Till I Kissed You (14 page)

Regan and Andrew were standing close together and holding hands unless he was mistaken. Were they headed to his place or hers? Aggression snaked through his body, tensing his muscles.

“Well, Sawyer, I'm not sure what we've agreed to.” Terry's voice veered into a giggle. She'd consumed a majority of the second bottle of wine on her own. Richard would advise pressing his advantage now while she was vulnerable. But that wasn't his style.

“Only one thing for sure. I'm driving you back to your hotel.”

He offered his arm and she slipped her hand to his elbow and leaned into him. He helped her navigate the running board, and she plopped into the seat. He revved the engine, the throaty growl a manifestation of the animalistic urges impelling him.

“I've never been in a big truck like this before.”

He hummed and was pulling up to her hotel five minutes later. Leaving the truck running, he hopped out and helped her down. She hesitated on the running board, her hands on his shoulders for balance.

“I don't normally … but do you want to come up?”

The invitation was clear. She was a beautiful woman, sexy, sure of herself, experienced. The sex would probably be amazing. Not only was he too much of a professional, he couldn't summon the smallest hint of desire for her.

“I don't think mixing business with pleasure, especially since we haven't settled the business yet, is wise.” He managed to inject regret into his voice even though he felt none.

“Perhaps not.” She didn't sound convinced.

He lifted her off the running board and put her down an arm's length away. “I'll make sure you have a ride back to your car in the morning. You should plan to head into the shop tomorrow. Cade and I can address the concerns you have about the design and we can discuss terms, if you're still interested.”

He should have pressed for a commitment earlier in the evening, before she'd had so much to drink, but he'd been distracted. Nevertheless, it wasn't a loss unless his rebuff soured the deal.

She harrumphed, clopped up the steps, and weaved through the automatic doors and out of sight. He shed his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and loosened his tie, missing his coveralls.

He shifted into drive, but didn't move. Cade would be expecting a report. He didn't feel like talking, he felt like fighting. On a mission to torture himself, he found himself on Regan's street. This time he didn't sneak down with his headlights off, but coasted forward slowly.

He steeled himself to see either Andrew's car parked out front or her car gone. His hands tightened on the steering wheel the closer he got. He hit the brakes hard enough to lock his seatbelt at her curb. Her Bug and the old truck sat in her driveway. No sign of Tarwater's Mercedes. That didn't mean he wasn't in there, although he had a hard time picturing the man shedding his dignity and riding in her Bug.

Her garage door was open. Did she know? What if the prowler from her mother's garden came around? He might steal things from her garage or worse. The worse he imagined clinched his decision. The woman should know better. She should take better care of herself, dammit.

He turned the truck off. His agitation reached new levels the closer he got to her front door. The simmering stew of discontent and resentment had reached a boiling point.

He almost hoped Tarwater was in there so he could punch him in the face for no reason other than the cutting memory of every flirty look and smile she'd aimed in his direction. Instead of pressing the doorbell, he hammered a fist against her front door. Regan Lovell was going to get an earful.

He heard chains rattle on the other side and the door swung open. She was still dressed in the red wrap dress and shifted on her high heels, her hair loose around her shoulders. He didn't wait for an invitation, but stepped inside and slammed the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

They faced off. If she was surprised to see him, she masked it with an intensity he couldn't place, but that seemed more complicated than anger.

“Is Tarwater here?” he asked even though he didn't see anyone else. For all he knew, Andrew was tied up spread eagle and naked on her bed.

She huffed and put her hands on her hips, which pulled the fabric across her bust and deepened the V. “As if it's any of your business—which it's not—no, he isn't.”

Satisfaction tempered a small amount of his anger, but other emotions welled to take its place. Emotions he didn't want to acknowledge much less examine. The irrational frustration she engendered was easy. His current state of insanity was due entirely to her.

“Your goddamn garage is wide open. What the hell, Regan?”

