Bucking the Rules (13 page)

But that she was worried meant she cared. That the results of the night were important to her. That was a good step.

Water ran in the kitchen, something scraped, and then she darted out to the dining table before grabbing a chair and dragging it back in.

“Want me to get something?” he called.

“No!” Her voice was strained. “I've got . . . it. Yes!”

Well, he'd offered. A moment later she appeared, a pretty blue pitcher filled with the flowers. She settled it on the table, stepped back, then rotated it a quarter turn and placed her hands on her hips, analyzing. Finally, she shrugged and held her hands up.

“I know nothing about flower arrangements. Looks good to me though.”

He grinned. “Yeah, looks real good. Come on, honey, we've got reservations.”

She took his hand after a moment of hesitation. Still not sure what to make of tonight, he realized. Uncertain, but maybe a little excited.

He'd play on both. They were both important emotions in the grand scheme of things. So he'd use them ruthlessly, until he got them both where he wanted them to be.

She relaxed slowly, almost by inches. Trace enjoyed watching Jo more than anything else that night. He barely tasted dinner. It could have been a five-star steak or baby food for all he paid attention to it. But he would never forget the pleasure in Jo's eyes when she ate something delicious, the flush in her face from her third—and final, she swore—glass of wine, her enjoyment of the quiet atmosphere with interesting art.

She was at home here. Comfortable. Her bar was home, too, but this was another sort of home. A coming back. It wasn't anything fancy, likely not for her anyway. But it wasn't peanuts and draft beer, cowboys in dirty boots, and women vying to be the next rodeo queen. It was . . . sophisticated. City.

Or as city as they could get within a reasonable drive of Marshall.

And she fit like a glove. But she fit in Jo's Place, too, with her hair back in a ponytail, her simple black polo and jeans, and her brash, easy way of handling customers.

Jo Tallen. Multifaceted woman.

He waited until the waiter presented the check, then sat back. “Enjoy yourself?”

“Mmm.” She took the last sip of wine, dabbing a finger at the stray drop that clung to her bottom lip.

He resisted the urge—just barely—to reach across and lick her lips himself. God, she drew him like nothing else.

“Trace?”

“Yeah?” His eyes never left her lips. Couldn't. He was mesmerized by watching the way they moved while she spoke.

“This was nice.”

“Very.”

“But you know it's not going to change anything, right?”

The pleasure bubble burst and he looked up into her eyes. “What was that?”

She chewed a little on that bottom lip he'd been so intent on a minute ago. Then, as if she was mentally strapping on a suit of armor, she leaned back and slipped into Jo, the untouchable lover. “We've got a great thing between us in bed. And I like you out of bed, too, which is something remarkable for me. I like spending time with you. But I don't want you to get any ideas about where this is going.”

Annoyance flickered, but he pushed it away. “Why don't you tell me where you think I'm trying to steer you?”

“Toward a relationship. A real one, where you spend every night with me, or me with you, and we date in public. You bring me flowers, we have an anniversary, and then people around town start speculating about when we're going to tie the knot.” She looked like she wanted to throw up, either from nerves or pure distaste at the thought.

“And that would be plain awful, right?”

Her brows drew together. “It's not my style. I didn't think it was yours, but you're starting to worry me a little. Maybe you're more ‘hearth and home' than I originally thought.”

“Kiss of death, apparently,” he muttered into his napkin.

“What?”

“Nothing.” He tossed the linen on the table and held out a hand, standing with her. “What is it about relationships that kills it for you?”

“They tie you down,” she answered quickly. This wasn't something she'd just thought of. It was a very real deal to her. “They weigh on you. They make you change, take you places you didn't want to go.”

“Physically?”

“That, too, but mentally, emotionally as well.” She shrugged into the jacket he held out for her. “It's not my thing.” She moved her hair so it slid out from under the collar, the strands moving together like inky silk. He wanted to bite the back of her neck, hold her in place like a stallion pinning down its mare.

“It's too limiting,” he summarized.

“Can be.” She took his arm and followed him out to the parking lot. Thanks to the long drive, they'd made it to dinner on the late side, and were one of the last to leave. His truck sat in the back of the lot. “I'm not a fan of that whole settle down, build a picket fence, have two-point-two kids and the dopey lab thing. I mean, I live above a bar, for Christ's sake. And I like it there.”

