Designed for Love (Texas Nights) (18 page)

“Ash, I—”

“What do you want, Mac?” She rolled a hand between them, coming just a little too close to catching the end of his dick with a sparkly ring she wore on her right hand. “Do you even want this? I mean I didn’t really give you a choice. I just assumed, you know, you’re a man. And men like this and...” Oh, crap, her voice went wobbly.

Hell, maybe she was right. This was the woman who’d met him stroke for stroke in a freaking hammock. It wasn’t as if he’d initially seduced her with wine, flowers and satin sheets. More like beer, weeds and rough canvas. Regardless of the business setback she was facing, she wasn’t a dainty piece of china. In fact, she was a lot tougher, dedicated, and persistent than he ever would’ve guessed.

“You’re right.”

Her chin came up, and her gaze locked with his. “What do you mean, I’m right?”

“I see all that blond hair, those blue eyes, that smooth skin and all I can think is delicate. That I’m a fucking bull moose and you’re a...”

“China doll?”

“Close enough.”

“I’m tired of being treated as if I can’t handle the hard—” she choked out a laugh and eyed his dick, still pointing toward the ceiling, “—stuff. No pun intended.”

“What do
you
want, Ashton?”

“Are we talking literally, generally, or metaphysically?”

He was a fucking idiot. He’d had a woman giving him eye-crossing head and now they were sliding down the slippery slope of girl-style communication. And he knew the way that shit went. You ended up so far away from where you started, you weren’t even in the same hemisphere.

“Or sexually?” she added.

All of the above? None of the above? “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to stop holding back. Stop worrying about what we are or aren’t to one another. Whether or not you’ll hurt me by either being with me or by leaving. Can we just stop worrying about what happens next for a few hours? Can’t we just be together? After the day I’ve had, I could use a little relaxation. Some fun.”

Fun
was a word he’d pretty much axed from his vocabulary. But this was a woman who needed cheering up. Who needed to see that regardless of what happened with Lily Lake, it wasn’t the end of the world. Hers anyway. He swiped a hand over his forehead, then reached down to draw her to her feet. “What kind of fun did you have in mind?”

She glanced down pointedly.

“Fine, but didn’t you promise me something about ropes and trees?”

That coaxed a laugh from her. “So you’re saying getting a blow job in your mom’s shop isn’t wild or interesting enough for you?”

Well, he didn’t have to worry about tucking himself back into his jeans and zipping up now.
Blow job
and
mom
in one sentence was enough to eighty-six Mac’s hard-on. “I’m looking for something with more privacy, but we’ll have to drop Napoleon off at your cabin.”

“Why? Where are you taking me?”

The squeeze he gave her hand was light, but when she returned it, Mac knew it was time to put aside some of his old guilt and make new memories. “Somewhere I doubt you’ve ever been before.”

* * *

Ashton checked her rearview mirror a dozen times to reassure herself that Mac was still following her to the cabin. Napoleon didn’t seem concerned, sleeping the entire way home. As soon as they hit the cabin, he toddled off to curl up on his bed. He seemed almost...lethargic.

She gripped him under the chin, lifted his furry little face to study his sleep-glazed eyes. She asked Mac, “You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, do you?”

“He’s probably just reacting to the crazy day and your mood. Let him sleep it off.” He grabbed her hand to pull her away from the dog. “He’ll be fine. Unless you’d rather stay here with him instead of...”

One side of his mouth quirked up, and Ashton’s heartbeat rose with it. The man had something up his sleeve.

Her anticipation soothed the day’s frustrations. For now, she and Mac could behave like two people who were...involved. Lilies could come later. “Instead of what?”

“You’ll see.”

They were out the door, and Mac was bundling her into his truck before she could ask more questions. Once they were back on the oil-top road, it was clear they were heading toward his place. More hammock time? Ashton squirmed in her seat, pressing her legs together. That place and pretty much every other area of her body still pulsed with banked arousal from earlier.

