Wait.
Three hours ago, Jayce had teased her with the promise of hot and heavy sex. He’d said he’d let her know when and where. She’d showered and changed into low-riding chenille lounging pants and a matching powder-blue lace cami. She’d cranked the heat because the temperature outside had dropped to thirty-six and, because of construction and some drafts, she was freaking freezing. An hour ago she’d given up on baring sexy skin and pulled on a thick robe and texted Jayce.
STILL ON?
YES.
SHOULD I COME TO YOU?
SIT TIGHT.
What the hell did he think she’d been doing? She was more than a little peeved. Partly because her raging libido had yet to cool.
Since when did lust trump anger?
And partly because she itched to talk about the Rothwell property and the possibility of branching out as an interior decorator. She wasn’t schooled in the profession, but she had great instincts, an innate talent, and a reasonable amount of experience. She could call and bounce the idea off of one of her brothers or her parents or any one of several friends, but Rocky wanted to dish with Jayce. She was ready to move forward with their relationship, yet he’d put her on hold. Okay. So it had only been for a few hours, but it seemed like forever and his bossy texts rubbed her the wrong way.
Desperate for distraction, Rocky curled up on her sofa with a collection of cupcake recipes, assorted photos, and typed memoirs—all for possible inclusion in the CL recipe/memoir book. If the club’s project was on the fast track, she didn’t want to fall behind. Twenty minutes passed and then ten more. She checked her cell. No updated texts. No missed calls. Where the hell was Jayce?
The television bleated in the background, a rerun of a bake-off on the Cooking Channel. The mantle clock ticked. The huge house, empty except for Rocky, creaked intermittently as harsh winds battered the façade and tree branches whipped against the eaves.
Rocky had never felt so alone. So frustrated. So impatient. And, okay, a little spooked.
She glanced at the time. Ten thirty. “Wait, my ass.”
Too pumped to go to bed, Rocky bolted off the sofa and shoved her feet into a pair of ankle-high UGGs. She traded her robe for a fleece-lined coat and cinched the waist tight. She’d drive to the Sugar Shack. Hang with Luke for a while. Order a beer and nachos and maybe discuss the Rothwell farm. If Jayce thought she was going to spend a lifetime cooling her heels while he did his PI thing or whatever, he was dead wrong. Hopped up on pent-up lust and frustration, Rocky grabbed her purse and blew out the door. The brisk wind stung her cheeks as she trotted down the porch steps and marched through the dark toward her Jeep.
She slammed into someone and screamed.
“Damn, woman.”
“Jayce?” Heart hammering against her ribs, Rocky punched his muscled shoulder. “You scared the hell out of me!”
“That’s what you get for prowling around in the dark.”
“I’m not prowling, you jackass. I’m leaving!” She pushed past him, but he nabbed her arm. She glared even though he probably couldn’t tell. Thick clouds muted moonshine, and her porch light was a dim, distant glow. “Tell me to wait,” she warned in a low voice, “and you’re dead meat.”
“I told you I’d be late.”
“It’s after ten!”
“Early by my standards.”
“Well, not by mine and that’s not the point. You could have been more forthcoming in your texts.
Wait
?
Sit tight
? I have a life, too, you know.” She wrenched away, then vacillated between her Jeep and the house.
Damn.
Jayce decided for her. He nabbed her by the waist and half-carried her toward the porch. “You’re hell on wheels when riled.” He cursed when he tried the door and it gave. “You forgot to lock the door.”
“I was in a hurry.”
“No excuse.”
“Don’t lecture me.”
“Don’t tempt me.” He flicked on the wall switch, then caught her wrist as she tried to leave. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Apology not accepted.” She balled her fists, acknowledging a new and troubling realization. She’d been worried. Not knowing where Jayce had been exactly or what he’d been doing, deep down she’d harbored ghoulish thoughts. What if he’d tangled with a bad sort—he carried a gun after all—or ticked off Billy and landed in jail or blew a tire and rammed his car into a tree? She wasn’t used to worrying about a lover. The only other time she’d gotten this worked up was last month when Jayce had been a guest at the Red Clover and had stayed out superlate. Her fierce reaction when he’d finally walked through the door had stunned them both. Would it always be like this with him? The possibility made her queasy.
