Chapter 33

She’d done it again—completely misjudged him. She’d accused him of dropping in without a thought, when in truth he must have been planning this for days. Maybe weeks. He’d remembered how she’d rather order in barbecue than pizza. Noticed her fascination with the truck even when he was half-drunk and hurting. Found a way to take her dancing without all the looky-loos ruining the mood. Thank God for Shawnee—and wasn’t that just a kick in the ass—or Tori would’ve missed it all.

Her heart spasmed, opening like a flower bud, the tightly curled petals unfurling with the sharp ache of an atrophied muscle. This. This is everything I wanted from you. She pressed her cheek into the curve of his shoulder because words would break the spell of the music, the night, his body so strange and familiar against hers. So alive.

She swallowed against the rush of sorrow that welled in her throat. It had to happen. Had to. She couldn’t exist without the heat and torture of need, the ecstasy of release, those quiet moments of simply being. If someone had patted her shoulder and said, Willy would want you to be happy, she would’ve kicked them. Because…no. Willy would want to be the one here right now, though she wasn’t absolutely sure whether he’d be more jealous of Delon for having her or that totally kick-ass truck. But he’d left her no choice except to scrape up the pieces and move on.

A part of her—the small, scared, guilty part—clamored at her to pull away. Run home to her safe little nest of blankets and the cold comfort of isolation. The rest of her clamored in a whole different way, her body straining at the leash, reveling in Delon’s closeness and frustrated by the layers of cotton and leather that separated them. The tug-of-war raged inside her—a push and pull of conflicting emotions. If she was going to do this, she had to do it fast. Rip off the proverbial bandage before the cowardly part of her won.

A Staind song began, low and slow, the lyrics raw yearning set to music. They winnowed down into her soul and pricked the edge of a truth buried so deep, the barest glimpse of it made her shy away. No. She wasn’t ready to examine just how tangled up she was in Delon.

Enough thinking. She tugged her fingers free from where they were laced between Delon’s and slid her hand inside the open front of his jacket. Her fingertips found the slight ripple of his abs, without a hint of fat to hide them. So not like Willy—

No! She pulled her mind back from the comparison and concentrated on pure sensation. On leather and spice, warm skin, and eau de truck. A mixture so potent, so utterly Delon that simply inhaling sent pulses of heat through her. She burrowed in closer and his arms came around her, his hands stroking the curve of her back. Her hips tilted in response, bringing them snug against his, a signal he couldn’t misinterpret. He pulled back slightly to gaze down into her face. In the dim light his eyes were unfathomable. She skimmed her thumb across his chin, then higher, across the full curve of his lower lip. Back and forth. He stared at her, mesmerized, as she tilted onto her toes and replaced her thumb with her mouth, her tongue tracing that same path. She felt a shudder ripple through his body.

“I thought you wanted to take this slow,” he said, his voice rough.

“I took the time I needed.” She touched the tip of her tongue to the crease at the center of his upper lip. “Now we can move on to what’s next.”

His feet slowed, losing the rhythm of the music. “I wasn’t planning…I’m not…ready.”

“I am.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the condoms.

He didn’t reach for them. She shoved the condoms into the pocket of her sweatshirt and moved in close again, sliding her hands up and over the glorious contours of his chest. “It’s going to happen, sooner or later. We might as well get it over with.”

His body stiffened under her touch. “Get it over with?”

“I didn’t mean…it’s just that I haven’t…” For someone who’d turned into the poster child for Too Much Information, she found the words surprisingly difficult to say.

“Since Willy,” he said flatly.

She nodded, misgiving prickling the back of her neck at his grim expression.

“I’m sorry. It’s hard, you know? But it’s time.”

He slid his fingers into her hair and lifted it away from her face to study the effect as the ends trickled free. “Are you sure?”

She picked these ever-so-important words with care. “I trust you. I always have. Even when I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again, I never worried that what happened between us would end up as a crude joke you told all of your buddies behind the bucking chutes. You just…wouldn’t.”

“I wanted to call,” he said abruptly. “A hundred times. From Denver, Tucson, Red Bluff. All the nights in between. I was afraid if I pushed, it would change everything, and you wouldn’t…we wouldn’t…” He trailed off, then lifted his hands to cup her face, his gaze boring into hers. “Every time you agreed to see me, it was a miracle. I kept hoping you’d ask…anything. When I’d be back. How long I could stay. If you could come watch me ride somewhere…”

“I did. Watch, I mean.”

He blinked in surprise. “Where?”

“Houston. San Antonio. Fort Worth. Any place I could squeeze in around school and nab tickets through my father.”