She’d wanted not only to push away the shitty day, but she’d wanted to watch Mac, Mr. Calm and Chill, go a little crazy. Okay, a whole lot crazy. She’d wanted to make him blow his cool. Blow his—

Mac’s warm hand landed on her thigh, squeezed, which amped up the pulse between her legs. Without her permission, her knees eased apart. If he would just slip his palm to her inner thigh, stroke his fingers up until they—

“You okay?”

No, she was about to overheat just from thinking about him touching her. Damn, she had an excellent imagination. “Peachy.”

“Worried about the fur ball?”

Worried she might jerk the truck into park, swing a leg over Mac’s lap and ride him for way more than eight seconds. She pressed her knees together again. Didn’t help. She tried for an I’m-ready-for-anything smile, but didn’t dare check it in the rearview window because it felt more like an I’m-horny-as-hell expression. “Just wondering about this surprise you’re taking me on.”

His fingers
tap
,
tap
,
tapped
on the steering wheel, and he kept his attention straight ahead. “Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea.”

She had no idea what the damned idea was, but if he backed out on her now, she might be forced to take the wheel and shove him out of the truck. But by that time, he was slowing down to turn onto the dirt road leading to his fifth wheel. “You thought so earlier. And honestly, Mac, if I find out you interrupted what we were doing—what I was doing to you—so we could come to your place and watch network TV, I am more than capable of killing a man.”

He parked so that his headlights illuminated the tarp protecting the motorcycle she’d discovered. “You ever ridden one?”

Yeah, that bad-boy boyfriend had dumped her when he found out she was better on his bike than he was. “Not for a long time now.”

The earlier flare in his gaze flattened. “Been a while for me too.”

The compulsion to ask
why
almost forced the word from her mouth, but she caught it in time. Something told her that if she said the wrong thing, this would all fall apart. The flatness in Mac’s eyes and the strain around his mouth indicated that cranking up that bike was more serious than taking her on a joy ride.

Whatever was under that tarp was Big Shit. Baggage. And he was about to let her straddle his baggage. She rolled both lips in at that thought before inappropriate giggles could rise up and overcome her. Laughter would ruin...everything.

And she was beginning to think everything was exactly what she wanted with this man.

But the ache in her chest indicated sharing that info with him would be one of her more boneheaded moves. She needed to know more about Mac, what made him the man he was. What drove him. Something told her that his baggage could shed some light on those things.

“Then let’s go,” she said, reaching for the door handle.

But he caught her hand, pulling her back. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

“McLaughlin, stop being a candy-ass and take me on a proper date.” What he needed was tough love.

And holy crap, that ache in her chest went Hiroshima. Just mushroomed until it infiltrated every cell in her body. She was in love with Michael Mysterious-Middle-Name McLaughlin. What had started out as just fun had turned into for real.

While her heart was involved in some explosive experiment, Mac snorted. “You call this a proper date? Shouldn’t that involve dinner and dancing or something, maybe at the country club?”

“I just want to be with you.” And she’d better put a cork in it before she blabbed that she’d
accidentally
fallen for him, or he’d back out for sure. “As much as I’d love to gloat at seeing you in black tie, honestly, Mac, I think it’s about time that I saw you in nothing at all.”

“We could just stay here and—”

This time, she reached past him, yanked his door handle and shoved him out. She tumbled out after him. Grace was not her middle name. He caught her, wrapped his arms around her waist and put his mouth on hers.

Hot lips. Aggressive tongue.

If he thought he could distract her with seduction, he was crazy...he was...he... Ashton grabbed a handful of his thick hair, let the waves tickle her fingers. The vibration worked its way down her arms, over her shoulders, and into her nipples.

Why hadn’t they stayed at the cabin? At least she had a bed they could both fit in without resorting to contortion tricks. Oh, yeah. Because he needed to confront a piece of his past. She broke away from Mac’s kiss, but her lips and breasts flipped her the middle finger. “I want to ride you.”

His eyes shot open.

“I want to ride
with
you.”

“Maybe we should just stay here and—”

She ducked under his arm and strode toward the tarp.

