Chapter 33
Iknow the moment Robin walks into the room. I don’t know how I know; I just do. As if she turned the lights on when I had been sitting in the dark.
There she is, looking tongue-swallowing gorgeous in her green dress. I was aware Robin had boobs before she put it on, but she’s right that the dress helps move them up front and center.
I try not to leer at the freckled mounds.
Damn, I want her. And I want her to want me.
Trying to ignore that impossibility, I refocus on the music I’m playing. This is fun up here. Playing with strangers is inspiring, invigorating, and gets my pulse pounding, as if my heart were trying to join in with the band.
Or maybe it’s just trying to beat its way out of my chest and flop across the linoleum floor to the third row, where Robin tilts her right ear toward the stage as she settles in a chair beside Gwen.
I’m glad my coworker was the one to find her and not one of my cousins. Who knows what shit they would have pulled?
Nothing too bad, I’m sure. But any one of them would’ve started pleading Daren’s case.
I’ve already got enough working against me.
After a few more songs, my hands start to ache, warning that a cramp is coming on if I don’t give them a break. When we come to a natural breaking point, I let my final chord fade out from the rest, give them a nod, then step down from my seat. Someone else will fill it soon enough. The Jam Session is fluid like that.
Robin stands to join me, grinning wide as she hooks her arm through mine. I want her to jump up and kiss me in one of her attacks, but her feet stay on the ground.
“You guys sounded great.” She hugs my arm close, and I feel her chest press against my biceps.
Makes me want to show her the back room, where we could get some privacy.
“Thanks,” I say, making sure to speak clearly so she can hear me over the crowd.
A few heads turn our way, people eyeing us. Briefly, I wonder what the latest gossip about us is. But then I decide I don’t want to know. As long as no one is hostile toward Robin, they can say what they want about me.
We head to the food table, and I hold our plates while Robin piles them high, claiming she’s still hungry, even after eating before my set. Gwen and Sebastian find us when we sit down, and my coworker chats with Robin about the flight she and Sebastian are taking to California next year after the holiday-mail madness calms down. It’ll be Gwen’s first time on a plane, and I watch Robin’s eyes widen in shock at the reveal.
Little does she know that plenty of the people in this town have barely gone farther than Merryville.
As the plane mechanic describes how safe commercial airlines are, I excuse myself to grab dessert. I pause at the table, waffling between the apple and lemon cream pies.
If only I were more decisive, I might not have heard the two women chatting a few feet away, unaware of their audience.
“So, it’s true about that Robin girl?”
The sound of her name has me forgetting sweets, my entire body straining to hear the next words.
“Looks like. I heard about the split. Happened out of nowhere!”
After delivering mail for so long, I can recognize most everyone in town. The two gossips are Flo McClure and Candace Miller. Both women are happy to bless your heart to your face while they chat about your worst moments behind your back.
“Still can’t believe it,” Candace says. “She moved here for the handsome, charming one, and now, she has to settle for the surly, mean one.” She clicks her tongue. “I’d be surprised if she stays much past the new year.”
I shouldn’t have listened. If I could go back in time sixty seconds, I would turn and walk the other way.
Growing up, I often had to deal with getting compared to my cousins. It’s easy for people to set me apart from them based on looks alone. They’re all blond and pale while I have my mom’s dark hair and a touch of her tan in my skin. The black sheep in their fluffy white herd.
Don’t get mad, I remind myself. That’ll only give them more fodder.
But I’m not sure anger is what I feel anymore. Sometimes hearing this stuff just...hurts.
Decent folk who judged people by their hearts and not their looks never treated me different than Daren or Fred or the others, and ignorant bullies left me alone once I grew to be bigger than them.
But the comments never fully went away. The aggression to my perceived differentness simply shifted. Some people look at my cousins, then at me, and draw a whole list of conclusions they feel well within their right to articulate, often within my hearing.
Arthur Kraut? Oh, you mean the hairy one.
The dark one.
The mean one.
The other one.
When I was younger, I told my dad about the words townsfolk used to describe me. He would hug me hard and tell me nothing was wrong with me. He’d explain some people in town would say ignorant things about my mama too, and she was the most amazing woman in the world. Then dad told me the one time he ended up in the back of a police cruiser was when some big mouth thought he could insult Nimisha Kraut about the way she talked.
Krauts are brawlers, and Sherman refused to hear a bad word about the love of his life.
He chuckled as he told the story, but the idea of my dad getting arrested terrified me. When the next person sent a nasty word my way, I kept it to myself.
Normally, I ignore gossip, but damn her offhanded words hit me right in a weak spot.
They were the truth, weren’t they?
As much as a dick Daren can be sometimes, he’s also a classically handsome devil with plenty of charm that has plenty of women in town swooning over him.
