Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (14 page)

In a surprise move, he reached out and twined his fingers with hers. “Then I think you should get at least one drink on your own tab.” That panty-flaming smile quirked up at the corners. “Which means I’m taking you to Dirty Harry’s.”

* * *

Even since he’d eaten his first Spam-on-rye sandwich, Ashton’s dog had decided he and Mac were BFFs, refusing to let his owner carry him. So when they walked inside Dirty Harry’s, Mac had the damned dog cradled in his hand like a sack of flour.

Harry’s was the kind of place his dad would’ve called a honky-tonk. Yeah, Jake McLaughlin had taken Mac to a few bars like this years before he was legal. His dad had been a good-time guy until the good times were ripped out from under him.

Just like the asphalt had ripped away a strip of skin all the way down the left side of his body when Mac’s goddamned bike went down with him on it.

Ashton turned to him, the neon backlight making her look like one of those honky-tonk angels praised in old country songs. “Want a drink before we check on our guests?”

Hell, yes. He needed a liter of Gentleman Jack and a dark corner. But he couldn’t afford to go there tonight. “Long-neck with—”

“The top on.” She laughed, and in that second, with her head thrown back and her hair highlighted by a Bud Light sign, Mac wanted to grab her hand, get the hell out of here, and bury his memories in a completely different place. He already knew she could make him forget his own damned name. Surely she could help him forget how he’d caused his dad’s death. “I’ve lived here long enough to know the cardinal rule at Dirty Harry’s. Never drink anything you didn’t open yourself.”

Still surprised him that Ashton drank beer of any type. And Dirty Harry’s definitely leaned toward regular old domestic rather than those six-bucks-a-bottle brands Mac had sometimes stocked his refrigerator with in Dallas. “I’m buying.”

“But the tab—”

“Screw the tab.” He drew her close, and sappy as it was, got kinda lost in her baby blues for a minute. Right now, Hurricane Ashton made him think of lazy evenings sitting on a back porch watching lightning bugs and stealing kisses. Made him think of contentment, home, family. Which was about as insane as Mac ever went. This was a woman made for trouble, McMansions, society. But something about her smile—sweet and surprised—flashed a different image before him. Porch swings, barbecues, babies. And wouldn’t she laugh if she could read his mind? “Your regular?”

“Wait a minute.” She caught him by the arm before he could make for the bar. “You know the kind of beer I like?”

“Do you actually
like
beer or do you drink it because you’re afraid of communicable diseases?”

“I’ll admit it was an acquired taste.”

“I know Clyde stocks Shiner Blonde especially for you.”

Her mouth dropped open which made him want to drop a kiss on it. “He does not.”

“You keep believing that, but I think he has a crush on you.”

She batted her eyelashes in an exaggerated sweep. “Is he the only one?”

Thank the good Lord for dark bars because heat drag-raced up Mac’s neck to the top of his skull. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” Her tone took on that husky quality women affected right before they screwed you—either the good way or the not-so-good way. Tiny half-moons of pleasure-pain pricked his arm as she pulled him toward her. “We’ll just see about that.” She went up on her toes, skimmed her fingers up his nape, and pulled his face down to hers.

And he’d thought he needed whiskey? The only thing he needed was this woman’s mouth. It was hot, sweet, and had a kick stronger than bourbon. And God knew, he could lose himself in it until he couldn’t stand up straight. Still, he opened his mouth and let her explore.

He was an idiot if he’d thought he could walk away from this. He’d done it that night at the lake, but it was stupid to fight this attraction anymore. He was an adult. She was an adult. They worked together, but they also knew the rules. Not every woman was looking for forever, a picket fence, and a small town. His mom and a couple of his sisters might be those kind of women, and Ashton might think she was. But would that feeling last?

He let Napoleon hop down and backed Ashton against the nearest wall and took the kiss from I-think-I-like-you to I-want-to-rock-your-world-five-times-tonight. And her tongue was promising things—things he’d been fantasizing about for months. His head was a haze of static, but a couple of words came through loud and clear—
mine
and
now.