“The business I mentioned, it was personal.” Jayce looked away, worked his jaw. “Took longer than I anticipated.”
There it was again.
Vulnerability.
And it took the wind right out of her sails. Mostly. “I hate that you’re able to twist me up with a simple word or gesture.”
“Same here.”
“I hate your domineering attitude.”
“Not always.”
Clinging to her agitation like a lifeline, Rocky struggled with her cinched belt.
Jayce moved in and freed the knot. “Where were you going anyway?”
She wrenched off the coat. “The Sugar Shack.”
“Dressed like that?”
Okay. Maybe she could’ve gotten away with the lounging pants and boots, but the lace cami? “I wasn’t planning on taking off my coat.”
He raised a brow.
“I was in a hurry.”
“So you said.”
Why did he have to be so freaking handsome, so charismatic? Blood burning, pulse racing, Rocky glared. “Sometimes I really hate you.”
“Back at you, Dash.”
Rocky launched herself at the longtime, lustful bane of her existence. She wrapped her arms and legs around the freaking-hot bastard and cursed and thanked God. She kissed Jayce with passion and frustration and he responded with equal fervor. The frenzied clash and mesh escalated to a fever pitch, breaking only to shed layers of clothing.
Quaking with blinding affection, Rocky’s mind burst with erotic images as Jayce hauled her into his arms and up the stairs. Next thing she knew she was flat on her back in bed staring up at the only man who’d ever owned her heart. The word
love
whispered in her head, scaring her, thrilling her. “Take me.”
Jayce torched her senses with a soulful kiss while finessing his rock-hard body beneath her. “No.” He gripped her hips, then relinquished control. “Take me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Fix Mama another drink, Jayce-e.”
“Get your own damn booze, Angie. Go outside and play, kid.”
Jayce looked from his mom to his dad, sick to his stomach, sick to death of being told what to do by two people who didn’t give a crap about him.
Chilling out in the worn recliner, his mom shook her empty glass at him, the ice cubes tinkling like a bully’s taunt. “Half a glass of bourbon and a splash of water,” she said in a slurry voice. Then again, her voice was almost always slurred.
Jayce’s dad pushed off of the sofa with his own empty glass and nabbed Angie’s, giving her that creepy look he always got just before they disappeared into their bedroom.
Jayce’s face burned. He hated the sounds they made in that room. The grunts, the squeals, the dirty words that filtered through the walls. “Dev invited me to his grandma’s for dinner.”
“Someone going to pick you up?” his dad asked, looking annoyed at the prospect of tearing himself away from his liquor and whatever he had in mind for Angie.
“I’ll ride my bike.” He headed for the door, not surprised when no one said,
Be careful, Have fun,
or
Don’t be too late.
Nope. It was the Monroes who said stuff like that to him. Jayce blew out of the suffocating house and into the fresh air and sunshine. The cramp in his stomach eased as he straddled the banana seat of his most prized possession. Gripping the moustache handlebars of his secondhand bike, Jayce pedaled hard. Daisy Monroe lived on the other side of town. Since he was only eleven, probably he should feel lucky that his parents gave him so much freedom. He didn’t feel so lucky.
Someone touched him. Not a slap or a push, but a gentle brush.
“Jayce.”
He’d know that voice anywhere. Especially in his dreams. Although not
this
dream. Jayce shoved away the shitty memories of the past and focused on his future. He lazed open his eyes and smiled at the naked woman cuddled against him and cradling his face. “Morning, Dash.”
“You were dreaming.”
“Talk in my sleep?” He’d been known to mumble when particularly troubled, which sucked. Although past lovers had labeled the mumbling as incoherent.
“No, but you were frowning and restless. Want to talk about it?”
He grasped her hand, kissed her palm. “Nothing to talk about.” They gazed at each other for a long moment, and Jayce breathed slow and deep, appreciating the mingling scents of Rocky’s herbal shampoo, her flowery-fresh sheets, and some sort of pine potpourri. Country scents, comforting scents. Sunshine filtered through her lacey curtains, illuminating the antique furnishings and eclectic curiosities. Everything from the braided rugs to the framed scenic paintings screamed an appreciation of old-fashioned sensibilities. Basking in the domestic tranquility, Jayce felt the painful remnants of the past fade away. “I could get used to this.”