“I need to grab the keys.” He disappeared into the fifth wheel. Returned and handed her a ring with two keys attached.

She grabbed them in case he changed his mind about this ride. “Why are they cold?”

“Keep them stashed in the fridge.”

Exactly where everyone kept their keys. She slipped them into her pocket and headed for the tarp.

“You’re not driving,” he said. “You know that, right?”

“Mmm-hmm.” On her knees now, she unhooked bungee cords and pulled back blue plastic. Unveiled the front tire and handlebars before he made it to her side.

“Don’t scratch it.”

“I’m being careful.” She pointed to a spot about three feet away. “Stand over there and don’t move, not a muscle, until I tell you. Just watch.”

“I’d rather watch you.”

She slanted him a look from under her lashes. “You do what I tell you and maybe we’ll talk about another kind of watching.”

Mac made a choking sound. “You’d...”

“Have I somehow given you the impression I’m a prude?” Unhook, peel. Unhook, peel. She revealed a black-and-silver vintage motorcycle with glossy cream fenders. Even in the fading light, it gleamed. A shiver ran over her. What was it about two wheels and a black leather seat that screamed sex?

“No, but—”

“Or don’t you think Republicans masturbate?”

“Now I
know
we shouldn’t ride that thing.”

“Why?”

“I don’t need to be distracted by the thought of you with your hand between your legs. Your legs are mind-blowing enough without that.”

The stark way he said the words kindled something besides arousal inside her. “They get me from one place to another well enough. Nothing to shout about.”

“How many men have tripped over themselves to tell you how beautiful you are?”

Countless, but they meant nothing. Nothing compared to having Mac tell her she was beautiful.

She stood, slowly pivoted toward him, held her arms away from her body. “I had absolutely nothing to do with the body, the face, the hair—okay, maybe I have a little influence over the hair—that I was given. And what’s beauty good for, Mac? It sure hasn’t brought me all the success and happiness in the world.”

He looked between her and the bike, then reached for the helmet perched on the seat. He brushed her hair back from her face and slipped the helmet over her head. The concentration he gave to tightening the chin strap could’ve given birth to a solution for world hunger or the equation that proved evolution. “Beauty is what gives people hope in a world that can sometimes be uglier and more cruel than we ever imagined. Beauty is the hope that ugliness can be healed. That inside
we
can be healed.”

She stood there, mouth open wide enough for one of those raccoons to hop inside and make a nest. Was he insinuating
she
had the power to heal whatever was tearing him up inside?

Mac pressed a quick kiss to the corner of her lips and flipped down her visor. He nodded toward the back of the bike. “It’ll be a tight fit. Keep your legs away from the exhaust. You lean only when I lean. Arms around my waist and legs along mine. You got it?”

She nodded, a challenge with her now overweight head. She threw a leg over the seat, and only then did it hit her she was still in a skirt. It rode up high on her thighs. Another inch and she’d be flashing Mac one of her last pairs of silk undies. “Uh...I should’ve changed.”

“Don’t worry. It’s dark where we’re going. No chance we’ll run into anyone else.” He straddled the bike, situated himself between her thighs. He reached back, gripped her legs and pulled her forward so those undies were snugged against the rear of his jeans. He rocked the bike off the kickstand, wedging himself even tighter against her.

Ashton was careful to wind her arms high around his middle. Her hands couldn’t be trusted anywhere near this man’s crotch.

But oh mama, when he cranked the engine and the vibrations hummed through the leather below her, she said a little prayer.
Please God
,
let this be a short ride.
Well
,
and then a long one.
And how horrible was she, asking God for sex? She would get her engraved invitation to hell in the mail tomorrow.

For tonight, she’d simply enjoy the experience.

Chapter Eighteen

By the time they made it to the road around the lake, Ashton was digging what nails she had left into Mac’s abs. Hard enough that he took one hand off the handlebar to give hers a reassuring pat.

