Red-Hot Texas Nights (6 page)

But first she had to finish up here.

Nothing was more important than her bakery, and so she forced herself to slow down, take a deep breath, and focus on cleaning with the same painstaking care that she always did before finally putting the last of her supplies away. She double-checked that she had enough petty cash for the morning stream, restocked extra bakery boxes and bags near the register, and wrote the upcoming specials on the decorative chalkboard that sat propped atop the glass display case.

She made one last pass through the kitchen before stepping inside the walk-in pantry situated near the oven. A careful inspection of the five-gallon bucket and the mash that bubbled and popped, fermenting in the warmth of the small area, and she closed the door.

Killing the iPod, she hit the lights and headed for the front door. Locking up behind her, she walked toward her car parked near the curb and slid behind the wheel. Firing up the engine, she glanced at the dark street in her rearview mirror and shifted into drive. Tires ate up pavement as she pulled out onto the road and headed down Main Street. Her heart beat double time as she neared the first stop sign and gave herself a mental shake.

She forced her grip to relax on the steering wheel. It was just another night. Just another drive through town to the outskirts and a sharp right at the Farm Road that led to the Tucker spread.

Only when she reached the turn and hung a left in the opposite direction did she finally give in to the anticipation that whirled fast and potent in the pit of her stomach.

There was a time and place for everything.

And it was time for Tyler McCall.

 

CHAPTER 7

There'd been no doubt in Tyler's mind that Brandy would show up now that she knew he was back. Under the cover of darkness, away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

He just hadn't counted on the sucker punch to his gut when he opened the door to find her standing there in her bakery T-shirt and jeans, her ponytail hanging limp after a long day's work, her cheek still smudged with flour.

Seriously. Hard. Fast. Right below the belt.

Ooomph.

The air stalled in his lungs. His heart slammed to a stop. His throat tightened. And just like that, his dick snapped to full attention.

Talk about bat-shit crazy.

It wasn't as if she'd dressed to the nines in a leather bustier or a red bikini or something equally trashy and sexy as hell.

It was a soft cotton T-shirt, for Christ's sake. A simple pair of jeans. Sneakers. Hell, she hadn't even bothered to take down her hair or wipe her cheek.

Then again, it
had
been two years.

Two years was long enough to make a man find even the simplest things sexy. Like the silky strands of hair that hung loose and framed her delicate jaw and flushed cheeks. The faintest smudge of mascara just below her eyes that gave them that sultry bedtime look.

He swallowed against the sudden tightening of his throat and cursed himself for not turning the air conditioner a few degrees cooler. Damn, but it was hot.

Tyler stepped back and let her precede him inside. She didn't say anything. She didn't have to.

She was here, the warm scent of sweet blueberries and powdered sugar filling his nostrils as she eased past him. A bolt of need shot through his body and his muscles rolled and bunched. He barely resisted the urge to haul her into his arms, back her up against the massive window overlooking the rodeo arena, and take her hard and fast with the last few straggling cowboys watching from below.

He fought the crazy urge because he wasn't in any hurry to fuel the rumor mill that already circulated in Rebel, Texas. Not because he cared a lick about what people thought, but because she did. She always had.

And like it or not, he cared about her.

Not her, specifically, he reminded himself. He cared about their unspoken arrangement. Down-and-dirty sex. No strings attached. No awkward morning after. No expectations. Nothing but the two of them in the moment. Here. Now.

Which meant there would be no fast and furious with the world watching.

But without the world watching?

It could be fast. Furious. Slow. Easy. Any way he wanted it because Brandy Tucker liked it all. She was the most sensual woman he'd ever met and damn if he didn't lose his breath when he drew the shades, shutting out the wranglers closing down the pens below, and turned back in time to see her pull the hot-pink T-shirt up and over her head.

The pale-yellow glow from a nearby table lamp pushed back the shadows and bathed her in a warm light that made her skin seem almost translucent. She didn't spare a glance at her surroundings as she tossed the shirt to a nearby chair.

