Runaway Groom (4 page)

The woman demanded more than the girl. Wriggling against him, she rode against the ridge of his dick and he wanted to give her something else to think about when she was at home tonight.

Her jab at his manhood and ability to please was valid.

And something that could be pretty quickly remedied.

One arm held her in place, the other freed the snap on her pants, and he slid eager fingers to find the hard nub hidden within.

A soft cry and her lips pulled back from him. Desire, obvious in her expression, but distress overlaid it. “We’re on a hill overlooking town in broad daylight, you goof.”

That she still wanted him, even though she hadn’t forgiven him, was a win in the battle for her heart, even if she couldn’t admit it, and he wanted to crow at the top of his lungs in joy.

Instead he growled, spun her, and pinned her to his truck. “Fuck town. Besides, it only looks like I am kissing my old flame. No big deal.”

His fingers worked their way deeper, one finding her tight passage, thumb finding her clit.

She was wet for him. Wet and hot as hell.

“I don’t forgive you, you know.”

“Uh-huh.”

Her declaration meant little since an arch of her hips and a little sigh followed it. “So you’re wasting your time. We aren’t going to…”

Her words trailed off. He found a rhythm that she seemed to like and continued to work his fingers, in and out, the tight muscles of her slick channel clutching at him. He nipped her ear, whispering words to go with the seductive play of his hands on her skin.

“When you do forgive me, I am going to bend you over the back of my truck and drive into you from behind. I’m going to spread your legs out on the hood of this same truck and lick your hot little pussy under the stars so the heavens can see you wriggle for me. Would you like that, baby? I never did that back in the day, but I want to taste you. I want to feel you come on my face. Actually, I’ve had this fantasy, lately, about you holding onto my headboard, sitting on my face and riding my tongue, hips bucking as I nibble your clit and jam my fingers into your—”

He clamped his jaw, ending the list, when her nails dug into his arms and she cried out his name. He worked three fingers inside her, thumb still circling her clit. And then she came apart, legs clenching hard around his arm, head arching back so fast he had to move quick to catch it before she slammed into the truck door.

Another quick flick of her clit and she cried out again. Just the edge of too much, if he was any judge.

Her breasts heaved in a very lovely way as she struggled to breathe.

Letting her slide back down to her feet, but still holding her so that she didn’t crumble, he rested his forehead on hers. Once her eyes finally fluttered open and her gaze settled on him, he smiled slowly. Bringing his fingers to his lips, he licked off the juice from her orgasm. “That’s one. I owe you quite a few more of those, whether you forgive me or not. You taste so sweet, my Abigail. I look forward to repaying my debt.”

Her lips tightened. “I’d prefer it if we left the past where it was rather than trying to settle old debts.”

“No, you wouldn’t. No lies between us.” He sounded stern, even to his own ears.

A one-shouldered shrug. “I can’t believe you did that, out in public.”

“You always were a bit of an exhibitionist. Figured it would be a good way to start paying you back. I will pay you back.”

“So, that was your plan, huh? Tell me why you left like a selfish asshole, and pay me back for all my missed orgasms over the years? Oh, and come up with a bullshit story about letters?”

“Wait—”
Bullshit story?

Waving a hand and readjusting her clothes, she breathed deeply. “Braxton, I won’t lie. Lying is weak and I’m not weak. This won’t work out. I want you and I can put on my big-girl panties and admit it.”

“No, sweetheart, take them off. I prefer you pantyless. Thought we discussed that years ago.”

She flushed red and he knew they both remembered him convincing her to wear dresses with no panties for him. No one knew…but them.

“Whether I want you or not, it doesn’t change what happened.”

“Nothing will. I don’t want to change what happened, to be honest. I wasn’t ready to be what you needed back then, Abs. I am now. I will prove that to you. And I’ll pay back my debt.”

She sighed. “I need to get home.”

He nodded. She moved to leave, but she paused to look at him.

“I really did love you, Braxton.”

Watching her drive away, he wondered if she realized that though her lips whispered “did,” her eyes cried “do”.

Chapter Six

November 23, 2006

Abby,

Happy Thanksgiving.

Not sure what in the hell to be thankful for this year. You always said we should be thankful for something.

I’m thankful I’m far away from that little town. Called my dad. He said your mom was nutty as always and went into one of his rants about how lucky I was to “escape” your family. I’m not sure he realizes that we used to compare battle scars from our fantastic parents.

I guess I’m thankful for that. I’m thankful I had you around when I was growing up to understand how hard it was to live with a parent like that.

I don’t know how you’re dealing with living with your mom. He says you are. That has got to…

Suck. I would say it nicer but, well, I remember what it was like when we were kids. Maybe it’s gotten better now that you’re older.

For your sake, I sure as hell hope it has.

Anyway, I’m eating a turkey dinner in a restaurant this year. Hope you enjoy having friends and family around you. Guess that is one thing I miss. Both a burden and a gift, really.

Anyway, love ya Abs,

B

“You were with that boy, weren’t you?”
 

Her mother knew she was out late the night before. She knew where she went—
gotta love small town gossips
—and recognized the truck in the drive early this morning. She also knew that Abigail had gone out for lunch. Since Abigail worked from home, all of this was suspect.

Ignoring the comment and the acidic tone that went with it, Abigail opened the applesauce cup and sat it on the tray. It had to be on the upper right-hand side of the tray at a precise angle to the spoon. If it wasn’t, Katherine, her mother, would wing it across the room. Then she would burst into tears. Abigail adjusted the cup’s position—she wasn’t up for another bad night.

