Chapter Four
Jase leaned against his truck with a beer in his hand and an eye on the gravel road.
Every slot along the Tee-Pee’s four-row RV section, located a stone’s throw from the upper Karankawa River, held not only some sort of camper, but the distinct mode of transportation preferred by its current occupants. Oil-field guys drove big flashy trucks like they were a badge, and jacked-up four-wheel drives, mostly new, mostly dusty, dwarfed Cassie’s car as it turned down the riverside row.
In defiance of the hammering in his chest, Jase took a slow sip from his bottle before leaning back to rest both elbows on his tailgate. Three decades older than all the rest, the single-cab Custom Deluxe had been his father’s. It had been relegated to a ranch truck, then to the dusty barn. After Michael Lucas’s death, Jase had dragged the Chevy into the daylight and painted it black as night. It was the baddest ride on the row.
Cassie Mitchum wasn’t impressed. In an unspoken challenge, she emerged from her car covered from head to toe in one of those flowy sundresses. The kind that obliterates every feminine curve. A part of him respected that, and if he’d been on his game, it would’ve made things much easier.
But he wasn’t on his game, not with her.
Although basically dressed for church, the woman was still a seduction. Her face was beautiful, yes, and he’d imagined to exhaustion those big sleepy eyes gazing up at him and those pillowy lips parted in pleasure. But that wasn’t all. He admired her professional determination. It reminded him of his own. And he wondered, not for the first time, whether she lay in bed at night, her hand creeping farther and farther south until she fisted it at her side in frustration at the idea of keeping things PG-professional in the face of undeniable attraction.
Or maybe that was just him.
As if reading his mind, she grimaced and clutched her messenger bag tighter. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to read her mind right now. Because he honestly had no idea what she thought of him. He wasn’t blind to the fact that women found him attractive. Some proved more overt in their appreciation than others, but this one was having none of it. She was all business. With a death grip on her bag, she approached him like a wary hunter stalking prey. And it was doing funny things to his chest. He prided himself on his restraint but, apparently, only when he was the one who couldn’t be had.
“You didn’t wear the jeans,” he said, eyeing her around his tilted-back bottle.
“They were dirty.”
“Laundromat must be out of order.”
Both brows disappeared beneath her bangs. “How presumptuous.”
“You’re welcome to use my washer and dryer,” he said, testing the waters, because he realized his pride had been hurt. “Especially for something as important as keeping you in clean jeans.”
He was a bad, bad man. And a hypocrite, which was somehow worse. Him telling her to get lost then inviting her into his safe haven proved it, no matter his motivations.
“You have a washer and dryer in there?” she asked, dipping her chin in disbelief.
“I’ve got everything in there.”
She snorted softly. Her nose wrinkled when she did it, and dammit if she wasn’t the cutest thing he’d seen in a long, long time.
It’s just chemical. You don’t even know her.
But he wanted to. And after her little admission about trekking back out to the ranch, he’d decided it might be a good idea to keep an eye on her. Something told him he’d enjoy every minute, no matter how frustrating.
“Where would you like to talk?” She brushed past him, leaving a faint trail of that spicy, exotic scent.
She still wasn’t having it. Good for her.
He pushed away from his truck. “Who said anything about talking?” And before she could snap out a protest, he grabbed the landman’s hand and led her over to the fire ring beside his camper. “Sit.”
She more like plopped. The plastic Adirondack chair sat low to the ground. She must have underestimated the distance and landed hard.
He side-eyed her, stifling a grin as he lifted the lid of a stainless-steel grill. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” She reached for her bag.
He shot her a stern glance. “First, we eat,” he repeated.
Ignoring his command, she slid a folder from her bag. Gut reaction had him plucking the file from her hand, followed by the bag. Deaf to her protests, he hurried to his RV and stepped inside.
Get your shit together, man. Except he had no idea what he was doing. Battlefields and business meetings he could handle, no problem. A date though? What had he been thinking? But that’s not what this was, not really. It wasn’t exactly a business meeting either. And he really shouldn’t have led her into thinking that, because he had no intention of signing the damn lease. So why had he invited her here? The answer to that was complicated. And selfish. First of all, he felt a possessiveness he shouldn’t, one that made him sick at the thought of her flashing those dimples at anyone but him. But the larger issue was the fact that he knew she wouldn’t give up. Despite his warnings, he had a feeling she’d be back at the ranch tomorrow morning if he didn’t give her something to take back to her boss. So, he’d decided to throw her a crumb while he figured out how to handle this mess. It sounded shitty. And he was the good guy, believe it or not.