God, he thought she was scared. If she was any less scared, she would orgasm on the back of his motorcycle. With every jolt over a rock or dip in the road, the seam of Mac’s jeans rubbed against her panties. Hysterical laughter backed up in her throat. This was probably not what Levi Strauss had in mind when he designed his pants with that little bump between the pockets.

Her clitoris, on the other hand, thought old Levi was a genius. She tried to scoot back a millimeter, just to reduce the intensity of the friction. But Mac used that free hand to clamp down on her knee.

She was a dead woman. To ease her tight nipples, she pressed her chest against Mac’s back. She’d lay her head on his shoulder if she wasn’t hindered by the helmet. Her front glued to his back would have to do.

Why he thought she’d be scared, she had no idea. He was driving like a grandpa. She peered over his shoulder. He was puttering along at thirty miles an hour. Please.

She slapped a palm against his chest and yelled against the wind, “Faster.”

“Rough road.” His words drifted back to her. Bullshit. But he gave it gas until they edged over forty.

The wind streamed through the ends of her hair, knotting them together. Ashton smiled against Mac’s back. Not worrying about what she’d look like when she pulled off this helmet felt good. Freeing. Powerful.

Mac had already said he thought she was beautiful. And he’d seen her at her worst—morning-after breath, crying jag, temper tantrum. He could handle a little snarled hair.

The vibrations evened out, lulled her into a wind-induced trance edged with arousal. Mac’s muscles shifted against her as he drove. Flexing and relaxing as he guided the bike. It was a shame he’d kept it unused for so long. With his long legs and arms, his sheer manliness, he was made to ride a motorcycle.

And by the ear-to-ear smile on his face, he loved it. Then why did he deny himself?

Mac turned off the road down a track that looked a lot like the one leading to his fifth wheel. But this one dead-ended much closer to the water in a small clearing of trees. A sliver moon hung above the lake as though it had been placed there just for them. Frogs made their deep-throated rhythmic croaks. A sound she would’ve never believed she’d come to love. But she did.

Kind of like the way she felt about this man.

Oh, Lord, what had she done?

At the edge of the clearing, Mac killed the bike and rocked it back onto the kickstand.

Ashton fumbled with the helmet, and he turned to gently release the buckle. She rubbed at the skin where it had bitten into her chin. Mac tilted up her face, stroked his fingertips across the indention. Then kissed the spot.

Oh
,
yes.
Make it all better
,
please.

But something about the set of his mouth, the sadness in his eyes told her tonight was more than a seduction scene. More than a make-out session by the lake.

Mac took her hand and drew her off the bike and toward the lake. They stood there, fingers intertwined, gazing out across the expanse of water.
Mine.

The connection she felt with this land and lake were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. Yes, she enjoyed interior design work, but Lily Lake was on a different level. Fulfillment rather than simply pleasure.

But no, it wasn’t hers. And if she didn’t come up with those missing lily pads and get the project back on track, it would never be. As disgusted as Gigi had sounded on the phone, Ashton wouldn’t be surprised if she just sold off the land, let some developer do whatever he wanted with it.

In her heart, in her gut, Ashton knew that would be bad for Shelbyville. “Where are we?”

“Directly across from the pavilion.”

This would’ve been a premium lot. Now, who knew if the pavilion and deck would ever be finished. Might be easier for someone to come in with a jackhammer and tear down what little she and Mac had accomplished. “I wanted this, Mac. I wanted it more than I realized until it was being yanked out from under me. I should’ve stashed some of my trust fund in the Caymans.”

A smile tipped up his lips. “You wouldn’t have used it for this.”

“How do you know that?”

He turned into her, pressed both his palms against hers. “Because then it would’ve been your family’s accomplishment. Not yours.”

He knew her. He saw her. And he still liked her. Maybe even respected her. But tonight wasn’t about her and her demons. It was about Mac and his. She glanced back at his motorcycle. “One last look then?”

“I don’t know.” Mac rocked from his heels to his toes and back again. “I keep thinking there has to be a way out of this mess with Wurzenbach. Around, over, under.”

“No, I meant why did you bring me out here on a motorcycle that you wouldn’t even let me look at a few weeks ago?”