Not that first time when he'd taken her virginity on top of the king-sized bed not two feet away from him, and not now that he'd had her practically every which way in this very room.

But as many times as they'd met right here, as many positions as they'd tried, as much pleasure as they'd found, he still felt a renewed sense of anticipation. More so because he knew what was about to happen and just how fucking fantastic it could be.

His blood rushed even faster as he watched her peel off her jeans until she wore nothing but a pair of lacy red panties and a matching bra.

“I hope this is a good time,” she finally murmured when he didn't step forward, toss her down, and get the party started. The hesitant light in her gaze faded into a wave of bright-green heat as she took the initiative and stepped closer. “I mean, if it's not I can come back later.” Another bold step and her nipples kissed his chest. Desire fired in her eyes. “If that's what you want.”

“The only thing I want right now is to be inside of you.” He pulled her close, his tongue thrusting into the heated depths of her mouth, devouring her as if he might never get another taste.

And maybe he wouldn't.

He knew the sex would eventually stop. It was inevitable. She would find someone and settle down or he would shoot to the top of the leader board and make enough money to buy a sweet little place far, far away from the Not-So-Happy-Times Trailer Park. Or both. Either way, she would stop coming to him and he would stop coming home and it would end. But not just yet.

His hands went to her tight, round ass, and he pulled her even closer. He rubbed his throbbing erection against the cradle of her pelvis. His fingers slid beneath the lace of her panties and felt her bare flesh beneath. Her skin was hotter than he remembered. Soft. Electrifying.

Holy shit.

Urging her backward, he eased her down onto the bed. He captured her mouth in a deep, intense kiss that lasted several heartbeats before he pulled away and stepped back. He thought about slowing down, about taking his time and committing every moment with her to memory, just in case this was, indeed, the last time, but the hard-on throbbing beneath his jeans got the better of him.

He worked the buttons free on his shirt and let the material slide from his shoulders. He unfastened the button on his jeans and pushed the zipper down. The pressure eased and the edges gaped and he could actually breathe for a few seconds.

Until she pushed to a sitting position and leaned forward.

Her fingers touched the dark purple head of his erection where it pushed up above the waistband of his briefs. He ground his teeth against a burst of white-hot pleasure and braced himself against the need beating at his brain. Her touch was just so damn soft and he was so hard and the contrast was tying him into knots.

He needed to touch her. To taste her.

He stared down at her. At the dark-red nipple that pushed through the lace-patterned cup of her bra. He pushed her back, leaned down and flicked his tongue over the rock-hard tip. She gasped, the sound catching in her throat and sending a sizzle of electricity up his spine. It was the sound that haunted his dreams at night. His fantasies.

His memories.

He drew the nub deeper into his mouth, sucking her hard through the flimsy covering.

Her fingers threaded through his hair and held him close. He relished the feel of her flesh for several heart-pounding moments before he pulled away. He gripped the cups of her bra and pulled them down and under the fullness of her breasts. The bra plumped her and her ripe nipples lifted in a silent invitation that he was hard-pressed—literally—to accept.

Still, he wanted to look, to watch the tips pebble and harden beneath his gaze. To see her need in the tight, fierce response of her lush body.

But she wasn't about to let him put on the brakes.

When he didn't lower his head and suckle her again, she reached for him.

“Please. I need it now.” There was no shame to the words, no embarrassment to the admission because the Brandy sitting before him wasn't the same girl who kept it all covered up in front of the rest of the world.

She was different.

Wild. Sexy. Bold.

Here. With him.

Crazy.

He didn't know what she did and who the hell she did it with when he wasn't around. But he wasn't fool enough to think he was the only one.

The notion sent a burst of possessiveness through Tyler, feeding the need to stand out in her mind, to brand her his. And that meant not only pressing on the brakes, but holding them down long enough to make sure she felt everything he did to her.

