before in a barn, of all places—but she wasn’t up for what he wanted. She was a relationship girl, she’d said as much, and if he’d had any doubts about that, the pie put them to rest. Here, now, he would take her rough and fast. And then he would send her away. She worked her pretty little ass off keeping her grandmother’s diner afloat, and he was a failure, unable to do the one job he had been born to do. She deserved better.

Still, he couldn’t quite bring himself to make her stop touching him. Every soft squeeze of her hands on his shoulders made his cock throb. The faint slide of her nails made him shudder. Her breasts brushed up against his bare back.
Shit.

She ran her hands down his arms. He shut his eyes, prayed for control. Her fingertips skated along his sides. Was she tracing his obliques?

She was trying to torture him, and he hoped she never stopped. Maybe he
was
more relaxed. Not in his dick, which ached liked a motherfucker, but something had unclenched in the vicinity of his stomach.

At least until her warm breath coasted the back of his neck, raising the hairs there. Then he strung up tight, his voice coming out strangled. “What are you doing?”

“I thought—” her words puffed against his skin, sent sexy chills down his spine, “—there might be something else I could do to relax you. Something more.”

Christ.
“That’s not a good idea, Nat.”

She huffed. “I hate that name. It makes me sound like an insect.”

He’d called her that because he knew it annoyed her. Anything to make her stop without actually
making
her stop, because he was physically incapable of doing so. If he turned around, if he touched her, he’d be lost.

“Well, you
are
buzzing around my ear.”

She pinched his side in retaliation, and warmth filled him that they could still be playful with each other. Until she said, “What do you have, like two percent body fat?”

Surprised, he chuffed a laugh. “More since I started eating at the diner.”

He felt an odd fullness at her admiration of his body. He would’ve expected her to be more focused on love, on finding a nice guy to settle down with. Hell, it was what she deserved. But he wasn’t going to complain about this side of her, the one that felt him up and propositioned him.

She cocked her head. “Are you blushing? I didn’t embarrass you, did I?”

“No, ma’am,” he drawled. “Feel free to objectify me all you want.”

She snorted. “You wish.”

Yeah, he really fucking did.

She was quiet a moment, her fingers stroking, gently driving him insane. “I was glad you came to see me.”

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me after...”

She circled him from behind, wrapped her arms around his dirty, sweaty ones. “I missed you.”

* * *

Natalie wanted him. It was so easy, now that they were both adults. Now that she’d put aside, if only for tonight, her fear of failing. Of being left behind. Because they were both here now, their hearts open to the moment, two bodies in heat.

And he wanted her back. Every time she said something with a double sexual meaning, he shuddered. Plus, the bulge in his jeans was kind of a giveaway. It was also impressive. She brushed her knuckles across the taut denim.

“Holy shit,” he breathed as his cock jerked against her hand.

“I know, right?” Her sex clenched in response.

“We can’t do this,” he ground out. “If we had sex, you would want...you’d expect...”

She cut him off by setting her palm to his groin. “I’d expect an orgasm, mister. But that’s it. Yeah, I’d like more than that, but I’m a big girl. If this is all we have together, I can be okay with that.” Hopefully.

His breathing was labored, but he held himself stock-still, letting her fingers explore his length through the thick fabric. She figured for a guy with his restraint it was almost a gilded invitation.

He tried again. “We’re in a barn, for Christ sakes. In the middle of a storm.”

She pressed her lips to the skin beneath his ear, delighting in his shudder. “Would you, could you, in a barn?” she teased. “Won’t you try it, Sam I am?”

Before she could react, he reached behind and swung her around. She tumbled into his lap. An indignant squeal escaped her, but a secret, liquid thrill ran through her body at his strength, at the warm bands of muscle that held her securely.

“You’re asking for trouble, little girl.”

She squirmed in his lap. “Am I going to get it?”

“Christ.” It was more a hiss than a word.

Growing up in Dearling, Texas, she wasn’t a stranger to a man with muscles. Still, Sawyer’s were something special, like chiseled stone—if stone flexed and quivered when touched. He was sculpted muscles creased by indents that seemed made for her tongue.

She wondered what he’d do if she licked him. Then she didn’t have to wonder anymore, because she was right there, snuggled up against the soft hair on his chest, the tight muscles underneath. On impulse, she touched her tongue to the flat brown of his nipple. His hips bucked beneath her, nudging her with the hard ridge of his cock, sending heat to her core.

She knew he thought she was too innocent, as if she had only ever had sex on her back with the lights off—and, yeah, that was a good way. But she could be adventurous too. It wasn’t a hardship to think of dirty things to do to his rock-hard body.

Climbing off his lap, she got down on her knees between his. She saw the carnal understanding in his eyes, the wanting. Suddenly, she was nervous. She didn’t have any particular expertise in the oral department. Hers was a standard fare delivery. Maybe she had been stupid to think this could help, that she could relieve his stress and soothe him, like some sort of magical sex fairy.

Still, it couldn’t hurt.

She undid the button on his jeans, though the zipper almost opened itself against the pressure building there. Right under the fabric, across the cold zipper, she felt the heat of his erection. It was really kind of snug in there, pointed down. She was afraid she’d yank on it wrong, and that was something she did not want to have to explain to Dr. Parker, the eighty-year-old town physician who had delivered her. An embarrassed blush spread over her face, and she put her hand to her mouth to cover a smile.