CHAPTER FIVE
Roxie
Lou’s voice on the phone was a very ill-timed interruption.
There I was, half-naked in a hot tub, straddling a man I’d known for less than two days, his hands still warm on my skin, his eyes still dark with want—
And Lou was telling me the parts for my car were going to take longer than expected.
“Anther few days, hon,” he was saying. “Maybe another week. The parts for this model are harder to come by than I thought. Already got the order in, but...”
“Right. Okay. Another week. That’s... fine. That’s totally fine.”
Bridger’s eyes opened. Found mine. Something in them sparked. He was glad. Glad I was stuck here longer.
I should have been frustrated. I had a road trip to finish. A life to figure out. A budget that was about to start hemorrhaging.
I glanced at Bridger again. He was sitting back now, his arms stretched out along the top edge of the tub, watching me like he was already planning how he’d spend those two weeks.
Still sitting in hot water, I shivered at the thought.
Of course one of Momma’s rules popped into my head.
Rule #44: Never let a man know he’s winning, even when he’s currently holding all the cards.
“Thanks for letting me know, Lou.”
“You hanging in there up at Bridger’s place?”
I caught Bridger’s gaze. “Yeah,” I said. “I’m hanging in.”
“Good. He treating you right?”
Oh, he was treating me very right.
“Yes, sir. Couldn’t ask for a better host.”
Bridger’s mouth curved into a sinful smile.
“Alright then. I’ll call when the parts come in.”
We hung up, and I set the phone back on the edge of the deck.
Bridger moved through the water, slow and deliberate, closing the distance I’d put between us. When he reached me, his hands settled on either side of the tub, caging me in.
But he didn’t kiss me. Didn’t touch me.
Just looked, his gaze tracing over my face with a terrifying intensity.
“Bridger.”
“Yeah?”
“Are we going to...” I trailed off. My brain, usually so good at logic, had completely malfunctioned. Maybe it was because of all the hormones that had been released inside me by Bridger’s mouth. And his fingers. God, his fingers.
“Going to what?”
“You know what.”
“Say it.”
“Are we going to...” I swallowed. “Finish what we started?”
He was quiet for a long moment. So long I thought maybe he was going to say no. That he’d come to his senses. That this was a terrible idea, and we should both go to our separate rooms and forget it ever happened.
“Not tonight,” he finally said.
My heart dropped. “Oh.”
He saw my face and his thumb brushed my cheek. “Hey. Look at me.”
I did.
“Not tonight,” he said again. “Not because I don’t want to. Because I want to too much. Because if I take you tonight, I’m not letting you out of my bed until your car is fixed.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” I allowed myself a brief smile.
The comment made him growl a little. “But we wait.”
“Until when?”
“Until you’re sure.”
“I am sure.”
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. You want this, you want me. But you still have doubts.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but I stopped. Because the truth was I wasn’t sure he was wrong. Had I gotten caught up in the moment? The way he’d touched me? It should have been frustrating. It was frustrating. But it was also the most honest thing anyone had ever said to me.
“Okay,” I whispered.
He kissed me, gentle this time. Like he was trying very hard not to ruin us before we even started.
“Now get out of the tub before I change my mind.” He handed me my t-shirt and leaned back against the edge of the hot tub, as if distance was the only thing keeping his control intact.
I tried hard not to look at the hard outline still very much there beneath the water.
I failed.
When I glanced back, his jaw tightened.
“Go,” he ordered.
It took everything in me not to turn and walk back into his arms.
***
The next morning was awkward in the best possible way.
We orbited each other in the kitchen, both pretending we hadn’t been half-naked in his hot tub the night before. He made coffee. I made toast. Our hands kept brushing. Our eyes kept meeting.
Then looking away. Then meeting again.
It was torture.
Rule #46: Pretending to be normal around a man who has touched your bare breasts will not work. Don’t bother trying.
I was making up rules faster than I could remember them.
“What’s the plan today?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Working on the sculpture again. Want to come?”
Did I want to spend another day watching him be unfairly attractive while wielding power tools, especially after last night?
“Yes, please.” Because clearly I was a masochist.
He took a sip of his coffee but said nothing. The expression in his eye said it all.
This time the drive to town was charged.
At one point, we stopped at a red light, and his hand drifted to my thigh.
Just rested there, his thumb moving against my skin.
I didn’t move it. Why would I? It felt like he was claiming me, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to be independent. I wanted to be his.
