A Dark & Stormy Knight: A McKnight Romance (McKnight Romances) (11 page)

She was sore in places that hadn’t been
sore in a long time, but the rest of her felt delightfully good. Did Sol always
put himself out to please a woman like he did for her? For once, thoughts of
other women didn’t make her shrivel with jealousy.

After bringing her to orgasm three
heart-pounding times, taking longer with each one, she’d finally declared that
she didn’t have another orgasm left in her. He’d proven her wrong by burying
his face between her legs, licking and probing her with his tongue until she
could have sworn she levitated right off the bed.

She owed him for that one.

Georgia
couldn’t remember if the sex had been this good when she’d left so many years
ago. She did know it hadn’t started out this way.

They’d both been virgins on their wedding
night, and Georgia suspected, they’d both been terrible in bed. The first time
had, in fact, been a disaster.

After their quickie Vegas wedding, they’d
necked and petted on the bed of that cheap Las Vegas hotel room, just as they’d
done so many times on the seat of Sol’s pickup, until they were aroused enough
to start shedding their clothes without too much embarrassment. By the time
they got to the consummation part, Sol had been too aroused for caution. When
he thrust through her hymen, the pain had been so fierce, Georgia had practically shoved him off her. No small feat with a man totally absorbed in his first
experience with real inside-a-woman sex.

From that moment until he’d
finished—which hadn’t taken long—she’d cried silent tears. Then Sol had cried
with her, devastated that he’d hurt her.

The next time had been much better. Not
that they’d really learned anything, but what they lacked in technique, they
made up for with hot-blooded enthusiasm. By the time they’d come home to break
the news to their families, they were copulating like bunnies every chance they
got. As young and happy and stupid as she’d been, it never once crossed her
mind that she might get pregnant so quickly.

Georgia
frowned. God, she was still stupid.

They’d made love one more time in the
middle of the night. Cocooned in darkness and half asleep, she wasn’t sure who’d
reached for whom. Maybe it had been him. Maybe her.

She remembered Sol nuzzling her neck, his
hands on her back, holding her as though she were a fragile, treasured piece of
crystal. He’d laid soft, gentle kisses on her mouth and face as his hands had
stroked her. Caught halfway between waking and sleeping, she’d responded by
running her foot up his calf and wrapping her leg around his thigh. She’d been
slick with desire when he slid inside her.

He’d rocked into her with lazy half strokes,
as though time, and thus urgency, had no meaning. Pleasurable without the usual
tightening of the ratchet.

Unprepared for the first wave of the
orgasm that washed gently over her body, Georgia whispered a breathy “oh” into
Sol’s ear. His next stroke brought a second, stronger wave, as did each stroke
after that, as though he’d found the rhythm of her heart.

And they hadn’t used any protection.

And she couldn’t even blame him because
she’d been as caught up as he had. She wasn’t worried about pregnancy—she had
that covered—but if she caught an STD, she’d have no one to blame but herself.

With everything else going on her life,
she really,
really
didn’t need this to worry about, too.

And worrying about it wouldn’t do any
good anyway. She had enough on her plate. For this one thing, she’d play
Scarlett O’Hara and deal with it later. And hope she didn’t have to.

Sol lay on his stomach, his legs spread
wide. The feather pillow was scrunched up against his face, a corner of the
case nearly in his mouth. His bones felt like water, his muscles like worn-out
rubber bands.

He reached out. His hand landed on the
pillow next to his head. He stretched his fingers, searching. When they found
nothing, his head jerked up, his eyes wide.

I couldn’t have dreamed it. She was here.
I know she was. I can smell her on me.
But except for him, the bed was empty.

Then he heard the toilet flush. His heart
hesitated in his chest then started double-timing. He didn’t think she’d made
him crazy enough that his fantasies would paste her face over another woman’s
features, but he couldn’t be sure. He rolled onto his back and watched the
door.

When it opened and she came out, wearing
his shirt, covering the secret places he’d visited last night, his heart
thudded so hard, he felt it in his throat. And the morning erection that had
begun to wilt at finding himself alone returned with a vengeance.

Sol saw a hesitation in her eye, almost
shyness. He wanted to say, “Come here,” but he was afraid she’d spook like a
wild deer.

She approached cautiously. Her eyes
focused halfway down the bed. Sol looked down to see the sheet tented over his
loins.

A hint of a smile pulled at Georgia’s lips. “Is that a flagpole, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Why don’t you come here and find out?”

She cocked an eyebrow at him, the
hesitation in her eyes replaced with mischief.

“I don’t know. It could be dangerous.”

“What’s life without a little danger?”

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips,
and Sol felt as if she’d asphyxiated him. He pulled back the sheet invitingly.

She slid into the bed beside him.

He rolled toward her.

“Not yet, buster.”

“What?”

