Chapter 8
NOVA
I’m probably making a mistake, but I can’t bring myself to care.
Lawson Barlowe has gotten under my skin in a way no guy has before. He wasn’t kidding when he mentioned our connection. It’s like a magnetic pull, drawing me closer and closer to this man I hardly know. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anyone this bad.
But he’s also shown me that he can affect me in a way no other man has. Those days after the fair felt like shit. I spent more than one night sitting around, alone in my apartment, hoping he would call. I felt pathetic.
That’s not me. I’m a roll with the punches kind of girl. I guess that’s one good thing I can say that I got from life with my mom. Things aren’t working out? Move on. Don’t get too attached. Don’t care too much.
Does that philosophy make me lonely sometimes? Sure. But it also has ensured I’ve never been the girl who sits around and waits for a boy.
Until Lawson Barlowe. Do I really want to let someone with that kind of power over me into my life?
But even knowing all this, I can’t fight the pull. I just can’t. I want him too badly. And lately, it feels like I never get what I want.
I’m taking this opportunity, I think to myself as I slide into the passenger seat of his truck. I can stay in control. Get what I want from this and then move on, appetite sated. No big deal.
“Have you lived in Solitude long?” I ask as he turns onto the county road that will take us in that direction.
“My whole life.” He looks over at me briefly. “That probably sounds awful to someone like you, with all the cool places you’ve seen.”
I don’t tell him that it actually sounds so nice it makes my chest ache. How comforting would it be to belong to a place? To feel safe somewhere? To feel at home?
But we’re not supposed to have conversations like that, right?
This is just casual. Casual flings don’t spill all their innermost desires or recap childhood traumas.
So instead, I tell him a story about the commune in South Dakota where my mom thought we were helping to grow lavender and was shocked when the cops showed up to bust the illegal marijuana farm.
She’d played ditzy so well they decided she couldn’t have possibly known and let us leave.
Lawson’s low chuckle is even sexier in the enclosed darkness of the cab.
Just his laugh is turning me on. I truly am ridiculous where this man is concerned.
A few minutes after we pass the sign welcoming us to Solitude, a bar comes into view. The parking lot is full, light pouring from the windows in front. A neon sign out front flashes three words—The Low Bar.
Lawson’s bar. The place he owns with his brothers. But the man next to me doesn’t say a word about it—his only reaction to the building is a barely noticeable tightening of his hands on the wheel.
I try not to let it bother me, that he didn’t point out the place to me. That’s not what this is about. We’re here to scratch an itch for each other, nothing more or less. Of course he isn’t interested in telling me more about his life, his business, his family.
And that’s fine with me. The last thing I need is to start getting stupid ideas about forming a connection with this guy. Our only connection is going to be in the bedroom—just the way I want it.
So why the hell does my stomach feel suddenly heavy?
His apartment is close to the bar, only a few blocks away.
He parks in a lot and shoots me a glare when I move to open my door.
“Wait for me,” he demands, and I roll my eyes.
I definitely don’t need a guy to open my door for me.
But I can’t deny that it warms my chest a little, watching him open my door and help me down.
The second my feet hit the ground, he’s on me. Big hands grip my hips, pushing me back against the side of the truck, his big body caging me in, his mouth on mine. Lawson’s kiss is hard, almost angry, like he’s pissed off by how affected he is by this thing between us.
I know the feeling.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about this since that night,” he mutters against my mouth.
“The way you felt under my hands, the noises you make. How wet your sweet little pussy got for me.” He bites my bottom lip and I gasp before his tongue comes out to soothe the sting.
“I won’t be standing behind you tonight, desperate to get a peek over your shoulder. You’re going to show me everything.”
I feel like I’m melting into the truck, my knees too weak to hold me up. The intensity of his kiss, his dirty words, the way his body feels pressed against me—it’s all too much. I cling to his strong arms, knowing I’ll be on my ass without him holding me up.
He groans, pulling back. “I need to get you inside.” His eyes are dark, a little wild. “Otherwise, I’m going to fuck you right here in parking lot.”
I release a shaky breath, trying to get control of myself. “I think hooking up in a hot air balloon was enough public sex for one relationship.”
