B.J. blinked and lifted a hand to touch her
mouth. Holy Lord. She looked good and truly
debauched. As she glanced back at the door, her stomach rolled again with unease. This was foreign territory indeed. She was actually thinking like a woman as she wondered what was going on in
Grady’s head out there.
She wondered what he thought of her now and
how awkward it was going to be when she finally left 48
The Trouble with Tomboys
the bathroom. She knew she’d been wrong...but he hadn’t stopped her. In fact, the second time had been entirely his doing...his sweet, slow, almost-loving doing.
B.J. grinned.
The second time.
Imagine that.
They’d had sex two consecutive times in a row.
Thinking things couldn’t be as bad as she’d
originally surmised, she hurried to the shower, turned on the water, and cleaned herself quickly. All the while, she almost expected Grady, the sexually repressed nymphomaniac who’d just gone twice in a row, to pop in and join her for some kinky, yet satisfying, shower play. But he didn’t enter the bathroom.
Once she’d rinsed herself clean, she hurried out of the tub and slung a towel around her body, wrapping it up under her armpits and tucking the end between her tender breasts. She hadn’t brought any clothes into the lavatory, so she went to the door and eased it open, wondering if he’d be dressed or not. But when B.J. ducked her head into her hotel room, all traces of Grady Rawlings were gone. The only thing to let her know she hadn’t imagined everything was the soreness between her legs and the hot rash of beard burn on her neck, not to mention the pile of her damp clothes strewn across the floor.
Straightening, she stepped fully into the room and ignored the ball of disappointment that
thumped into the base of her stomach. Of course, she was relieved too, she assured herself. If he was upset or remorseful, she didn’t particularly want to face him and look into his accusing eyes.
But the disappearing act kind of stung. It told her without a doubt their encounter had been a mistake.
B.J. nodded to herself, mentally repeating that 49
Linda Kage
it had indeed been a stupid, careless blunder as she slumped toward the bed. Not bothering to put on clothes, she dropped the towel and crawled under the covers.
Curling into a tight ball, she lay there. She shouldn’t have left him out here alone. Or better yet, she shouldn’t have pushed him into any of this tonight. She should’ve just shut up and let it all alone. Damn it, she shouldn’t have been so rude, and she certainly shouldn’t have kissed him.
But she had. She’d done it all.
He was probably in his room, feeling as guilty as hell. He hadn’t planned on ever being with another woman again. Something inside her told her he hadn’t. Not that it mattered. She’d destroyed his plans and felt like a piece of crap for it.
“What a complete mess,” she announced to the quiet room.
Then, unable to help it, she burst into tears.
“God, what’s wrong with me?” she muttered.
B.J. Gilmore, the tomboy of Tommy Creek,
Texas, never cried. But, tonight, she did. She let the tears flow as she bawled herself to sleep.
50
The Trouble with Tomboys
Grady crawled out of bed before dawn. All night, he kept jerking awake every half hour, haunted by erotic images, until he finally grew fed up with trying to sleep and shoved the sheets off his burning skin. He took a shower. As the water sluiced over his shoulders and through his hair, steaming the air around him, he closed his eyes, rested a hand against the shower wall, and bowed his head.
Deciding this had to be about the most confusing moment of his life, he let out a long breath and lifted his face to the spray.
From one perspective, he wanted to hate B.J.
Gilmore. She had no right to pressure him into doing anything he didn’t want to do, something he hadn’t been prepared to do. This was his life. He decided when he was ready to move on and when he wasn’t.
Damn some hot-headed tomboy who thought he
needed a little prodding.
On the other hand, he wanted to return to her room, lock them both inside, and continue where they’d left off. She’d been right about one thing.
Going without sex for too long couldn’t be
healthy...
hadn’t
been healthy. It’d turned him into a maniac, an utter savage. He just wanted to tie her to the nearest bed and keep her there for two weeks straight. He wanted to pound and rut until she passed out from orgasm overdose. The things he had in mind would make it so she’d never walk right again.
God.