Then from behind him, he heard someone say, “Isn’t that Ashton Davenport having her tonsils removed by her general contractor? So that’s how this
project
is working.”

Mac immediately wrenched away, his breathing like a lathered horse. Shit on a shingle. He was an idiot. A horny idiot. But that sure didn’t give him a pass. Here he was, so damned worried about his own professional reputation, yet he was screwing Ashton’s by almost screwing her against a wall.

“Mac?” Her words were low and faint. Confused.

“Shit, I’m sorry about that.”

“Seriously?” She pushed away from the wall, pressed both hands to his chest and shoved. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you better than to kiss a woman senseless and apologize for it?”

He leaned down, spoke close to her ear. “Not sorry for the kiss. Definitely want to finish that. But I’m not real interested in doing it in front of an audience.”

“What?” She leaned around, peered past his shoulder. No doubt, she was spying a line of their ogling visitors. Then a flash went off, whirling white spirals around his vision even though his back was to it. “Oh. Shit’s about right.”

“Ashton, is this how you get the job done?” They were snickering like a group of pimple-faced teenagers.

Mac jerked around and took a step toward a line of three guys, one with a camera five times the size of Napoleon. “Ms. Davenport was nice enough to buy your beer tonight, you morons. And her private life is private.”

“So you’re admitting you’re personally involved with the Davenport Darling?”

That guy would look pretty damned good with the other guy’s camera shoved down his throat. But Mac just balled his fists, leaving them hanging at his sides. “She has no—” fucking, “—thing to say.”

From his peripheral vision, he spotted Clyde ambling up to the group with Napoleon trotting behind him. Dog must’ve discovered Shirlene’s culinary...creativity. Clyde shuffled to a stop, grabbed at the crotch of his overalls to make the necessary adjustments, and angled his grizzled chin belligerently toward the city boys. “Miz Davenport, these idgits givin’ you grief?”

“It’s fine, Clyde,” she told him. “They’re just—”

“I don’t take no monkey bid’ness at my place. Don’t cotton to folks harassin’ my women.” Oh, yeah, Clyde was head over heels for Ashton Davenport. He leaned against the nearest bar, but never looked away from the guys when he said casually to the bartender, “Shirlene, you got the baseball bat or the shotgun back there?”

“Shotgun.”

This was the first time in his life Mac had ever wanted to kiss another man.

Clyde’s smile made him resemble a constipated bear. “What d’you boys have to say for yourselves?”

The men darted glances at one another, and one finally spoke up. “I say it’s time to order another beer and check out the deck.” He gave Shirlene, who was clearly holding something under counter level, a wide margin as he headed for the back door.

When Mac turned back to say something to Ashton, he found her with a hand on Clyde’s arm, leaning in to the bar owner to say, “Thank you, Clyde.”

“We protect our own out here.”

Ashton’s eyes went round and a little soft. Her face lit from her smile up. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.”

Mac would be offended if he didn’t understand how much Shelbyville’s acceptance meant to her. Because dammit, he’d said plenty of nice things to her lately.

Clyde never glanced in Mac’s direction, just kept his attention on Ashton as though he were watching the last lap of the Indy 500. “You think all this hullabaloo with those plants could hurt the tourism people’ve been talking about?”

From the fall of her shoulders, it was obvious Clyde’s question deflated her pleasure. “I won’t lie. It’s possible.” Her focus shifted to Mac. “But we’re going to do everything we can to keep this project on schedule. Right, Mac?”

With an equal edge of fear and glimmer of hope in her gaze, he would’ve promised her he’d rope the moon for her. “You bet.”

Chapter Thirteen

Much to Mac’s frustration, Ashton wasn’t willing to leave Dirty Harry’s while those idiots were still hanging around. And that meant she also exhausted the six-pack of beer Clyde had stocked just for her. The seventh time he had to keep her from storming out on the deck and taking on the guys who’d given her grief, Mac finally did what he’d wanted to do all night.