“I think it’s time to let it go.”

Let the bike go? The project? Her? “I don’t understand.”

Mac dropped her hand to turn back toward the bike, and suddenly the sounds around her were menacing. Strange how being alone could completely change a place’s context. “Will you help me?”

“Anything you want.”

“I want you.”

His words rammed the breath from her. Maybe he was beginning to feel for her what she felt for him.

Then realization hit her center chest. Oh. He meant here. He meant tonight. Not forever. She forced air into her lungs. Forced herself to say lightly, “What is it with you and the great outdoors?”

“Imagine how special it’ll be when we finally make love inside. In a bed.”

Not forever, but tonight wasn’t the end in Mac’s mind. Did that mean he wanted to try a long-distance relationship between here and Dallas? Or maybe he thought she’d be leaving Shelbyville after this whole lily fiasco. God, she didn’t want to choose between the home she wanted to make and the man she wanted to love. “I think you have a phobia you haven’t told me about. Or maybe it’s that your feet hang off the end of the bed.”

He just smiled and led her back to the bike.

“We’re leaving already?” she teased even though her body and mind were flashing like a malfunctioning traffic light. Green, yellow, red. Stop or go?

“Not hardly.” He eased back to prop himself on the seat’s side, pulled her to stand between his legs. His arms around her waist and head between her breasts anchored her. “You don’t really doubt how beautiful you are, do you?”

This again? “I look in the mirror every morning.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” He pressed a kiss just above her left breast. “I’m talking about this.” Then he kissed each of her palms. “And these.” He drew her face down to his and skimmed his lips along her temple. “And this.”

She’d just thought her legs were wobbly when she got off his bike. They were melting like diluted watercolors now.

“Your heart is in the right place. You use your hands to help people. And your mind makes amazing things happen.”

“Mac—”

“You need to believe that about yourself.” His grip around her tightened. “If you don’t believe in yourself, you can’t expect anyone else to.”

“But
you
do.”

“Because you show me parts of you no one else sees.” He nuzzled her neck, tickling the skin with his scruff, skimmed down, and planted a kiss on her nipple. “And I don’t mean these parts. Although they’re amazing too.”

They were close but not close enough. Ashton grasped her shirt hem, eased it over her head and let it float to the ground. Mac’s hands were already at the back of her skirt, sliding down the zipper. She shimmied out of it, stood before him in bra, panties and a pair of heels that had seen better days.

She started to slip them off, but Mac said, “Don’t.” His smile kicked up, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Does it make me a pig if I want you to keep them on?”

“You tell me.”

“Guys outgrow a lot of the things they want as horny teenagers. Seeing a mostly naked woman straddling a bike in high heels isn’t one of them.”

Oh, she would give him his fantasy and a little more. “You’re taking up all the room.”

He shot to standing as though he’d been cattle-prodded.

Ashton eyed the motorcycle and nerves skittered over her. She’d been exposed last night in the hammock, but what she was thinking about doing was more. More revealing. More intimate.

But this was Mac, and she trusted him.

No smooth way to do it, so she just threw a leg over the bike. Yow! That leather had cooled considerably in the evening air. She squirmed around, trying to warm herself.

Mac straddled the bike, facing her, and draped her thighs over his.

“I thought this was a girl-on-the-bike fantasy.”

“You keep moving around like you were, and it’ll be a girl-on-the-ground fantasy. I’ll keep it steady for you. Don’t worry.” His white teeth flashed in the dark scruff around his mouth.

Steady. He could be that for her. She wanted him to be that for her. But that wasn’t in their agreement.

And now that he was sitting less than a foot away from her, taking her in from wild hair to bare legs, self-consciousness swept over her. When his inspection stalled out between her legs, Ashton squirmed again and instinctively shielded herself with her hand. Her panties were damp, had been most of the evening.

Her breath quickened at the sensation of her palm pressed between her legs, and a low moan escaped her.

