The Legacy of Buchanan's Crossing (13 page)

He’d started making the promises to himself that morning, important promises. Some of them were general, involving who he would be; others were specific. One was to never, ever, leave a half-full anything behind again, to never consume anything he hadn’t been able to keep an eye on from the second it was delivered until he finished it. Sure, whoever prepared or delivered it could put something in it. He’d be able find out who’d done it, though, easily enough. He didn’t consider this idiosyncrasy anything other than prudence.

So when Cayden sat down and reached for her drink, he snatched it away.

“Hey!”

“I’ll order you a fresh one when the waitress returns.”

“But this is fresh, and I’m—”

“Not drinking something that has been left unattended.”

Cayden’s pretty hazel eyes flashed, her dark full lips pressed in a firm line. God, she looked cute when she was getting ready to spit fire, even if he was clueless as to what had provoked her this time. Every other girl he’d gone out with had told him his insistence was sweet and protective.

The waitress arrived. Clint couldn’t say whether her timing was fortunate or not. He asked her to take everything back and bring another round. When she informed him he’d have to pay for both orders, he agreed with a shrug and returned his attention to Cayden-of-the-fiery-eyes.

“Why are we here, Clint?”

What? Why couldn’t she say anything that didn’t require an interpreter? “I think we’re on a date.”

“No, I mean why are we
here
?”

“You mean at The Night Crawler?”

She nodded. Her eyes were slits.

“I thought you’d be more comfortable here.”

“Really? Are you sure it’s not because you thought
you’d
be more comfortable here, where no one you know might see you with me? Well, your plan backfired, didn’t it? I don’t need to surround myself with people who look and dress the same way I do to trust they’re not going to poison or drug me.”

She was right—for the wrong stupid reason, but she was right. When he’d tried to think of where he should take her on their date, he’d ruled out every one of his hangouts, along with everywhere he’d ever taken Darcy. He hadn’t examined his motives too closely. He’d simply told himself the same thing he’d just told her.

It was bull. He’d recognized the truth the second she’d said it. “Look, Cayden, I—”

“No, you look. Look real hard, because I know I bother you every which way a man can be bothered. It even bothers you that I bother you. If you’re only in it for the obvious, why the pretense? Artifacts? Really? You had me going with that one. I almost believed you were actually interested in me as a person. Pathetic, right? A short fat girl thinking a man like you might want more from her than an easy hook-up.” Her beautiful eyes blazed fire and ice. “You know what? I can do that. You bother me plenty, as well. But if that’s all this is, it’ll be on my terms, when and where, and if you’re lucky, how.”

The way she smiled after she said the last phrase scared and aroused him. With all of that happening, it was impossible for his brain to send the words to his mouth that might derail this train wreck.

They would have been too late, anyway. He wasn’t sure how she moved so fast in those obscene shoes, but she was already half way to the door, swinging that little bag around her wrist like a weapon. It was her round ass underneath the short tight skirt and all that black lace that were killing him, though.

She flung the end of her sexy ruffled lace scarf behind her, flashed blazing eyes over a shoulder so creamy it glowed in the club’s blue light, and said, “Oh, no need to find your tongue now. You won’t be needing it tonight.”

The hell he wouldn’t. Only the promise of what would come later had allowed him to restrain himself from taking a taste on the dance floor—that and grave doubts as to being able to stop. God, talk about painful pleasure.

“Here’s your order. Again,” the waitress drawled sullenly before unloading her tray.

Another interruption he couldn’t exactly say he welcomed, though it was definitely for the best. Clint threw a few twenties at her and hit the door at a trot.

Cayden was halfway across the parking lot, silhouetted in the weak beam of the parking lot’s single lamp, still swinging her bag and that sizzling ass of hers. She hadn’t made it to the corner where he’d parked his truck, in the hope it would be safer there than closer to the door.

Catching up with her was easy. Not bending down to kiss her would have been tough. Not pulling her into his arms, impossible. He wondered later what had pushed him past the point of no return—whether it had been her taste, her scent, or the passion of her temper.

She tried to push him away. He pulled her closer, pressed his mouth to her moist lips with greater demand until they parted. The kiss, sweet and hot, burned through him. He loosened his grip on her shoulders, held her head with one hand, massaged the ass that had been tormenting him since he’d first laid eyes on it with his other. Her hands slipped around his back, sliding over his new T-shirt, then lower, tugging, pulling, rubbing, driving him beyond crazy. They must have taken a breath in there somewhere, but he couldn’t remember when.

He wasn’t aware they’d moved until his knuckles brushed against something solid and cold. He blinked, recognizing the rear panel of his truck in spite of the darkness. The parking lot light must have burned out while they were busy. The thought slipped away as he glided his fingers across the silky skin of her shoulders. He oh-so-lightly trailed them lower until they made contact with the lace trim of the corset. He slipped his fingertips beneath it while his lips left hers to taste the spicy skin below her ear, then her throat. A groan escaped from deep in his chest.

“Whoa, big fella.”

Her voice was too low to be convincing, and the heat of the whisper in his ear had the opposite effect of the words’ intent. He nuzzled his lips in the top of her cleavage and inhaled. A new scent mixed with the fresh green rain he found so irresistible and soothing. And soothing wasn’t the word for it. The raw edge of it bypassed his brain altogether, shooting straight to his aching—

“Clint, please. We’re standing in a parking lot.”

Her voice was still low, but it meant business. He withdrew reluctantly as the actual words sank in and the truth of them registered, more or less.

Right. Standing. Outside. He could fix that. Would have to, if he interpreted her tone correctly.

Extricating his keys from the front pocket of the new jeans in his current condition took serious careful effort. Lifting Cayden into the truck took none. Letting go of her and walking around to get in on the driver’s side took the most. He slid behind the wheel, eager to get back to business. Something small and unyielding poked his ass. He groped for the offending article, wrestling it out from under him.

