The Possibility of Trey (12 page)

It was, in a word,
amazing
.

And it only got better as his head tilted and the hand on my neck went between my shoulder blades to pull me close, closer until we were twisted and pressed chest-to-chest. Where our bodies attached, I could feel his heartbeat that seemed to be going as fast as my own.

Oh, yes
, my mind exclaimed as he softly licked the seam of my lips, his tongue entering to taste and touch.

Oh, yes,
please,
my heart sang.

I couldn't help my hands as they went to his shoulders, one moving further upward to snake into his long hair in order to hold his head to me. Nor could I help the small noise that rose involuntarily as our kiss, the most perfect kiss I'd ever,
ever
had, spiraled upwards in both heat and intensity.

It was long.

It was wet.

And it was
hot
.

The kind of hot that when he finally and with seeming reluctance raised his head actually found me disappointed it was over.

I wanted more.

Much, much more.

"I think that's about all we're gonna fucking be able to do, Tex, unless you want the neighbors to view their late-night porn in real life," he murmured, dropping another soft, sweet peck to what I was sure my now swollen mouth. His words helped bring me back into myself and I realized I was on his lap, being tightly held in his arms as we stared at one another.

If what I saw on Trey's face and what was boldly pressing into my ass was right, he was just as turned on as I was.

From just a kiss.

A
kiss
!

I could only nod and push myself up off his lap to sit back on my side of the porch.

"That was…" I started searching for the right word as I straightened my top and tried to pull my jeans up.

"Fucking awesome," he completed as he realigned himself in his jeans. A move which I caught and reveled in.

I'd done that to him.

Me.

To Trey Jackson, the freaking biggest dog in a bad-ass motorcycle club.

All with just a kiss!

"And not enough, Dallas," he murmured, turning his face to me though I couldn't look at him. I was afraid of what he might see in my eyes my face if I so much as glanced his direction. "Not nearly fucking enough."

I swallowed deeply and nodded again, carefully keeping my eyes on his bike.

"It's late and we both have work tomorrow." His voice while still deep, seemed cautious somehow. "But I'd like to see you again. I'm still working on the other but if I can't get it set up, can I come back on Friday?"

My heart soared at his words and I swallowed again before letting my, "sure, Trey. That sounds great," out into the air.

He stood and reached for my hand. "Walk me to my bike, Tex."

"Tex?"

"Dallas. Texas. You know." He said with a soft chuckle as he pulled me to his side and draped an arm across my shoulders. The weight of it and the feel of his body pressed into my side caused my knees to wobble. "Tex just seems to fit."

"Jest as lawng as ah dawn't haf a' tawk laik dis," I countered on a drawl and got another double dimple and a squeeze from the arm on my shoulders in reply. He dropped his arm and bent down to press a short, wet one against my mouth before swinging his leg up and around his huge motorcycle.

"I'm gonna want you right here," he said, slipping his key in the ignition and pressing a hand to the seat behind him.

"Can't wait, Trey," I said on a tummy tumble.

"See you tomorrow?"

I shoved my hands in my back pockets and took a step back as the bike roared to life. Realizing I hadn't answered him, I nodded. He gave me a chin lift and then pulled away.

I lifted a hand from my pocket and kept it up until he turned the corner and was out of view. Then I did a whole lot of dancing all the way up the walk, over the steps and back into the house.

Some steps which even included fist pumps and some serious ass wiggles.

"Motherfucker," Trey groaned as soon as his eyes opened, caught in the same state he'd gone to sleep in. His grip, holding his morning wood, was in such a way he knew he'd been working it even before he'd even fucking woke up. Before he even remembered his very vivid dream of a wet and naked Dallas sweetly whispering, 'with you, yeah'.

And he hoped the selfie he knew he'd be doing in the shower would help tame the beast before he went to work because the two he'd had to do the night before in order to get to sleep hadn't done shit.

Although he didn't understand why.

Not with only the memory of the feel of her in his arms and of her mouth under his. It had been cock-teasing of the worst sort. Something so perfect and so goddamn right, so innocently shared that he hadn't wanted to quit. Hadn't wanted to fucking let her go but to drag her some place,
any
place with a modicum of privacy and explore whatever sang between them again and again.

After his shower, he pulled out a pair of jeans, still swiping the towel around the dripping ends of his hair.

Christ, it couldn't have been
that
good, could it?

A kiss of such magnitude that he felt it the next morning wasn't possible.

Or was it?

Shit, he'd better get a grip on whatever held him captive or he'd be sporting blue balls by lunch.

His attitude wasn't much better when he parked his bike in the forecourt, his eyes automatically searching for her maroon truck in a sea of SUV's, trucks and beaters. But it wasn't in its normal spot. In fact, it wasn't anywhere his eyes lit on as he moved to the heavy glass doors of Hellion Construction. Offering a quick good morning to Rita, he stomped past his office and down to where Silo held court.

"Where's Sheridan?" he growled, stepping right up to Silo's junkyard of a desk.

"Called in at 5.35 saying she had something she had to take care of," Silo shot back with one hand on the phone as the other one searched through the stacks of shit littering the expanse of the massive desktop.

"Who'd you send?" At Silo's blank look, Trey's voice took on an edge of menace. "Sheridan, remember? Who'd you fucking send?"

"Christ, Trey. Shit, it didn't even occur to me…" But Trey was already running for the door and was on his bike before Silo could even complete the sentence.

The ten minute ride felt like an hour as the different 'what if' scenarios flew through Trey's mind, each one more ugly than the last as it unfolded. He was up and off his bike, banging on the front door almost before the engine died.

