Reckless in Texas (24 page)

The ball of pressure ignited, expanded, blue flame licking down every nerve, jolting his body into action. He inhaled her muffled squeak as he hauled her hard against him—chest to thigh—desperate for contact. It wasn't enough. He swung her around, his mouth devouring hers as he mashed her against the wall and cupped his hands around her butt, lifting her to her toes where he could rock his hips into her. Their nearly equal heights made all the right parts line up in all the right places, the friction too much to stand and still not even close to enough. She moaned, her hands flattening on his back and sliding down to his butt, urging him even closer.

Slow down, slow down…

Fuck that. He had to have her
now.
Here. Her hands dove under his T-shirt, pushing it up. He broke the kiss, his breath rasping loud as he raised his arms to let her peel the shirt over his head, cursing when it tangled in the strap of the duffel still slung over his shoulder. He wrestled free and let the whole works thump to the floor.

Violet's smile gleamed with pure female triumph. “I guess you're sure about this.”

“Damn sure.” He planted a hand on the wall beside her head, a whole new set of flames licking up his spine as she trailed her fingers low across his back, smiling as his hips jerked in response. “Brace yourself, Violet. I've wanted you too hard for too damn long to make this pretty.”

“I can handle down and dirty.” She ducked under his arm, grabbing his wrist when he reached for her, backing toward the bed and pulling him along. “We'd better take this horizontal—I'm already weak in the knees.”

She skimmed her fingers along the top of his shoulder then down, over his chest, his stomach, his muscles twitching at the featherlight touch. Air hissed between his teeth when she trailed a fingertip along the waistband of his cargo shorts to the button and popped it open with one easy twist.

“Slick,” he said.

“I get a lot of practice undressing boys.” Before he could think too much about that, she sank to the side of the bed and tugged the zipper down. He nearly passed out when she put her mouth on the exposed skin right below his navel and licked. Her hum of approval was hot against his skin. “I've been wanting to do that for
days.
”

She slid her hands inside his cargo shorts and peeled them off his hips. He snatched the box of condoms out of the pocket and tossed them on the bed as she pushed the shorts past his knees, where he could kick them loose along with his shoes. Then she looked up…and burst out laughing.

Joe froze, looked down, then grinned when he remembered his underwear. Black boxers with a bronc rider on the front and the Pendleton Roundup slogan in bright red:
Let 'er Buck.

“Sounds good to me,” he said.

“Damn straight.”

She popped the first button of her blouse free. Then the next. And the next. The blouse fell open and Joe was looking straight down into heaven, wrapped in peach-colored satin. He gave a long, slow whistle, stunned into reverence. Halle-fucking-lujah all over again. His hands shook as he fumbled the blouse off her shoulders, as if he'd never undressed a woman before. She reached up to flick open the front clasp of her bra, and this time Joe's hands were right there to play catch. He groaned, watching her eyelids drift downward as he cupped her breasts, exploring the weight and the curve of them with his fingers and palming the nipples.

She scooted back, the gleam in her eyes dangerous beneath her lashes as she shrugged off the bra, then stretched out on her back in a slow, sinuous move that made his heart skid sideways. Her gaze never left his face as he unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts, then sucked in a laugh when he saw her underwear. Blue with silver stars.
Mine.

He swatted off that wayward thought and grinned, pausing to drink in the sight of her. “I never thought you'd wear 'em.”

“I needed all the superpower I could get.” Something flickered across her face—uncertain, vulnerable—there and gone. “You gonna just stand there admirin' the scenery or what?”

What. Definitely what. He stripped off his boxers and braced a knee on the bed between her legs to lean down, palms cradling her hips, thumbs tracing the points of one star, then another, then another, working toward the center, her breath coming faster with each touch. She lifted her hips and he slid the soft cotton down and off.

He planted a hand on either side of her head to lower himself inch by inch, drawing out the anticipation of that instant when they would be skin to skin. Head to toe and every gorgeous, excruciating inch in between. He stopped just short, eyes locked with hers, and shuddered when she raked her fingernails lightly down the length of his back. The moment crystallized in his mind like the first time he stepped out into the arena at Pendleton, looked around at the legendary grandstands and every rodeo he'd ever worked before faded into irrelevance. This was
it.
The real thing.

Her hands curved around his butt, squeezed, and he buckled, his full weight pressing into her, the feel of soft skin and firm muscle nearly enough to make him come undone. He pressed his eyes shut and held his breath, fighting the undertow. If he went under, he might never surface again.