“You should know better than to be out whoring around with him. He left you. How much rejection do you need before you understand that he doesn’t want you?” Abigail continued to ignore her mother and poured coffee into a plastic cup.

Turning with the prepared tray, she approached the bed. The acrid scent of antiseptic bit the air, stinging Abigail’s nose on every inhale. Her mother, the wraith-like shadow of a woman that terrorized Abigail’s childhood, frowned at her. Her thin, mostly gray hair pulled back from her face emphasized the icy pallor of her skin. Katherine wasn’t an old woman…but mental illness and lifestyle choices debilitated her body. She rarely left the house and often stayed in bed all day.

“I made you grilled chicken, Mother. And the bath lady will be over later. Darcy said she came over and played cards with you too. Did you enjoy that?” She kept her tone carefully soothing. Even the slightest change in routine could set Katherine off for a week. It was a game of balance, keeping Mother happy and being her caretaker.

“Darcy is nothing more than a gossip. Even she heard how you are off flaunting yourself around the town with that boy. He wasn’t good enough for you when you were children. He certainly isn’t good enough for you now that you’re all grown and successful.”

“Yes, Mother.” Disagreeing with Katherine was a practice in futility.

Living in the house next door to her mother wasn’t much independence, but Abigail clutched at the shards she could grasp while still upholding her responsibilities to her family. Her sister Gracie lived in the other side of the same condo as their mom and couldn’t be bothered to even check in on her. Other than collecting the mail—not that she paid any of the many bills that came in—Gracie didn’t do much of anything. She never had, taking her inheritance from Grandma and living free in the condo.

Not going into the whole messy rigmarole with Braxton on the hill was wise. How could she tell him that Mother succumbed to sickness of the mind over the years, hell-bent on her own destruction and tying Abigail to this town more thoroughly than a wedding ring ever could have? That Gracie spent her time partying like she was twenty and not taking responsibility for any of her actions—rather blaming everyone else for any trouble she got into—and leaving all the mess on her sister’s overloaded shoulders. He probably heard most of the rumors anyway. None of it was his fault and laying that guilt at his feet felt cheap and not something she wanted to do.

She didn’t lie to him. Grandma Miller got sick the day of the wedding, the start of a long, drawn out, downward spiral. Katherine, still devastated by recently divorcing Abby’s father, couldn’t care for her, leaving the weight of it on Abigail. Both women leaned on her, almost
happy
she hadn’t run off in blissful marriage to her first love.

She did what was right—shouldered all of it—learning how to balance checkbooks, schedule doctor’s appointments and becoming caretaker to them both. She got a job working from home, writing freelance stories online and articles for the local newspaper after she managed to scrape by and get an online bachelor degree in journalism. When Grandma died, she left her alone with a mother suffering from bipolar depression with psychotic episodes.

Three years ago, Abigail bought the house next door to Mother with the money left from Grandma’s death and gained some space from the cloying weight of living with her and being next door to Gracie.

Not enough space.

Poisonous darts, built from her mother’s hatred of men, festered since her divorce, and the sickness of her mind seemed to get worse every day. Mother getting upset at the idea of Braxton breezing back into her life wasn’t unexpected.

“Let’s sit and eat, you and me. We don’t need to talk about Braxton. We can talk about nice things.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed and she pinched her lips, signaling that nice things were far from on the agenda.

Back home from a trying afternoon of convincing her mother she wasn’t falling for Braxton’s line of bullshit, she finally had time to process it all.

Letters.

Out of all that he said, that particular bit was unexpected. Romantic, the idea might be, but since Abigail wrote about every report Braxton needed to get his high school diploma, it seemed an unusual lie for him to pick. He had to know she would remember how much he hated writing. But to say he wrote her every day for ten years…

How stupid did he think she was?

But he was so damn familiar
.
That word seemed the best to describe him. Something about the way he moved, the timbre of his voice, the little quirks of his brow…all of it was so familiar to her that the struggle not to be the Abby he remembered was constant while he was with her. Sure, his shoulders were broader, his arms as thick as her thighs now, all the boyish promise filled out to manly delight, but it was her Braxton under all of it.

She needed to drop the possessive in her thoughts.

But his fingers on her flesh had brought her to such a fast orgasm, and when he licked those same fingers afterwards…

Gah.
It should have disgusted her.

It didn’t. Her panties were wet just remembering his fingers going into his parted lips, wet with her juice.

The letters.

Again she slid back to the part that mattered
—
why would he concoct such a ridiculous story, so easy to track back and prove false?

Shoving on her shoes, she grabbed her cell phone off the table and dialed Carnie.

“Tell me you were as hung over as I was this morning so I don’t feel so guilty about it.”

Choking back a laugh, she shrugged, although Carnie couldn’t see it, and butt bumped the door closed. “I
was
hung over. Braxton brought me bacon.”

“Bacon? Shit, that was devious to the point of diabolical. He does know how to romance you, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t want to discuss all of it so you will have to wait for the juicy tidbits later—”

Carnie barked in laughter. “He made your tidbits juicy?”

Abigail blushed, remembering his strong arms pressing her into the side of the truck as he fingered her to fulfillment and whispered the naughtiest things in her ear. “Again,
later.
I have got to fill you in on the line of bullshit he tried to feed me.”

“Oooh, bullshit. I love bullshit. Meet you for coffee?”

“The diner?”

“On my way. Just make sure you don’t leave out the juicy bits.”

Chapter Seven

February 14, 2009