Bucking the Rules (5 page)

“You're in a cheerful mood,” Jo commented, tossing the mangled bar rag in with the aprons.

“Got myself a hot date.” She grinned and checked her watch. “Not that there's much of the night left for dating. I'm just looking forward to the part where we tear each other's—”

“Point taken!” Jo smiled and covered her ears with her hands. “Shoo. Go, have fun, be safe.”

“Yes, Mommy.” Amanda blew her a kiss and sailed out the front door. Jo watched as she took three steps, then sprinted to the parking lot and jumped into the arms of a man waiting by a pickup truck.

She walked to the front door and watched as the man spun her in a quick circle while Amanda wrapped her legs around him like a tree monkey. From a distance, it was difficult to pick up any details on the man. His hat shaded his face in the darkness, though she could imagine he was smiling. With a cutie like Amanda in his arms, most men would be.

But the jeans and boots, she recognized.

Jo scolded herself as she caught a sigh forming. Another nonstarter, as far as she was concerned. She'd known from the beginning that Trace Muldoon was off limits, and she'd behaved accordingly. Now it was official, and she just needed to get the hell over it. She barely even knew the guy. It wasn't as if she'd lost her great love or anything.

Maybe the loneliness was seeping in deeper than she imagined. Time to get a man. Or a pet . . . pets were easier.

Too bad she hated most animals. The only thing she could tolerate were fish. And that wasn't really the way to handle loneliness. Five days after buying her companion, she'd have to flush him.

She finished quickly and closed up shop, locking the door behind her. The stairs to her apartment were around the corner of the building, slightly hidden from the street. She liked the privacy, even though most would have thought she didn't have any. The separate entrance was enough for her though, and she started to head in that direction, glad once again she had made installing outside lighting along the path to her stairs a main priority when she'd first bought the place.

“Hey.”

She yelped and covered her mouth with her hand. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Turning, she saw Mr. Jeans and Boots himself leaning against a truck parked along the street. At first glance, it looked like the same truck from the parking lot, but in the dark she couldn't tell dark blue from black or another deep color.

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

“I wasn't scared,” she lied.

The twitch of his lips said he wasn't buying the BS, but he let it slide. “Good. I didn't know what time you would close up, since you don't close the same time every night.”

She hefted her large tote more securely over her shoulder. “If people are still paying, I'll stay open.”

“Right. Well, luckily I had a book in my truck.” He took one step forward, and then stopped.

She waited, but he didn't say anything. “Where's Amanda?”

“Amanda?” His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I know?”

“You picked her up like half an hour ago. I thought you two had a date.” She wanted to use air quotes around the word “date” but refrained.

“No,” he said slowly. “I didn't, actually.”

Jo blinked. “But I saw you. She met you in the parking lot.”

“Did I wave and say hi?” He was starting to smile.

“You were wearing jeans and boots,” she said with a look down. Then she wished she hadn't, since it drew her eyes to the long lines of his legs, the worn-out places in the denim reminding her what kind of hard work he did on a regular basis. She shivered a little and blinked to clear the images that wanted to start up again.

“Well, hell. Every guy in the bar tonight was wearing jeans and boots. That hardly means it was me. Plus, I hate to sound like a jerk, but if it was Amanda I wanted, I'd be with her, not here with you.”

“So why are you here with me?”

The teasing light died in his eyes, replaced by something Jo could easily recognize. Easy to relate to, because she'd felt it, too.

Hunger. Desire. Deep need.

“I think you know.” His voice was quiet, but it carried perfectly to her. “I thought things were going well, and then suddenly I got the cold shoulder. What'd I do wrong, and how do I take it back?”

A man who could admit he was wrong, even if he wasn't sure yet why. Interesting. “You didn't do anything wrong. I just thought you and Amanda . . .” Well. They weren't, so there was no point in going in that direction.

“You thought Amanda and I were meeting tonight instead and didn't want to poach.”

“Basically.” It sounded stupid when he said it.

He smiled and walked to her. “I can respect that. But just to cover the bases, I'm not with Amanda.”

“I see that.”

“I'm not with another woman. I'm with you, and it's where I want to be. If you feel the same, then I'd say we were on to something good.”

S
he waited until he was close enough to touch, then let her bag drop from her shoulder. Hot man in front of her, all but telling her he wanted her? No contest.

He took those final steps forward and she reached up to grab his shirt. Just like in her daydream, and she pulled him in. His mouth was on hers before she could adjust to the closeness of him. God, he tasted good. He felt even better, his hard body pressing against hers, gently maneuvering her until her back butted up against the brick of the bar.

“Damn,” he whispered against her lips. “I've been wanting to do that for months.”

“Since the first time you hit on me and I shot you down?” she asked with a smile.

“Busted. You remembered that, huh?”

“I did.”

“Not my finest moment. But I'm hoping to erase that particular memory.” He kissed her again, blazing hot. “Have I mentioned I've been dying to do this?”

She smiled and kissed him again. “And now you are.”