Cursing under his breath, he grabbed a foil-covered plate from the stove then switched on the stereo, hoping for a distraction while the steaks finished cooking. Robert Plant belted out the first verse of “Black Dog” as he made his way down the steps, unable to keep his eyes off his visitor, who’d crossed her legs, revealing some…ankle.
Jase uncovered the plate. “You like jalapeños?”
Cassie smiled. “Do I like jalapeños?”
He kept his satisfaction to himself and placed the bacon-wrapped jalapeños stuffed with pan sausage and cream cheese on the little wrought iron table beside her.
“The path to heaven is paved with this stuff, you know.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Definitely,” she said. “Although I typically don’t indulge in the presence of a landowner from whom I need to wrangle a signature.”
“And why’s that?” he asked, staring down at her. And we have cleavage.
“Because when heaven is offered, I can’t wait to sink my teeth in. The result is usually a lavalike stream of liquefied cheese coursing down my chin, followed by the very unappealing open-mouth chew since the dang thing’s so hot I need to spit it out but can’t quite bring myself to do it.”
The laughter escaping his mouth surprised him, probably because he hadn’t heard the sound in a while. And he definitely couldn’t remember the last time a woman made his chest shake like that.
She chuckled along with him. “Yeah, best enjoyed with close friends and family only. At least while piping hot.”
But the peppers weren’t the only thing bringing heat to their “meeting.” He’d always been attracted to intelligent women. Add a splash of wit and an easy smile? Charisma. That’s what they called it. And he was eating it up. Probably because he’d been starving himself. “The steaks’ll be a few minutes. You want a beer?”
“I think I’ll pa—”
He cut her off before she could protest further. “Wasn’t planning on drinking alone,” he said, dipping his hand into the cooler at his feet.
She nodded, and he unscrewed the cap. Aiming the bottle in her direction, he took a seat on the other side of the table.
“Thanks.” She tilted the bottle back and swallowed a few mouthfuls. Something about the way she sat, more at ease now with her legs stretched out in front of her…the way her dress molded over those legs…
Definitely smoldering out here.
She tipped her bottle at him. “Shiner Bock. Heady stuff.”
For sure. And after a few sips, Cassie decided to conquer the jalapeños. Jase grabbed his own from the plate and glanced at the grill as “Rock and Roll” drifted out of the camper.
“This is my favorite Zeppelin album.”
His jalapeño froze halfway to his mouth. “You have a favorite Zeppelin album?”
Cassie nodded and finished another bite before answering. “And my favorite song is up next.”
“‘The Battle of Evermore’ is your favorite song?” he asked, amused to high hell.
“Off this album?” Her mocking tone and the cute little crinkle between her brows both indicated he’d just asked an absurd question. “Hands down.” Then she shook her hair behind the chair in a way that had him shifting in his, and he was suddenly back to questioning the woman before him. Was Cassie Mitchum sharing something about herself or had the landman seen an in and taken it, paving a bullshit road on her quest for a lease?
And what did it matter? He was running his own game. You know, the kind that kept her alive.
“What else?” he asked, despite needing to check the steaks.
“What else what?”
“What other Zeppelin songs do you like?” he prompted, his voice holding that edge again.
If she noticed, it didn’t show because she leaned back and closed her eyes, the quirk of a grin on her lips. “Let’s see…‘Misty Mountain Hop,’ ‘Ramble On.’ ‘Over The Hills and Far Away,’ ‘Houses of the Holy,’ ‘Tangerine’…” She turned her head and asked, almost lazily, “You want me to keep going?”
All night long. And his next question slipped out unbidden, “What’s your favorite song?”
“Of all time?”
Fat spattered and sizzled on the grill as he drew out the silence before answering. “Yeah.”
“Hmmm…I imagine that’s like asking a parent to pick their favorite child.”
He knew a little about that. “Think on it.” He rose. “I’ll be back.”