Actually, what he’d wanted to do since the last time they were at Dirty Harry’s.

He took Ashton’s hand and led her to the center of the dance floor.

She tried to look over his shoulder toward the back door. “I should really—”

“Forget them and dance with me.” Pulling her in and spanning her lower back with his hand, he forced her to look up at him. “Or are you scared?”

“Me?” She drew herself up and somehow, she looked down her nose at him even though he had a good half foot on her. “You couldn’t scare me if you tried. But tell me, what are we doing here, Mac?”

“Trying like hell to two-step to this crappy band.” He urged her into motion, slowly circling her around the dance floor. They made it to the corner closest to the front door, and he spotted the guys finally slinking from the bar. Probably best since dancing with Ashton was one of his more boneheaded moves. Dancing vertically only made him want to do it horizontally. “Those jackasses are leaving, so how about I take you and the mutt home?”

A few minutes later, he had her and Napoleon bundled into his truck. His headlights and the moon illuminated the highway blacktop as he headed toward the lake. The click of a seat belt came from the other side of the truck and Ashton scooted over to the shotgun seat, molding her body against his side.

Ashton Davenport was the last woman in the world he’d ever imagined as a shotgun girl. “Take me home,” she said.

“That’s where we’re headed.”

“No, take me home with
you.
”

“I don’t exactly have a guest bedroom.”

“Good, because I don’t plan to sleep in a guest bed.”

For God’s sake, he slept in a bunk with maybe a foot of head clearance. Not particularly conducive to entertaining. “Ash, you’ve been drinking and—”

“I’ve had my eye on that hammock in your little clearing.” She nestled her head onto his shoulder. It was a perfect fit, and the scent of her shampoo teased his senses and fueled his appetite for her. “Tell me, Mac, have you ever made love in a hammock?”

Just the thought of being skin to skin with her, the moon shining down on them, ramped up his hunger. He had to breathe through his lust before he could answer her. “Can’t say that I have.”

“Ever think about it?”

“Not sure I’ll think about anything else ever again.”

Her low laughter caressed his nerve endings, left them vibrating. “It’ll be a first for me too.”

He doubled down on the gas, and one of his truck tires might’ve left the ground when he took the turnoff to Lily Lake.

* * *

Mac might be worried that she’d had too much to drink, but if Ashton was buzzed on anything, it was the thought of finally getting naked with this man. She nuzzled her face into his neck, drawing in his ever-present scent of sawdust and fresh air. No matter what happened between them, she’d never again be able to get close to a guy who wore five-hundred-dollar cologne.

Napoleon bounded over her and insinuated himself between her and Mac.

“Dammit, dog,” Mac grumbled as Napoleon jumped into his lap. “When’s the last time you clipped his claws?”

“He doesn’t get his normal grooming appointments anymore.”

“I thought he got one of those dog-toe-painting things not too long ago.” He nudged Napoleon onto Ashton’s legs and shoved a hand between his own.

“Please, his nails aren’t that bad.”

“Pretty sure I’m permanently damaged from those talons.”

Slipping a hand under Mac’s, Ashton knew immediately there wasn’t a thing wrong with his equipment. He swelled into her palm, making a delicious long ridge behind his zipper. That was all it took for her inner thighs to go loose and the space between them to heat. Tonight, she’d do more than just get a glimpse of an erection that matched his stature. Every inch of that would be inside her. She shivered with anticipation and skimmed her fingers to the button on his jeans.

“What...what do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting this party started.” She popped it open, and Mac grunted in response.

She tried to get at his zipper, but he grabbed her hand, the pressure enough to make her knuckles rub together. “Not here. No more distractions while I’m driving.”

“It’s not like anything—”

“Shit like this can be dangerous.” His grip tightened, and he forced her hand back to her own lap. “It’s not a fucking game.”

Her body tightened as though he’d dumped a bucket of ice water over her head. She shifted away as far as the seat belt would allow and gathered Napoleon into her arms. Still, she could feel the tension—not all of it sexual—come off Mac in white-capping waves.