“I needed to load some things for work tomorrow into the truck, you jerk. It's open for a reason.”

“You're planning on hauling stuff around dressed like that?” He skimmed his gaze up and down her body. She was sexier than any woman had the right to be. The way her long legs played peekaboo in the dress's slit only sent him further over the brink.

“Where's your new girlfriend? Is she waiting in the truck for you?”

It actually took him a few seconds to tease out who the hell she was talking about. He didn't answer and instead stepped toward her. With each step he took, she retreated one until he'd backed into the hallway wall, the harsh overhead entry light muted by shadows.

He placed his hands on the wall, caging her in. This was the conclusion to their confrontation at the country club. The overwhelming desire to kiss her had nearly overtaken him then. Now there was no clumsy kitchen staff or waiting client to interrupt him. Only a small area of his conscience protested, but her scent, sweet and light, and her lips, soft and inviting, muffled the warnings.

Her hands came up and he tensed, expecting her to shove him away, maybe even knee him in the balls, but they circled his tie. Was she was going to choke him? She tugged him forward.

Their mouths met and everything went still and silent. The silky skin of her lips slid over his, faint memories surfaced of the hours they'd spent making out on the bench seat of the old truck. Everything in the here and now was exciting and new, yet their shared history sheared away the need to go slow.

After watching her from a distance for years, their lives running parallel on opposite sides of the river, close yet miles apart, the past weeks had closed the gaps and fate had entwined their paths until he couldn't get away from her. Didn't want to get away from her. He just plain wanted her. Had always wanted her.

Pure, primal need drove his next actions. He pressed his body into hers, the wall forcing her to accept his dominance. Cupping her face, he deepened the kiss, driving his tongue inside her mouth. Her moan echoed into his chest as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

The feel of her tongue tangling with his and her soft breasts against his chest and her hips cradling his erection was both relief and torture. He rocked into her and she wrapped her leg around his, her knee at his hip.

He found her knee bare, the slit of her dress parting to reveal most of her thigh. The calluses along his palm rasped against the softness of her skin, and he pulled back, worried his coarseness was a turnoff.

Her head lolled against the wall, her lips parted and red and her eyes closed. She didn't seem turned off, in fact, she arched against the wall, driving her pelvis into his erection. Her dress begged to be unwrapped, and he was too far gone to deny the temptation.

Thankful her eyes were closed so she couldn't see the tremble in his fingers, he tugged on the tie holding the two sides together. One snap stood in his way and he pulled hard, fraying thread but not caring.

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, her expression one he'd never seen. Need and want and regret and fear all shone from her brown eyes. Wondering if she saw something similar in his face, he dropped his gaze and the worry was forgotten.

Her breasts were pushed high in the sexiest scrap of satin and lace he'd ever seen. His mouth worked, coherence an impossibility. Her panties matched, an impractical scrap of lace that begged to be removed by his teeth.

He'd been wrong earlier.
This
was the conclusion to their roll in the grass outside her mama's house and their kiss in the closet and the dugout. Or maybe this confrontation had been brewing for even longer. Like a volcano at rest, the hot, dangerous undercurrents had been there waiting to explode. The festivals were the seismic change that had set the explosion in motion.

His survival was still in question.

“I'm gonna fuck you.” It seemed eons since he'd spoken, the words coming out hoarse and cavemanlike.

“Yes.” Her breathy acquiescence was accompanied by the pull on his waistband by her hands. God, she was acting as frantic as he felt.

He brushed her hands aside and attacked the fancy closure and zipper with less finesse and more desperation. He pushed his pants and underwear to his knees and pressed back into her, thrusting against lace.

She wrapped her hand around him and skimmed her thumb over the tip. His hips bucked. He wasn't going to last even as long as he had their first time together. Her pretty, sexy bra was in his way. He yanked the cups down until her breasts jutted over the fabric.

