Icing on the Cake (Close to Home) (4 page)

She closed her eyes and sunk into the leather seat. The rhythmic clicking of the turn signal gave way to the sway of the car as Curtis turned onto the side road. He didn’t know the area but he hadn’t asked where to go. He’d just taken charge. Rescued her from herself, though she’d never tell him as much.

Her dad’s broken promise and Nia conspiring to hide it pissed Sara off to the nth degree. So much so, her self-imposed vow of good behavior had turned to dust beneath her charging heels.

The muffled sound of
I Got You, Babe
broke the silence as her cell rang beneath her ass.

“Great song.” No sarcasm in his voice, just genuine appreciation.

Not the usual reaction to her ringtone. Most guys—hell, most people—gave her the sideways eye when the
Sonny and Cher
tune belted from her phone. She could handle stupid comments or snickering. She welcomed them, because they gave her an excuse to dish shit back. Curtis’ reaction to her favorite song put her in an unfamiliar place. So she said nothing.

“You going to answer that?” he asked when the song started up again, signaling a second incoming call.

“No.” She ignored the music and the tingling awareness that told her Curtis was staring.

“It’s probably your family, making sure you’re okay.”

“Making sure I’m not going to fuck up Nia’s wedding any more than I already have, you mean.”

“That too.”

She snorted and turned to face him. “Wasn’t it your job to keep me out of trouble?”

He didn’t outright smile, but his lips twitched and telltale crinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t realize I’d have to be on top of you every second. But I’m more than willing to assume that position for the remainder of the weekend.”

Damn, he was quick. Cocky too. She ought to jump all over that—and him.

“Good luck with that,” she said, severing what could have been the beginning of a fun and frisky conversation by resuming her meditative posture. Pretty bad when she wasn’t even in the mood to verbally joust with a hot, sexy man who knew how to keep up.

Beside her, Curtis fiddled with the radio until he found something he liked, but he kept the volume low. Out of consideration for her mood, likely. She knew the man wasn’t afraid to drive fast. She’d wager he liked his music loud too. As she did.

They drove in semi-silence for several songs. Mostly they went straight, but they slowed for a couple of turns. Through it all, she kept her eyes closed. Curtis had chosen a classic-rock station, and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the beat. He even whistled a bit. Not the loud, obnoxious type of whistling. The under-the-breath type.

This car, the music, the drumming and low whistling. The feeling of safety, as if nothing could hurt her here, in this moment. For a split second she was a kid again, riding shotgun while her dad—her first dad—took his prized Trans Am out for a summer cruise. It’d been almost twenty years, why’d it still have to hurt so much?

A traitorous sob stole up from the depths of her chest. Shit, shit, shit. She leaned forward and snapped off the radio, then fell back against the comforting leather.

“Want to talk about it?”

She opened her eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at him. “Do I look like the kind of girl who wants to talk about stuff?”

“I didn’t know there was a look for that.”

“There is. I believe you’ve met Nia?”

“Ouch. Got the claws out where your sister is concerned.” He took his eyes off the road to give her the raised-eyebrows look—apparently a Lawler-family trait. “Jealous that she beat you to the walk down the aisle?”

“Hell no. I’d rather do the walk of shame.”

His deep, husky laugh filled the car and he smiled. A sexy-as-fucking-sin smile that brought her nipples to a full salute. “Sounds like the better walk to me. Maybe you want to take one tomorrow?”

Oh, he really was quick. Super smooth. “A tempting offer, but Nia would lose her shit if I didn’t go back to the house tonight. I’m not a total bitch, despite what you may have heard.”

“I form my own opinions.”

“And what’s your opinion?”

He glanced over, his lips curved in a wholly amused grin. “So you
are
the kind of girl who likes to talk about stuff.”

“Your annoyingness is starting to outweigh your hotness, lawman.” She ignored his sexy laugh and pulled her cell from her back pocket. The old checking-the-email trick. Utter bullshit at the moment. The words on the screen could have been hieroglyphics, that’s how little they registered.

“You need gas. I’ll head toward town and get some.”

She sighed. Kind of hard to give him attitude when he insisted on being a nice guy. “Thanks.”