“Smart, leaving it out here.”

“Huh?”

“Your phone. You may want to turn it off.”

He’d hazily recalled leaving it in the truck because it didn’t fit comfortably in the pocket of his new jeans. What was Cayden talking about? Oh yeah, his old one had blown up when he’d kissed her in the apartment. She’d gone into this teeming strangeness over the coincidence, then she’d gotten mad when he’d tried to reason with her, and… He powered it down, tossed it on the dash, and leaned in for another kiss. He could be stupid later.

“Clint, about what I said.”

Shit. To be a moron or not to be a moron. A question that had plagued men when it came to women long before Shakespeare had picked up a pen.

A powerful male instinct must have taken over, because he said, “I’m sorry if I’ve said or done anything to make you think I’m embarrassed of you. Look, when I picked the The Night Crawler instead of one of my usual spots, I didn’t give it much thought, honest. Next date, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

He slipped his arm behind her back and pressed soft kisses against the nape of her neck.

“Next date? You’re awfully confident, Mr. MacAllen.”

He wouldn’t be if she hadn’t sounded so breathless.

“You mean you’re not going to let me make up for this one, Ms. Sinclair?”

He nibbled on her ear.

“Why don’t we see how it ends?”

“Oh yeah, ‘how.’ Thanks for reminding me. Tell me all about ‘how,’ Cayden.” He was scattering kisses, nibbles, and little licks across her neck, in the hollow of her throat, inching lower.

“You’ve a, ah, oh… Okay. A girl can change her mind. ‘Now’ could be ‘when.’”

“Sounds great.” He skimmed beneath the lace up her bare thigh until he reached the satin and turned his head to cover her mouth with his.

She pushed him back with a finger on his lips. “But not the ‘where.’ I’ll settle for my apartment tonight since it’s close. I have someplace else in mind for next time.”

Where. Right. Apartment. Okay. As long as he could clear his head enough to drive. Jesus, it was almost like being drunk.

“Close is good,” was all he could manage verbally while attempting to summon some of his blood back into his brain. He couldn’t drive to her place on instinct, even if it had brought him this far.

While she scrabbled for her key in the cramped tiny bag, Clint nuzzled her neck from behind. The heat ricocheting between that particularly sensitive spot and the delicious callused hands on her waist interfered greatly with her efforts to get her apartment door unlocked. Only careless urgency finally guided her hand in the dimly lit hall. The super hadn’t replaced the light bulbs since Clint’s last visit.

The corner streetlight, which normally offered her home a bit of illumination, was out as well, so the room was nearly pitch black. It didn’t appear to bother Clint—whose lips had found hers easily in the dark and whose fingers were sliding over her satin skirt, kneading the small area it covered—any more than the death of The Night Crawler’s parking lot lamp had.

He broke for a deep breath, which was good since Cayden wasn’t sure if she was light-headed from lack of oxygen or from what he was doing to her.

“God, Cayden, as good as your ass feels in this stuff…” He tugged up the hem of her skirt.

“You won’t get anywhere in that direction, it’s too tight. I need to—”

“Already there.”

The zipper tab skated. Her skirt fell as soon as she pressed her thighs together. His hands, those fabulous rough hands, simultaneously scratched and caressed the tender skin of her butt cheeks. The best reason yet for wearing a thong.

“Oh yeah. Even better. So soft, so damn squeezable.” He was kissing her again.

He had a point. She put her own hands to better use than lamely clenching and unclenching at her sides. His tight jeans looked great, but they lacked the silky feel of his T-shirt. She had no other choice than to pop the top button of his jeans and grab that zipper. From there, sneaking beneath the waistband of his shorts and gliding her hands across the firm apples of his butt was a sensuous slide down the well-sculpted slope to complete shamelessness.

His thick hardness nudged her belly through the thin front of his boxers. She wanted it lower. She strained up at the same time he lifted her. “Let’s get rid of this skirt,” he said.

She wiggled and kicked to free her feet. One of her shoes slipped off. The tinkle of shattering glass made her giggle absurdly.

A screeching, “Bad girl! Very bad girl!” and flapping of wings informed her Nevermore was not only present, but more than a little vexed. He’d promised to behave next time he saw Clint. She hadn’t, though. For some unfathomable reason, she found it all hilarious.

Before she could worry what Clint was thinking, her body was jiggled by the spasms of his suppressed laughter. He set her down and fell against her, sandwiching her between himself and the door. Then his snorts gave way to big loud guffaws.

“That bird is freakin’ priceless.” Clint pulled away from her. He was, from what little she could see, doubled over with laughter.

The sharp crack of him slapping his powerful thighs was both a relief and a subtle reminder of what they’d been doing. Cayden stopped laughing. He did, too. Even in the dark, her skin tingled under the heat of his silent gaze. She looked down to see herself standing crookedly on the remaining shoe, her own bare thighs so white they were visible in the dark room.

Then he was back, lifting her face to meet his. Some of his earlier kisses had been demanding. This one ravished her knees right out from under her. He caught her, slid his arms beneath her legs, and lifted her. Nobody had ever done that before. None of her previous boyfriends would have been able to.

“Uh, Cayden, where’s the light switch? Breaking both our necks on the way up to your bed would definitely interfere with my plans for you.”

“No switch.” She forced the words past her over-worked lungs. “Turn one hundred-seventy degrees.”

He paused, calculating the radial measurement, no doubt. They wheeled carefully in the dark.

“Now what?”

She felt like he’d got it, probably within five degrees or so.

“Take six steps. There’s a candle sconce with a match-holder attached to the railing. I’ll light it since your hands are full.”