Chapter 8
Eight
Jameson
I sit at the tiny motel table, a glass of whiskey gripped tightly in my hand. Tipping it back, I let the burn slide down, the liquid scraping my throat in a way that wakes every nerve.
I was actively avoiding Lane. Going as far as buying a bottle of whiskey from the liquor store so I wouldn't be tempted to go to the bar.
But the universe has a fucked-up sense of humor. Instead of keeping my distance, I ran into her at the liquor store. Or more accurately, she ran into me.
Oh, the irony.
I throw back the rest of the whiskey, slamming the glass down with a hard clack, and stalk to the bathroom. I turn the shower on full; hot water hisses and thunders against the tile in a steady roar that matches my heartbeat.
I can’t get her out of my head. I tried to convince myself I was only going to the bar to keep an eye on her, like I told Miles I would. But the truth became clear when I started driving past her house in the middle of the night like a fucking stalker.
I need distance until the DNA comes back. I need clean lines. I need my head.
Stepping under the spray, the hot water pounds my shoulders, loosening some of the tension coiled tight as the steam swirls around me.
I should make a trip to the city. Find a bar and a beautiful woman to purge Lane from my soul.
But I know it won’t work. There is no purging her. My need for her is too deep.
I fist my hard cock, pre-cum already leaking from my tip. Images of Lane flash behind my closed eyes. Her dancing with Kam, wild and free. Her head tossed back, long silky hair cascading over her shoulders.
I’ve tried to stay professional. To remember that this is a case, and she is a suspect.
That she’s off limits.
But it’s useless. She already wrapped around me like a vise, seeping through my veins.
I pump faster, palm braced against the tile, imagining her red lips stretched around my cock as she swallows me whole, gagging on every inch. Her spit, her moans, her pleasure—mine.
It doesn’t take long before my legs start to shake, tension building at the base of my spine.
“FUCK!” My orgasm rips through me, and I paint the walls of the shower with my release.
Water cascades down my back as I stand there panting, riding out the aftershock. I’ve never come this hard or fast, from my own hand and the thought of a woman. Hell, I’ve never had a woman get under my skin the way she has.
Reality sinks in as I come down from my post ejaculation high.
I have to stay the fuck away from Lane. Being around her clouds my judgement, and that’s dangerous. Under no circumstances can I be around her until we get those results back.
I make it six days.
Six long, brutal days where I tried to sweat her out of my head. First, by hiking the nearby trails until my legs burned, followed by working out until my muscles screamed. When that didn’t work, I tried to distract myself with bad TV and crossword puzzles. Nothing worked.
So here I am, standing outside the bar.
“Hey, Wildflower,” I call as I step through the door, my boots scuffing against the carpet. The faint twang of a country ballad spilling from the jukebox, mixing with the murmur of conversation and the clink of glass.
Her head snaps up. Relief flashes through her eyes and she quickly masks it with an easy smile. “I was beginning to think you left town,” she says, voice like warm honey with a rough edge.
Did she miss me? The idea makes something hum low and dangerous in my chest. I slide onto a stool, and the leather protests with a soft sigh. “I’ll be around for a while.”
She turns and reaches for the whiskey she knows I like. “The ladies from book club will be happy to hear that. You’ve become their new favorite topic,” she teases, glancing over her shoulder as she pours, the corners of her mouth tugging up.
I lean back and cross my arms, my gaze locked on her. “And what do they say about me?”
I don’t give a shit what those women say. But I do want her opinion.
She slides my drink in front of me, eyes narrowing. “You know exactly what they say about you.”
A cocky smirk tugs at my lips. “Maybe.”
She shakes her head, a laugh spilling from her lips. “You’re ridiculous.”
That laugh. Light. Free. It shoots straight to my gut.
She grabs a rag and wipes at the counter, as if it will remove the permanent stickiness. “How much longer do you plan to be in town?” she asks, her voice trying just a little too hard to sound casual.
“Who’s asking? The ladies from the book club or you, Wildflower?” I lower my head, forcing her eyes to meet mine.
A shiver runs through her, and her breath catches. Before she can answer, two guys barrel through the door, loudly, stealing her attention. Fucking assholes.
The taller of the two’s gaze locks onto Lane, a predatory smile spreading across his face. “Hey Laney.” He’s at least three or four inches shorter than me, with a buzzcut and the energy of I peaked in high school, but I still think I’m the man.