And he’s the one Robin came to Green Valley for. Not me.
She never would have moved here for me.
I feel like I’m going to be sick, and I turn away from the dessert table with my plate empty.
Candace was probably right about her second prediction too. The only thing keeping Robin here after Daren’s betrayal is the shop. The one Malcolm Stetson is about to pass on to his son instead of the amazing, dedicated mechanic he already has on staff.
My soulmate is going to put Green Valley in her rearview soon enough.
And she should leave.
Robin should find a place where she can pursue her dream of running her own aviation repair business.
There, she can find a man who isn’t related to the guy who broke her heart.
“Hey.”
I flinch, both at the sound of Robin’s voice and at the gentle touch on my lower back.
Her hand immediately drops, and I could curse myself. I won’t have her touches for much longer. Time is running out. I need to soak in as much of Robin as I can before she leaves me for a better life.
“I thought you were getting pie.” She points to my empty plate.
“Not hungry.” And the words sound like a growl. Because that’s what I do. Growl and grump and give off a generally unpleasant vibe.
“Okay.” She draws out the word, her eyes narrowing as she studies me. “Are you gonna play some more? Or do you want to head out?”
I should stay. Close out the Jam Session so Robin can enjoy a true night out.
But I feel eyes on us. On me. The less desirable Kraut. The one who’ll be easy to leave soon enough.
“Head out,” I say, hating myself for the choice.
“Okay. Let’s grab your guitar.”
Then, as if she wants to torture me, Robin slings an arm around my waist, pressing her warm body into my side. I set my plate on a table, and—because I’m a masochist—I rest my arm over her shoulders, thumb brushing the bare skin exposed just above her sleeve.
Walking like a couple, we collect my instrument and step out into the cool autumn night. Robin tucks herself even closer to me, like a lizard seeking out a warm rock.
This is why Daren is the charming one. He’d never compare a woman he likes to a lizard.
When we’re settled in the car, I start the engine and point us toward my house. My boring home, where I’ll sit in my recliner, like always. Like I will when Robin eventually leaves.
How soon will the coconut scent of her hair fade from the upholstery?
Will I ever see her again once she goes?
Suddenly, desperate for more time, I make a right instead of continuing straight.
“Where we headed?” she asks.
“Lookout,” I come up with. “Nice moon tonight.”
It’s almost full above us, and it’s as good of an excuse as any to kidnap her for a little while. We’re both quiet as I drive another ten minutes to an overlook that shows peeks of Bandit Lake through the trees below us. I angle the car so we can see the moon through the windshield, the night turning too cold to stargaze outside.
“Oh, wow. That’s beautiful,” she murmurs, leaning forward with wide eyes.
“Yeah,” I say.
Robin turns her chin my way with a mischievous smile, then launches herself toward me.
“Kiss atta—ow! Fuck.” She sits back in her seat hard, rubbing her chest where the seat belt caught her.
“Shit. You okay?” I unbuckle myself and lean over, worried she might have cracked a rib.
Robin leans her head back, eyes closed, and laughs, the sound boisterous and exasperated. “Damn car safety. Stole my element of surprise.”
As she talks, I reach across her lap to unstrap her, and then I lean close to try and see if the belt left any bruising on her chest.
“Arthur”—Robin’s voice is teasing—“are you staring at my boobs?”
I jerk my head back, and that’s when she gets me. Hands in my hair, Robin drags my face to hers and kisses me hard.
I can’t help the groan that escapes. She rewards me with a swipe of her tongue. My brain blanks for a moment, and when it comes back online, Robin is straddling my lap.
Did I drag her over here, or did she climb?
Doesn’t matter. All that I care about is, she’s still kissing me. More than that. Her skirt is bunched high on her thighs, and she’s grinding herself against my quickly hardening dick.
The pressure of her hot center is fucking heaven, and I don’t know how long I can stand the onslaught.
But I’m not about to ask for her to stop.
More. That’s what I want. What I need.
Vivid memories to hold on to when she’s gone.
My hands grip her thighs, and she whispers a needy, “Yes,” against my mouth.
Yes? Yes to what?
As she sucks on my lower lip, I slide my touch up under her skirt until I palm her round ass, covered only by a silky set of underwear. Robin rocks against me, and my fingers knead into her flesh in time with her movements. I can imagine slipping inside her as she moves in exactly this rhythm.
That’s not what’s going to happen here, I try to remind myself.
Still, Robin’s noises and thrusting hips seem to convey she wants something else from me—at least in this moment.
The next time her mouth parts from mine, I take the chance to groan a question. “Can we practice more?”
Robin stares down at me, illuminated by the moon and the dim lights of my dashboard, her brow dipping in confusion as she pants. “What?”