Cassie sipped and snacked while Jase checked the steaks. He’d snagged one of the end lots at the RV park, providing a sweet view of the river and a surprising amount of privacy. His guest appeared taken with the setup, and he wondered where she’d grown up, if she felt the same deep connection to nature he did.
He’d have devoured the steaks as they were, but chose to return to the chairs with another opened beer, aimed in Cassie’s direction. “And?”
She looked up with those doe eyes and said, “‘Hallelujah’ by Leonard Cohen.”
He hadn’t expected her to choose one of the most hauntingly sexual songs ever written, and it carved a hollow in his stomach, like after a punch to the gut, a something that was suddenly missing. A heavy silence followed, and Cassie shook her hair around her face—the only sign of insecurity he’d ever witnessed from her. That sense of possessiveness reared its ridiculous head again, and he didn’t quite know how to respond. Then, unbelievably, she sang to him.
Of David. And his secret chord.
Jase’s brows knitted together; his mouth parted. He could actually feel his jaw drop and wondered how big of an idiot he appeared at the moment.
“The original is great, but the Jeff Buckley version is probably my favorite,” she said without looking at him. “You know it, right?”
He nodded as she continued on with the second line, like she was asking if he, himself, cared for music. Oh, it was definitely chemical, but now it was more, and the intensity of his gaze melted her words into a whisper. He didn’t even hear the last few syllables. He would have cursed at the crickets chirping in the twilight if he hadn’t been so embarrassed. Of what, he wasn’t sure, and pulled on his beer, guarding his eyes though they never left her as he walked back to the grill.
…
Had she seriously just sung to a landowner?
You do what it takes to get the signature—hunting trips, cases of whiskey, extra dirt work—but this was ridiculous. Cassie filled her mouth with Shiner Bock and silently declared it her last beer. She swallowed slowly, biding her time, while the immense pressure of Jason’s gaze drifted from her eyes to her mouth before sliding down her throat. The man pulled at her in places best left unidentified during a business meeting. But she’d sung to him on her own accord. That hadn’t had anything to do with the lease.
After a few awkward moments, she braved conversation. It was either that or walk away without a signature.
“I really like your truck,” she said. Good one, Cass. Couldn’t come up with something more relevant?
But the comment earned her a satisfied smirk. “Yeah?”
She went with it. “What happened to your work truck? The Dodge you were in the other day?”
“It’s a company vehicle. I don’t usually drive it home.”
Encouraged, she plowed ahead. “Can I ask why you’re staying in an RV park when you live a few miles away?”
Jason snorted. “A few miles?”
“Well, you know…I mean, you do have a home nearby.”
“You’ve met my brother.”
“Yeah…”
Jason raised his eyebrows and settled into his chair, a long, tall Texan, all the way. And when had the country-boy thing become so appealing? Was it just “Deep in the Heart” as they say, no matter which cul-de-sac you hailed from?
“I get it,” she said.
“No, you don’t, but we’ll leave it at that. Your song’s on.”
She took a sip and gazed into the trees lining the river. Yep, awkward. The only thing making it less so was Marianne Faithfull’s eerie voice mingling with Robert Plant’s in an ode to high fantasy.
“I’m usually at the rigs,” Jason said finally. “Don’t come to town much.”
“You stay out there?”
“Yeah, we’ve got barracks of a sort. Portable housing.”
“Right.” A man camp. “I noticed that the other night.”
He shook his head and raised his bottle to his lips. “Sleep, work, sleep, work.”
“Sounds almost as fun as spending your life on the road.”
“Why do you do it then?”
She shrugged, not wanting to share the fact that she’d been spending more and more time working in her motel room, away from the office drama. That she’d been taking off almost every weekend, making the four-hour trip home. “You?” she asked, glancing over the table. “Why do you do it?”
“It’s a means to an end,” Jason said before throwing back the rest of his beer.
At least he knew his end. Hers? There wasn’t one, not beyond landing her mother in a state-of-the-art facility. Her collegiate writing dreams had crumbled and died in a series of scathing rejections, and she’d done a one-eighty, leaving her bohemian aspirations behind when she left Austin. To hell with starving for the craft. She’d taken the highest paying job she could find, drove the most expensive car she could afford, dated professionals with post-grad degrees and boats docked in Galveston. And she couldn’t look back now. That money had become a lifeline. Plus… publication? She might as well move to Hollywood and start auditioning for blockbusters. Nope. She was a realist. And that’s why she’d chosen the oil patch. Beyond that there wasn’t much, not single, living on the road, and visiting her mother every chance she got.
