Roustabout (The Traveling #3) (15 page)

I tried to stop my grin. “Does everything come back to sex with you?” I huffed.

“Here’s hoping,” he said with an easy smile.

“Aren’t you ever serious?”

“Nope, it’s against my religion.”

I shook my head—maybe Tucker should go into politics; my father never gave a straight answer either.

There had been a time when I was desperate to follow in my father’s footsteps, hence the Master’s in PolSci. But slowly losing my belief in him, for the way he’d treated Kes since the secret of his paternity came out, as much as the previous 26 years. Our father’s disdain for his youngest son’s career was clear. I didn’t understand why he couldn’t be proud of what Kes had achieved. Maybe he was, but he didn’t think it would help his political career. That had been the final blow to any ambitions of my own in that direction.

Tucker leaned back in the car, watching me as I shifted gear.

“Damn, that is sexy,” he grinned, licking his lips. “A woman who can drive a stick.”

I smiled at him and raised an eyebrow. “I like being in the driving seat.”

He started to reply, but when he noticed I was heading up the mountain, his words tailed off and he seemed uneasy.

“You know where you’re going, TC?”

“I was told there’s a really pretty view from up here—you can look down and see the whole town. Somewhere near a . . .”

“ . . . a dried up riverbed,” he said, staring out the window.

I glanced over at him. His forehead was creased in thought and he wasn’t smiling.

“You know it?”

He nodded.

“Yeah, I used to live a ways over there.”

He jerked his chin toward a thickly wooded area. I could see a dirt track heading further up the mountain. Was that Tucker’s home? The place he’d grown up?

“Thank you for telling me that.”
I wish you’d tell me more.

He gave a small nod, then cleared his throat. “We’re here.”

Tucker was right: we’d run out of road. I pulled the car to the side and opened the door, missing the cool air as soon as I stepped out into the furnace.

“There’s a blanket in back—can you get it?”

“Sure, because it’s blowing a blizzard out here,” he laughed, his good humor seeming restored.

“Oh funny. Well, I’ll be the one laughing when poison sumac makes you swell up.”

“I thought you liked it when I
swelled up
,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, grow up, Tucker!”

He froze, and the blood drained from his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Tucker

Grow up, Tucker.

The memories play like a horror movie behind my eyes.

The day Harley Law crashed his bike on this very spot, the day my life changed . . .

I shook my head to clear the ugly pictures and saw Tera’s worried eyes looking up at me.

“Tucker! Are you okay? What just happened? You looked like you saw a ghost.”

I laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, something like that.”

She edged closer and laid her hand on my chest.

“Your heart is racing,” she murmured, concern lining her forehead.

“I’m fine,” I said, stepping away.

She looked at me sadly. “You’re not fine—you just don’t want to tell me.”

“Nothing to tell,” I said firmly, and I grabbed the blanket from the backseat and pulled out the cooler next to it.

“That’s garbage,” said Tera, her eyes narrowing in on me. “If you don’t want to talk about it fine, but don’t give me some BS excuse that it’s nothing.”

“Right again,” I snapped. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She sucked in a deep breath and I felt like such an asshole.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “I didn’t want to come back here; it’s fucking with my head.”

She touched my arm lightly. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“Does that make us a sorry pair?” I asked, trying to laugh it off.

“I think that’s a given,” she smiled.

Tera took the blanket from my arms and laid it out in a patch of shade, close to the thick trunk of a towering redwood.

“The view is everything they said it would be,” she said calmly, kicking off her shoes and settling onto the blanket.

“Yeah.”

She looked at me critically. “I think the view would be better if you took your shirt off.”

My shoulders relaxed and I grinned down at her. “That goes for you, too.”

“Um, no!”

“A little bit hypocritical, Miss Hawkins?”

“Probably,” she laughed. “But I’m not going to get caught half-naked by some passing lumberjack. I’ll leave that to you, bucko!”

I pulled my t-shirt over my head, kicked off the heavy biker boots, and got rid of the socks. Then I slumped next to Tera, leaning up on one elbow to look down across the valley.