Another glance came her way, this one with a gentler smile. “No problem.”

*

Curtis gave Sara the reprieve she obviously needed for the duration of the drive to town. Whatever her reasons, she seemed to want everybody, him included, to brand her as a bitch. Maybe she was—in part. But there was more to her than that. Had to be, for good people like Conn and Nia to hold her close in their daily lives. Then there was his gut. It told him to keep pushing, that if he dug deep enough, he’d find more than the hot woman with a giant attitude and a smart mouth. His gut had never failed him.

He shook his head while pulling into the gas station. Why the hell was he thinking—or caring—about what made Sara tick? He’d agreed to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t jump the rails and ruin his brother’s wedding. That job didn’t require understanding her on a deeper level. A side effect of his job, always trying to figure people out. That’s where this interest in Sara had come from. Nothing more than that.

He hadn’t even turned the ignition off before Sara removed her seat belt.

“I’ll pump it,” she said, going for the door handle.

He caught her arm and pulled her toward him. “Save your pumping for later.”

She rolled her eyes, though clearly for effect. Her smile gave her away, whether she’d intended it to or not. “It’s my car. I can pump my own gas.”

“Not while I’m around.” He hopped out, grabbed the doorframe and leaned back into the vehicle. “Unless you’re wearing short-shorts, high heels and a bikini top. Then I’m going to insist that you pump the gas. While I supervise, of course.”

“Oh my god, dude. Cliché much?”

“There’s a reason clichés exist, babe. They work.” He winked and left her smiling and laughing in the front seat. That’s how he wanted her. Well, one of the ways.

He filled the Trans Am’s tank until it couldn’t hold one more drop, hung the nozzle on the pump and returned to the driver’s seat. “What?” he asked when Sara scowled across at him.

“Did you fill it?”

“Yeah.” He clicked his seat belt into place.

“You should have asked my permission before you did that.”

He leaned over the center console, invading her personal space and not giving a fuck. “I don’t ask permission. When you’re with me, you’re going to get filled up.”

At close range, her eyes were even more incredible. Flecks of green speckled the amber irises, giving them what seemed like limitless depth. If he was going to spend hours staring into her eyes though, he’d prefer to do it while they were naked and in bed.

“Here’s thirty,” she said, ignoring his comment. In the limited space between them, she poked him with what had to be some folded bills. “I’ll have to give you the rest tomorrow.”

Since they were playing the ignoring game… “Your breath smells like mint.”

“Congratulations on that brilliant observation.”

Even close enough to make out, with the heat between them fogging the windows—in June—her attitude never fucking ended.

“Here’s an observation—you were drinking beer minutes before we left the party.” He curled his fingers over her hand where it continued to poke against his ribs.

She stuck out her tongue, revealing a small white candy. “What can I say, I’m a fan of fresh breath.”

“Then I hope you have more of those candies for later.” He pulled the cash from her fist and flicked it aside, then guided her palm to his fly. “I’ve got plans for that smart mouth of yours, and they involve several four-letter words, none of which are ‘mint.’”

“Is that a threat?” she asked, squeezing his cock beneath the denim.

“A promise.” One he intended to make good on as soon as they got to his hotel room—if he could wait that long.

He cupped her nape and hauled her half onto his lap. Her hip connected with the steering wheel, the impact pitching her flat against him. Only there was nothing flat about this woman. Fuck no. Soft, full tits pressed to his chest. An ass made for smacking overfilled his palm. Luscious lips brushed his mouth.

And some moron who clearly wanted a beating chose this moment to tap on the driver’s side window.

“Is that guy for real?” Sara said without moving an inch. “Lower the window.”

Oh man. This ought to be interesting. He leaned forward, sandwiching her between his body and the steering wheel, and did as instructed.

“We’re not looking for a third,” she said when the last inch of glass disappeared and a balding, red-faced man bent to look inside. “You’re not my type and I don’t think Curtis swings that way.” She turned to face him. “Do you?”

Jesus. This woman was the human equivalent of a grab bag. “No. I don’t.”

“Good. I really don’t do well at the sharing thing.” She turned back to the nervous-looking guy on the other side of the driver’s door. “See? No room for you.” She shimmied where she sat. “There’s barely room for the two of us.”