Rippling with need, his dick lengthened and his 51
Linda Kage
balls tightened. His body wanted more of B.J.
Gilmore, and it didn’t care what he had to do to get her. Yet decency told him he should apologize. His mother hadn’t raised him to be the type of man who kicked up a woman’s skirt twice in a row without protection and then ditched out on her at the first opportunity. He was better than that. A gentleman.
Guilt clogged his throat, and he swallowed,
trying to work it loose.
Truth be told, he wouldn’t have survived if he’d stayed in her room. His nerves were rent to hell, and every particle of his being felt scattered and disorganized. He didn’t know who he was or how to be. He just knew he had to get as far away from her as possible.
In his entire life, he’d only been with one
woman. He’d dated Amy for three years until they’d had sex on the night of their junior prom. At that point, it was a given they’d eventually marry. So, he’d never thought he’d be with anyone else. She’d been “the one.” He’d assumed he’d never have another for the rest of his life. But he’d had B.J., the very woman his dead wife had helped raise.
He’d always thought of her as the mouthy little Gilmore tomboy whose mama had died in a car
accident when she was only three. B.J. was a tough hard-ass who didn’t take crap from anyone. Grady had never looked at her in a sexual light before, not until he’d glanced at her in the elevator and seen her nipples poking through her wet shirt, making him want to warm them with his breath. Of course, she’d been talking to him about sex, so at that point it was the only thing on his mind. But Grady was thirty-two years old, for Christ’s sake. He should’ve had more restraint. The mere sight of a woman’s tits definitely shouldn’t have pushed him over the edge.
Yet it had.
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The Trouble with Tomboys
And now, here he was...confused. There was
shame, sure. He’d just been with a woman who wasn’t his wife—whom he never intended to make his wife—and he’d liked it. It went against every single old-fashioned moral fiber he possessed.
Then there was anger. If she’d only left him alone, he wouldn’t have touched a hair on her head the entire trip, and none of his morals would be compromised. God, why hadn’t she just left him the hell alone?
The guilt for ditching out on her afterward ate at him the most, but the longing thumping through his bloodstream didn’t help in the least. His libido craved her again. Like a junkie going through withdrawal, his body felt edgy and impatient, needing more...now.
He didn’t want to want her. He wasn’t ready for this pulsing, gut-eating kind of necessity. He still loved Amy. He wanted to be with Amy. He wanted to make love with
her
, not some rude, irritating wannabe man.
But Amy was gone, and he felt lost and so
conflicted, the water turned cold in his shower before he realized how long he’d been standing there.
Cursing under his breath, he shut off the stream and pushed the shower door open to reach for a towel.
One thing was certain. He needed to apologize.
It didn’t matter how much he blamed B.J. for their encounter, he’d fully participated. And leaving her alone afterward was inexcusable.
He’d say something on the plane.
But damn...he certainly didn’t relish the idea of being stuck alone with her on a tiny aircraft the entire way back to Tommy Creek...not when she’d be close enough he could smell her or, God help him, lean over and taste her. ****
53
Linda Kage
B.J. arrived at the rented hangar half an hour before their rendezvous. Blood thrummed through her veins as she neared her plane. Today, she wanted to fly fast. She needed to vent, and her skywagon was just the tool in which to do that.
She’d had her Cessna TU206 for five years now.
The Gilmore family business already had three planes between them. But ever since she was six years old and her father had taken her up on a crop-dusting job, she’d wanted one to call her own. Pop let her think she was commandeering the throttle, and she’d been a goner. It’d taken her sixteen years to finally get approved for the loan to buy her own.
The money she’d borrowed for her twenty-year-old Cessna exceeded the mortgage on her house, but B.J. thought it was worth it. Her single-engine aircraft did everything she needed it to do. It was an SUV of the air. She used it for aerial photography on occasion, cargo-hauling at other times, and least frequently she transported up to four passengers or flew for skydiving lessons and jumps. She figured it’d pay itself off in another ten years if business kept on as it was.