Minus the last one-point-two kids, she'd all but described his current life. Problems abounded if he was going to get her to come around to his side of the fence, picket or otherwise.

So he'd ease her in. Get her hooked on him, on them as a unit. And once that happened, maybe he could get her used to the idea of more than just a commitment that ran from one evening to the next.

“Relationships are boring, huh.”

She headed around to her side of the truck and waited while he reached for the door. “I'm just not convinced being in a full-blown relationship could keep me excited.”

That was it. He whirled her around until her back hit the door of the truck and pressed against her. “I think that was a personal challenge.”

Her eyes widened in the weak light of the parking lot. “It wasn't meant to be.”

“Sweetheart, I'm taking it as one.” He didn't give her a chance to argue, but kissed her with all the passion, confusion, annoyance, and desperation he felt. He let it all pour out of him, into their kiss, communicating the feelings behind it.

Yes, feelings. He had feelings for her, ones he couldn't quite describe yet. But they were intense and he wasn't about to walk away from them—from her—because of a simple challenge.

Jo lifted one leg and wrapped her ankle around his knee, drawing him in closer. Trace pulled her more firmly against his chest with one hand at the small of her back and groped for the door handle. He managed to pry it open before lifting her up by the ass and setting her down on the bench seat.

She stared down at him a moment, panting. “Well. That was something. I should unintentionally challenge you more often.”

He stared at her, shaking his head. “You think I'm done?”

One brow rose, a silent question.

“Jo, that was just an appetizer.”

J
o shivered and wondered just how fast he could drive them back without breaking too many laws or getting pulled over. The ridge of his cock had been so hard, so full against her stomach as he'd pressed into her, she knew he was hurting as much, maybe more than she was. Ready, primed to go.

Apparently, Trace wasn't concerned with the drive back. He vaulted into the truck like a cat, crouching over her, blocking out any of the miniscule light from the lone lamp in the parking lot. His figure was only a shadow over her, poised and ready.

But she knew him. She knew the shape of his face, the angles and planes of his body, the gentleness he used when he wanted to. The tenderness she sometimes caught him watching her with. That same tenderness that made her want to jump at him and wrap her limbs around his torso and never let go. The tenderness that made her want to sprint for the hills and never look back.

“I'm at the point of no return here, Jo. So if you want me to stop, say it.” He pressed the hard length of his erection against her crotch, the panties and denim a pathetic barrier between the heat they both burned with.

“Don't stop,” she managed to gasp. It seemed like hours—but was really less than a few seconds—before he lifted himself off her to reach in the glove compartment and fish out a condom.

“The glove compartment? Really? Aren't you worried your parents might find that when you return the truck at the end of the night?” she teased.

“The way you make me feel, stashing these babies all over the damn state wouldn't be enough.” He slapped her thigh playfully. “Take those panties down. Now.”

She'd barely managed to get them off one leg when he was back on her, thrusting her knees wide and pushing inside her. Her whole body tightened, contracting under him, around him, and they both groaned.

In their frenzied pulsing together, she knew it wouldn't last. Couldn't last. Nothing this intense, this primal could go on forever. Could even go on for more than a few minutes. They'd combust otherwise.

And her body responded to the urgency, the danger of being caught and the unholy pace Trace was setting. After only a few more thrusts, she tightened and her body vibrated with an impending climax.

“Baby, I hope to God you're close because—”

“Yes.” She placed a palm on either side of his face. “Yes, yes, oh, my God . . .”

The rest of her prayer was lost as his mouth took hers and he joined her in climax.

 

“Well.” Jo sat up beneath him and wiped a hand across her face. A piece of hair stuck to the corner of her mouth and she couldn't seem to get it. He reached down and fixed it.

“Thanks.” She settled herself a little more. “Wonder if any of the staff came out here and saw us.”

Trace snorted and hopped down to the pavement, the open door sheltering him from anyone inside the restaurant. “If they saw the truck rocking like I think it was, they'd have been idiots to come investigate.”

He wasn't sure how he expected her to react to that. Blush? Moan? Hang her head in her hands?

Nah. Not Jo. A small, secret smile crept across her lips, like she was the cat who found the stash of cream and was quite pleased with herself at the discovery. “You're right. Besides, no need to make anyone jealous.”

Damn, he wanted her again already. Wanted to taste that satisfied smile, spend hours rediscovering all the secret places on her small, curvy body. Only this time, he'd rather do it in a bed.

