Chapter 8
J osie padded downstairs after Brock. The bottom level of the split ranch was cooler, but cozier. Wall-to-wall carpet squished between her toes. His parents had sprung for the good stuff.
Brock flipped on a light in the main area and she stopped short to look around in awe. A sensory mecca was the only way she could describe it.
The plush carpet she’d already been introduced to, but the walls were painted the most pleasing shade of taupe. A free-standing hammock sat at one end of the room and candles were scattered along the ledge of the wainscoting.
“Whoa.” She spun a small circle.
It was like a DIY spa. The smell was even relaxing. She picked up the nearest candle. Vanilla lavender. She checked the label: soy wax. Weren’t those supposed to be less toxic? Her gaze lifted to land on speakers. There were four—one mounted in each corner.
Brock had gone into an adjacent room, and she stepped to the doorway.
He rummaged through a shelf in the corner, then withdrew a radio.
The makeshift storage room looked like it could’ve once been a bedroom.
Boxes with the names of car places and car parts on them were stacked along the walls.
The closet door was open, the space was filled with various pairs of overalls.
All of it was tidy. If she were to shout a make and model of air filter, Brock could probably point to exactly where it was stored and how many he had. Hell, his overalls were probably categorized by task, like snow removal, mechanic work, and whatever else a farmer would use coveralls for.
Boots lined the floor under the hangers. Snow boots. Ski boots. She peeked in farther and saw cross-country ski equipment and snowshoes.
The Walkers had this awesome acreage and were still able to do all the snow sports that she either couldn’t afford or didn’t have time for.
A twinge of jealously flared, but she couldn’t hold it against Brock. He worked hard for everything and everyone around him.
Most girls would’ve been offended that he’d inspected the car for damage immediately after doing it on the hood, but not her.
He’d said he was restoring it for someone and in the little time she’d known him, she’d seen how much his work meant to him.
So the fact that he’d lost his common sense to take her on it in the first place was incredibly flattering.
A vibrating sound jerked her out of her musings.
Brock glanced at her backpack where her phone was going off before he went back to fiddling with the weather radio.
She went back into the relaxation room and dug out her phone.
Her heart sank. It was her father.
“Hey, Bill.” She’d called him that for so long, it didn’t faze him anymore.
“Where the hell are you?”
“I didn’t have any weekend plans so I came down to see Jesse.” Not exactly a lie—she’d probably visit him before she left.
Bill’s long-suffering sigh clenched her gut. “I know you and your brother are close, but you can’t waste all your time and money on the boy. He dug his own grave.”
A small wave of guilt washed through her. Bill was worried about her, and she was mostly lying to him. To take her mind off her deceit, she watched as Brock moved bins around and pulled out one.
He pulled out items inside to check over and her mouth quirked. An emergency kit. Of course, he’d have one.
“I should be back tomorrow night,” she said. “But…we need to talk. About the books.”
Bill was quiet for an uncomfortably long time. “You don’t need to worry about that.”
She sucked in a deep breath. It was time to tell him. “We didn’t get the Shelby, Bill.”
Bill swore. “What happened?”
“He found another buyer.” Eventually, that would be true. “How are you going to pay the money back?”
“I said you don’t need to worry about that.”
“But I work for you.”
“Josephina—” there was the don’t-argue-with-me use of her full name, “—I’ve got it taken care of. We have business coming in, I’ll get an extension, it’ll be fine.”
Either he was fooling himself, or trying to not worry her, or both. But they weren’t fine, and they didn’t have a hundred thousand dollars of business coming in. Then there was the interest—higher than any bank would offer, and no bank would’ve floated Bill the loan.
“All right,” she conceded. “There’s a storm coming, so I’d better curl up in a corner.”
She exhaled after they disconnected, trying to let all her anxiety flow out with it.
Brock came out of the room with the plastic bin and dropped it at the edge of a loveseat.
Loud pelts of rain started hitting the windows. The curtains were drawn downstairs, but it was dark behind them. The edge of the storm had reached them.
Tension lines edged Brock’s mouth and eyes.
“Are you okay?” She moved in front of him and rested her hands on his defined chest.
“I just don’t like storms.”
“Have a bad experience with one?”
He shook his head. That was all she was going to get.
Waving her hand around, she asked, “What’s with this room?”
