“There you go.” He tipped his can of Shiner to hers.

She lifted her can then took a long sip. “Cheers.”

Natalie had asked him to get their drinks from the bar next to the motel half an hour ago, and even after starting their second beer, tension still lurked around them. When he’d told her about having to share a room, she didn’t make a big fuss. All they would do was sleep anyway.

Yet the moment she walked into the room and looked at him, a crazy idea crossed her mind. She was a woman and he was a man and they were in a motel for the night—no past legal tie changed that. She hadn’t had sex in five years, one year longer than his son’s death. In her short one-year marriage, sex hadn’t been one of her top priorities with Clint. It was hard to get aroused when your husband showed up from work drunk every other day. A couple of times, she found lipstick marks in his boxers, and sadly she hadn’t cared much about them. Knowing he fooled around on her while shitfaced gave her a sense of relief… knowing she wouldn’t have to do anything with him.

After his death, she hadn’t really worried about her non-existent sex life; too busy rebuilding her life as a widow and trying to keep her finances afloat.

She watched the way Vincent’s long fingers held the Shiner and her stomach knotted in anticipation. What the hell?

He had sixteen years on her, and good or bad he was still her father-in-law. Dina’s ex. Oh, sweet Jesus. She gave herself a mental slap and ordered her nipples to stop tingling.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

Thankfully they had a good distance between them; she sat at the edge of her bed and he lounged on the chair a few feet from her, next to the television about as old as she. “Oh you know… cupcakes,” she said, mentioning the first safe subject coming to mind.

He glanced at his can, then peered at her and she had to swallow hard to shove the hot throb down her throat. His hazel eyes seemed darker and when she broke the stare, she looked at his hand once again. He made a circular pattern around the rim of the aluminum can.

He cleared his throat. “Do you like baking?”

“It’s okay. It’s soothing. I’ve wanted to take pottery classes but I don’t exactly live in an art town,” she said, and a wave of relief moved through her, her shoulders sagging a bit. She’d never shared her frustration over not leaving Suarez with anyone. I haven’t left because I’m too scared.

“Why did you stay after Clint passed?” he whispered, naming his son for the first time since he’d arrived. “Figured you’d start over somewhere new.”

From what she knew, Vincent had been born and raised in Suarez, but always looked for a way out. His then-girlfriend Dina had gotten pregnant and he’d done the right thing—married her at eighteen. After their divorce, he’d tried to stay for his son, and did so for twelve years—until Clint had rebelled and shut him out of his life.

“Guess I was used to living here. I saved money to go to Houston but I started to have problems with the house, and ended up here.” Excuses, excuses.

He surged to his feet, and jammed his hand in his front pocket. “Tell you what. I’ll sort out your house for you. It’s no promise, it’ll be reality. If you wanna sell it, we can set it up.”

“Thanks.” She took another sip then looked into the opening of the can like it held the answers to her doubts. “I guess I have to think about that dream again. Going away.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is.” His jaw clenched. “Coming back is another story. I’ve made too many wrong decisions and it’s hard to forget them when you’re back.”

“Don’t think too much about the past,” she said. “You’ve made a life for yourself outside this itty bitty town. You’re more ahead than me.”

He sat next to her, and tapped her shoulder. Little thrills of excitement shot down her arm, prickling her flesh. “Count on me. If you need help with anything.”

Anything? She looked at him with a half-smile, and glanced at him mysteriously. He nodded, took a deep breath and she chewed on her lower lip. Tension crackled between them.

“Well, we should go to sleep. I’m fixin’ to walk to the truck to pick up my stuff,” he said, and leaned over her to reach for his keys. He’d left his luggage in the car earlier in case the motel didn’t have any vacancy.

He grabbed the keys and she raised her head.

He dipped down his until he was at eye level with her. “Natalie,” he called her, but didn’t finish.

She pulled him to her, hands grazing his shoulder, feeling him.

Any rational thought jumped out the window the moment she touched him. A carnal desire pinched her so hard it would probably leave a mark. They were two broken people in a sketchy motel room—two ravenous lovers who needed each other.

He lowered his lips to hers and when his tongue invaded her mouth, her body quivered in response. She cupped his face, and he intensified the kiss with the urgency of a man who’d already discovered and mastered all the secrets of her mouth.

Natalie embraced him with the intensity of hurricane. For so long nothing in her life had felt right. Her hasty marriage, her decision to stay in the marriage, her wish to leave town but inability to do so… they had all been decisions she’d been forced to make. Yet now… kissing him, his tongue exploring her like a hunter did a mountain, had never been better. She was in charge, she’d initiated the kiss and pure empowerment moved through her.

And arousal. She began to remove his shirt, fussing over his buttons. When she slid her hand down his jeans, a massive cock greeted her, hard as a longhorn. He groaned against her lips, and she slid her hand farther and stroked him, hoping he wouldn’t suddenly change his mind.

