Chapter 11

Dipping his head, Rock took her mouth in an all-consuming kiss.

Screw soft and light. He needed to feel her, to taste her.

His hands slid around Quinn’s waist, and in one movement, he twisted them both around and pressed her back against the wall.

His mouth consumed hers as he kissed her with all of the passion he’d been suppressing the past few days—passion he didn’t even know was in him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d kissed a woman with this much feeling—this much desire.

Wait—yes, he could. It was the last time he’d kissed Quinn. This woman he held in his arms. Against a wall.

She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his arms as she arched into him.

Her lips were supple and hungry, and her body molded perfectly to his.

A low moan escaped her, humming against his lips—and it was about the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever heard.

He wanted her, needed her, couldn’t get enough of her.

His tongue found its way between her lips, and he could taste the sweet cinnamon of her gum.

He reached down and slid his hands under her butt, ready to lift her up, when a flash of light crossed the hallway, followed by the low thrum of a truck’s engine.

Damn. Colt must be dropping Ham off.

Rock pulled back, his breath coming in hard gasps, his head spinning with dizziness.

Quinn blinked up at him, her hair tousled, her lips slightly swollen.

He reached up, grazing her bottom lip with his thumb. “Woman, you are about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She smoothed her hair as a grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “I’m a mess.”

He leaned close, dropping his voice. “You look like a woman who’s just been thoroughly kissed.”

She let out a soft sigh, her own voice low and husky. “Not thoroughly enough.”

He let out a laugh and pulled her into a quick bear hug before her dad came through the door. “Damn, I’ve missed you.”

* * *

Quinn sat up in bed and plumped her pillow, then lay down again. She tried one side, then the other, but couldn’t seem to get comfortable.

A glance at the bedside clock told her it was close to midnight, a time when she would normally be deep in sleep, exhausted from the day. Her body was tired, but her mind was restless, her thoughts tumbling and jumbled, thinking about Rock and the past few days. And always coming back to the way he’d kissed her earlier that night.

The kiss had been full of passion and promise, his mouth crushing against hers with want and need.

She couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t heard Colt’s truck coming down the driveway to drop off her dad.

Her cell phone buzzed, and her heart leapt. Who the heck was texting her this late?

A text at midnight usually meant something was wrong. Or that Carolyn Parker, the PTA president and an insomniac workaholic, was sending out late-night reminders of what parents needed to bring to school for a bake sale or function.

But school was out for the summer.

She sat up in bed and reached for the phone, letting out a quick gasp as she saw the message was from Rock.

You still up? his message read.

She typed a response. Yep. Can’t sleep.

Why not?

Thinking about stuff.

I can’t sleep either. I’m thinking about you.

Her heart raced, and her fingers trembled as she held them above the keyboard. How should she respond to that? Be witty and make a sarcastic remark? Joke it off?

Be honest?

She tapped the keys and hit Send before she could think too much about it. I’m thinking about you too.

What are you thinking about me?

A grin curved her lips, and she settled back against her pillows. Just about how nice it’s been to hang out with you the last week. And how much fun it’s been.

I’m thinking about that kiss.

Oh my.

She didn’t know what to say. She could feel the heat rushing to her cheeks, and she was glad he wasn’t here to see it. Although he would love it.

And tease her relentlessly.

Before she could respond, another message popped in.

What are you wearing?

She laughed. Okay, this one she could handle. She glanced down at the thin tank top and cotton pajama shorts she had on. A long flannel nightgown and fuzzy socks.

Sounds hot. He followed his message with a winky-face emoticon.

It is. Smiley face. Seriously sexy. Winky face.

No, I mean it actually sounds hot. Too hot for summer.

She watched the blinking dots signaling he was still typing.

You should take it off.

Her breath caught. She swallowed as her mouth suddenly went dry.

She could imagine how those words would sound in Rock’s deep voice, and a shimmer of heat ran down her back.

The only light in the room was from the phone’s screen, and the dark made their conversation seem more intimate.

Clutching the phone, she waited as she watched the dots flashing again.

But leave the fuzzy socks on.

She let out a laugh, then covered her mouth, hoping she hadn’t woken anyone up with her sharp burst of laughter.

Fuzzy socks are my downfall. I’ve always found them ridiculously sexy, his next message read.

Giggling, she typed back, I had no idea you had a fuzzy sock fetish. Send. I’ll buy another pair.

Buy several. Winky face.

She squirmed in her bed, imagining the implications of several nights with Rock, with fuzzy socks or not.

They were making progress, getting more comfortable with each other. She liked it. She wanted more of it—wanted more of him. Whether it was the safety of being in her bedroom alone or the intimacy of talking to him in the dark while she lay in bed, she felt closer to him, more vulnerable, more willing to take a chance. I like playing around with you. I miss this, she typed.

I miss you.