“You got quiet,” Jason said.
She searched his handsome face, not sure what she sought there. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
“When those steaks will be ready.”
That earned her one of those sexy-as-hell grins.
Jason Lucas’s RV didn’t give off van-down-by-the-river vibes like she’d half expected after the Chainsaw Massacre house. The interior was dim and cool and reminded Cassie of a club or lounge with its dark wood accents and sleek black everything else—leather sofa, flat-screen TV, compact kitchen appliances and stacked washer and dryer. It was like a roughneck rock-star tour bus.
Cassie started looking for the stripper pole, still kind of impressed her landowner had taken this route instead of losing money on a motel room or rental house. And if he was earning some kind of per diem for his lodging expenses, the whole shiny shebang was probably paid for already.
Finding not a coke mirror or sex swing one, Cassie spread a map atop the dinette. “This is your land.” She pointed to a large tract, rectangular in shape except for the river boundary bottomlands, which sprawled for more than two miles along the Karankawa.
“I see it,” he said. “Although I distinctly remember telling you I wasn’t interested in leasing it.” And he wasn’t seated across from or even next to her. No, Jason Lucas bowed over her back, one hand flat on the table. Smoke and spice lingered from the grill, mingling with some underlying scent, fresh yet masculine. He was warm and heavy, and even though they weren’t touching, the teasing setup was somehow worse.
“So, um…” Get it together, Cass. She cleared her throat and rattled off some facts. “The yellow on the map indicates what we already have leased, the blue what we’re working on, and the white—”
“The white means you don’t have shit.”
“I…I wouldn’t have put it that way, but yes. And as you can see, that white consists of your land along with some adjacent tracts, including Neely’s.” He tensed at the mention of his dead neighbor, but she plowed ahead, despite the seriously distracting nature of the stray hair falling over his cheek. “One of my colleagues got pretty far in the negotiation process with him, but then—”
“You’re not working the Neely tract?”
“No,” she managed, still recovering from the beer-laced breath on her shoulder.
“Good.” He turned slightly so that his next words hit her neck. “You stay the hell away from there, too.”
Her voice rushed out in a whisper. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Every hair on her body stood to attention. “I’ve already braved your brother and suffered a second twisted ankle for my effort, so I don’t think—”
Her chair spun, and she found her chin cupped in a rough hand. “You hurt yourself again?”
She nodded her head.
“Did Clint hurt you?”
She shook her head. How was she supposed to answer when he looked at her like she was a deer caught in some pretty blue headlights, like he wanted to wreck her and save her and—
“Clint.” His fingers snapped in front of her face. “Did he hurt you?”
“Not on purpose. I mean, it was—”
“Let me see.”
“Huh?” she rasped out, rendered immobile as his hand slid up her leg, taking the hem of her maxidress with it. “Other one,” she breathed. And wasn’t this some BS? What was next? Swooning?
A huge hand wrapped around her right ankle, searing, just as his hand on her face had been. “It’s swollen.”
“I told you, it was a bum ankle to begin with.”
He brushed his thumb back and forth across the tender joint. “How’d you get a bum ankle?”
“It’s kind of stupid.”
He looked up with only his eyes. “I want to know.”
If it would make him stop looking at her like that, why not? And, strangely, a part of her wanted to share something of herself with this man who seemed so damn interested. She attempted to compose herself and let out a long, nasally breath. It helped. ’Cause nasally breaths were super sexy. “I guess I was about twelve when it happened. My cousins had this go-cart, and I was cruising around one day—”
She was interrupted by a chuckle. And, yes, he was still staring.
“You heard me, cruising around.” She grinned, slipping back to the good ol’ days. “All of a sudden, I had no brakes. We found out later that the spring for the brake pedal or whatever had popped off, which is why I couldn’t stop the rattletrap. I panicked and headed for the barn, looking for my uncle. He was out on a tractor, and—”
“You grew up in the country?”
“Not hardly. City mouse, here. My mom’s brother farmed cotton up around Temple. I was always jealous because it seemed like the idyllic life. Turned out he had the whole operation mortgaged to the hilt…” She paused, not sure why she’d gone there.