He bent one knee, shook it a little, trying to work out the stiffness. After his fall from Lad, the leg was still giving him some trouble when he didn't move it around enough. That would ease over time, though. He'd had enough experience with being thrown to know that.

“Ready to drive this thing home, cowboy?” Jo patted the dashboard, and he realized he was still half-frozen, hand on his belt, pants not quite fastened yet.

“Yeah, sorry.” He finished dressing and closed her door, walking around the front to get in and start the truck. As the engine came to life, he knew what he wanted to say next. Needed to say next.

“I like you.”

Jo's hands paused in the middle of pulling her hair into a tail. “I like you, too. That's why we went out to dinner, isn't it?”

“Of course it is.” He rubbed a hand down his face. Why wasn't he good with words? “I mean, I really like you.”

Jo just shook her head. “I got it. We did our date thing.”

“I want another.”

She opened her mouth—likely to argue—then shut it again. “Why? What's wrong with what we had? Sex when we want it, no commitment when we don't. No obligation.”

“Because there's more here.” He watched her, focusing hard on her face in the dim light. Damned if he was going to turn on the cab light just to have this stupid conversation. One he should have waited until they were at home to have. “I want to try having more with you. You're not an obligation to me.”

Her shoulders slumped forward, as if defeated. That was not the reaction he was trying for, and he felt guilty for a moment. But only a moment.

“What if I say no? Are we done? Done with everything?”

“No,” he said slowly. “That's shooting myself in the foot for spite.” He grinned sheepishly. “Much as I like you, I like being with you in bed, too.” She snorted, and he shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Why deny it?”

She laughed hard, shoulders shaking, her hair falling from the messy tail and framing her face. She laughed so hard she had to reach up and wipe tears away.

“You know, just when I think I have you pegged, cowboy, you surprise me. I like that. It keeps me on my toes.”

He leaned over to haul her against him. “Say yes.” He nibbled at her lips, along her jawline. “Say yes, Jo.”

“So . . .” Her voice was breathy, as if she couldn't get enough air in to make the words solid. “So we'd, what? Be going steady?”

He didn't respond to that. He was too busy with a delicious spot just below the ear where several earrings decorated her lobe. The delicate skin seemed especially tender at the moment.

“Would you let me wear your varsity jacket?”

“They don't give letter jackets to rodeo kids.” He licked a patch of skin, blew gently against it until she shivered. One hand rose up to cup her breast, the nipple peaking into his hand.

“I'm at a loss as to how to define us.”

“Us.” His other hand came up to massage the other breast. “Isn't that worth leaving labels behind?”

She was silent, long enough that he wondered if his attention to her body had been a mistake. But then she whispered, “Yes.”

Triumph surged, and he knew if he didn't get the truck on the road in the next ten seconds, they'd be in for a repeat performance. Only his body just wasn't up for another round of truck sex, much as his hormones begged to differ. He slid back, pushing gently on her shoulders until she was a good foot away.

Her eyes, dreamy and half-closed, snapped open. “What?”

Trace buckled his belt and nodded at her. “Seat belt.”

She just stared at him, mouth open.

“I can't drive without you buckled in.”

Jo's mouth set in a serious line and she faced forward with a cute little huff. But she latched her seat belt and he started the drive home.

“If I hadn't pulled back, I wouldn't have stopped,” he said quietly. The only noise competing for sound was the tires rumbling over pavement. The night was clean, clear, and quiet.

“Who asked you to stop?” Jo's arms crossed over her chest.

“I did.” He smiled a little and angled the truck toward the highway. “Next time I get inside you, I want a mattress. I'm not as young as I used to be.”

She smiled a little at that, and he let her ride in silence.

She was so worried about being pegged into the domestic role, so worried about being tied down. He had to approach things more cautiously from here on out. He'd managed to corner her into agreeing to the relationship . . . sort of. Into an “us,” which he wasn't sure was quite the same thing. But he'd take it.

His gaze slid over the dashboard and across the clock. He calculated how much longer he wanted to spend away from Seth before heading home.

Seth.

Damn. In all their time together, he'd never mentioned his son. That hadn't entered into the arrangement. He'd even liked that she hadn't known, hadn't heard gossip and been one of the women wondering what had happened to Seth's mother. Now that he'd brought Jo into the “us” category, dragging her heels, it would be awkward to spring news of a son on her. Damn it.

