Rough and Tumble (15 page)

“Keep driving,” she said, the words out of her mouth before she could check them.

He didn't answer at first, but his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel until his knuckles were white.

Mortification needled her. Did he want to dump her off, get rid of her? But what about today, when he'd seemed so ready to seduce her again before the shit had hit the fan in the Pink Ladies? What about the way he'd defended her, the way he'd looked at her on the way back to the hotel in the car when he thought she hadn't noticed?

He still wanted her, and she knew it.

“I don't want to go back,” she said. “It's not time for that yet.”

“It's damn past time.” His jaw was tight. “I'm not going to Rough and Tumble tonight. Probably won't be there for a while—not until this thing with Leighton blows over.”

“You can just drop everything and leave like that?” she asked. “Sofia told me you're house-sitting in Rough and Tumble and—”

“My friend Boomer's gonna understand, believe me.”

She stared at the road ahead of them.

So this
was
it. But, damn it all, she couldn't accept that.
One more night
, she thought. And that would be it. Then back to life, back to reality.

She fetched her phone from her purse, dialed Arden's number, then waited for her to pick up.

Can't believe I'm doing this
, she thought ecstatically.
I'm doing this!

Arden answered with a rebel yell. “Mary, mother of God, that was awesome!”

Then Sofia's voice. “You good in there, Mol?”

“Tip-top.” She angled her body toward Cash, turning on her speakerphone so he could hear every word.

Arden said, “I'm trying to convince Sofia, Miss Stick-Up-the-Butt, that we need some drinks to put out the flames after that. What do you say, Mol? And, I swear, I'll stay miles away from the casino.” She barked out a laugh. “I can't freaking believe we were just about to go all redneck in there! Hah!”

Cash shook his head.

Molly kept looking at him. “Actually, I have a date tonight.”

After cocking an eyebrow, he looked out his driver's window, then went back to peering out the windshield. “Molly . . .”

She continued. “Would you guys mind? I wouldn't even be out for too long, then we can party the rest of the night before we go home tomorrow.”

Sofia's voice came on. “You've got to be kidding, Molly.”

“Just so you know,” she said, “you're on speakerphone.”
Boom! Argument blocker.
“Also, remember all that talk about getting back some mojo?”

“Oh my God,” Sofia said. “This goes beyond mojo. There are so many reasons to get back home right now.”

Arden rammed in. “Like what? I'm going to be a perfect girl. We'll see a show tonight—I've got those free tickets to
Jersey Boys
. Please, Sof? Molly can meet us later, no gambling involved.”

“I don't . . .” Sofia started.

“Mojo,” Arden said, and it held all kinds of meaning.

“
Mojo
,” Molly repeated. Hell yeah, she was going to play that card with her friends, and Arden had
better
back her up, based on everything Molly had done for her.

Cash didn't respond the entire time. Maybe he wanted to hear how female friends operated. Or maybe he was planning on just dropping Molly off anyway.

They'd see about that.

“Sof . . .” Molly said.

“Okay.”
Sofia sounded beaten, but then she perked up. “It's highly doubtful that the psycho at the saloon would track us down on the Strip anyway. Right?”

Arden said, “Like he's gonna hunt us down for just being there. Besides . . . ‘Walk Like a Man,' Sof. ‘Big Girls Don't Cry.' This is gonna be the best night.”

Molly did an inner fist pump. “Thanks! See you later?”

“Don't do anything I wouldn't do,” Arden said.

Sofia ended the call. “You're both incorrigible.”

Molly signed off and grinned at Cash until he looked over at her. Her blood twirled, causing friction in her veins.

He sighed. “You should've gone to the show with them.”

“Why? Can't you find anything more entertaining for me to do?”

He sent her one of those steamy green-eyed looks—the kind that seemed to go on forever, like a long road that wound toward the horizon.

Then he gunned the engine, the motor echoing and revving inside Molly.

Cash couldn't have said no to Molly even if the road had caved beneath them or the sky had fallen.

Maybe he was only a good time to her, but it was beyond him to deny her a few more hours, so he drove up the freeway and off-Strip to The Blue Bayou, an aged hotel-casino that was smaller than the huge corporate places on Las Vegas Boulevard, but big enough to disappear in. Since Kat had texted Cash that Leighton had been able to take off in his truck after she'd smacked him with the baseball bat in warning, Cash wanted to hole up for a while anyway. Later tonight, he'd leave town after getting Molly back to her hotel.

Other than that, he didn't have a plan as they walked through the mad slot-ringing of the Cajun-themed casino.

Actually, yeah, he
did
have a plan—to get Molly to a room as soon as possible. And he was pretty sure that was what she had in mind, too. Still, he wasn't about to come off as desperate.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Molly rubbed her arms, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the air-conditioning. “No. You bought me a burger and fries today, remember?”

Good old In-N-Out. “We never had dessert.”

He flashed a smile at her. She was still pink-cheeked from the saloon escape, and when she brushed against him, his skin roared with its own kind of hunger.

Pressing his advantage, he said, “I was thinking we needed a quiet night in.”

“You mean . . . room service? A movie on the hotel TV?”

“Both are options.”