Just like that day, the riverbed was dry, not even a trickle of water to lay the dust. The air was hazy with heat, and from this distance, the town was just a straggle of ugly buildings in the valley. It didn’t look as if much had changed—I wondered how much I had changed.

Despite the heat, I shivered when Tera traced her fingers over my shoulder and back, her nails lightly scratching against my ink.

“You were going to tell me how you got those tattoos.”

I groaned. “You really want to hear how dumb I was when I was 17?”

Tera smiled. “You’re a guy, so you can’t help being dumb, especially at 17. So, tell me.”

I rolled onto my stomach and propped my head on my hand.

“I got so drunk on tequila that I woke up with a Mexican accent and those tattoos.”

She laughed disbelievingly. “Tucker! Tell it properly!”

I shook my head. “That’s the truth! That’s how it happened. I’d left home and it was my first night of freedom.”

Tera

He was pulling away again, but I was beginning to understand him much better now. Anything that was difficult or upset him, Tucker covered it with a joke. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that where he grew up wasn’t a happy place.

I lay on my back and stared up at the shimmering sky and light dappling through the patchwork of leaves and branches.

Maybe if I told him about my childhood, he’d open up a bit more. Maybe.

“My childhood was picture-book perfect,” I said, my voice drifting to the past. “I had two parents who loved me and I grew up in a beautiful house—several beautiful houses, in fact—and had private schools, my expensive education paid for. My father was successful and my mother stayed at home. Our family had staff: private chef, maids, bodyguards . . .” I laughed lightly. “I thought it was normal to have men with shaved heads in dark suits talking into microphones in their collars.”

I looked across at Tucker. He was watching me closely, as if my poor little rich girl story fascinated him.

“All my life, I wanted to be like my father—that’s why I studied politics at college. I’m not stupid, but I was oblivious. I could see my parents trying to ignore the cracks in their relationship, but I figured that’s what married couples do, you know? Try to make it work.”

I paused, my eyes tracking across Tucker’s expressive face. He wasn’t smiling now, but listening intently.

“Finding out about Kestrel and Connor—that was a turning point for me. I saw my Dad for what he is: flawed, human. I don’t blame him for that, but I do blame him for the way he treated their mother, the way he treated them. Even now . . .” and I shook my head. “Even now, he won’t accept Kes for who he is. A carnie doesn’t fit the image. Kes doesn’t
fit
. Connor is a different story, but he won’t give Dad the time of day—not without his brother.” I sighed. “I’d always wanted siblings. I’m glad I’ve found them now, but we’ve missed out on so much.”

Tucker looked down. “Your dad isn’t too happy that you’re friendly with us carnie folk.”

“No, he isn’t,” I said honestly. “But he doesn’t get a say in it either.”

Tucker stared at me skeptically. “You sure about that? Because you flew all the way out here and you’re driving a pretty fancy car, and I’m guessing a junior PR executive doesn’t make a ton of money.” He smirked at me, “ . . . or maybe enough to pay for designer clothes.”

I laughed and elbowed him lightly in the ribs.

“God, I’m so shallow! You’re totally right. I
could
live without dear old Dad’s handouts, I just don’t want to.” Then I frowned. “But if he pushes me, I
will
make my own choices.”

I turned my head to look at Tucker, hoping he’d read the message that was clearly written on my face.

But he rolled onto his back and closed his eyes.

“Why are you here, TC? I don’t mean in this shitty little town . . . why are you here with me?”

“Because I like you.”

He waited, obviously expecting something more. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face in frustration and turned his head to look at me.

I studied him, treating myself to a long look at those gray-green slate-colored eyes fringed with thick lashes, the too-pretty face, strong jaw and sensuous lips always set in a soft pout. His lean muscled body, sculpted by work and play. I reached out to touch him gently, intrigued by the muscles of his stomach dancing under my fingers.

“You could have any guy you wanted,” he said, his voice low and rough, not realizing that his bewilderment was part of the charm. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s a long way from true. And anyway, surely I can’t be the first woman who likes you just for you?”

Or maybe I am . . . because you’ve never given anyone else a chance to get to know the real you.