Someone had taken out the large front window, the one that had provided the romantic glow when he'd sat with her on the porch just hours ago. Now it was covered with an ugly piece of plywood that had been brutally screwed into the frame.

He heard the snicks and clicks of the locks before her mother's trembling voice asked, "Mr. Jackson?" Not wanting to scare the delicate older woman, Trey had no choice but to use a hand on her thin shoulder to gently push her back inside before closing and relocking the door.

"Trey?" he heard yelled from deep in the bowels of the house before Dallas came barreling down the hall. When he met her at the mouth of the hallway, she stopped dead in her tracks, her nickel-colored eyes wide and holding a look that hit him at his knees. "Trey?" she said again, but this time it was on a whisper.

Without a thought, the large man yanked her to him so relieved, so fucking overjoyed that she looked healthy and whole in spite of the fear he'd seen so clearly beaming from her eyes. He wrapped her in his arms and held on as if she was trying to get away even though she was clinging to the edges of his t-shirt beneath his cut. "Are you all right?"

"Yes," he heard from a place somewhere around his nipples. "We're fine. Shaken but fine."

He glanced up and saw her father making his way down the hall looking ten years older than the last time he'd seen him. "Fuckers did their fucking shit without anyone seeing them. Brick through the window. Scared the shit out of all of us. Police already took our goddamn statements and Dallas gave them the fucking brick with the note. Neighbor helped us put up the wood."

Trey liked how the old man reported. It was short, succinct and to the point. "Note?" He asked, peeling his girl from his chest and looking down at her flushed face.

"B-blabbing b-bitches g-get b-broken," Mrs. Sheridan stuttered from behind him. Trey moved Dallas and himself out of the way so her dad could get to his obviously overwrought wife.

"Now, Mary. You were supposed to be resting, honey," Mr. Sheridan said, wrapping his wife in his one arm and leading her to the sofa. "Everything's good. We're all safe and Mr. Jackson's here."

"Is there someplace we can talk, Tex? Uninterrupted?" Trey asked softly.

"My room," she said and turned to lead him to the door just past Drake's. Glancing as he passed, he saw the boy's room had been cleaned to within a inch of its life with the bed made and everything dusted to a high shine.

Dallas's personal space was a surprise. First was the twin bed one he was sure she'd probably slept on ever since she'd been a young girl. But it was the complete and total whiteness of her room that made him stop in the doorway. White walls, curtains and braided rug matched the chest, bed and chair. There were frames on the walls, lacquered a bright white but that only seemed to contain some kind of writing in them.

"Have a thing against color?" He asked with a grin when she sat at the foot of the bed, leaving the chair for him to sit on. He saw an answering grin that she aimed at her socks while he closed the door.

"It looks clean and isn't something you have to fuss with," she offered by way of explanation.

"Okay. I know you already told the cops but run it by me again," he started as he settled himself in the creaky chair.

"I heard the crash about ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off. I knew it came from the front of the house so I grabbed Slugger and inched my way down the hall. I could feel air, like the front door was open or something so I assumed someone had tried to break in."

"Slugger?"

She reached under the bed and brought out a very large and very solid baseball bat. "My version of home protection."

"And can you protect with it?"

"Women's All-Star Softball. Our team made regional three years running," she explained, sliding it back into place.

"Impressive. Continue."

"I saw the glass all over the floor first then the brick. I stepped out just enough to see the window and then went to check on my folks." Her voice was holding steady in spite of her chin tremor and Trey knew repeating what happened was costing her. He moved and sat next to her on the bed, his weight taking his ass almost down to the box springs.

"And the fucking note?" He draped his arm around her shoulders and felt her melt into his side.

"It was affixed with that clear tape, like you use for shipping," she explained. "The cops took it with them after I was able to convince them none of us had touched it."

"Dallas!" It was her dad's voice but yelled at such a level the bedroom door shook. His girl was up and out of the room like a shot. "Call 911!"

By the time Trey completed her demand and made it into the front room, the older woman was in dire circumstance. Mr. Sheridan was trying to help position an oxygen mask over her face while Dallas ran back to one of the bedrooms. He shifted to the older man's side and took over, carefully getting both the plastic cup and the stretchy holder in place before reaching for the crank of the oxygen tank.

"How you holding up, beautiful?" he asked and pressed his middle finger against the pulse point on Mrs. Sheridan's wrist as he watched her struggle for breath.

Her breathing was thready even with the mask and her pulse was doing a weird, fast rhythm much like his dad's had during the attacks Trey had been privy to.

"Ambulance is coming and your Lally is rounding up your meds," he advised keeping his voice calm and steady. "Mr. Sheridan? If you're going to the hospital with her you might want to get your jacket and shoes as well as some for her."

Dallas was shrugging into her own coat and stomping into her boots while juggling two large plastic zippered bags of pills and a huge file folder. She shoved a fucking monstrosity of a key ring at him. "I'll go in the ambulance with her, if they let me. Can you take my dad in the truck?"

Trey stood to open the door for the paramedics that were heard but not yet seen as the other two crowded close to his girl's mom. Christ, this was so fucked up he didn't know what to do or where to start. Though he knew he was going to be there for whatever the little family needed.

After the older woman was loaded into the ambulance, Trey ensured the house was locked and helped the old man into Dallas's truck which was just as clean as her room had been.

"Seems we're going awful slow, son," the older man protested, his one hand in a choke hold on the neck of his jacket.