His hands gripped the wheel. They'd play it by ear, that was all. Dating was all about getting to know each other. He'd ease that one in. Get her comfortable with the relationship and then casually mention it. That was reasonable, wasn't it?

He'd walked himself into this mess—albeit unintentionally—now he had to walk himself back out of it.

 

Trace raised his legs toward the ceiling, keeping his feet flat. “Here goes the airplane!” To his son's delight, he made the engine sound and jiggled him. Seth laughed and drooled a little, but it landed on Trace's shirt rather than his face, so he let it pass.

“Looks like fun. Can I have a turn?”

Peyton lay down next to him, her feet going the opposite direction so her head was right next to his.

“Sorry, riders must be two feet or shorter and weigh less than twenty pounds.” Seth wriggled his body a little in a c'mon gesture and Trace obliged, swirling his legs in a circular motion while still keeping a firm grasp on his hands.

“So, gonna tell me who his mother is?”

“Nope.”

She shrugged, as much as his sister could while flat on her back. “Well, whoever it was, she must have been beautiful. Because this little cutie looks nothing like you.”

In fact, he looked quite a bit like his father, but Trace could take the jab. Peyton's routine of asking once a week—give or take—hadn't slowed down one bit. He figured she would give up asking after awhile. Emma had, and Emma was a pit bull with a bone when it came to that sort of thing. But if Emma was a pit bull, Peyton was a liger.

Yeah. A liger.

Emma walked by and stared down at them, hands on her hips. “Is this how you two spend a Sunday morning?”

“We would have gone to church, but we didn't want to get fried by lightning,” Trace said innocently.

“If you—”

“Neeeerrrrroooom!” Seth squealed in rapture.

“It wouldn't be—”

“Bbbbbbbrrrrrrwwwww.”

His son nearly fell from his perch, saved by some quick maneuvering from Trace.

Emma eyed him narrowly. “That's not—”

“Pfffffttttt.”

“Amusing!” she yelled before he could make another plane noise. She dropped the wet dish towel on Peyton's face, stifling his sister's laughter. “Just for that, Trace Muldoon, you get to go on the grocery run.”

He froze, Seth still stuck in a half nosedive. “Aw, Emma. C'mon.”

“Someone's gotta go, and you just got yourself nominated.” The housekeeper shot him a grin a shark would turn tail and hide from. “I'll have the list ready in ten minutes.”

Peyton turned and watched him for a moment. “Don't even think about hiding. She'll just find you and add more to the list. I know. I tried it once.”

“Damn,” he muttered and lowered Seth to his chest. “Well, little man, looks like we're going shopping.” He shot his sister a look. “Unless Auntie Peyton wants to bond with you a little. . . .”

“We bonded last night. I'm off poop duty today.” She rolled to her stomach and pushed up to her feet. “Besides, you had your hot date last night. I've got one for myself today.”

“Where's Red taking you?”

“Red?” She huffed a laugh. “I've got a buyer coming in. One with quite a bit of disposable income, if word is correct.”

Since Red was likely where she got the word, and Red knew everything, Trace figured correct was an understatement. “Good luck with that.”

“You should hustle back and talk to the guy. He saw you and Red about two months ago.”

“Name?”

She described the man and he shook his head. “Don't remember.”

“Well, either way, he was impressed with both of you. Try to get back so you can pander and strut a little.” She reached over and pinched his cheek before he could evade. “The customers really like it when you boys strut.”

“Trace!” Bea's voice carried down the stairs like a whip. “Are you going to the grocery store?”

“Yeah,” he called back up. “If your list isn't ready in five minutes, it's not coming with me.”

“I'm coming with you. I need things and I can't trust you to get them.”

“What the hell, am I incompetent?”

Her head popped around the railing, as if leaning over without taking the next few steps down. She smirked at him. “Fine, if you want to pick up my tampons for me . . .”

“You have ten minutes to be in the car.” He rolled his eyes and hitched Seth up on his hip. “Time to get changed. They don't let men shop in their footie PJs at the store.”

 

Jo opened her small pantry and scoffed. Right. Should she have the stale bread or the handful of goldfish crackers for breakfast? She let the doors close with a snap and tried the fridge. Unfortunately, it seemed her grocery shopping genie hadn't shown up for work. After a quick debate, she decided she needed to suck it up and get some food. Real food. Not just whatever she could make herself from the stash downstairs. Adult food.