Was this him taking the subtle route to getting laid? The usual Cash never pussyfooted around bringing a woman into a hotel room.

He manned up, refusing to act like a boy on prom night—not that he'd ever had one.

After searching for the nearest direction sign and finding one, he headed for the lobby, sending Molly one of his guaranteed-to-get-banged smiles. When she bit her lip, chewing back a knowing smile, he knew that he could take off the gloves now.

Anticipation tumbled in his belly as they entered the color-splashed, velvet-chaired lobby, which wasn't crowded. Fifteen minutes later, they were on an elevator to the third floor, then walking in silence to a room.

When her phone dinged, she glanced at him.

“Answer it,” he said.

“I don't want Sofia to freak out if I don't. . . .” She peeked at her screen, sighing. “It's not Sofia. Just my sister getting stressed about her rent. She and I have already talked about it, though.”

Molly didn't explain any more, but she seemed tense, almost trapped in a way.

Cash had all kinds of methods to relax her.

After sliding the card key into the lock, he opened the door to a generic space with paintings of Mardi Gras on the walls, open curtains with a view of the local street, and a light that'd been left on by the housekeeping staff. Still, nothing else mattered but that king-sized bed.

He looked at Molly. She looked at him. A palpitating cadence started up in his temples, making his sight constrict, his vision tunneling in on her.

Molly. Only Molly.

But if he expected her to be as greedy as he was to start this up, he was wrong. She was glancing around the room, her fingers working at her skirt before she quickly stopped herself.

Jumpy. Well, he could take care of that.

When he rested his fingers on her cheek, she held her breath. He'd only meant to calm her down, but instead, the gesture had motored him up in a way he hadn't expected, her eyes melting him, like he didn't have a spine anymore. He had an urge to take her into his arms and stroke that blond, blond hair.

He pushed both sensations away. “You still in?” he asked. “Or out?”

He'd put the same question to her this afternoon in the parking lot of the Pink Ladies.

Without hesitation, she said, “In.”

So why was she a ball of nerves when she hadn't been that way in the car? Shit, why'd he have to work so hard to figure her out?

All he knew was that, based on last night, she'd be worth the effort.

Cash told himself to be patient, and he walked to the other side of the room, to a lounging chair, sitting in it, sprawling.

“What?” Molly asked. “Are you mad at me?”

“No. Just confused. You say you're up for this, but I'm getting a lot of mixed signals.”

“And you're not used to that.” She sounded kind of proud of herself for besting him in this way. Kind of playful about it, too.

“Are you messing with me?”

“I didn't set out to, but now I'm thinking that what's good for the goose is good for the gander.”

He couldn't argue. He'd been messing with her since they'd met.

Her gaze skimmed over the bed, then back to him, and Cash realized something new about Molly—she might be the type who wouldn't give herself permission to lose as much control as she had last night. She was thinking too much right now, overanalyzing.

He'd give her permission.

“When you came up here with me,” he said, “what was the first thing you wanted to do?”

“I . . .” She really looked like she wasn't sure.

“Hell,
I
couldn't stop conjuring scenarios—don't tell me nothing crossed your mind.”

She pressed her lips together, thinking some more, but that's the last thing he'd been aiming for. Besides, he had the impression that she knew damned well what she wanted. She just wasn't used to asking for it.

“Get on the bed,” he said.

She blinked, glancing at the mattress, then back at him. She even tucked a light blond wisp of hair behind her ear. “Can I . . .” She motioned at the bedspread. “You know that studies have shown there are a ton of really gross things on these.”

Holy. Shit.

“Take off the fucking bedcover and get on the bed, Molly.” His tone was frayed. God knew how much worse it was going to get if she kept trying to blue-ball him.

When she delicately raised the cover and brought it to the floor at the end of the bed, he wiped a hand down his face, trying not to chuckle. Warmth had darted into him, a silent laughter that whooshed around his chest until he finally smacked it out, paying more attention to the heat in other parts of his body.

She took off her purse, set it on a nightstand, then got to her knees on the mattress, sitting down on one hip and folding her legs beneath her. But she still didn't look comfortable.

“I'm going to . . .” she said, gesturing to her sandals.

“Be my guest.”

She unstrapped them, going so slow that the blood laboring through him started running around itself in circles. Goddammit, she
had
to be acting like a smart-ass with him right now.

But she looked pretty innocent when she tossed her sandals to a chair, then adjusted her position on the bed, resting a hand on the mattress and facing him like a posing Cleopatra.

In the next instant, though, she'd changed her mind, fluffing pillows and testing them, probably for maximum slut positioning impact.

“Molly,” he said.

She tossed her hands in the air. “I know. I'm terrible at this.”

At foreplay? He thought back to last night, remembering how good it'd been in the end. But now that she mentioned it . . . yeah, she'd been nervous as hell at first.

Clearly, Molly only needed some warming up.

He got out of the chair and, like she couldn't help responding, she lay back on the pillows, her eyes wide. He was sure he could even see a pulse in her neck fluttering like a butterfly's wing.

Blood boiled, knocking against itself. “What kind of bra are you wearing tonight?” he asked.

“Black,” she whispered.