“You never said. Never came down…”

“To hang out with the rest of the groupies?” She shook her head. “I didn’t know where I stood, and I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes. Embarrassed. Awkward. Or worse. I mean, if there was another girl.”

“Never. Not while we were…together. There was only you.”

“Oh.” Wow. She’d hoped, of course. Dreamed. But never assumed, or demanded. How much difference would it have made if she had? “You, too.”

He smiled, the kind of wide open, no-holds-barred smile she hadn’t seen since she’d been back. She lifted her arms to lace her fingers behind his neck, their lips only a breath apart.

“Can I at least get a proper kiss?”

He laughed softly. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And then he kissed her, but it wasn’t the explosive, mind-blowing collision of the past. This kiss started easy and heated up slowly, very deliberate, very thorough but restrained, as if he was alert for any hint that they were moving too fast. But she wanted speed. Heat. Passion faster than her churning thoughts. She wanted to dig her fingers into his flesh, drag him to her and set off the powder keg that had once sizzled between them. Blast away her ability to remember. Compare. Regret.

Their bodies swayed as one to the music that went on and on, each song more perfect than the next. He must’ve spent hours putting together this playlist. Picking this song, discarding that one, creating a soundtrack just for this night. Lord. He was destroying her, one thoughtful gesture, one song, one kiss at a time. She could’ve gone on forever, just kissing, stroking, being stroked, but her leg bumped against the running board of the truck, and she realized he’d danced her up to the door.

“It’s getting cold.” He laid the backs of his fingers against her chilled face.

As if his words had conjured it, a shiver pebbled her skin. She leaned her cheek into his touch. “This was…special. Thank you.” She hesitated, then inched out onto the limb. Asked for more. “Maybe we can do it again sometime, when it’s warmer.”

“It might be tough to get my hands on this truck.”

She leaned in and kissed the spot where his jaw met his earlobe, letting her breath whisper over his skin. “I’ll settle for getting my hands on you.”

“That, I can arrange.” He stepped up to open the door, then handed her in like a lady into a carriage. “Scoot on over.”

“I don’t get to drive home?” She paused, standing between the seats, to give him a mock pout.

He climbed in behind her, shut the windows, and cranked up the heat. “Over my badly beaten body, if either Gil or my dad found out.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” She couldn’t resist. She feathered her fingertips down his chest. “I prefer your body just how it is.”

For an instant, he was utterly still. Then in one swift move he whipped the seat around and stood, his grip hard on her shoulders, his eyes hot. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“I…uh…yes.” The intensity of his gaze, the tightly leashed desire in his voice was like a flash fire across her nerves. “Yes,” she said again. Louder. More certain.

He closed his eyes, his eyelashes a dark smudge against his cheeks. Then he nodded slightly, as if agreeing with a voice inside his head. When his eyes opened, his gaze was softer, and his grip loosened. He edged her into the sleeper and pulled the curtain, plunging them into darkness. “If you change your mind…”

He would stop. No matter what it cost him. And that, she realized, was why she could say yes. Because she did trust him. A weird conundrum. He’d unleashed her wild side before because she’d sensed she was safe with him. Well, that and he looked like Zorro and made love like…well, hell, she had nothing to compare. Not even Willy. Sex with him had been rambunctious and fun, occasionally tender, but it wasn’t like…

She jerked her mind back again. This man. This moment. But her vision wavered, images of past and present flickering like an old filmstrip behind her eyes, and she couldn’t find the off switch for the projector. Willy, laughing. Teasing. The feel of his big, bearlike body engulfing her, even as her hands pushed the jacket off Delon’s shoulders and reacquainted themselves with the fantasyland of skin and muscle beneath. Smooth, taut, nearly hairless, where Willy had been furry. Navajo blood. Hadn’t she heard Native Americans tended to have less body hair?

Stop. Thinking. Dammit. She stepped back to yank her sweatshirt over her head and her elbow made solid contact with some part of Delon’s anatomy. He swore.

“Sorry.” She reached to touch his face and nearly poked him in the eye. “Shit. Sorry again.”

“I’ll get the light—”

“No.” She made a blind grab and managed to catch his arm. “The dark is…good.”

For this night, when she couldn’t hide the visions wheeling behind her eyes. Get it over with. Move on.

“Okay.”

She heard uncertainty in his voice. Retreat. No time to think. For either of them. She found his waist and tugged at his shirt while her mouth sought and found his. Don’t think. Just do. Like Shawnee said about roping. Oh God. Shawnee. Leering at her. As if her head wasn’t full to bursting already. The kiss turned frantic, trying to drive everything out but the taste of him.

He cupped her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks. “Shhhh,” he whispered against her mouth.