“And?”
And here…
Here was her landowner, tilting his chin, coaxing out more of her story…which had nothing to do with the minerals under his property.
“And I made the brilliant decision to stop a runaway go-cart by plowing into a row of hay bales.” Not the turn he’d expected, eh? “I see you smirking, and you look just like my cousin after he pointed out the muddy cotton field he’d have used. But, he wasn’t destined for great powers as I was, nor did his scrawny butt possess the sheer bravery it took to brace for impact and run that sucker head-on into the end bale.” She sat back, as if exhausted from telling the tale. “And that’s how I found out hay bales are a hell of a lot harder than they look.” Her admission garnered an empathetic smile, and she eased up. “I didn’t break my ankle, I just sprained it badly…really badly. I had to use crutches for months, and it’s been weak ever since.”
“But you were gifted with a built-in barometer for your…sheer bravery, was it?”
“Yeah.” That smile…she honestly couldn’t tell if he was in on the joke or thought she’d hit her head, too. “And people think you’re crazy when you say you can feel a change of weather in your bones. I get it. Call it what you want, it’s still very real.”
“I’ve heard crazier things,” he said. “Now, I want to hear how you managed that dam crossing.”
Dam crossing?
Oh yeah, the death-defying final obstacle before reaching the Lucas ranch house. How could she forget?
“What was I supposed to do? Fly?” She slapped her hand on the table. “Damn it, I should have held out for that superpower.”
Her landowner wasn’t amused.
“Look, I survived a go-cart accident, I survived your brother, and I’ll survive…whatever.”
“Cassie, listen to me.” Jason’s hand cupped her jaw again, and his blue eyes bore into hers. “You don’t go to the Neelys’, and you don’t go near my brother. You get that, baby?”
Oh-ho. “We sure went from Ms. Mitchum to baby at warp speed, don’t you think?”
“What I think…”
She twisted her head, breaking his grip—
“…hell, it doesn’t matter.”
—and the connection that grip had to a very intimate part of her anatomy. “Mr. Lucas—”
“Jase.”
“I’m in your kitchen, attempting to discuss a business proposal, and—”
“Jase.”
“And I would very much appreciate it if we could actually get to that proposal.” Because she needed to distance herself from this…this…whatever this was. It had started out as mutual attraction, pure and simple. Now? Now, it felt infinitely more personal. She reached for the folder containing the lease agreement, and a calloused hand came down on hers.
“Are you going to call me Jase?”
God, his hand was warm. And big. One of his fingers had been smashed recently if the purple and black beneath the nail were any indication, and she couldn’t stop staring at the grease or whatever staining the deepest grooves of his skin. Working man’s hands. He could probably smash her if he tried, and her voice sounded shaky when she gave in. “Yes…Jase.”
“Okay,” he said, straightening. “Propose away, if that’s what you want.”
“Okay,” she said, ignoring that last comment and opening the file folder. Yep, trembling. “The proposal is two-fold. The first item is a seismic agreement, followed by the, uh, oil and gas lease…” She glanced up to see Jase now leaning against his sink, ankles crossed, and raised her eyebrows in a combination of frustration and entreaty.
“Go on a date with me.”
What? They’d gone from friendly flirting to something admittedly more in the last few minutes, but the proposition still surprised her. She’d assumed their game was the kind where he tripped her up with veiled threats to the point she settled for a higher offer than she should. Jase had already proven himself a capable opponent in that regard, so what had him crossing the line?
“Go on a date with me,” he repeated before taking a long pull from a new bottle of Shiner Bock, his gaze locked on hers. “A real one.”
No man looked at a woman like that unless he was dead serious. Cassie’s heart pounded uncontrollably, adding to the overall sense that she’d reached a drop-off, her head only barely above water as it was. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not appropriate.” Her husky voice contradicted the attempt at professionalism, and she cleared her throat. “It’s a conflict of interest.”
“What’s conflicting? You want something from me, I want something from you.”
“And you’ve already stated your reluctance to lease. Why should I give ground?” She found she could stand after all. But when Jase pushed away from the sink, Cassie realized she wasn’t out of the water yet.
“I can see you considering.”
Frustration battled with serious temptation—the kind of temptation that could land her in one of those big hot messes. “Will you at least look at the paperwork if I go out with you?”
