Chapter Twelve
The heavy, hard beats of Florida Georgia Line blared into the hovering darkness that, inch by inch, was claiming the faint purple lingering over the western horizon. He cranked down the window and shut the door. Insects floated in the flood from his headlights, and he nodded to the country beat, finding his groove, then prowled up to her and dragged her into the beams.
The confused crinkle to her brow dissipated, and he couldn’t help smiling as she caught on to what he had in mind.
“So you used to hit up the club but haven’t gone out since you met Sage’s daddy, am I right? What, Howie didn’t take you out to cut loose? Or does he have two left Tevas?”
She grinned. “Howie would rather debate political theory at a café, not dance.”
“Sounds like he’s a blast at parties.”
Howie was a dumbass. Toby’d already concluded as much, but thank God the man had screwed his chance with Rose. Because Toby got to enjoy this little sliver of her company now.
He squeezed her hand. Her hair piled high and her bandana tied around her head of rebellious curls was so damn cute. He hadn’t expected to walk up on her bouncing to her headphones in that short bit of denim, showing off her naked limbs to a lonely trailer. So toned, her cutoff shorts showcasing her legs, muscled but smooth and feminine. Her kissable little toes were devoid of nail polish as they peeked out of her sandals, her tank top hugged her twin handfuls, and while nothing was excessively revealing, he couldn’t scrap the image of her slender neck, her open throat, her smooth jaw from his mind.
The telltale throb of attraction that had afflicted him since he’d chanced upon her yesterday morning sent warning pulses to his family jewels, cautioning him to prepare to be frustrated because all he wanted was her body in his arms, his hips between her thighs… But acting on that desire ran the risk of ruining this burgeoning…whatever this attraction between them was. His boy down south wanted Rose, but dammit, the way to her heart was going to be much more complex than flirting it up with her over a drink. Pottery. Rock art. He had a whole canyon full of things that were more important than base attraction giving way to impulses, that showed he cared.
He stepped in front of her, sliding his hands down her shoulders, down her arms, onto her hips where he palmed the curves and began swaying them from side to side. Just touching her like this sent excitement pulsing through him. She looked away, smiling and clearly embarrassed.
“Toby, I can’t…” Her teeth pinched her lower lip, nibbling nervously.
“Come on. My little hippie chick? Who names her kid after herbs and wiggles her sugar-shaker to that eighties stuff but can’t let loose to some country? I don’t buy it.”
She’d been indulging herself when she’d thought she was alone, and he wanted that moment for himself, selfish man that he was.
He slipped his loose plaid off, tossed it onto the hood of the Beast, and moved behind her, his hands coming back to rest on her hips and the rise of her rear while he grooved against her, his lap to her cheeks, his arms torquing in the headlights, coaxing her into a beat. She relented, inch by inch, glancing over her shoulder at him as a smile of concession brightened her face. She closed her eyes in defeat and dropped her head back against his chest on a sigh.
“See? It’s contagious,” he teased beside her ear.
He dipped against her, his pelvis gently rolling to the rhythm, gyrating suggestively, taking her hands in his and lifting her arms out so she could show him what she had. She giggled. Giggled? And the sound was so damn sweet, he wanted to kiss it off her lips—shit, no kissing yet. But just the thought sent more blood surging southward to tighten his cock behind his zipper. When was the last time she’d giggled? When was the last time a man had made her feel special? Since Howie? And what had that douche ever done for her besides cheat and make her self-conscious because of it?
She pulled her hands free, her arms raising over her head, and grinned as she relented. Beginning to sway against him, her sexy rear brushed against his belt buckle.
“Attagirl,” he encouraged, resettling his hands on her waist.
The rolling of her hips as she gyrated against his thighs sent a cascade of sparks across his skin, the undulating of her chest, the pumping of her hands above her head, the tantalizing bounce of her breasts he glimpsed as her torso torqued to the side.
Hell have mercy, he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the gentleness of her face. He moved with her, his smile faltering as an intense need to wrap her in his arms overwhelmed him.
He took her hand, spinning her, if only to expel that sentimental urge. This was supposed to be light. Fun.
“…Slow rolling with the top off the back of a Bronco…”
She laughed as he sang the rough, melodic vocals of the song, spinning her back to him with a tug of his fingertips, collapsing against him as her knotted hair fell and her bandana slipped loose. He caught her and snagged her around the waist to whirl them both around, holding her other hand.
“You got the Bronco part covered,” she teased.
He jutted up his chin proudly. “You know it. Every high school boy’s dream to buy a beater and fix it up. That, and the ugly sight of it parked up on blocks in the driveway pissed my dad off to no end. That’s why I don’t get rid of it.”
“You shouldn’t. It’s a nice SUV.”
That SUV bit again? He laughed, attempting to swat at her rear, but she dodged his path and tipped his hat off his head, catching it, and cocking the Stetson onto her head of curls.
“Aw, baby, you think you can steal a man’s hat and get away with it?”
He caught her around the waist from behind, swinging her in a circle as she laughed joyously, a flirty sound that—goddamn—had rolled through his mind time and again since he’d first heard her at Stella’s.
Song after song rolled by, twirl after twirl, as his hat sat perched on her head like a sexy beckoning. He had half a mind to leave it there to admire the view of her tipping it over her eyes like a seductress, pinching the pad of her lip in her teeth. Grinning impishly, he tried to flick it off.