“There’s the little matter of that
flagpole.”

“Little?”

“I need to inspect it to make sure it’s
not an explosive device.” And her head disappeared under the sheet.

It was an explosive device. One with what
he feared was a very short fuse. He laid back, his arms spread wide, as she
kissed her way down his chest. Obie twitched when she got close. When her
tongue touched the tip of his erection, he had to grit his teeth to keep from
coming on the spot. Then her hot, wet mouth slid over him, and so began the
torture of trying to last so she’d keep on doing—
Oh God
—that.

###

When Sol pulled her up afterward and
tried to kiss her, Georgia turned her face away.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t want you kissing me.”

“Because . . . ?”

He left the question dangling, but she
knew what he was asking. “No, not that. It’s because . . . I don’t
have a toothbrush.”

A grin split Sol’s face. “You’re worried
about morning breath?” He clearly took her silence for acknowledgment and
laughed. “If you’re that worried, use mine.”

Georgia
gasped. “You’d share your toothbrush?”

“Honey, I think we swapped enough spit
last night that it won’t hurt me to find yours on my toothbrush.”

It felt as if there should be a flaw in
his logic, but she couldn’t find it. A toothbrush was so . . .
so personal.

“Besides, after where you just had your
mouth, you can have anything of mine you want. And if you want something that’s
not mine, I’ll steal it for you.”

She smiled at his willingness to commit
felonies on her behalf, swallowed her reluctance, and went into the bathroom to
brush her teeth.

A minute later, he followed her. Naked.
He lifted the toilet seat and relieved himself.
God, it feels like we’re
still married.
Then he stepped up behind her, folded his arms around her,
under her breasts, and hunkered down to rest his chin on her shoulder. Their
eyes met in the mirror as she brushed her teeth. She had another
Twilight
Zone
moment of déjà vu. Georgia glanced down, half expecting to see a
wedding ring on her finger. When she looked back up and caught the contented,
bemused look in Sol’s eye, she was almost sorry it wasn’t there.

She leaned over, spat in the sink, then
filled the plastic cup and rinsed her mouth. Sol’s hand caught hers as she
started to put the toothbrush back in its bracket. He lifted it from her hand
and reached for the toothpaste.

It was too much for Georgia. She ducked under his arm and fled, leaving him on his own.

She needed coffee.

It had been years since she’d been inside
Sol’s trailer, and she’d been too distracted the night before to notice any
differences. The old, broken-down couch Georgia remembered had been replaced
with an ugly, green-plaid hide-a-bed, but not much else had changed. To Georgia’s disgust, Sol still had the same old aluminum percolator in the kitchen. It made
terrible coffee. She wavered but it was that or nothing.

She filled it with water, added grounds
to the discolored aluminum basket, and plugged it in. There was no cream or
even creamer. Sol probably still drank milk straight from the carton, but since
she’d just used his toothbrush, she couldn’t justify getting squeamish over the
milk. And she’d need it to mask how horrible the coffee was.

When he joined her in the kitchen wearing
a pair of jeans, she felt underdressed in only his blue work shirt and panties.
She tugged on the edge of the shirt, making sure it covered her butt.

Humming softly, Sol fit two slices of
bread into the toaster. “Do you want breakfast? I’ve got eggs.”

She knew him well enough to know that if
she didn’t eat breakfast with him, he’d take her home and never get back around
to breakfast. He worked too hard to skip meals. The responsibility descended on
her, bringing with it all the others she’d managed to forget for a few hours.
They felt like an anvil pressing down on her chest. She opened the fridge and
reached for the egg carton. “Have you got any bacon or sausage to go with it?”
When she turned away from the fridge, he was there. She felt crowded, but he
just took the eggs from her.

“You sit down. I’ll cook.”

The anvil lightened a little.

She sat down and watched as he pulled out
a couple of skillets. He was humming again. It only took four notes to name
that tune:
Georgia on My Mind
. Once upon a time, back in the dark ages
of their brief marriage, Sol had sung it to her often.

Last night had been an interlude, she
reminded herself. They had no future together. So why did the sound of Sol’s
near-baritone humming make her feel homesick?

The toast popped up. Sol buttered both
slices, took a bite of one, and gave her the other on a saucer. “Let me know if
that don’t tide you over.”

When the coffee was done, she poured them
both a cup. Mr. Cast-Iron Stomach took his black. She thinned hers with a
generous slug of milk.

As she turned away from the counter, cup
in hand, Sol sidestepped in front of her. His hand caught her waist as his
mouth lowered to hers. The kiss was soft and wet with lots of tongue.

Georgia
’s
knees went weak, and all the sore places in her body tingled. He lifted his
head and smiled down at her. She couldn’t help smiling back. She reached up and
brushed a crumb from his mustache. He stepped out of her way to tend to
breakfast.