“Looking only. No signing.”
“Why are you being so difficult?”
“I’m not. I just want to see you in those jeans again.”
“I can wear them to our lease signing meeting.” Oh God, why had she just said that?
“There won’t be any meeting unless you go out with me.”
Mixing business and pleasure reeked of trouble. But she needed the lease. She’d already sung to the man and told him an embarrassing story. How much worse could it get? It wasn’t like he was asking her to spend the night in the Texas Chainsaw Massacre house.
“One date. Saturday night.” She slammed the folder shut. “Then we talk business.”
“Has anyone ever mentioned how good pissed-off looks on you?”
She shouldered her bag to hide the alternating shades of red flushing her face—she knew it. Things felt…heated. “If that’s supposed to be an attempt at flirting, save it for the date, Mr. Lucas.”
“Jase.”
“You can be Jase on Saturday.” She made for the nearest exit posthaste, wondering what exactly she’d agreed to.
As she reached for the knob or handle or whatever, one of those big weather-chapped hands splayed across the door. “What are you doing the rest of the week?”
She turned to face him and her body made electric contact with his. “I’m going out with the other landowners I’m negotiating with,” she said, sucking in a breath and trying to melt into the door.
“Cute.” Jase’s little grin quickly faded. “I meant during the day.”
“I’m working.”
“On what?”
Okay, now she was getting pissed. “We haven’t even been on our ‘date’”—she hooked her fingers into quotation marks—“so I really don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”
He stared at her for several heart-stopping seconds before answering.
“You always sing to men in the dark?” The softy spoken question took her aback. And maybe that was why she allowed his thumb to part her lips as she shook her head, speechless for once. “No? That’s good. But I’m still going to be thinking about you changing a tire in sky-high shoes and a tight-ass skirt in front of someone other than me. So yeah,” he whispered, “call me concerned.”
The heaviness in her breasts and the prickling in her belly told her she liked what he’d just said. She shouldn’t. It was inappropriate. It was crude. It was…way hotter than she’d like to admit. She slapped his hand away and summoned a sneer. “Concerned you’re going to miss out on some action?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re acting territorial over something that hasn’t and never will happen between us.”
“Territorial?” Jase’s eyes darkened. “Yeah, this is my territory, despite half the oil field trompin’ all over it. This town’s changed in the last year, lots of trash coming and going. And I don’t just mean roughnecks. A gorgeous girl with attitude and dimples walks into the middle of it? That’s trouble. Trouble I don’t want to deal with by getting a visit from a lawyer in a fancy car.”
“You don’t have to worry about that on my account,” she ground out, perturbed at the level of attraction she felt over Jase’s concern for her well-being. Her nipples, the traitors, had worked themselves into stiff peaks to accompany the blooming warmth between her legs. And it was complicating the hell out of things. She needed to distance herself. Immediately. “I’ve been doing this a long time. Get over yourself and find someone else to go all mad-dog over.”
In a flash of movement, Jase pinned her wrists to the door, one on either side of her spinning head. She told herself she didn’t like that either. But she’d never been a successful liar. “Let—”
He cut her off with a low growl. “Mad-dog?” He leaned closer, and those blue eyes travelled to her breathless chest before settling on her mouth. “Baby, you have no idea what I’ll unleash on a man who messes with—” He stopped short, and an expression she hadn’t seen before darkened his rugged features.
“With what?” she demanded.
“You’re right,” he said, “nothing’s happened between us yet. But it will.”
This was completely unacceptable. But the aching want, the throbbing void between her legs, begging to be filled, meant the exact opposite, just as it had since the beginning of time. Damn it. Is this what happened in the wild? Mindless attraction? And then what?
“And I’m staking my claim right now.”
Jase Lucas’s mouth slammed against hers. The kiss wasn’t tender, it wasn’t soft. It was a force of nature. His tongue flicked across the seam of her lips, and she opened them. Tongue, lips, teeth, it built like a storm—a groan from deep in his throat, a crashing in her chest, something breaking apart when he pulled her bottom lip between his teeth.
This can’t happen. What was she doing? A date didn’t preclude kissing. And like a punch to the gut, she realized they hadn’t even made it that far. She whimpered the weakest of protests, and he released her wrists. But her sigh of relief was cut short when he cupped her face, tilted her head back, and ran his nose up her neck, inhaling her scent before slanting his mouth over hers once more. Again, and again, his tongue delved deep in search of hers, sliding and swirling, claiming.