“Did you wear it for me?”

“No.” She waited, then rushed out with more words. “You have my other one, and this was the only bra that was left in my suitcase. . . .”

“Stop talking, Molly.”

She did. And he approached the bed, bending down to remove his boots and socks as he talked, using a gentle tone.

“Why'd you say you're no good at foreplay?”

Closing her eyes, she spread her fingers over the sheets, like she wanted to hold on to something. She opened her eyes. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“I'm only curious. Besides, you could've fooled me last night.”

A small smile lit over her lips. She glowed, and that made a part of him do the same—a part that hadn't glowed for years.

Fuck that.
He stamped it out, reaching down to shuck off his T-shirt, throwing it away from him.

“I might've mentioned,” she said, her gaze roaming over his chest, “that I'm too busy with work to go to bars or parties much. Hence, I don't get a lot of practice.”

Hence
. Jesus.

He skimmed a gaze over her: the light blond hair that was spread over the pillow, the slender body under the dress he was going to peel off inch by inch, the long legs that tapered into red-tipped toenails that gave her a rattling touch of naughtiness.

As he climbed onto the bed, the mattress sank under his weight. She shifted, her eyes going even wider.

“You'd rather read books on a weekend night,” he said. “Is that the story?”

“I've been on dates. Horrible ones. Boring ones. That's why I'd rather not waste my time on them.”

“And . . . ?”

He moved closer to her, and she slanted her legs away from him. They were closed.

But that wouldn't be the case for long.

“And I've had sex before, just like I told you,” she said. “If that's what you're asking again.”

“You told me you're not a virgin. I'd say some of your experience was to my benefit already.”

He slid his hands around her ankles, shackling them. That flutter in her throat vein seemed to intensify . . . or maybe it was his own desire projecting itself onto her.

“It's just . . .” she started to say.

“Just what?”

He slipped his hands up her legs, easing inside her knees, coaxing them open as her dress rolled away, exposing her thighs. His cock nudged his fly, beginning a pounding countdown.

Her words spilled out. “It's just that I never enjoyed sex much. Not until last night.”

Passion zinged him. She hadn't even needed to touch him, because her simple confession had gotten him more excited than he'd thought possible. He felt it in his gut, then up in his chest, warmth spreading like his own pair of wings, dark and ragged and burning like shredded emotion.

She went on. “I wasn't sure I'd be good at it, and that's why I wanted to come here with you. Because I wonder if last night was a fluke.”

“We have a few more hours to find out.”

“Okay.” As he tickled his fingers down her thighs, she flinched, laughing. “A few hours until you're done with me.”

She was kidding but, for him, those were words to live by. “Then I'm hitting the road, just like Jesse said I should.”

“Most guys have blow-
up
dolls, but it looks like I'm a blow-
off
doll.”

More jokes. She was getting more comfortable, and he was getting less. And when he spoke, he barely even had time to wish he could take the words back.

“Don't worry, Molly. I'll remember you forever.”

***

Molly thought she saw a flash of emotion fly through Cash's gaze.

She kept catching glimpses of it, like after he'd punched that man at the Pink Ladies, or when she'd asked him at the Rough & Tumble why he'd defended her with such verve. But as soon as she recognized the flash, it was gone, and Cash was back to grinning as if he'd been messing with her again. But when he quite seriously ran his hands down her thighs, pushing down the rest of her dress until it bunched around her waist, her skin sizzled with need.

He expertly pulled her panties off, discarding them and leaving her bare to him once again, and her mind filled up with sensations from the present. The past tried to barge its way in—so did the future, with her job interview and her boring life—but all of that was destroyed in a muted boom as he scooped his hands under her butt and lowered his head, bringing her to his mouth, pressing his lips to the spot between her legs.

“Fuck!” she said as he kissed her.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, afraid of what else might come out of it while he used his tongue, licking, bathing her with strokes that made her vibrate. With every move, she shifted her hips, reaching up to grasp a pillow with her other hand.

It was like her mind had become a fuzzy screen, no images, no thoughts, just pure ecstasy as he worked her like she'd never been worked before—lips, tongue, delving into her until she softly squealed against her hand. Pressure braced against the inside of her belly like it wanted a way out, pushing, pushing . . .

He opened her more with his fingers, coming up for air. Her body thudded hard, needing him back down there, dying for it.

“Has anyone ever gone down on you before?” he asked.

“A couple times.”

“How hard did you come?”

Dirty talk. She'd missed it from him, craved it. Nobody had ever dared to say things like this to her.

She reached down and fisted some of his hair, opening her legs wider, wrapping one over his back, arching up to meet his mouth.

“No matter how hard I might've come,” she said, watching his head go up and down as he devoured her, “I know you can make it harder.”

Oh God, he was good. Tender yet aggressive, and seeing him do this to her undid her seam by seam, unbearable electric buzz by buzz.

Truthfully, she'd always been too nervous to come during oral sex the few times she'd had it. Not that he needed to know this as he loved her, tasting her and sucking at her until the pressure became too much for her to handle. Heat abraded her, and she rocked against him, pulling in air because she was sure she'd never be able to breathe again, and—