Lane’s shoulders stiffens, her eyes flashing with a mix of apprehension and annoyance. “I told you not to call me that, Luke.”
He slides onto a stool a few seats down, his buddy beside him. “Come on, Lane, don't be like that,” he purrs, giving her a cocky grin. “I miss you. When are you going to let me take you out again?”
So they dated. Interesting.
She tosses the rag down and stalks to the cooler, pulling out two Coors Lights.
She sets them on the bar with more force than necessary, causing liquid to spurt up from the top, punctuating her annoyance.
“Luke, I’m working. Just enjoy your beer and let me do my job,” she says sharply, before walking away, not waiting for his reply.
“When are you going to give up?” Luke’s friend asks.
My ears perk up, and I watch them out of the corner of my eye, bringing my glass to my lips.
“She’s just playing hard to get,” Luke replies, taking a pull from his beer.
Seriously, Coors Light? What self-respecting man drinks beer-flavored water?
His buddy chuckles. “If you say so.”
Luke drains the rest of his beer. “Watch this.”
I grind my molars together, fighting against the urge to throw this asshole out. I don’t want to cause a scene at Lane's job.
Luke holds his empty bottle in the air and hollers across the bar. Displaying typical douchebag behavior. “Hey Lane, I need another beer.”
Lane’s head snaps up from where she’s chatting with a couple in their early fifties. Her smile drops and she stalks over, stopping right in front of Luke. “I told you not to wave your bottle in the air like that. It’s rude.”
He holds the empty bottle out to Lane, an apologetic smile on his lips. “I’m sorry.”
She grabs the bottle, but he doesn’t let go.
“Come on, Lane,” he murmurs, voice full of cocky charm.
“When are you going to drop this whole ‘I’m an independent woman, I don’t need a man’ act?
I know you miss me. You’re just afraid of needing someone, so you pushed me away.
But it’s okay, I forgive you. I’m willing to forgive you for the last few months. ”
Lane’s eyes harden, and she rips the bottle free, hurling it in the trash, the glass shattering.
The bar quiets, voices lowering to a whisper, tension hanging heavy in the air.
She crosses her arms, spine straight, looking like she’s ready to go to war.
“Luke, I’ve tried to be nice about this.
But for some reason, you refuse to understand what I’m telling you and insist on harassing me at my job.
Putting my personal business out there for everyone to hear.
So let me make this clear in front of everyone,” she announces, arms wide, gesturing around the bar, her voice rising even as a flush works its way up her neck.
“What you and I had is done. It’s been done.” She leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “You knew what it was, going into it. And now it's over. Stop harassing and stop asking me out, or I’ll have you banned.”
His face twists with anger. “Do you know how many girls in this town wish they could have a shot at me? You’re lucky I’m even willing to give you another chance.”
She adjusts her stance, fists clenched at her sides. “Then take one of them out, Luke,” she snaps. “I told you it’s done, and I’m not changing my mind.”
Despite wanting to drive my fist into this assholes face, I’m impressed as hell. She isn’t afraid to stick up for herself. She holds her ground and doesn’t take any shit.
It’s sexy as fuck.
Luke leans in, voice raised loud enough to grab the attention of anyone who isn’t already zeroed in on them.
“You can’t be a whore forever,” he snarls.
“Eventually, those perky tits and tight ass are going to sag, and nobody is going to want you.
You will be wishing you hadn't blown your chance with me.”
Her head snaps back like she’s been physically slapped and her eyes glaze over momentarily. Like she’s hearing that voice from a different mouth, in a different time. She blinks hard, anchoring herself back to the present.
And that’s my cue.
I turn my head in his direction, my voice calm and controlled.
“She said she’s not interested and you’re making yourself look pathetic in front of the entire bar.
” I stand, taking a menacing step toward him, the only sound coming from the jukebox.
“And if you call her a whore again, you will be eating your teeth.” Another step.
“Now, apologize to Lane and see yourself out.”
I said I didn’t want to cause a scene at Lane’s job, not that I wouldn’t.
Luke scrambles up from his seat, eyes blazing. “And who the fuck are you?” He charges toward me, stopping a few inches from my face. Clearly, he has some alcohol induced balls.
“You don’t want to do this,” I say evenly, but I can already see it, he’s going to swing.
Let him. The second he does, I’ll end it.