But I know this body.She’d made an impression on him. He made a point to never see the occasional hookups again, but here he was, seeing her again and feeling all sorts of competing emotions, chief among them, the compulsion to protect her.
The roaring increased, the freight train sound deafening, leaves and debris swirling around the ends of the culvert. The woman gripped him. He gripped—Her damn pencils in her hair stabbed his neck! He raised his eyes heavenward and yanked them out so that her hair tumbled down in a waft of that vanilla-almond deliciousness that may as well be an aphrodisiac because he was so goddamn happy to smell it again. He settled on his rear in the dried waterway littered with gravely pebbles and grass clippings from the last time he’d weed eated. He braced his boots harder to the corrugated metal for leverage.
His jaw pumped. He grit his teeth. Couldn’t hear as the roaring intensified. Clenched his Tie-Dye, so small compared to his bulky mass, he was afraid she would fling from his arms. He probably bruised her but didn’t care. Bruises healed. Felt her nails digging into his waist as she clenched him back.
Had Frodo driven the cow home safely? His boys had named their herding dog after their favorite Hobbit. Had T.R. already locked the storm shelter or was he still there to open the barn door?
What in the hell was I thinking?He’d been pissed when T.R. had told him his sons’ 4H heifer was still out in pasture, refusing to come home. He’d almost left her in the field, until guilt over how his boys would react should she be killed compelled him to try and save her. But his boys had grown up without a momma, survived something far more harrowing than most adults ever experienced. He was inclined every damn day to give them the world, as if it made up for the bullshit. Still, this was the last time he did something he knew was dumb as hell in the name of his boys’ infinite happiness.
And yet, she wouldn’t be clinging to him, as if the two of them could keep each other from being ripped right out of this hideout, if it hadn’t been for the heifer—
Darkness crashed against the culvert. He yanked her down, flattening her beneath him, as she flinched and cried out. Glass sprayed inward, littering his back like porcupine quills on a curious dog’s face as he blanketed her with his body.
He hissed at the pain, palm cupping her head to his pec, and blotted out that old car accident and the fury that still surrounded the entire memory.
But her truck had just flipped. His grip? Locked. Down. Her nails gouged into his waist and back, her head, buried into him as he braced the culvert with his other palm and one of his boots.
He filled his nose with the earthy scent of her shampoo to ground himself, soft against his jaw, and all he could think about was how he’d wished he could have laid her out and worshiped her body properly last night. She smelled like comfort. She’d be dead had he not found her, and he shuddered.
He enshrouded her beneath him, the pebbly ground cutting into his forearm. If he was about to die, he wanted to go out feeling the soft contours of her curves and fill his nose with this scent. As if feeling him shift, she pulled her head free of his death grip and looked up at him. Her forehead skimmed his nose. He chased another dose of her sweet smell, fleeting in the wind snaking through the culvert, eyes flitting to hers in the darkness. He didn’t double-dip. Izzy, and a career in family law, had taught him to be leery of relationships. One and done meant taking care of needs and keeping his life as uncomplicated as possible. There wasn’t room for a woman in his life. He had one shot at bringing his boys up right, and there was no woman on the planet worth it to risk screwing up his kids. Seth seemed hellbent on taking the fast track to being grounded every other flipping week. Things were already on edge.
Yet all he wanted to do was press his lips to hers again and bask in her presence.
They held still as wind snaked through the culvert, wrapped in their embrace, eyes locked, whipping strands of her hair free from the anchor of his clutches. He was clutching her hair. He’d imagined clutching it all night as he lay awake too amped up to sleep, fantasizing about this mouth. A flame within burgeoned. Dammit, had he imagined the way she shifted beneath him? Or the way her fingers unclenched and migrated up his back? The smashed truck was a potent warning that they might not walk out of here. His hand wrapped in her hair harder. Eyes dipped to her luscious lips.
He couldn’t take advantage of this moment. He wasn’t an asshole. But it didn’t stop his mind from lingering there, reminders of her taste and touch warring through him.
His kids were safe at camp, where he’d kissed them goodbye and told them he loved them in spite of Seth’s eye rolls. He couldn’t think about them right now or he’d go crazy. Couldn’t think about what they’d do if he died. Just needed to trust his brothers to step in and do right by them like he knew they would. At least his boys would be free of the inescapable divorce nonsense that had plagued him since he’d signed Isabella’s paperwork. A lawyer at the mercy of the law—wasn’t that some irony.
His soul was square with the universe. There was nothing else he could do except bury himself against, against… Dammit, why did he want to know her name? Because you have history now.
Still, in spite of the violent wind, he felt Tie-Dye’s urgent breath upon his lips. Peppermint. Dammit, he knew these lips. Knew how she stroked her tongue against his with exploratory whimsy. In his mind, this mouth belonged to him. As if time was lulling and the storm was swirling around them in a vacuum, he wanted to break the rules all over again and kiss her.
She smiled up at him. Even in this moment, she wasn’t panicking with his arm around her. Whoever this amber-eyed, pouty-lipped unconventional beauty was, all he wanted was to press his mouth to hers and draw the pleasure from it that he knew awaited him, press his body against hers and relish the glorious curves, God’s gift to men, because fuck, women brought with them so much next-level drama.
He dragged his nose along her cheek, resisting. Her lips brushed his skin, as if of the same mind. He shuddered, held still, as her lips touched his cheek. His jaw clenched, and he kept brushing his nose along the silk of her neck, her cheekbone. His dick gave a nudge, wanting a second helping. He bit down on the side of his cheek to resist devouring her mouth as their lips brushed against each other’s. What the hell was wrong with him? With them? Yet he was unable to quell the thickening throbs, blood flooding his stones, as her fingers softened further, swirling tiny caresses on the low of his spine.
He shivered. Still he resisted. He deserved a medal for willpower. Man, this was wild. Perfect Tyler didn’t get entangled with women, let alone get entangled in something like this. He was no saint for damn sure, but he—