“Hey,” she said softly. He opened his eyes and gazed into hers only inches away, steady as the arms she wrapped around him. “I'm the pickup girl, remember? I've got you.”

He felt himself slipping, the last shred of his control sliding through his fingers. And then he lost it. He took her mouth, deep and hungry, like she was his first meal in a week. She took it all and gave back more, arching and sliding, hips, breasts, thighs, reminding him of all the other hot, sweet places he had to explore. His hands couldn't decide where to go first. How could he touch enough, taste enough, feel enough in only this one night? Then she moved against him again, obliterating his ability to think at all.

She gave him everything, no holds barred, and left him no choice but to do the same. The force of his need stripped him bare, exposed even that piece of himself he always kept apart. Safe. His mind wanted to retreat, but Violet wouldn't let him go. She didn't wait, just took him, dragged him into her warmth then cranked up the heat and the speed until he imploded, a thousand sizzling points of light bursting behind his eyes, then arcing away and fading into the darkness.

And then there was nothing but the two of them, closer than Joe had ever been to a woman, as if their souls were touching. He kept very still, his afterglow disturbed by growing ripples of unease. What had just happened…it was too much. Too far. How did he get back to solid ground? His mind scrambled, picking through the lust-clouded details. Did he say anything in the heat of the moment he couldn't take back?

Nothing he could remember. There were some long, hazy stretches when he'd been completely out of his mind, but he was pretty sure he hadn't been capable of speech.

Now that he'd blown off the steam that'd been building for two weeks, he could be cool. Prove he was capable of a little finesse. Violet had made it clear she wanted him here and now, and equally clear she was done with him when he stepped on that plane. They had this one night. No promises, no demands. He just had to keep his head screwed on straight and his mouth shut, so he didn't break down and beg her to let him come back for more.

He opened his eyes and found Violet watching him, her expression guarded. “You okay?”

“I'm awesome.” He worked up a cocky grin. “Give me few minutes and I'll prove it.”

Violet was awake to see the light around the motel curtains soften from phosphorescent blue into golden sunrise, torn between watching Joe sleep and waking him so they could make the most of every precious moment. She'd given it her all and then some. Was this what it would feel like to cast a spell? Toss in your heart, your soul, a huge dollop of pure sexual desire and a pinch of desperation—then wait, barely breathing, to see if it had worked its magic?

She had hoped she would know by now. That he would say something,
anything
, during the long, hot night to let her know what he was thinking. The sex had been everything she'd expected, a mind-blowing whirlwind that had spun her nearly to the edge of endurance, only to bring her back to earth cradled in his arms like a treasure too precious for words.

But she needed those words, and they were the one thing, the only thing, he hadn't given her. There was still time, though, for her to work up the courage to ask for what he hadn't freely given.

She rolled onto her side and flattened her palm between his shoulder blades, savoring the warm gold of his skin, the sleek lines of the muscle beneath, as she slid her hand down his back to the base of his spine.

“Mmmm.” He shifted, then gave a low, appreciative groan when she increased the pressure on the return trip. “I'll give you a day and half to stop doing that.”

She kneaded the ridge of muscle along his spine, earning another approving groan. He opened his eyes, gave her a drowsy smile, and Violet's heart jerked.

There he was.
Her Joe. His eyes warm, his smile sweet and open. “Mornin', sunshine.”

“Mornin'.” Not easy to say when you're holding your breath. Afraid to move or speak in case she scared him into hiding again.

He reached up to trace a line along the side of her neck and down her shoulder. His eyes followed his fingers along her collarbone then down, skimming the side of her breast. He paused where the skin was faintly mottled.

“Stretch marks,” she said.

His hand hesitated then drifted lower, over her stomach. “But not here?”

“Beni was two months premature. I didn't have time to get that big.”

His palm flattened against her skin, the gesture protective, almost fearful. “But you were okay? And him?”

“I was fine. He had to spend some time in neonatal ICU before he could come home, but we were lucky. He's perfectly normal. Health-wise, anyway.”

Joe's smile flashed, then faded, pushed aside by a troubled expression. “Could you have another baby?”

“I'd have to be careful, pay close attention to the signs, but…yes.”