He drove the truck over the dirt track to his place too fast, jouncing her and Napoleon, forcing her to brace herself on the dash. When he hit the brake, the truck skidded the last few feet and fishtailed toward a massive pine on Ashton’s side of the truck. Bark screeched against the truck bed and they rocked to a stop.

What had she done wrong? Maybe he didn’t like women who made the first move.

Didn’t make sense. He hadn’t minded when she waded into the lake.

“Mac?” Ashton dared to touch his arm, and the muscles there jumped as though she’d prodded them with a Taser.

He slumped so his forehead rested between his hands on the wheel.

“I’m sorry if I—”

“It had nothing to do with you.”

“I obviously hit a hot button...” God. She winced. Stupid way to phrase her apology considering what had set him off.

“My dad was killed in a wreck.”

“Oh God, Mac. I’m so sorry—”

“No way for you to know.”

Although sympathy still pulled at her, heat also cruised through her body. “Because—” her words matched her internal temperature, “—you don’t share. You don’t tell people—don’t tell
me
—a goddamned thing about yourself.”

His head came up, his eyes full of misery and edged with caution. “It’s not the kind of thing you just run around blurting out to folks. ‘Hi, name’s Mac McLaughlin. My dad was killed because of my stupidity. Wanna grab a beer? Maybe shoot some pool?’”

The heat inside her drained as quickly as it had flared. For some reason, Mac blamed himself for his dad’s death. She gentled her grip on his biceps, stroked him from shoulder to elbow. “Do you...do you want to tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry I stopped the truck that way. I won’t make excuses.” He grabbed the gearshift. “I’ll drive you home. Slowly.”

Before he could put the truck in gear, Ashton reached over and killed the ignition. “And I’m sorry—”

“You have nothing to apologize—”

“—that I brought up an obviously painful topic. We don’t have to talk about it, but I’m not leaving.” The self-loathing on Mac’s face told her everything she needed to know about leaving him alone tonight. “Napoleon and I can take the hammock and—”

“Hell, a mosquito could come along and cart him away.” Some of the tension ebbed from Mac’s body, and he slumped back against his seat.

“Fine, then he’ll just have to bunk with you.”

“You think I’m gonna sleep anywhere near that butt-biting, crotch-clawing beast?” But he was smiling again. A fraction of his panty-dropper, but it was something. “Not in this lifetime.”

Before he could change his mind and crank the truck again, Ashton tucked Napoleon under her arm, scooted across the seat and hopped out. Mac would either brood behind the wheel all night or follow her. Depending on his decision, she’d either boost herself up into his bed or wrap up in the hammock with him. Because she might be brave enough to sleep outside if he was with her, but she wouldn’t risk doing the solo thing. Who knew when another raccoon might go rogue and decide to attack?

Napoleon took a flying leap to the ground. He quickly did his business and trotted to the trailer, stood on the steps looking over his shoulder at her as if to say, “Stop dragging your feet and let me inside my house.” When had he become so comfortable with Mac’s trailer?

Behind her, the truck door slammed, and Mac’s boots crunched across the pine needles. She didn’t pause. He’d let her know what he wanted in his own good time. Napoleon, on the other hand, was standing on his hind legs scratching at the door. As expected, the knob turned in her hand, and her dog darted inside. Her foot had just hit the second step when a warm weight wrapped around her waist and pulled her off the stairs.

Mac didn’t say a word, just buried his face in her hair. One of them was trembling, and she didn’t think it was her. His breath warmed her skin, and he lifted her so she had to either hang there like a rag doll or wrap her legs around his waist. Even though they were both fully clothed this time, there was something intensely intimately about touching him this way, her torso against his so she could feel his heartbeat against her breasts. She smoothed her palm over his hair as though she might with a fragile child. And God knew, this man was anything but fragile. Still, there was something brittle about his stride as he carried her to the hammock.

“I’m sorry.” His words were hoarse against her hair. “Bad memories.”

