Chapter Nine #2
She had been holding the desecrated body of a woodchuck. And still, what she had wanted to do was grab his face and kiss him.
She had wanted to invite him to take her in that dustbowl that was likely filled with baby rodents.
That was insanity. He wasn’t her type.
He was way too commanding. He was the kind of man who thought he was in charge. No. She liked a man who was rendered speechless
by her body. A man she could push down onto the bed and ride at her own pace, her own tempo, finding pleasure for herself
before letting him have any.
She imagined that Denver King was not the kind of man who would let her play that game. And the worst thing was, the very
worst thing, was that what she normally avoided with men, she found endlessly fascinating with him. Because she had thought
about those big hands gripping her hips. While he pounded into her. While he set the pace.
While he moved over her, behind her. While he gripped her hair and held her fast.
Those were dangerous flashes of insanity that had nothing to do with her actual life, or the way she did anything. She didn’t let anyone have control over her. Not physically, not emotionally. And here he was. Looking so hot her knees went weak immediately.
And she didn’t do weak knees. His eyes glittered, and she could see that he wasn’t any happier than she was.
That bastard. He was here for the same reason. He wanted her, but he was here to fuck somebody else.
They could do that. They could do it at each other. Why not. Because they were not going to sleep together. She had said that.
She had declared it from the beginning. Was that not manifesting, or something like that? She had manifested never banging
him. She wasn’t going to. But he began to move toward her, and it was like everyone in the bar could feel the intensity between
them. The sea of people parted and let him move through.
Maybe it had nothing to do with the connection between them. Maybe it was just him. Just Denver. Damn him.
He was magnetic. He was unlike any man she had ever known. And if she was very honest with herself, that had always been true.
Yeah. The first time she had noticed he was beautiful was when they had loaded her father’s body into the back of a coroner’s
van.
Maybe this was more inevitable than she had given it credit for.
She could turn away from him. She could grab hold of one of the men who had been holding court with her all evening. Buying
her drinks and basically competing for a spot in her bed tonight. Not that she would actually take them back to her bed. She
would drive to Mapleton before she invited some guys who lived here back to her actual house. Not happening.
So yes, she could turn back to them. She didn’t need to do this. And yet she found herself angling toward him. Found herself
taking steps in his direction.
“Denver,” she said.
He looked at her, his gaze sweeping over her curves. And she felt like he might as well have struck a match against her skin.
It burned. It felt electric. Dangerous. She wasn’t used to that.
Sex was low stakes. She didn’t do edgy. She didn’t do this. The control always had to be hers. And right now, he had taken that control, and he was holding it in the palm of his very
large hand.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said.
“Well, there aren’t very many places to go in Pyrite Falls, are there?”
“Guess not,” he said.
“Of course, if what you’re really asking is why aren’t I at home asleep given that there is an early workday tomorrow, I guess
I can give you the answer to that question.”
“Go right ahead.”
“I came out to preach the gospel to these poor lost souls.”
His face, hard like a rock, shifted. He almost smiled.
Her heart fluttered.
Good Lord.
“Well, that is very kind of you,” he said.
“What else would I be doing?” she asked, innocent as could be.
He leaned in. “I have a theory.”
“Do you?”
It was like everybody else disappeared. The only thing was him. Him, that close. Him right there. She could back off. But
if she backed off, then that was making this bigger than it was. Bigger than it could possibly be. Because when had any . . .
thing with a dude ever mattered? It hadn’t. And this did neither.
“Yes,” he said. “I think that you were laying in bed at home, and you couldn’t sleep, because you kept thinking about what you wanted. You were restless, and edgy, and you decided to get up and go down to the bar to see if you could find some guy to help you forget about what you actually want.”
That place between her legs throbbed. It was actually so close to what had happened, exactly, verbatim, that it made her want
to turn and run from the room. It also made her want to lean in. Because he was intoxicating. Because he smelled like dirt,
but in a sexy way. Like the land. Like pine and wood chips, and all the things he did all day.
“Maybe,” she said. “But then, I think the only reason that you know that is because you aren’t doing any better, are you?”
His lips curved into a smile. “Is that what you think?”
“Yes. I think you were home, and the only thing you could think about was me.” She moved closer to him, and she knew that
it was a gamble. She knew that she was taking a chance. A risk.
Worse, she knew that she was toying around with something and someone that she might not actually be able to control. Okay.
Worst of all, she had a feeling that she was attempting a response in herself that she couldn’t control. Because she had never
felt anything like this before. Didn’t want to. And yet, here she was. It was so powerful that her resistance was beginning
to get very, very poor. Really, what was the point of resisting?
That was the knife’s edge she found herself standing on.
The more she resisted the more the more this seemed like it was singular. Sex was never singular. It could be fun, but it wasn’t . . . It had never once rearranged her life, or changed her as a person.
She didn’t need to make this attraction into something more significant than it was.
Denver was like her. He wasn’t going to get attached. In fact, imagining him being clingy was laughable. He was not the type. So yes, he might give her a different kind of experience than she was used to.
Just thinking that sent a zip down through her midsection.
She suddenly understood the feral cats that lived behind the bar. The way that they wanted attention, but also wanted to run
away. The way they would rub up against you, and if you bent down to stroke them, would hiss.
She was that cat. She wanted to rub up against him, and she wanted to bite him.
But maybe not even to get rid of them. Maybe just for fun.
She was losing her mind.
“We have a problem, don’t we?” he asked, his voice heavy. And that was when she realized. Truly. That they did have a problem.
But only if they made it one.
“I don’t know about that,” she said, sidestepping the jukebox, and edging away from the people who were now gawking at her
and Denver.
“What makes you say that?”
“What makes me say that, Denver, is that it’s only a problem if we allow it to be. All right. We both have rules. But that’s
the thing, isn’t it? We both have rules. And if we both have rules, then surely, we’re both on the same page. We want the
same things. We're hardly going to get caught up in . . . feelings.”
He huffed a laugh. “No.”
“So why make a bigger deal than it has to be? We both know the deal. Sex. No strings.”
“One night,” he said.
And it was like that match that he’d struck against her skin was added to gasoline.
“Sure,” she said. “One night. But not one time.”
And that was when she did something not even she saw coming. She grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and dragged him down the hallway toward the single-person bathroom, and pulled him inside.
She closed the door behind them, and locked it. He stood there for a moment, looking at her like a caged tiger, his eyes glowing.
And then, then, he closed the distance between them.