She watched the light brighten like dawn in his eyes—hope, possibility, a future so full…

Then suddenly it blinked out. Joe's face went blank, his eyes glassy with panic, like a horse cornered by a pack of dogs. When he moved, it was with the same explosive swiftness, jerking away from her and scrambling out of bed with none of his usual grace.

“I need to go.”

Violet gaped at him. “Where?”

He snatched his boxers and shorts from the floor and dragged them on with quick, jerky movements. “Out. For a run. Before it's too late.”

He grabbed his bag and was gone, the door slamming behind him.

What the
hell
?

Hot tears pooled at the corners of her eyes and she sat, paralyzed by shock, while they trickled down her cheeks.
So close.
She'd been so very close to reaching him, taking hold. And then, like a mustang sniffing the wind, he'd scented danger and bolted.

Eventually, she scrubbed away the tears with a corner of the sheet and went to take a shower, cranking the knobs until the water was just short of scalding. By the time it went cold, she had smoothed down the frayed spots in her nerves. She dried her hair, did a more particular job than usual with her makeup, and ran through all the channels on the television four times before Joe knocked. Her heart thumped, tight and painful, as she opened the door.

Sweat dripped from his face and arms, soaking through his shirt and shorts as if he'd tried to run himself to death. His gaze dodged hers. “I forgot to grab a key.”

Violet stood back. He edged past like he expected her to make a grab for him. Their eyes met for an instant and her breath caught at the depth of the panic and guilt she saw in his. She reacted from a horse handler's instinct, not wanting to provoke another stampede. If she was too aggressive, she might chase him right back to Dick Browning, this time to stay. But if she didn't press the issue, if she let him go without declaring herself…

Maybe he'd find his way back to her.

She crossed her fingers and retreated, praying it was the right choice. “We have to leave in fifteen minutes. I'll wait out by the pool.”

He blinked. Then nodded and relaxed ever so slightly, as if he'd been braced for an attack. He came out in five minutes, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes and his bag slung over his shoulder. Violet met him at the pickup, ignoring the desperation clawing at her throat as the clock ticked down. Pushing might just send him over the edge, if he wasn't already there. The next move had to be Joe's.

She walked straight up to him, cringing at the way he stiffened, and handed him the pickup keys. “You drive. I'm worn plumb out for some reason.”

He stared at her, mouth jacked open, while she strolled around and climbed in the passenger's seat. She settled in, tilted the seat back and closed her eyes. After a long moment, Joe started the pickup and pulled out of the lot. As they turned onto the highway, he found a radio station to fill the empty, echoing space in the cab. She felt his occasional glances, as if he were trying to tell if she was really asleep or just faking it to avoid him.

Her head throbbed with the effort of pretending to doze by the time she felt the pickup downshift and slow. Violet sat up, rubbing her eyes as Joe took the exit to the Northwest terminal. He parked in a zone labeled
Loading and Unloading Only
and turned off the engine, then sat with both hands on the wheel, staring out through the windshield. “We're here.”

Violet nodded.

Joe climbed out, grabbed his bag from the backseat, and circled around the rear of the pickup. She kicked the door open and jumped down in time to meet him on the curb.
Say something. Anything. Don't let him go.

She folded her arms tight across her ribs and gave him a tense smile. “Well. Thanks. For, um…everything.”

He nodded. Their gazes caught, held, the moment stretching to the point of pain. His eyes were dark. Desperate. For what? She'd give it to him. Anything he wanted, anything he needed, if it would make him stay, or at least leave the door open for him to come back.

“Joe—”

He cut her off with a kiss. Deep, then even deeper, his hunger a wild, frantic thing that threatened to devour her. On and on, until a cluster of teenagers a few yards away began pointing and giggling.

He eased back to cup her face in his hands and kissed her again, gently. Then he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to hers. “I'm sorry. I can't…I have to…”

She swallowed hard and whispered, “I know.”

Joe pushed her chin up with his thumbs, his voice low, strained to the edge of breaking. “Take care of yourself. And Beni.”

She nodded. He let his hands drop and stared at her like he was trying to memorize her face. Then he stepped back. “I have to go.”

And he did, his strides long and swift, dodging through the crowd as if it were a race to see who could get the most gone. Violet waited, hoping, but he never looked back. A horn honked, echoing in the concrete bunker of the terminal. The wheels of a luggage cart clattered on the pavement. People scurried around her, rushing to and fro, caught up in their own lives, their own problems, oblivious to the quiet shattering of Violet's heart as she watched Joe run away one more time.