He hooked his fingers at the thin straps of her panties and followed the tantalizing path down her long legs. She had the softest skin. So pale and perfect beneath the rough feel of his fingertips. When he had her naked with the exception of the bra pulled beneath her luscious breasts, he leaned up and let his gaze sweep the length of her.

She was even more sexy than he remembered. Sexier than the first time. The last time. And anything in between.

Sexier than anything he'd ever imagined, and he'd done plenty sitting behind her in English class. She'd been two years behind him in school, but they'd both ended up in the same sophomore English because he'd missed so much school trying to work two jobs and go to class that he'd failed the stupid course twice. He'd passed with flying colors that year because he'd been in his seat every single day. No way was he missing the opportunity to stare at the sweet curve of her neck beneath her blond ponytail. How many times had he wanted to reach out, to trail his fingers down that subtle sweep of skin?

He should have. Hell, half the boys at Rebel had done just that, or so they'd said.

But he'd gotten a different vibe from Brandy herself. Despite her voluptuous body and sultry air, there'd been something innocent in the gleam of her green eyes. She'd never teased or flirted or come on to him. She'd been almost shy.

Then again, she'd been a Tucker. Too good for the likes of a low-life Sawyer, and so he'd taken her reluctance for snottiness.

Until that night after the last football game of the season. She'd been stranded at the game without a ride, her hands stuffed in the pockets of her tight blue sweater as she'd stood outside in the cold, her cheeks pink and her eyes bright. She'd been waiting for her sister, who'd been stuck working late, and he'd been dragging ass out of the locker room after a crushing loss.

They'd had three injuries during that play-off game, enough to kill their chances for a district championship. Not that Tyler had given a shit about any of that. He just liked to hit, to spend his pent-up aggression and take it out on someone with no chance of retaliation. Football had been his saving grace back when he'd been a kid and the world had been against him. His one shot to fight back against that big bitch of life for dealing him such a rotten hand.

His chance to be in control, to call the shots, to turn the tide in his favor.

There'd been no turning the tide that night. He'd gotten two penalties and a bruised shoulder and then his coach had yanked him out of the game.

He'd stayed late to ice his injury and the entire stadium had all but cleared out by the time he'd walked through the locker room door.

Brandy had been the only one still hanging out other than a few of the custodians.

She'd stared at him as if she meant to run the other way, but then she'd walked right up to him and kissed him full on the mouth.

That had been all the encouragement he'd needed. He'd loaded her into his beat-up Chevy, driven her to the rodeo arena and they'd shared the first of many booty calls to come.

He'd been her first, much to his surprise, but he wasn't fool enough to think that he'd be her last.

His muscles tightened at the thought and he trailed a finger down the barely there strip of pubic hair and watched her tremble. He knew what she liked by now and he didn't waste any time giving it to her.

He traced the slit that separated her lush pink lips and she caught her bottom lip as a groan trembled from her mouth. Her legs fell open and the soft pink flesh parted just for him.

Dipping his fingertip into her steamy heat, he watched her eyes go half lidded. A soft stroke and her head fell back. Her mouth opened and a gasp worked its way up her throat. She caught her bottom lip, her teeth digging in as he went deeper, pushing, exploring. He worked her, sliding his finger in and out until her essence coated his flesh. A drop trickled over his knuckle and down his palm, and electricity sizzled up his spine.

Hunger raged inside him and he dipped his head, flicked his tongue over the swollen tissue, and lapped up her sweet essence. Sure enough, she tasted of blueberries and sugar and something more intoxicating than the most wicked shot of moonshine.

At the first contact of his mouth, she arched up off the bed and her hands grasped his head. Soft, strangled gasps trembled from her lips. He swirled his tongue around her clitoris and felt the tip ripen for him. She whimpered as he sucked the sensitive nub into his mouth and nibbled until she tensed beneath him.

Her fingers clutched at his hair, tugging desperately in a grip that was just short of painful. The sensation fed his ravenous desire and made his breath quicken. He laved her once, twice, and her breath caught on a ragged gasp.