“Now I am,” he agreed and let one hand wander down to the hem of her tank top. If she'd been scheduled to work, she'd have worn the black polo uniform shirt. But she was glad she wasn't when he tugged down until the scoop-neck of her tank slipped past her breast, exposing her lacy bra.

“Hard, tough woman on the outside, lace underneath, huh.” He looked amused, but no less turned on. One big hand covered her breast, squeezing gently, massaging, learning the shape and playing. Through the lace, he plucked at her nipple.

She sucked in a breath. God, she'd all but forgotten this was what it felt like to be with a man. To be completely wanted, desired. She turned her head until she could run her lips along his bristly jaw.

“Sorry, forgot to shave tonight.” He pulled back a little, but she made a sound and tugged him back.

“I like it. Different textures, they work for me.”

He traced the edge of lace where it lay against the swell of her breast. The skin under his touch rose in awareness. “I'll agree to that. I'm enjoying the new discoveries myself.”

She nibbled at his ear. “Should we go upstairs and keep finding new ones?”

“I think that's a—damn.” He muttered another curse and pulled back, reaching for his cell phone. “Sorry, normally I wouldn't do this but—”

“It's fine. Check it.” The sooner he answered that call or text message, the sooner they could head upstairs and pick up where they'd left off. She shivered again, this time from a chill, and looked down. Right. Her tank was still down and her bra was completely out in the open. She huffed out a laugh and readjusted the shirt so she was decently covered.

He could always start over in a minute.

“Shit. You've got to be kidding me.”

His tone caught her attention more than the curse and she turned to him. “What's wrong?”

“I have to head home.” He tucked his phone back in his pocket and frowned. “They need me.”

“Horse emergency?” she joked. But he didn't smile. “Oh.” Disappointment swelled in her, knocking loose the wall of lust and hope she'd started to build up block by block. “Okay.” She smiled, though it felt tight at the edges. “Drive safe.”

He stared at her a moment. “You think I'm lying.”

“I didn't say that.” Didn't believe it, either. Trace was man enough to say he wasn't interested if he wasn't. And if he wasn't interested, he wouldn't have been waiting for her after closing.

He grabbed for her wrist and molded her hand over his zipper. Beneath her hand, his hardened erection twitched at the pressure. “That's no lie. I want you, Jo. I want you like I haven't wanted anything in a long time.”

“All right.”

His brows rose. “All right? That's it?”

She smiled. “Not all city girls are complicated, Muldoon.” She patted his cheek and pushed his shoulder. “All right just means what it sounds like. Come on by next time you've got a night off. I'll buy you a round.”

He stood rooted to the spot for a moment, searching her face as if waiting for the “Gotcha” or a hint of sarcasm or something to indicate it was a trick.

She shrugged a shoulder and bent down to pick up her bag. He got there first, their hands crashing together as they both reached for the strap.

“I've got it.”

“No, here.” He lifted the heavy tote with ease and helped her adjust it over her shoulder.

“Thanks, big guy.” She patted him again, determined to leave with her dignity—and pride—intact. “Guess I'll see you around.”

She started to walk toward the stairs, but he caught her and pulled her in for one more long, indecently delicious kiss. When he was finished, they were both fighting to catch their breath.

“Damn,” he muttered once more, his forehead dropping to hers.

“You can say that again.” She pressed a more innocent kiss to his lips and gently pushed him toward the truck. “See ya around, cowboy.”

He shook his head, as if reluctant to go, but go he did. After the truck pulled into the deserted street, she kicked the front step of the stairs.

Not how she wanted the evening to end up. She was no better off than when she'd started the day. Still no man to curl up with and get dirty with between the sheets. But at least now she had something to look forward to. Jo touched her lips with the back of one hand while she dug through her tote for keys with the other.

Now she had a hint of what was to come.

So maybe she was a little better off.

 

Trace thundered up the steps, not taking the ten seconds to remove his boots by the front door like Emma taught all the kids. Some things were more important.

“Bea?” he called halfway up.

“We're up here.”

She sounded remarkably calm for someone who'd texted an SOS while babysitting his son. He forced his breathing to reach a normal level and walked the last few steps to the top landing. When he got there, he stopped short at the sight.

Bea, in a pair of ripped shorts and an oversized stained sweatshirt that looked like something of his she'd stolen from his hamper, walked the floor with Seth over her shoulder. He was quiet, but looked as miserable as Bea. Her cropped hair stuck out in different directions, and she was missing an earring. He prayed to God that wasn't the reason she'd called him back home. If she'd let his son swallow a piece of jewelry, so help him . . .

She caught him from the corner of her eye and turned, her face a bland mask. No panic, no confusion, no worry. It was as if she was zoned out in front of the TV.

“I don't understand why you left him with me.”

Trace walked over and gently removed Seth from her grasp. Her arms went limp at her sides.

“I'm not maternal. I don't even own a pet. I don't think I like animals. Or babies.” She stared in disgust at the sweatshirt. “Do you know what comes out of that kid?”

“Yeah. I've changed a diaper or two myself,” Trace said dryly, inspecting his son for damage. Now that he was being held by someone he recognized and trusted, Seth relaxed considerably, his face morphing from wary concern to a big smile. “Hey, little man. You scaring your Auntie Bea-Bea?”