The sensation of his hot flesh pulsating against her palm released a flurry of butterflies in her stomach. He groaned under his breath, his stomach stiffening. She stroked his dick, desperate to see him lose control under her command.

Vincent had other plans. Catching her wrist, he pushed her down on the bed. Before she protested, he traced a path of kisses down her neck, and she closed her eyes, burying her head in the pillow.

He pulled up her skirt and lowered her panties. A cold draft teased her exposed sex, the sensation having the opposite internal effect and searing her nerve endings. He blew a puff of air into her, and zingers of anticipation tingled in her core. “Vincent,” she hissed.

A shiver of pleasure moved through her when he breathed closer to her pussy, and she moaned. He licked her, and she shoved her hands in his hair, arching her body toward him. God, he knew how to eat out a woman. His tongue fucked her like a cock would, without shame or impediment.

“Oh yes,” she said when he inserted a couple of fingers into her cunt and they made an invisible pattern on her folds teasing her to the point of madness. “Don’t stop.”

He continued licking her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her ruthlessly. The feel of his strong, calloused hand between her thighs brought a sense of completion, second only to a good ol’ fuck. She lifted her ass from the mattress, too restless to keep still. He slid his fingers under her butt and brought her to his mouth like she was some expensive ass wine he tasted. Or rather, chugged down his throat.

The man lapped at her pussy like he was searching for the secret map to an ancient sacred monument, and every fold drove him closer to his final destination. He kneaded her buttocks, his fingers warming her ass.

“Babe, you eat me so good,” she said, forgetting his surname and what it represented for a moment. “You’re driving me crazy.”

Her words encouraged him, and soon his thumb flicked her clit. She gasped, oxygen caught in her throat. The way he teased her with his tongue and fingers had an underlying punishing vibe… so intense, so powerful. Pleasure throbbed in her core and quickly spread through her body. She convulsed and creamed in his mouth, and never for an instant did he stop his relentless pursuit. Her moans filled the room, louder than she intended, but lower than the heartbeats drumming in her chest.

He finally rose from between her legs, and sat at the edge of the bed. “Natalie…” he ran his hand into his hair. “What are we doing?”

She propped herself on her elbows. “Screwing.” She let out a long sigh. “I need this.”

The amazing oral sex he’d performed only made her hungrier, not even close to being sated. For the last few years she hadn’t cared much for the lack of a sex life, but now her entire being tingled with a need for him in a way she couldn’t explain or understand—just feel.

“I don’t even have a condom with me,” he said, his voice factual.

She sat on the bed, and scooted next to him. “Come inside me, then. I can’t get pregnant,” she said, savoring the idea of him filling her in the most primitive way. Doctors had assured her it’d be very hard under ideal circumstances, and highly unlikely in the worst.

He glanced at her, and shook his head. “What?” Before she replied, he surged to his feet and created a distance between them. He regarded her once more, and frustration flickered in his eyes. His entire body stiffened. “Why not?”

Because of your son. How to tell him Clint’s death wasn’t the only consequence of the car accident? “Because of the car accident, my uterus got damaged and doctors said my chances were next to zero,” she said, looking down at the carpet.

He took a couple of steps toward her, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

She raised her gaze to him. “It’s okay. I’ve come to terms with it,” she lied. Growing up with divorced parents who had used her as a pawn against each other and fought in court or out of court, she always wanted to prove them wrong. She wanted to have a lasting marriage and offer her future children a happy childhood—so much so, she hesitated to leave Clint one too many times.

He ran his hand down his face. “Natalie, I can’t screw you. That’d be wrong.”

“Don’t you want me?” She hated how insecure she sounded. Ever since Clint’s death she hadn’t been with anyone. Though a couple of men in town had asked her out on dates.

He curled his lips at the corners of his sexy mouth. “Yes, but I have to be stronger than desire. You were married to my son, darlin’.”

She rubbed her palms together. Should she tell him? “Our marriage ended long before he died. I don’t know how much you know, and I don’t want to talk smack about Clint but—

He lifted his hand, gesturing for her to stop talking. “I understand. Clint was sick, and I don’t think he did right by you. But making him into the bad guy for a quick fuck ain’t working.”

Red hot anger flushed through her body. “That’s not what I was doing. I was just explaining,” she said, shaking her head. He had no right to simply accuse her of talking shit about her husband. He didn’t know half of what his son had put her through… “For the longest time I put other people first—and if you think I’m smearing his reputation just to get my rocks off…”

He waved her off. “See? We’re already arguing because of him. Listen I’m flattered but this won’t ever happen. I’m sorry I mauled you like a rabid dog.” He reached for the duffel bag he’d brought and grabbed it from the floor. “I’m going to sleep in my truck. Stay in the room. We’ll drive back to town in the morning and act like tonight never happened.”