Thankful it was a bright, sunny day, she pushed her mirrored sunglasses into place, making sure they were snugly settled before she patted the side of her Cessna in welcome. Nothing short of the hand of God was going to make her take those shades off either. Under the reflective lenses, her eyes were puffy and red.
Her hair was up in a ponytail—big shocker
there—and she wore a black tank top with blue jeans. It definitely didn’t scream,
come and get me,
big boy
, but when she glanced up and saw Grady watching her as he approached, she felt as if she were wearing the slinkiest, hottest piece of lingerie on the planet. He wanted her. It was spelled out in his clear blue eyes as his gaze slowly traveled down 54
The Trouble with Tomboys
her body and meandered its way back up again.
Shock and animal awareness collided hard in
her gut. She still couldn’t believe he’d actually showed. It wasn’t like there would be any
commercial flights landing in their small
countryside airstrip anytime in the next millennium, but she’d wondered if he’d just rent a car or something and drive home. She’d in no way thought he’d torture himself by riding back with her in a small enclosed space for nearly a whole hour.
But here he was at eight o’clock sharp, staring at her like he wanted her for breakfast.
She sucked in a breath and tried to keep it cool, though questions stirred inside her. Did that hungry look mean he’d forgiven her? Did his presence mean he wasn’t mad? Could she hope all was okay
between them?
When their gazes met, he paused, his eyes
frosting slightly. She sighed. Okay, so maybe everything wasn’t entirely kosher. Turning away quickly, she opened the clamshell cargo door.
“Come on, B.J.,” she muttered to herself as she tossed her bag haphazardly into the belly of her plane. “You’re the queen of casual. You treat everyone the same. Just imagine he’s everyone else and not Grady Rawlings.”
Yeah, imagine she hadn’t spent a third of the night pissing the hell out of him, another third of the night screwing his brains out, and then the last third of the night sobbing like there was no tomorrow because of him. Sure. No problem.
She sucked in a breath and turned back. He’d drawn close enough for her to see the tired yet wary lines around his eyes and mouth. He looked about as ready for another confrontation with her as she felt about apologizing to him, which pretty much meant neither of them would be doing any talking for the next hour.
55
Linda Kage
“Ready?” she asked.
He nodded and opened his mouth. No words
came out.
Her stomach did a flip-flop, but she amazed
herself by keeping it cool. Arching a brow, she asked,
“Yeah?”
He closed his mouth, shook his head, and then glanced away, obviously horrified with himself for chickening out.
“Then let’s head out,” she answered brusquely.
“I just finished my inspection.”
Not bothering to touch his luggage this morning, she deserted him and made her way to the cockpit.
Behind her, the cargo doors shut and seconds later, Grady slipped into the seat next to hers. A wave of déjà vu hit. Hadn’t they already played this game before? Uncomfortable silence. Awkward attempts at conversation. Stolen glances.
Except this time around, B.J. knew what he
looked like naked.
She didn’t think she could do it. There was no way she could act like nothing had happened. On the other hand, there was no way she could talk to him about what happened either. And there didn’t seem to be any kind of happy medium.
Briefly she wondered what he’d do if she politely said,
Hey, would you please step out of the Cessna
and find your own way home? I can’t take the sexual
tension and all this guilt I’m feeling.
B.J. shook her head and started the plane.
Okay, so they were obviously going to go with the whole memory-loss plan and pretend neither of them could recall attacking each other less than eight hours ago and ripping the clothes off their bodies.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her
breath.
From the corner of her eyes, she saw him turn 56
The Trouble with Tomboys
his head her way as if he’d heard her speak but hadn’t caught the words. When he didn’t comment, she blocked him and proceeded to get them in the air. Five minutes later, they’d climbed as far into the sky as she was going to go, and B.J. pushed the limits of their speed. But it didn’t help. As much as she loved going fast, today it didn’t seem to give her the rush she craved. Instead, she kept staring at Grady’s knee from the corner of her eye. His thigh was incased in tight Wranglers, and she wondered if she reached over and set her hand on it, if it’d still be as hard as she remembered it being last night.