He blew a long, slow breath through his clenched teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of control. Her breasts were spectacular. His dreams of late hadn't done them justice. They were fuller than he remembered, but her nipples were the same delicate pink tight little points. While his body ached to feel her breasts rubbing against his bare chest, he couldn't take the time. He would have to content himself with touching her with his hands and mouth.

Palming one, he squeezed gently and tested the weight while he dropped his lips to graze the other. Another of her throaty out-of-control moans urged him on. He teased her with his tongue, flicking the bud. She drove her hands in his hair, her grip tightening, the tug ratcheting up his arousal. When he closed his mouth around her and sucked, she writhed between him and the wall, her throaty little cries driving him wilder.

He raised his face. He wouldn't do this unless she understood where he stood. Which was firmly on his side of the river. “This won't change anything. Agreed?”

“I'll still hate you, Sawyer Fournette.” With her breasts exposed and her lips swollen from his kisses, she launched the words as if making her final stand.

Even as the sentiment jabbed at his heart, his erection jumped against her. He hooked a finger around the lace shielding her from him. His knees trembled. She was wet. So effing wet for him.

With his fingers holding her panties to the side, she took his erection and guided him to her entrance. Their gazes held as if magnetized. He pushed inside of her an inch. She gasped and her eyes clouded with what he hoped was pleasure. Slowly, savoring the welcome of her slick body, he pushed until finally he was buried inside of her.

He was slipping into a place where the past didn't matter, where his perceived betrayal and her heartlessness ceased to exist, stamped out by their joining. That limbo was dangerous.

Letting his lips fall to her temple, he took a single hard thrust when he wanted to be gentle and slow and continue staring into the depths of her.

“I'll still hate you too,” he whispered, taking a hard thrust.

She answered by clutching him closer, not pushing him away. He lifted her thigh until her leg was curled high on his hip, opening her to him even more. God, he wanted to look, wanted to see her body taking him, yet knew the sight would signal the end.

He nuzzled his lips along her temple and down to her jaw. “You're so damn tight and sweet, baby. Does this feel good?”

“I've wanted this for so long.” Her voice bordered on begging. “Make it last.”

Her admission spiraled through him, the meaning clear. This one moment of insanity might be their last. The eruption of a volcano that would once more go dormant.

He wanted to make it last all night, but when she tensed and moaned in his arms, her body's pulses were a call he couldn't deny, and he let go. Even knowing it deepened the unwise intimacy between them, he kissed her, curling his tongue languidly against hers and taking small sips on her lips.

The aftershocks of his orgasm left him leaning into her, the wall and her body the only things keeping him upright. She didn't seem to be in any hurry to break the physical and emotional connections, her hips undulating against him, her nails biting into his back muscles.

But nothing lasted forever. Cracks shattered the bubble that cocooned them from reality. He wasn't sure which one of them moved first, but she pushed him back, both hands fisting in the cotton on his chest.

“That was … that was…” Her voice wobbled, and he anticipated what she would say even as the word snapped at his heart.

“A mistake.” He kept his voice distant and applied a chill. She would try to work his vulnerability to her advantage if she could.

Yet, something else flashed in her eyes before she dropped her gaze to the floor and pushed harder at him. He skimmed his hand down her thigh to her knee before dropping her leg. A last weakness.

He pulled out of her, the loss of her warmth like getting thrown in the river in January. He tried—and failed—not to watch her adjust the scrap of her lace panties and cover her still budded nipples with the sexy bra. It was only when she pulled the dress around her like a robe that he became aware his pants and boxer briefs were around his knees. He yanked them up and managed to get his pants zipped.

She was still leaning against the wall, her knees pressed together, her hands clutching her dress closed, and her hair mussed. She did not look like a happy, satisfied woman, and part of him wanted to go to her, take her in his arms, and make sure he left her with a smile on her face.

He didn't. Obviously, she regretted their encounter, and he was painfully aware it had been all at his instigation. He'd followed her out of the bathroom at the country club, followed her home, followed her like a damn dog in need of a pat.