“What about you, Tucker? You could have any woman you want—you have, you do. And from what I understand you don’t do dates and you don’t do repeats, but you’re here with me now. Maybe I should ask
you
to explain.”

He leaned up to grin at me.

“A hot, sexy woman invites me for a picnic—I’m supposed to turn her down?”

I gave him a small smile.

“I’m not expecting you to be serious with me all the time, Tucker, but you don’t have to make everything a joke either. Not for me. I’m just trying to get to know you—but that’s what you
don’t
want, isn’t it?”

He looked out across the valley, his eyes following the winding path of the river, a silver thread in the distance.

“There’s not a lot to know, TC. I’m a high school dropout and I work in a traveling carnival. I have no home, no savings, nothing to offer anyone. I’m not so dumb as to think a woman like you could be interested in a guy like me except for . . .”

His words trailed off and an unfamiliar pink tinged his cheeks.

I laughed softly.

“Oh, Tucker! You think I’m using you for sex!”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, when you say it like that, what am I bitchin’ about?”

“I
like
you,” I stated. “I
like
like you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You
like
like me?”

I smiled at him and turned away, my eyes closing. Slowly, I let my hand creep towards his, our fingers twining together.

“Yes, I like you,” I repeated simply.

There was a beat of silence, then he said, “Your Dad isn’t going to like . . .”

“No, he isn’t.”

“And Kes isn’t going to . . .”

“Probably not.”

“And I’ll be traveling . . .”

“I know.”

“And you’ll be in San Francisco . . .”

“Tucker,” I sighed. “Do you like me?”

His fingers tightened around mine compulsively.

“Do I like you, or do I
like
like you?” he teased.

I pinched his waist and he just about jumped out of his skin.

“Ticklish?” I laughed.

“No,” he lied, tentatively rubbing the reddening section of skin.

“Then answer the question: do you like me?”

“Yeah.”

I couldn’t help smiling. I knew it was pointless to ask for more than that; I needed my hopes and dreams to stay small, realistic, but being with Tucker was an explosion of hope in technicolor. It was terrifying.

“Why do you like me?” I asked shyly.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, but he was smiling.

“Always with the hard questions!”

I gave an exaggerated sigh. “It can’t be
that
hard, Tucker! There must be a reason that you like me!”

“Well, you kinda told me to,” he laughed. “Jeez, I don’t know, TC. You’re not like other women.”

“I’ve got boobs, an ass and a pussy—how am I different?”

He didn’t answer so I turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were squeezed shut.

“What?” I whispered.

“Don’t. Say. That!” he bit out.

“Which part?”

I could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

“Don’t say . . . pussy!” he hissed.

I laughed out loud. “What do you want me to call it? My tunnel of love? Pussy! Pussy! Pussy!”

My laugh ended in a gasp as his heavy body rolled on top of me, pressing me into the blanket. His mouth was on mine, his teeth nipping at my lips as the buckle of his belt bit into my waist.

One hand was at the hem of my skirt, his rough palm pushing the material up my thigh; the other was in my hair, gripping hard as he kissed me feverishly, his tongue driving into my mouth as if I was his last supper. He was intense, passionate, control gone—and I couldn’t get enough.

With a hard yank, my skirt was up to my waist and Tucker was fingering me under the lace of my panties. My surprised gasp turned into a moan as my brain warred with my body.

When my brain lost, my hands tightened on the denim covering his butt and I squeezed hard. Tucker growled against my throat and hooked my leg over his hip, grinding his erection against me.

Yes! This is enough! This is what I want! To be desired, needed like this.

I was lying to myself. I was falling for him. And I had absolutely no clue how Tucker felt.

“Holy shit!”

It wasn’t Tucker who’d spoken and it sure as hell wasn’t me.

He shot upright, his body tense.

Embarrassed and beyond turned on, I struggled to sit up. The speaker was a skinny kid, a boy, maybe ten or 12 years old.

“Jeez, Scotty!” Tucker huffed out. “You training to be a stalker?”

“I was just walkin’ by,” the boy said defensively.