He swallowed and stared at the room. “It’s, uh, it’s my…”
It was for him? “You come here to relax?” she finished for him.
“Yeah,” he said, gruffly. “Not so much anymore, but when I was younger, I used to sleep in the hammock most nights.”
Rain hit the windows with more force. Sounds of steady water running through the gutters was as loud as the rain.
“Geez, it’s pouring out.”
Flashes of light flickered across the curtains. Peals of thunder rattled seconds later.
“It’s getting closer.” Brock’s fists clenched and unclenched. “If it hails, we could lose a lot of crop.”
Ah. She understood his fear better. But then another round of thunder made him flinch. The wind was picking up and sheets of rain nailed the house.
Call her selfish, but she hoped to take his mind off the storm.
“Sit down.” He dropped on the loveseat. She located her backpack and dug around for the impulse buy she’d picked up on the way to Moore. Feeling silly at the time, her little box seemed like an intuitive idea now.
She palmed the box and held her hand out to Brock. His eyes narrowed, then his brows rose.
“Do you think this’ll make the storm better?” She tried for innocence, but her question came out sultry.
His gaze heated. He took the box from her to set aside. “Yes.”
Then he grabbed her hand to tug her on top of him where he dragged her head down for a kiss. She straddled him as their tongues dueled and lifted his shirt back up. This time, she wanted him to be naked.
As the force of the storm picked up, Brock’s movements became jerkier. He hung onto her like she was his life line.
Did he ride out these storms all by himself? If the candles were for relaxation, they were probably powerless against the stress of a storm. Were they for if the power went out?
She broke the kiss to get his shirt off. Backing off him, she stood and shimmed out of her shorts. He broke his attention to free himself from his jeans.
Never would she tire of seeing him. Muscle rippled over a hard body as he moved, but his shaft and what he could do with it transfixed her.
He opened the box and fished out a condom. He was about to tear it open when he paused. “They’re neon.”
She shrugged as she was yanking off her top. “Gas station purchase. I wasn’t paying attention. Didn’t think I’d need them.” She smiled as she stood naked in front of him. “But I’m glad I do.”
“Me, too.” He rolled it on. Neon green looked good on him.
She crawled back onto his lap. His gaze was at her sex. For a man who didn’t emote much, the hungry way he watched her turned her on more than any sweet whisperings. He wanted her and it was written all over his face.
While he was riveted, she placed herself over him. Pleasure flitted over his face as she eased herself down.
She bit her lip and moaned as he filled her. His hands went to her waist, but he didn’t urge her into a pace.
She swiveled and rocked until her juices coated him and he was seated as deep as he could go. His shaft hit all the right spots.
Lightning flashed, briefly highlighting the room, and thunder cracked. Sharp cracks of hail hit the windows. God, she hated hail and the worry of whether it’d take out the glass or not.
Brock flinched at the noise. Josie started rocking. She lifted herself and eased back down. With a growl of pleasure, his eyelids drifted shut. Her distraction was working.
He tightened his hands on her, but he didn’t take over. She kissed him hard on the mouth, trailing soft kisses across his cheek to nibble on his earlobe. A deep groan and more forceful undulations of his hips rewarded her efforts.
She smiled to herself and licked up the shell of his ear, immediately blowing on the trail she made. He shivered. Ah, he had a ticklish side. Trailing her fingertips down his chest, she feathered them along his abs.
Now, he took over. He lifted her and slammed her back down, but then abandoned his efforts to nudge her face out of the way so he could maneuver her breasts in front of his mouth. Perfectly fine losing the upper hand, she let him take over.
His hot mouth covered her nipple, his tongue flicking the tip. When had her breasts become such erogenous zones? She twisted her hands in his hair, afraid he’d abandon his efforts.
He lavished attention on her breasts and her eyes drifted shut. The bliss roaring through her body was stronger than before, a feat she hadn’t thought possible.
Why was it so different with Brock? A man who seemed clueless with women handled her body better than anyone else.
Maybe because his mind wasn’t on others, unlike her ex.
Gage was either thinking of himself or the women he had on the side.
When Brock focused on her, it was her . He wasn’t coaxing an orgasm out of her to satisfy his male ego.
It was like he wanted to drive her body to the limits, but it was unthinkable that he’d satisfy himself without her.
That’d be like driving his cars for thousands of miles without so much as an oil change.