Pulling her into a slow, sensual two-step, I dance her in a slow circle as the last of the raindrops come down around us. It’s just the two of us, the lowing cattle singing us a little song in the background, and the metallic scent of the pickup wet with rain. The rain isn’t enough to solve my water issues, but right now, for this one moment, I don’t give a damn.
“You’re not half bad.” She looks up at me as we dance, and she’s looking for words, for an explanation for this sudden shift in our relationship.
“I’m all bad,” I tell her because it’s the truth. She needs to know what she’s getting—and what she’ll never get from me. “I don’t do emotions or relationships.”
“Just sex?” She tilts her head back to look at the sky as I swing her in a circle, pretending I hear the same song she does.
Sometimes even sex is too much. For a moment, the Afghani mountains eat up my surroundings again, but I’m tougher than that. Or I pretend I am. Same fucking difference.
“You’re so damn beautiful, Rose.”
That’s an understatement. I smooth the damp strands of hair away from her face. “You always have been.”
She looks surprised, and for a second I think she’s gonna say something, but then the moment passes.
“You never seemed to think so before,” she points out. Our steps slow, but she doesn’t let go of my shoulders. Hot. That’s what she is.
“You wanted me to tell my sorta stepsister that I thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen? That wouldn’t have been appropriate, and we both know it.”
Her momma never married my dad, but they slept together. I try not to think too hard about that, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Rose lived in my house, and I’ve got more years on her than I should.
“So now I’m older, it’s all okay?” She laughs at me with her eyes. Her tattoos are a blur of color through the soaked tank top. I still haven’t seen them clearly, and I want to. “We probably shouldn’t…”
There’s no probably about it, but if she’ll let me hold her, I’ll hold on. And then I’m gonna do other things, dirty things she’ll enjoy.
Maybe she’s doing some thinking of her own because her leg—her bare leg—shifts, rubbing against the erection straining against my jeans. I’m gonna have zipper tracks on my dick, but it’s worth it.
“Then I guess we have a whole lot of lost time to make up for.” She rubs against me again, and my dick shoves against the front of my pants. I need to get her home.
Civilized and decent don’t cover how I feel right now. Her rain-soaked body moving against mine is raw. Earthy. Christ, yes, I want to fuck her, to lose myself in her. She’s old enough, and she wants this. But I’m suddenly not so certain sex is all I want.
“Don’t overthink.” She places her hand over my mouth and damned if I’m not okay with that little take-charge gesture. I still nip her fingers though. She sucks in a breath, her nipples poking at the front of her tank top. “This is simple. Do we… have something here? Yes or no.”
She’s pushing.
I should get in the truck. She can stay here and have a conversation with herself about how she feels. I wasn’t shitting her when I said I didn’t do emotions or relationships. Other than hate. I gotta admit, that there are plenty of people I rub the wrong way. They’ve got strong emotions for me, and not the good kind.
And yet I give in to the temptation to press a kiss against her palm, to inhale the sweet, clean scent of her. When I move my head, her hand slips down to cup my jaw. Game. Over.
“Goddamn it, yes, Rose.”
She nods. Of course, she just got what she wanted. Twice. I’m the one who’s wrung out and who has blue balls and feelings. “No more talking. Not now. Let’s just dance.”
I swing her around, holding her in my arms. Taking a long second to savor the heat and scent of my woman. This time, I lower my mouth slowly. My first kiss is no more than a warm brush of my lips against her closed mouth. Her skin feels so fucking soft beneath mine. There’s no other explanation for what I say next. Not like she’s torturing me or holding me hostage. I’ve starred in both those shit scenarios, and there’s everything right about this dance.
“You’re perfect, darling,” I whisper.
Because it’s so true, it hurts. Rose is goddamned perfect and I’d have to be blind not to see it.
I kiss her again, harder and deeper. Wrap my arms around her, pulling her up against me until I feel every inch of her. When our kiss grows hotter, she slides her hands up my arms, locking her fingers behind my neck and pulling me down in to her as she meets me touch for touch in a blaze of sweet heat. For once, my body and my head are in agreement about what comes next. I’m taking her home.