She quirked an ornery grin. “Sleeping with me?”
“Waking with you. Sex is a bonus.”
She trailed her fingers over his shoulders, his chest. “The sex is amazing. Know what would make it even better?”
“Got something kinky in mind?”
“Depends on if you consider intimacy kinky.”
“Depends on your definition of ‘intimate.’”
She rose up on one elbow and studied him with wide blue eyes. He stared back, mesmerized as always by her natural beauty. Her intense gaze promised trouble. Warning bells clanged in his head even as his shaft sprang to life.
“You’re awfully private,” she said.
“You mean like you?”
“You’re worse. Way worse. I’ve known you all my life, Jayce, and I hardly know you at all. It wouldn’t matter except, if we’re going to do this, us, I want … I need to know you more than anyone else. Even Dev.”
That wouldn’t be hard, since Jayce had been nearly as guarded with his best friend. Jayce had craved a lot of things in his life, but never sympathy. He pushed up and tried to relax against the pillows. Meanwhile his gut clenched. “What do you want to know?”
“Why do you always refer to your house as your parents’ house? They’ve been gone a long time and, yes, you rented it out for years, but you do own it. You grew up in that house, yet you seem so detached.”
“It’s never felt like home,” he answered honestly.
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t expect you to. We were dealt very different lives, Rocky.”
“For all the time you spent with us, I never really knew your parents. They weren’t very sociable. Is that where you got your independent streak?”
“I’m hoping I didn’t get anything from them.” He reached out and tucked her messy curls behind one ear. “Why the preoccupation with Angie and Joe Bello?” As Jayce had grown older, more confident, and more distant from his folks, he’d fallen into thinking of them by their given names. “Mom” and “Dad” were too intimate and undeserved.
“Honestly, they were an afterthought. I was fixated on your house. I’ve only been inside a couple of times and I’ve always been aware of an emptiness. A lack of personality.
Your
personality.” She shifted under the covers and sprawled on top of Jayce, cocooning him in feminine warmth and affection. As she gazed down at him, her expression turned from inquisitive to determined. “I’m glad you asked me to decorate. I think … I
know
I can make it into a home.
Your
home.”
He smiled a little, thinking it would take a miracle. “If anyone can, you can.”
“You don’t have to worry about me abusing your credit card.”
“I’m not worried.”
“I spotted some interesting pieces at Molly’s. Some I reserved pending your approval. One I purchased on my own. A housewarming gift. It’s being delivered later today.”
Jayce’s heart jerked. “I’m intrigued. And touched.”
She smiled. “Yay.”
Moved beyond words, he traced a finger over the healing wound on her forehead. She’d been nicked by a car, but he’d been slammed by a damned Mack truck. With Rocky at the wheel, his life would never be the same.
Hoo-frickin’-rah.
“So about your dream.”
Damn.
“Have anything to do with that personal business that kept you from me last night?”
He thought about distracting her with a kiss, but that wouldn’t be fair. She’d asked a valid question. “Yes.”
She blinked, looking pleased and surprised that she’d guessed right. Looking curious.
Jayce shifted, rolling her off of him so that they were resting on their sides—face-to-face. “Knowing me entails knowing some ugly stuff, Dash. You sure about this?”
“I’m sure.”
No hesitation. Well, hell.
“I spent last night tearing down a wall. I asked you to make my house a home, but I couldn’t see that happening with certain memories bouncing off certain walls. Specifically the walls that used to be my parents’ bedroom.”
He took a breath and uttered words that he’d never spoken aloud before. “My mom was an alcoholic and my dad liked her that way because he was a sexual deviant.” Jayce saw no reason to cite specifics. “To each his own behind closed doors, but not at the expense of a kid. They never wanted me and that room represented the extent of their rejection. So last night, I rejected that room.”
Rocky stared at him a long moment before responding. “Why not just purchase another house?”
“I don’t want to give them that kind of power over me. I need to put the past to rest—things they said and did. Things I said and … didn’t do.”