An apology, yes. But not an invitation to dig around in his past. Comfort would have to come in another form tonight.

Then Mac leaned backward and gravity took her with him. The squeal she let out was pure scared schoolgirl. She tried to fling out her hands to catch herself, but instead landed with a
whump
against Mac’s chest. The hammock swayed wildly beneath them.

When she got her breath back, she said, “Are you sure this thing will hold us both? Maybe if we just lie here...”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest and vibrated against hers. “It can handle everything we’re gonna do in it.”

At that, she lifted her head. “How do you know? You said you’d never—”

“It’s rated for six hundred pounds.”

“How do you know we won’t have seven-hundred-pound sex?”

He squeezed his arms around her as though a child might hug a favorite teddy bear, rocked her from side to side. “I’ve never met a woman who pissed me off or made me laugh the way you do.”

Good news that would’ve been even better if Mac had any inclination to stay in Shelbyville once his mom’s shop was renovated. She had to keep reminding herself his long-term plans didn’t include her. And until the day he’d paid off the Piggly Wiggly, she hadn’t figured a man into her plans, at least while she was still getting settled herself. Damn the man for making her want something more.

Mac began moving, scooching and pushing with his feet to reposition them longways in the hammock. When he finally had them situated to his satisfaction, he spread his legs, and the erection she’d gotten her hands on earlier was back with a vengeance. And she wanted her hands on it again. “Something about awkward movements turn you on?”

“No, something about a soft, warm woman turns me on.”

Most women were soft and warm.

Mac’s hands skimmed the backs of her thighs, inching higher and higher until a cool breeze wafted over Ashton’s backside. Suddenly, it didn’t seem too smart to expose her ass to the elements.

“Mac, are you sure we should do this outside?”

“Thought you told me you weren’t scared.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Besides, I’ll keep you safe.”

Sure he would. Her heart was already in so much danger she feared it would look as though it had been clawed by a bear by the time this was all over. His big hands slid up to play with the thong and cup her butt.

Bring on the bears.

“What color?”

“Mocha.”

“So much for ever walking into Starbucks again without getting a hard-on.” Rough fingertips teased the bottom of her spine, dipped into the indention below.

Ashton wiggled out of her shoes. Chafed her legs together, pressed her pelvis down. Just a little more, and she could rub against him and—

Her panties were wrenched halfway down her thighs, and that breeze did more than just waft over her bare skin. It curled around her as though stroking her with phantom fingers. She dampened at the sensation.

“Cold?” he asked, skimming his lips up her throat.

“Hot.”

Mac’s blunt fingers replaced the air but slipped over her just as lightly. What little of the space between her legs that hadn’t already melted went polar-ice-cap-during-a-massive-global-warming. She tried to spread her legs to give him better access, but her panties held her prisoner. She wiggled against Mac, which only prompted him to nip her neck and swat her butt cheek. “Be patient.”

So not her strength.

She tried to push them over her knees, flailed around in the process, and would’ve done more damage than Napoleon’s lap dance if Mac hadn’t used his legs to vise hers together.

“Only one of us can move at a time,” he ordered, but he softened it by smoothing his lips along her jaw, landing tiny butterfly kisses. “Otherwise, you’ll dump us both in the dirt. You wanted the hammock and now you have to play by the rules.”

“I don’t like those rules.” Even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Be good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

All her frustrated body parts sat up and took notice, and she almost missed that he’d somehow worked her underwear down around her ankles. She kicked at them. Who cared if a few hundred bucks of satin and lace ended up on the ground? As long as Mac returned his hands to where they belonged, she sure didn’t.

But instead of sliding his hands back under her skirt, he bucked his hips up, dislodging her so he could slide his legs together. “Straddle me.”

Had she realized having sex would take an act of Congress and circus moves, she might’ve made a different rendezvous choice. In her imagination, it had seemed fun and romantic. Still, she braced her hands on his chest and eased a knee over his hips. When she swung the other leg around, the advantage to the position became abundantly clear.