She was trembling, tiny earthquakes deep in the fibers of her muscles. Could he feel them? He took command and changed their tempo to match his caress, deep and drugging kisses that first calmed, then stirred her. Her body relaxed, became fluid and malleable, flowing into him. He kept kissing, kept stroking, pushing away his clothes and hers and drawing her down onto the narrow bed. His body was hard and urgent, but his touch was distilled tenderness. The truck was toasty warm, Delon a wonder of taut skin and heat against her nakedness. So long. It had been so very, very long since she’d been touched. Held. Treasured.

More memories flickered, of a time when this man had owned her body. Her soul. Delon’s hands explored her, those same slow, bone-melting strokes over her ribs, her belly, her thighs, lingering to cup her breasts as if measuring, calculating the changes in her body. The air caught in her chest at the faint rasp of calluses against her skin.

Not the same. Not at all. This was now, and these calluses were on his right hand, because of her. This wasn’t the old Delon. And it sure as hell wasn’t some random body she could use to get anything over with. He deserved better.

They both did.

“Turn on the light,” she said. Too loud. Too abrupt.

Delon froze for a heartbeat. Then he clicked on a small lamp at the head of the bed. Tori sucked in a breath.

God, he was beautiful.

His skin glowed in the soft light, his body a bronzed study in male perfection. He was still, watchful as she reached out to trace his muscles with her fingertips, mesmerized by the contrast of satin over steel. Trapezius, pectoralis, serratus, latissimus—the names were a seductive whisper in her head as she explored each in turn. Then she moved on to that perennial favorite, rectus abdominus, giving each ripple its due as she worked her way down.

And speaking of erect…

His stomach twitched in anticipation, but she veered to the side, following the clearly defined curve of his obliques. “These are new.”

“Thanks to you.” His voice was a low rasp, his touch featherlight as he drew one finger along her forehead to skim back a lock of hair that had fallen across her face. “All those damn medicine ball routines of yours.”

Her hand stilled as if fused to his skin. Like the calluses on his right hand, she had helped build this small part of him—and she felt a rush of intense possessiveness. This muscle, these fibers were hers, as surely as if they’d been grafted from her body to his. She leaned down and replaced her hand with her mouth, drawing a line of slow kisses, on the verge of love bites, over the curve of his hip to his navel.

“Geezus!” The air exploded out of him when her cheek brushed his erection. He hitched his hands under her armpits to drag her up, an electric slide of skin against skin. He twisted, pinning her under him as his mouth took hers. Deep. Greedy. All semblance of patience gone.

She responded in kind, driving her fingers through his hair and arching into him, craving the weight and the heat and the hardness of him. Those quick, magical fingers played over her skin, setting her blood to pulsing like one of his favorite songs—the beat heavy, relentless, demanding. She slid one hand down the sleek curve of his back to close around his butt—sweet heaven on earth, he had an amazing butt—while the other hand reached down and fumbled in the pocket of her sweatshirt on the floor. Delon plucked the condom out of her fingers and ripped it open with his teeth.

Oh dear Lord…

And then he moved over her. Into her. Sure and swift, making her gasp with the exquisite shock of it.

He paused, pulsing inside her, his eyes dark and intense. “Okay?”

In answer, she wrapped her legs around his hips and drew him even closer. He made a noise low in his throat—half groan, half curse—and began to move. She matched him, their bodies finding perfect unison in this primal dance. He reared back onto his knees, his fingers digging into her hips as he lifted her to drive even deeper. Harder. His thumb finding and stroking that certain spot that electrified her, an explosion of white-hot sparks that sizzled down every nerve. Through the waves of crackling sensation she heard him give a harsh, guttural groan and felt his body jerk with his release.

Boneless, mindless, she sprawled on the bed, making a small mmm of protest as he eased away. Before the stars stopped pulsing behind her eyelids he was back, nudging her over so he could stretch out beside her on the bunk. He switched off the light and gathered her up, spooning around her, a living wall between her and the world.

“Okay?” he whispered again.

“Fantastic,” she said.

But as her body cooled and her mind cleared, the enormity of the moment struck, a blow no less painful for being expected. That last tenuous connection broke, the frayed ends slipping through her fingers as she finally—finally—let go.

Tears slid, fast and silent, down her cheeks and into her hair. If Delon felt or saw he didn’t let on, but his arm tightened around her.

And then she slept. The dense, dreamless sleep that had evaded her for so long.