Curtis groaned. Partly from the pressure on his dick as she rolled her hot body on his lap. Also from the Sara effect—a sensation somewhere between embarrassment and fuck yeah.

“Go bye-bye now.” She hit the button for the window and the glass started to rise.

“Uh, miss, you two need to move the car. There’s a lineup.” The guy’s words squeaked through the crack before the window sealed at the top.

Curtis craned his neck and checked the rear window. Two cars and a minivan. “Shit. You’d better get off.”

“Look, lawman, I’m pretty easy, but even I need a little more than some heavy breathing and a butt squeeze.”

A gut-buster burst from his mouth as she winked and wiggled her wicked self over to the passenger seat. “Buckle up, troublemaker. We’ve got somewhere to be.”

We’ve got somewhere to be.

He’d meant his hotel room. Or maybe an empty parking lot somewhere off the beaten path. Either would work for what they both wanted to do next. But Curtis’ earlier words kept repeating, and each replay jabbed at her heart. Talk about a libido killer.

Sara could ignore her pesky conscience most of the time. Not when it came to her family. Hell, they
were
her conscience. Without their love, patience and support, she would have jumped off a bridge, figuratively and literally, many times. She owed it to them to back away from the ledge on her own this time.

“Change of plans.”

“With you…” Curtis glanced over, his lips curving upward slightly. “Not even going to hazard a guess.”

Once again, he’d made her laugh. With a borderline insult. And that’s why she didn’t bother to hold back on the smiling. Not many guys would call a spade a spade when it could trash their chances of getting laid. Curtis had proven from minute one that he was not like most guys.

“Head back to the house so I can deal with the family.” At his raised eyebrows, she waved her cell side to side. “There’s no way I’ll be able to have multiple orgasms with this thing ringing constantly.”

“You could mute it.” He turned and gave her a naughty wink. “Problem solved.” The words of a man determined to get her to his bed, yet he’d already altered course.

Swooping in to break her free when she needed to get away from everybody. Keeping her company without pushing her to talk, or to do anything. Taking her home without batting an eye at her one-eighty in the hot-and-heavy department. Apparently the “good guy” gene ran strong in the Lawler family.

She turned sideways on her seat to better face him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but why don’t you have a wife, or a steady girlfriend, at least?”

The question elicited an amused snort from the hunky driver. “Is there a
right way
to take a comment that starts with ‘don’t take this the wrong way’?”

“Good point. Okay, so you’re hot, you seem nice enough, and you have a wicked car that’s almost as cool as mine.” She paused for another grunt-like laugh from the driver’s side of the vehicle. “You’re a cop, which most women seem to lose their ever-loving minds over. But you’re older than Conn, meaning you’re nearing the end of your peak years, and you’re still unattached. I guess the real question is—what’s wrong with you?”

“Oh man. Glad I didn’t take your original question
the wrong way
.” He slowed for a corner, the simple motion of turning the steering wheel causing his muscles to flex and the darkly inked mermaid decorating his forearm to dance. Once they’d hit cruising speed outside of town, he looked over at her. “I don’t want a permanent relationship. And I’m not nearing the end of my peak years, a fact I would have demonstrated in a variety of ways if you hadn’t chickened out on going to my hotel room.”

She sucked in a loud, sharp breath. “I did
not
chicken out.”

One arm casually resting atop the steering wheel, he shrugged. “Whatever you say.”

Totally goading her, but she’d be damned if she’d let him label her as wimpy poultry. Not even fleetingly. “I don’t chicken out. Ever.”

That earned her another raised eyebrow. “You sure do throw the ‘never’ and ‘ever’ around a lot.”

“Because they’re justified.”

“Fearless and scared of nothing,” he said while turning down her parents’ laneway. “Claims like that require substantiation, troublemaker. Good thing we’ve got all weekend.”

More of the adversarial flirting that’d sparked between them from the get-go. Seconds stretched into thick silence. Gravel crunched beneath the Trans Am’s tires, the sole sound in the car as they rolled to a stop near the garage. She should have one-upped him with a good comeback immediately, but no witty words came to mind. Not a single one.