“Ash,” his voice was gravelly, “maybe you should get dressed and we can go back to your place and—”

She laughed, and damned if it didn’t sound like a seductress, low and husky. “You started this. Now you’re telling me you can’t handle it?”

“Don’t know if I can or not.”

With her palms, she stroked herself from knees to upper thighs. Smoothed them over the strip of silk at her hips. Drifted over her belly to settle on her ribcage. Her nipples approved heartily of the whole thing. But even more, they approved of the way Mac was tracking every tiny movement she made.

Slowly, slowly she cupped her breasts, rubbed her thumbs over her nipples. Arched her back in response to her own touch. Rocked against the seat, trying to ease the ache between her legs. Only made it worse.

“Men’s obsession with visual stimulation is what keeps the lingerie industry in business,” she said breathlessly.

“And we appreciate it.”

“And yet, all you want to do is to take it off.”

“Only after we touch it, touch you. But yeah, we like seeing it hit the floor.”

She crossed her arms across her chest to slip each bra strap from her shoulders, catching them on her elbows just before the cups fell and exposed more than the tops of her breasts.

Mac’s attention was focused where the fabric met skin as if he could make it drop through force of will. His breaths were shallow and rapid.

“More?”

“Pretty please.”

That made her laugh. She eased her bra cups down and couldn’t hold back a moan as the fabric slid over her nipples.

“Ash?”

Her head had become heavy on her neck, and she only half heard Mac say her name. “Hmm?”

“You turn yourself on real good, but I’m going to finish you.”

“Mmm.” Her nipples were hard between her fingers, and she rolled them restlessly.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded. “Look at me.”

Her cocoon of self-pleasure cracked open to admit him again. The wild hunger in his eyes was enough to loosen what few inhibitions she had left. He wanted to finish her, huh? Well, she would drive him over the edge before he did. She popped the catch on her bra. She pushed her arms in, making a plump show of cleavage as she let the silk slide down her arms.

She reached behind her to brace herself, which thrust her breasts toward Mac. This time, she ignored them in favor of slipping her other hand between her legs.

Mac made a sound low in his throat.

“Did you just growl?”

“Goddammit, Ashton. If you don’t stop teasing, I’m going to turn you over, spank your ass and fuck you over the handlebars.”

Her thighs contracted at that visual. “Yes, please,” she breathed.

The curse word he hissed out was completely profane, but she got the message. Hurry up, or she wouldn’t get to play this out. He’d take over, and somehow she knew that wasn’t what either of them really wanted. He wanted the show, and she wanted to give it to him.

She widened her knees, tilted her hips up and brushed her fingertips across the wet silk. So yummy.

She toyed with the elastic at her leg, running her fingertips over its scalloped edge, but not dipping below. Did the same with the other side, savoring the feel of her own touch on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The anticipation was a lovely drug, making her head fuzzy and the place between her legs soft.

“Ash...” Yes, definitely a growl this time.

Slowly, so slowly her heart seemed to pause, she slipped two fingers inside her panties, traced a path down, hovered. The humid heat of her body felt so feminine. So damned powerful it could bring a man like Mac to his knees.

“I want to see you.” Mac’s guttural tone said his patience was thinning, so she pulled the fabric to one side, exposing the private heart of her body.

His indrawn breath only spurred her on. She knew what he was seeing—trimmed strip of dark blond hair, flushed lips, stiff clitoris. “This good enough for you?”

“No.”

She veed her fingers to widen her opening. “Better?”

What he responded with wasn’t any word in the English language.

“Or maybe this?” She circled her clit with the pad of her middle finger and what was left of her insides that hadn’t already liquefied gave up the fight. He could push inside her right now with absolutely no resistance. Her body was ready. More than ready. She was aching for him.

But she knew what he wanted. So she slid two fingers inside herself and teased her clit with her thumb. “Oh.”

Even in her haze of self-pleasure, she saw Mac stand and undo his pants. He pushed them low on his hips, enough to allow his erection to pop free. One of his big lumberjack hands circled his penis and slowly dragged toward the crown. And back toward his body.