This is happening.
His thigh stroked up between hers, and she pressed her hips to his, further stoking the fire between them. In perfect sync with his hands, pulling her closer, with his tongue, warm and coaxing, she began the melt.
Without warning, Jase pulled his mouth away, and she slammed her butt against the door, away from the sparks threatening to consume them both.
Hissing through his teeth, Jase swiped his thumb across her kiss-swollen bottom lip. “Now this is my territory.”
She couldn’t stop staring at his lips. Oh, God. And they were coming closer. He was going to kiss her again.
His breath hit her cheek, just to the side her mouth. “You’re hell-bent on going after this lease?” he whispered. “Fine. But you deal with me and me only.”
“Yeah.” She’d never been so attracted to someone. Nor had she ever needed to close a deal so badly. Conflicted didn’t begin to explain her state of mind. “Okay.”
Jase wrapped his fingers around her arm, opened the door, and walked her to her car. She should’ve said something. Something bitchy, something stupid. Anything. But she had no words. And she had no thoughts, other than the fact that she’d just been “claimed” by Jason Lucas, whatever that meant in Roughneckville.
She managed a glance as she slid behind the wheel of her car.
“Wear the jeans Saturday.”
When she didn’t respond, Jase shut the door and stood watching as she pulled out. Nobody had ever, ever, kissed her speechless. But Jason Lucas just did.
And damn.
…
So, she thought him some kind of man-whore.
Chuckling, he closed the door of his camper and leaned his back against it. She had no idea what he was. Neither did he anymore. He’d asked her out. As in, on a date. And then he’d kissed her. He’d kissed her because she’d sung to him. Because she’d refuted him then sung to him. Because she’d spoken of property and ownership, and because that had hit him all kinds of ways he didn’t feel like exploring with her taste still on his lips. And because she was beautiful and vulnerable in a way she didn’t understand, and hopefully never would.
No, she wasn’t his. But she could be while she was here. It would be safer for her and entertaining for him. It had been too long, and she’d be here just long enough for him to get his fill. It was crazy, yes. But with no strings attached, no one had to get hurt.
And wouldn’t that be nice for a change.
He turned and pulled back the shades to watch her taillights fade into the darkness, and something delicious curled in his belly. He ignored the accompanying pinpricks of danger. He could handle that.
He’d been doing it most of his life.
…
Cassie slammed her car into park beneath the neon Tee-Pee sign at the juncture of Main Street.
Jase remained a good quarter mile behind her. She was just waiting for her heart to catch up before braving the near-deserted thoroughfare. She’d never been kissed like that, even at her freaking age and supposed experience level. And she couldn’t stop replaying it, much less do something like drive the four blocks to her motel.
This wasn’t gonna do.
Cassie reached for her bag and fumbled for her phone. She thumbed a text, pressed send, and glanced around, aware for the first time she might be blocking someone in. She wasn’t, but she’d bet anything there was a sherriff’s deputy Camaro parked in one of the dimly lit strip malls across the way. For being county enforcers, they sure haunted the town and incoming highways that intersected at the main stoplight downtown. Yep, the county boys made an art of pulling over speeding oil-field truckers and suits driving imported cars. Leave the locals alone. They’re our voting base. All that small-town BS.
Kyle: U want some company tonight?
Cassie: Just need u to work ur magic. Lucas brothers.
Two welding trucks pulled into the Tee-Pee while she awaited Kyle’s response. The second driver chucked a beer can out his open window and into the ditch as he turned. And I’m the suspicious vehicle. Halfway through the accompanying eye roll, her phone chimed.
Kyle: Under one condition.
She didn’t hesitate.
Cassie: Anything.
And she pretty much meant it.
Kyle: Stop working so damn hard and go to dinner with me tomorrow night.
Guilt twisted her gut. Yeah, she’d neglected her best office buddy the past few days.
Kyle: And no fast food. REAL food.
She chuckled. Kyle definitely deserved more than a bucket of fried chicken shared over title notes.
Cassie: Can’t wait.
And she couldn’t wait to hear what he unearthed concerning one Jason Lucas.
No…
Jase.