Risking everything, I slip my hand between her legs, my palm pressing against the damp material of her panties. “I want to practice touching you here.”
Do you want more from me? Ask for anything, and I’ll give it to you.
“Yes.” She breathes out the word on a harsh exhale.
Thank fucking God.
“Tell me what you like.” Having never gone this far with anyone, I’ll need her guidance. And I want it. Want to make this good for her so I’m not some pity case she easily forgets.
Robin drops her head to my shoulder, hiding her expression from me.
Then, she spreads her legs as wide as she can manage on the seat.
“Dip your fingers in me. Get them slick.”
For a moment, I don’t move, too worried I imagined her voice saying those dirty instructions.
“Or not.” Robin presses her hands against my shoulders, trying to get away from me.
No way in hell.
I plunge my hand past the elastic of her underwear, discovering the drenched folds of her sex.
“Oh!” She gasps, eyes finding mine.
As I stroke through the moisture, I watch Robin’s lids grow heavy, her mouth parting on short breaths.
“Like this?” I growl, my fingers coated.
“Mmhmm.” Robin arches her back, pushing herself against my hand. “And put one or two inside me. Just...just for...just so I can . . .” She bites her lip, and her fingers delve into my hair, nails dragging over my scalp. I’m about to beg for her next words when she gives them to me. “I want to feel you there.”
Me. She wants me.
Maybe not forever, but for now. Triumph fueling me, I seek with my touch, parting her inner lips until I discover her entrance and push into the tight hold.
Robin lets out a strangled noise and wraps her arms tight around my neck, plastering our bodies together. I’m almost worried I did something wrong, but then I hear her chanting one word.
“Yes . . . yes . . . yes . . .”
I suck in a few deep breaths and try to clear my mind, all to keep from coming. Robin doesn’t know that this is the most erotic experience of my life. And she doesn’t know she’s the only one I ever want to do this with.
“What next?” I ask, barely able to keep my voice steady. As I wait for her answer, I work my fingers in and out, gentle thrusts that are a shadow of what I want to do with my aching cock.
“Arthur, God, you’re going to kill me,” she groans, then pushes to sit up straight.
I shift my arms with her movement, unwilling to give up the tight, hot grip of her core until she tells me to. I miss the press of her body against mine, but this view is glorious.
My little mechanic’s hair is a wild mess around her face, her chest heaving as she gazes at me with hungry eyes. She then proceeds to reach into the low neckline of her dress and slips one of her boobs out. My entire body hardens at the sight of her rigid nipple.
“Suck,” she demands.
My mouth was already watering, and I dive forward to claim the peak as my own.
Robin yelps but then cradles the back of my head, holding my eager mouth against her skin.
“So good,” she whimpers.
Pride is a wildfire in my chest. I let her pop free, then nuzzle my nose against the damp skin before dragging my beard over her sensitive flesh, earning more eager noises from her.
“I want to practice making you come,” I rasp.
Her body stills in my arms, and I slow the thrust of my fingers.
Now, I’ve done it. Said the wrong thing, and this glorious moment will come to a crashing halt around me.
Please no. Just a little longer. I can’t let her go yet.
“Not . . .” She clears her throat. “Not every woman comes the same way.”
Not every woman? Are there any other women? Because as far as I’m concerned, the world outside this car has ceased to exist.
“Show me how you come,” I plead. I need to know. To see it once. To feel her body grasp my fingers.
After another hesitation, Robin fists her skirt and draws it up, exposing the front of her thighs and the thin fabric that covers her pussy, which is pushed to the side by my hand, fingers disappearing inside her.
I groan at the sight.
She grabs my wrist, the one that’s not attached to the hand working deeper into her, and she directs my touch to the front of her panties.
“Work my clit,” she tells me.
I might have never touched a woman like this before, but I’ve seen enough porn to know where that pleasure center is. This time, I delve past her waistband, springy curls brushing against the pads of my fingers. When my touch discovers a hard little nub, Robin jerks against me.
There she is.
“I like a back-and-forth,” Robin instructs me with a breathless voice that threatens to ruin me.
With two fingers, I strum her pleasure center. “Like this?”
“Almost.” Her hand covers mine, pressing harder, showing the rhythm she wants.
I catch on fast, and soon, all she can do is clutch my shoulders and moan while I watch in rapture, fascinated and awed by the knowledge that she’s pulling apart at the seams because of my hands on her.
“Arthur!” She cries my name, and pleasure shoots up and down my spine at the sound. “Don’t stop. Please, God.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
And as her body clenches and spasms, curling in toward mine, I bite down hard on the rest of the words I want to say.
I’ll never stop. Never stop wanting you.
Never stop loving you.