His eyes flash in the darkness. “I don’t know about that, Nova. If I remember, your pussy got pretty damn wet from knowing there were people around us.” He leans in and nips at my bottom lip. “Knowing that someone might see.”
I can’t bite back my whimper, and he chuckles, the sound a little dark, a little dangerous. “Come on,” he rasps. “Upstairs. Now.”
He practically drags me into the building. I’m too shaken up from that kiss to really notice my surroundings, beyond a vague sense that this place is a hell of a lot nicer than mine. There’s an elevator, for starters. The hallway doesn’t even smell like stale smoke and urine. Practically a palace.
I half expect him to attack me again in the elevator, but he doesn’t.
Instead, he stands silently at my side, his hand gripping mine tightly, jaw clenched.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye and shiver a little.
He looks so fucking intense, so focused.
Like he’s barely keeping himself under control.
That control lasts long enough to get into his apartment.
“You want a drink?” he asks over his shoulder as my eyes scan the place.
A smallish living room is separated from the kitchen by a granite breakfast bar lined with bar stools.
It’s way cleaner than I thought it would be, no empty beer cans or dirty dishes strewn around.
A comfy looking couch and TV take up most of the living room space, but there’s also a tall bookshelf next to the window, filled with paperbacks.
It paints a surprising picture—Lawson sitting around reading novels.
I have to fight the urge to go over and explore the titles.
“Nova?” He’s in the kitchen now, pulling a bottle of something amber colored from above the fridge. “A drink?”
“Yes, please,” I say, mouth suddenly dry.
He nods once then pulls down some glasses. “Do something for me while I get these ready,” he says, tone casual and easy. “Take your clothes off.”
I freeze, staring at him. “Excuse me?”
“Take your clothes off.” His voice is a little harder now, a bit less gentle. He looks up at me and catches my eye and I can see in his expression that he’s not joking, not at all. “Do it, Nova.”
“I…right now?”
He nods, gaze dark. “Right fucking now, sweetheart.”
Heat rushes my checks and I swallow. His eyes are locked on mine, a challenge there, and I know that there’s no point arguing with him or playing coy. This is what I’m here for, right? And I have a feeling I’m going to be eager to do anything this man tells me to.
My hands go to the hem of my tank top, my eyes never leaving his face. I see the way his eyes darken as I lift the fabric over my stomach, the way his breath catches when I get the shirt over my head and toss it aside.
I toe off my sandals while my hands go to the zipper of my jeans.
They’re too tight to slip out of in any kind of graceful way, but Lawson doesn’t seem to mind when I bend over to slide the denim down my legs.
Then I’m standing there in only my bra and panties, alone in his living room, while he watches me from ten feet away.
“Underwear, too,” he says gruffly. He doesn’t look away from me as he pours the amber liquid into two glass tumblers—I guess he’s poured enough drinks in his life to not need to watch what he’s doing.
But I can see that he’s clenching the glass tightly as I unclasp my bra and slip the straps down my shoulders.
When I lift the fabric away, he curses under his breath.
Still, he maintains his grip on his control.
He finishes with the drinks and walks to me calmly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
Only his heavy breathing and the fire in his eyes betray how affected he is.
He stops close to me, but not touching, and lifts one of the glasses to my lips.
I take a tentative sip of the amber liquid, watching his gaze flash with satisfaction.
“Good girl. More?” I nod once and he repeats the motion, tipping the glass higher so this gulp is bigger than the one before.
The feel of liquid fire slides down into my chest, calming me.
He sets my glass on the coffee table and brings his own to his mouth, drinking the whole thing in one long pull. Once he’s done, he takes a deep breath, then another.
“My control is just about run out,” he rasps. “You’re sure you want this?”
A flash of fear runs through me at the idea of Lawson Barlowe stripped of his control. But I still nod—I’m too far gone for him, too eager to feel his touch again. There’s no chance I’m walking away.
“Good,” he mutters, slamming the glass onto the coffee table with too much force. His eyes travel over my body, gaze hot and a little angry. “You’re too fucking beautiful,” he growls, more to himself than me. “I don’t even…fuck, Nova, I don’t even know what to do with you.”