At the square, I tried to sit on the bench like a normal person.
I really did. But every time he killed the chainsaw to step back and assess his work, his eyes found me.
I crossed my legs, then uncrossed them trying to relieve the ache that had set up permanent residence.
Every time I did, his grip tightened on the chainsaw handle.
Since I had his attention, I did what any red-blooded woman would.
I leaned forward to stretch, letting my shirt gape open just slightly. He didn’t look away.
Rule #42: Seducing a man who’s holding a chainsaw is dangerous for everyone involved.
An hour in, I was seriously considering the merits of spontaneous combustion as a viable exit when I heard it.
The tinny, slightly creepy music of an ice cream truck.
I looked up to see one rolling down the street, playing its jingle like it was two decades earlier.
Bridger killed the chainsaw and set it down. “You want something?”
“Ice cream for breakfast seems questionable.”
“It’s almost eleven.”
“Ice cream for second breakfast then.” I gave him a bright smile and started toward the truck.
We walked over and I studied the faded pictures on the side. Bomb pops. Drumsticks. Those character popsicles with the bubblegum eyes that always tasted like freezer burn.
“What do you want?” Bridger asked.
“Cherry popsicle.”
He ordered—one cherry popsicle for me, nothing for himself—and paid before I could protest.
We walked back to the square, and I unwrapped the popsicle. It was exactly as I remembered from childhood—bright red, artificially flavored. Perfect.
I closed my mouth around the tip of it and made a sound of pure happiness.
When I looked up, Bridger was staring at me.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
But he didn’t look away.
I gave it another lick, and his jaw clenched so hard I thought I actually heard it. I licked the popsicle again.
Then I set up a rhythm I hoped would break his control. A deep, hard suck, a twisting lick up the frozen length. Even though I was deliberately trying to torture him, I had to admit I was enjoying the sweet cherry flavor and the cold on my tongue.
A drop ran down my wrist, and I licked it off without thinking.
Bridger made a sound low in his throat like a caged animal.
I looked up. “You okay?”
“I’m watching you eat a fucking popsicle, Roxie. So no, I’m not alright.”
My eyes widened. Okay, Roxie. Time to escalate.
I put as much of the popsicle into my mouth as I could, sucking until my jaws hollowed out.
Now I was watching him watch me. I turned the entire experience into my own short porn episode, produced entirely to make my stubborn mountain man melt right along with the popsicle.
“Enough,” he growled, closing the distance between us. He grabbed my wrist, pulling the popsicle out of my mouth and tossed it into the trash.
He looked around and then he was pulling me into an alley between two buildings, away from the square, away from anyone watching.
He backed me against the brick wall and kissed me.
Hard.
Hungry.
Desperate.
He crowded right into my space, his heavy, dense frame pinning my soft body against the rough brick.
I could feel the rigid, thick length of his erection branding my thigh through our clothes, a promise of exactly what was waiting for me.
His hands slid down to my waist, his thick fingers digging into the flesh of my hips, pulling me flush against his chiseled core until there wasn’t a single molecule of air left between us.
I kissed him back just as desperately, until he tasted like cherry too. He groaned into my mouth, and the sound ramped up that ache between my legs into a raging inferno.
“I’ve been trying to be good,” he said, his teeth nibbling my lower lip.
“Stop trying,” I whispered.
His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “You’re making this really hard.”
I flexed my hips against him, smiling a little. “I certainly hope so.”
“Roxie—”
“Take me home, Bridger.”
His gaze searched mine. “You sure?”
I nodded. “Yes, I’m sure Bridger.”
“I don’t want to rush you.”
“I know. But, Bridger. I want to be rushed. Well, I don’t want the sex to be rushed—”
I squealed as he picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder.
My ass was in his face, bounce-testing his shoulder with every massive stride he took, but he didn’t care.
He just clamped a heavy palm over the back of my thigh, squeezing me tight.
I hoped no one saw him doing his mountain man act, but then decided if they did, they would just be jealous.
Why? Because this man wanted me that much.
We didn’t talk on the drive back. Didn’t need to.
Every time he shifted gears, his hand brushed my thigh. Every time I glanced at him, he was already looking at me.
The second we pulled up to the house, he was out of the truck, coming around to my side and pulling me into his arms and carrying me up the front porch. He managed to unlock the door with me still in his arms.
As soon as he kicked the door closed behind us, his mouth was on mine, hands everywhere. Finally, finally we were both giving in to what had been building since the moment we met.