She sat down at the Formica table and
took a sip of the coffee. Yup. Just as bad as she remembered. She smiled anyway
and checked out the way Sol’s jeans hugged his ass.

###

Sol set her plate of bacon and eggs in
front of her. Georgia had lifted one foot to rest it on the seat of her chair.
She’d always had trouble sitting with both feet on the floor. As he sat down with
his own plate, Sol dipped his head and caught a flash of the crotch of her
lavender lace panties. He couldn’t help wanting to spread her legs and have her
for breakfast, but she caught him looking and dropped her foot to the floor,
blushing.

Halfway through breakfast, there was a
knock on his door. They looked at each other like they’d been busted in the
middle of a class-A felony.

“Stay there,” Sol said as he went to
answer the door.

He opened it to a rush of heat. Damn, it
had to be ninety degrees already. Gideon stood on his front step.

“Hey, Sol. You ain’t answering your
phone.”

“What do you mean? It hasn’t rung.” The
light bulb in his head was obviously on a delayed switch as he realized a
moment later what the problem was. “Oh, sorry. I musta let the battery die.”

“I figured. Daddy sent me up to see if
you overslept.”

Damn.
He was supposed to be moving the new bull into the north
pasture.

Sol stepped out and shut the door behind
himself, forcing Gideon back to give him room.

“Tell Daddy I’ll be up to help him before
lunch.”

Gideon’s eyes flickered to Sol’s bare
chest then down to his equally bare feet. “You got a reason you want me to pass
on?”

“Uh, sure. Tell him my knee’s bothering
me.” His knee did sometimes. Usually when it was going to rain.

Gideon stuck his thumbs in the front
pockets of his jeans and looked up at the sky as though scanning for clouds. “You,
uh, want me to lie to him?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. I mean . . .
uh . . .”

“What’s up, Sol?”

Sol stepped down onto the packed, bare
earth. With one hand on Gideon’s shoulder, he turned his brother away from the
door. “Georgia’s inside.”

One of Gideon’s eyebrows shot up. “You
trying to get back with her?”

“No. Well, may— Hell, I don’t know. It
hasn’t come up.”

“It will,” Gideon said in that assured
way he had.

Sol loved his brother, but there were
times when Gideon gave him the creeps. The weak flicker of hope in his heart
overrode that, though, and made him ask, “Will she say yes?”

Gideon shrugged but there was a hitch in
the motion that made Sol ask, “What?”

Gideon looked at him as though weighing
what he should say.

“What?” Sol asked, his tone harsh.

“She’s going to get married again.”

Sol’s throat closed up on him, and there
was a pain in his chest. His normal skepticism fled. This was what he dreaded.
In those rare moments when denial took a vacation, he’d always expected it. He
still worked his ass off to keep it at bay.

“When?” he croaked.

“Ow.”

Sol looked down to find his hand wrapped
around his brother’s biceps, his fingers digging deep. He forced himself to let
go.

“When?”

Gideon rubbed his arm. His brow furrowed
as though he was trying to puzzle something out. After a few moments, he said, “Less
than a year.”

Too soon.
Then he thought,
This is nuts. I don’t
really believe this, do I?
But he couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Who
is he?”

Gideon shook his head. “I don’t know.
Maybe that’s not settled yet.”

“That makes no sense at all. How can she
be planning to get married without knowing who she’s marrying?”

“See?” Gideon pointed a finger at Sol. “This
is why I don’t say nothing about stuff. Y’all don’t hear what I say. Oh, y’all
think you do but you don’t. So go on back in there and tell yourself I’m
jerking you around ‘coz you didn’t show up to help Daddy this morning, but for
the record, I didn’t say she was planning on doing it. I said she was
gonna
do it. Hell, Sol, she wasn’t planning to marry you for more than a few days
before y’all lit out for Vegas.” Having said his piece, Gideon turned back to
his truck. “I’ll tell Daddy to expect you when he sees you.”

“You do that.” Sol turned back toward the
trailer. What had he been thinking? Of course Gideon was jerking him around,
and then he’d got his nose all out of joint when Sol didn’t buy what he said. Georgia wasn’t getting married again. At least not anytime soon. Not if Sol had anything to
say about it.

He let himself back inside.

“I’ll be home soon,” Georgia said into her cell phone as Sol shut the door. He could hear the tension back in her voice.
Damn.

She was standing at the kitchen counter,
her back toward him. Her long, bare legs hanging out under the hem of his
shirt. And just like that, he wanted her again. She turned and saw him. “I’ve
got to go, Daddy.”

But her father must have kept talking
because she didn’t hang up. Sol picked up his cup and poured a refill. With the
pot in his hand, he looked inquiringly at Georgia, but she shook her head and
sat back down at the table, one leg cocked so her foot rested on the seat. Sol
leaned against the counter and sipped his coffee, appreciating the view.