The air suddenly felt thinner, and she sucked in her breath. I miss you too.

Feel like playing around some more?

What did you have in mind?

Just wondering if I were there, would you let me kiss you again?

Maybe. Send. Probably. Send. Yes.

Would you let me touch you?

His words sent a flurry of heat swirling in her belly, and her nipples puckered. There were no flirty winky emoticons with that message.

Her fingers hesitated over the phone before typing out a single word. Yes.

She watched the screen, holding her breath as she waited for his next response.

All I can think about is touching you. Filling my hands with you. Feeling you against me.

Oh.

Her body melted into the pillow, and she drew her legs up under her as sensations that she hadn’t felt in a long, long time surged through her. She spent so much time thinking of herself as a mom, that she’d forgotten what it felt like to be a woman.

To have her body tingle and prickle with desire, with need.

It had been so long since she’d let her guard down, let herself feel that deep yearning for a man’s touch, for a man’s weight resting on top of her.

But she wasn’t craving just any man. Her body wanted only one man. The only man she’d ever loved.

It wanted Rock.

Reading his words, Rock’s words, on the tiny, dimly lit screen awakened yearnings in her that she’d forgotten she even knew how to feel.

But what she did remember, what she couldn’t seem to forget, was how he’d hurt her. How he’d broken her heart and left her behind.

But he’s trying to fix that, her inner self screamed at her. Give him a chance. He was trying. And what he’d been doing was working. Obviously.

But this was taking things to the next level. Wasn’t it?

Or was this just harmless flirting? Just playing around with her? Like he said.

What would it hurt to play a little back? To tease him a little? She shouldn’t be the only one in torment.

I’d like that, she typed and pressed Send before she could change her mind.

It couldn’t hurt anything to do a tiny bit of flirting. It was all little text messages, a few words in a dark room. It’s not like he was here.

She watched the little dots flicker then stop, then flicker again, as if he were writing something, then stopped, then started again.

Her hand was sweaty on the phone, she was gripping it so tightly as she waited for his response. Even though she was anticipating it, she still jumped a little when the phone buzzed in her hand, and she let out a sigh as she read his message.

Remember when I used to cut across the pasture in the middle of the night and sneak into your window?

Yes. Of course she remembered. She remembered all of it—everything about her time spent with him. She remembered opening the window and watching him crawl in. Remembered the thrill of him gently lying down on her bed beside her, and how softly he’d touched her.

Remembered spending hours curled against him, kissing him, touching him, loving him—all the while both thrilled at him being there and terrified as she worried that her dad would find out.

But it didn’t matter—because she’d never been unable to resist the pull of Rock.

Evidently, she was still unable to resist the pull of him, since she was flirt-texting with him at midnight.

What if I showed up at your window tonight? Would you let me in?

Holy moley. What if she said yes and he showed up? At her bedroom window?

Would she let him in?

She smoothed her hair and glanced down at herself, a thrill coursing through her at the sight of her pebbled nipples pressing against the thin pajama top. The idea of him being here, in her bedroom, seeing her in her skimpy pajamas, both excited and terrified her. Just like when she was a teenager.

This whole thing felt like one of the crazy things she used to do when she was a teenager—a wild and reckless act that would often result in both a fun time and an eventual grounding once her dad found out.

But she wasn’t a teenager anymore. She was an adult and a mom. She didn’t make crazy and impulsive decisions anymore—like the one that led her to being a mom.

Now she was responsible and mature. And she didn’t encourage boys to sneak into her bedroom at night.

But Rock wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man. A man with hard abs and big, muscled arms, and the same crystal-blue eyes that she still saw in her dreams.

A man who had her insides tingling and yearning for his touch.

Stable, responsible, grown-up—those were the words that described her now. She didn’t do wild and reckless anymore.

But maybe it was time she did. Being a mom didn’t mean she was dead.

And the idea of Rock in her bedroom had her thoughts going in lots of directions—and none of them fell into the category of responsible.

Why not? What the heck? Live a little, right?

And just because she said yes didn’t mean he would come over. All he’d asked was if he did come over, would she let him in?

She typed the three letters, then hesitated over the Send button.

Images of her as a teenager filled her head—running through the fields, swimming in the pond, galloping across the pasture, her hair flying behind her—and always with Rock by her side. He was in every part of her childhood, her teenage years. And she’d missed him as an adult.

Not just romantically, but missed his laughter, his gentle teasing, his sound advice.

She hit Send.

She held her breath as she waited for his response.

But the screen stayed white. No blinking circles to indicate he was typing.

Her teeth were clamped tightly together, and she let out her breath and tried to relax as the screen dimmed and then went black.

Maybe he’d fallen asleep while he waited for her reply.

Her shoulders sagged as she heaved a soft sigh.

It was probably for the best.

A knock sounded at her window.