The place, the night, Delon—came back to her in layers as she surfaced, then floated, feeling an odd lightness, as if she’d shed a burden. She waited for it to crash down on her again. Guilt. Regret. Shame. Instead, there was only acceptance. That final stage of grief she’d described to Delon as if she knew what it meant. Now it flowed through her like a sip of strong whiskey that both burned and warmed as it smoothed away the last ragged edges of pain. She hugged the blanket around her and sighed from pure, blessed relief.

“Are you awake?”

His voice was pitched low and came from too far away. She scrubbed her palm across heavy eyelids. At some point he’d left, replacing his warmth with a soft cotton comforter. She forced her eyes to open and focus. He was in the driver’s seat, swiveled to face her, arms folded across his chest and earbuds dangling, fully dressed. She pushed up on one elbow, clutching the blanket to her chest. How long had he been sitting there, watching her? She glanced at the illuminated clock on the radio and jerked upright.

“Four-thirty! I’ve been asleep for…” She shook her head but was unable to make even that simple calculation. Hours. How long had it been since she’d slept for hours? She raked her hair away from her face. “I’m sorry. I just…crashed, I guess.”

“It’s been a long couple of weeks,” he said, voice noncommittal.

She couldn’t decipher his expression. She looked past him, out the windshield. They were parked in front of her barn. “You brought me home?”

“You have work. I figured I’d let you sleep until around five-thirty. Wasn’t sure how long it takes to do your chores and get to the clinic.”

Everything he said was so calm. So thoughtful. And so damn polite it was like a kick in the stomach. She willed him to get up, come to her, kiss her, but he just sat, the only sound in the cab the barely audible rumble of the truck’s engine and the faint screech of music from his earbuds, which sounded suspiciously like “Highway to Hell.” She hoped it was a coincidence and not his opinion of where their relationship was headed. Her skin prickled with unease. He seemed so…grim.

Or he was reacting like any normal man faced with a potentially weepy woman. Not much chance she’d hidden her tears. Plus, Violet was getting married. Giving Beni a stepfather. Serious brooding material there.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and faced him. “That was classy, having my way with you then rolling off and falling asleep. Was I drooling on your shoulder?”

That got a hint of a smile and a shake of his head. “My knee starts to ache if I stay in one position too long.”

So he’d snuck out to sit for hours, waiting, watching over her. Crap. There was that damn lump in her throat again, and the heat behind her eyes, because the whole night had been so…so…everything. She needed a moment, so she reached for her jeans, found her underwear tucked inside, and pulled both on behind the blanket. Then she dug a breath mint out of her pocket and popped it in her mouth.

Cinching the blanket around her like a toga, she stood and leaned over Delon, bracing one hand on the steering wheel for balance. “You are somethin’ else, you know that?”

He blinked, wary. “How do you mean?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” She cocked her head and let her gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. “I still wouldn’t call you a nice guy, but you are a very good man.”

She kissed him. A deep, leisurely, morning after kind of kiss. When she pulled away, his mouth no longer had that grim set, but he looked tired, and no wonder. He probably hadn’t slept at all. She turned, let the blanket fall to pull on her T-shirt and sweatshirt, stuffed her bra in a pocket, then dropped another quick kiss on his cheek and climbed down from the cab. He gave her a single, crisp wave as he backed the truck around and drove away.

Tori shivered in the early morning chill. She turned and found the cat glaring her disapproval from the top of the same fence post. Tori held both hands up in surrender. “Yeah, fine. Walk of shame. And you might as well get used to it. He’s gonna be back, and he’d better not leave here bleeding again or you’re out on your ass.”

The cat narrowed her eyes, as if considering the ultimatum. Then she gave one long, slow blink that either meant agreement or go fuck yourself.

Delon would be back. Tori wasn’t fooling around, playing emotional tag this time. Digging out her phone, she typed in a text message and hit Send before she could reconsider. When am I going to see you again? Let him say she was pushy and overeager. He would not be able to say he didn’t think she cared if he came back. She tucked the phone away and headed for the barn. It was early to feed but too late to go back to sleep, so she might as well do her chores before she went inside to take a shower.

As Tori climbed up the ladder to the hayloft, she heard the scrabble of claws on wood. The cat landed a few feet away and stood, tail twitching. Tori froze. The cat stretched, an indolent ripple from head to tail, then strolled over and sideswiped Tori’s leg with a slow press of her body before hopping up to the top of the stack of bales. Tori let her breath go on a quiet laugh, her heart taking a ridiculous, joyful bound. The cat’s eyes narrowed in warning.

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone you’re going soft.”

The cat sneered at her and disappeared into the haystack.

Tori hummed softly as she walked across the yard, still feeling that odd, weightless sensation. As she let herself into the house, she realized it was a Stoney Larue song. And no, her feet didn’t quite feel as if they were touching the ground.