“Scare. Yeah.” She blew out a puff of breath that ruffled her hair and flopped to the overstuffed armchair. “He has a rash.”

“A rash?” Trace looked once more at Seth's arms and legs, his neck, his face, even his bald head. “Like, an allergy? Did you feed him something other than his bottle?”

“No. On his butt.”

Trace stared at his sister for a full ten seconds. “You sent me an SOS because of diaper rash?”

She threw up her hands and rocked back. “I don't know! I've never babysat before! He woke up crying and so I got one of the bottles Emma left me in the fridge and I fed him. And that wasn't too hard, but then he spit up on me when I burped him.” The disgust in her voice had him choking back a smile. “So I put on your sweatshirt in case he did it again. I figured it was too ugly for anyone to care if it got nasty.”

“Thanks.”

“You're welcome. But then he started stinking so I checked his diaper and . . .” Bea turned a little green at the memory. “And it was disgusting, too. Did you know how gross your son is?” She didn't wait for an answer. “And when I changed him, I noticed the rash. It looked painful and I wasn't sure if I would hurt him if I put something on it, but then he started freaking out anyway because kids don't like me—especially that one—and then I was afraid it was because I was hurting him and I didn't know and Peyton's in there with Red and I didn't want to bother them—”

“So you bothered me.” He jostled Seth a little to settle him down. “You're nervous and he's reacting to it. Calm down a bit.”

Bea closed her eyes and started humming something nonsensical.

“What are you doing?”

“Meditating,” she said without moving her lips. “Try it sometime.”

“Yeah. Okay then. Let's go to bed, little man. I think you've pushed Auntie Bea-Bea over the edge.”

Seth found this vastly amusing and clapped his hands in delight. Trace smiled and tapped his son's little nose. “That shouldn't be funny. It's not nice to drive people crazy.” He lowered his voice and stage whispered, “Even if it's Bea.”

“I heard that.”

“Go meditate something.”

He walked a few laps around Seth's room in the dark and sang a country lullaby in a low tone, barely mouthing the words. Seth's eyes drooped enough to put him down in his crib easily. After closing the door and waiting a few moments to see if he woke back up, Trace walked over and stretched out on the couch.

“Did I ruin something for you?”

“Maybe.”

Bea sniffed. “Good. Don't you dare pull a stunt like that again, Trace Muldoon.”

“Oh, I don't know. Seth seemed to have fun torturing you.” He laughed when Bea threw a pillow at him. “Come on, it wasn't that bad. You get better the more you do it.”

“Pass, thanks.” Bea was quiet for a moment. “Do you wish his mom was around?”

“No.” Easy answer. “We're a duo.”

“Who was she?”

“Nobody you'd know.”

“Where is she?”

“Nowhere important.”

“Wow, big brother. Don't talk my ear off. Please, stop with the oversharing.”

Trace smiled at Bea's dramatic tone. She was destined to be an actress, even at an early age. “Don't worry about his mother. We're doing fine on our own.”

“I know you are.”

The softness of her voice had him looking up. She smiled. “Hey, I tease, but you're good with him. Way better than I would ever be. It's cute, the two of you. Two boys hanging out. Dad would have loved him.”

Trace settled back down and stared at the ceiling. “Think so?”

“Oh, yeah. Another male to carry on the Muldoon tradition of roping and riding? Right up his alley.”

The bitterness took him by surprise. “What's up?”

“Nothing.” She stood and flopped one long sleeve at him. “I'll throw this in your hamper in the morning. Though, if you ask me, you should burn it.”

“I didn't.”

“Sadly, I know.” She stared at his jeans. “Still can't believe you managed to find a woman who would be attracted to you dressed like that.”

He raised a brow. “And you think I was with a woman, why?”

“You were too annoyed at being called back to have been alone.” She smiled knowingly, aware she had him there. “I'm too tired to hoof it back to my own place. I'm crashing in my old room. 'Night, big brother.”

“'Night, Bea-Bea.”

Her door closed, and a few moments later the light went out from under the door frame.

Trace stared up at the ceiling once more. Yeah, he was annoyed, though less so than he thought he might have been. Seth was safe, Bea was going to survive, and that's what mattered.

But damn, why tonight? He'd been so close. Since the first night he'd caught sight of Jo, he'd wanted her. That curvy body packed into jeans and those polo shirts everyone at the bar wore haunted his dreams. Her long hair, that thick rope of black silk, begged for his hands to wrap themselves in it. And though he'd never have guessed it before, the piercings even intrigued him.

Where else was she sporting some metal?

He needed to investigate. He smiled a little at that. Ah, the mysteries of women. Kept a man happy and healthy.

He'd have another chance. Though he had no clue when, since he'd gone out twice in a short time, and wasn't comfortable just leaving Seth with either of his sisters again. They weren't last-minute nannies, and he tried hard to remember that whenever he got the itch to do something or go somewhere.

So he'd bide his time and wait. Hopefully, when he got the chance, Jo would be ready.