Buckled (Trails of Sin 2)

The rest of the morning rolls by achingly slow as anticipation builds in my gut. For over a week, I kept my hands to myself. I’ve been a respectable, proper gentleman.

It grates on my nerves.

By the time I load Maybe into my pickup truck, every muscle in my body is coiled and vibrating.

She wears the dress I instructed her to put on, the flowing white one from the night she arrived at the ranch. Her hair tumbles around her bare arms, her skin flushed and glowing from the shower. The fact that she chose to wear my boots with the dress only fuels the desire sliding through my veins.

I climb behind the wheel and narrow my eyes at the wide space between us. If she sits any closer to the passenger door, she’ll be eating the window.

“Move to the middle.” I point at the center of the bench seat.

“Why am I wearing a dress while you’re in jeans and a t-shirt?”

I shift toward her and give her the truth. “I want access to your pussy.”

Her mouth falls open on a breathless gasp, and she whirls toward the door, fumbling the handle in her attempt to escape.

“Maybe.” In a tone I’ve never used with her, my voice cuts through the cab, sharp and deep. “Turn your ass around and look at me.”

She turns and shoots me a withering glare.

I give her one right back. “We don’t trust each other. You think I’m hiding something. I know you’re hiding shit. We both have walls up, and I’m going to change that.”

“By shoving your hand up my dress?”

“Yes.”

“Unbelievable.” She gapes at me. “You’re such a… I don’t know what you are, but I bet it’s a thirteen-syllable word in a psychiatric ward! I can’t even believe—”

“Shut the fuck up and listen.”

Her teeth clack together, her eyes fuming with blue smoke.

“It would be so easy to learn everything I want to know about you.” I soften my tone. “One call to a private investigator and I’d have a full report in my hands by morning.”

Her breath hitches. “That’s invasion of—”

“I won’t do it, Maybe.” I clench a hand on the steering wheel. “I want more than your secrets. I want those, too, but I’m not going to take them. I want you to give them to me when you’re ready. I want to earn your trust.”

“Sex doesn’t earn trust. It destroys it.”

A sinking feeling hits my stomach. “Who hurt you?”

She averts her eyes to the window and rests the back of her hand against her mouth.

Tension knots in my shoulders. “Who?”

She shakes her head, robbing me of her gaze.

“Let me be frank with you.” I drum my fingers on my thigh. “I’m not good at this.”

She casts me a questioning look.

“This…” I gesture between us. “I don’t do this with women.”

“You don’t do what? Conversation?”

“Yes. I talk to Conor, but she’s… Conor.” I twist in the seat to face her. “When I’m with a woman, I communicate with my eyes, my touch, my body.”

She makes a disgusted face. “I’d rather not hear about—”

“I’m talking. Isn’t that what you want?”

“You’re right.” She straightens. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve spent my entire life out in those fields.” I motion at the landscape beyond the windshield. “It’s solitary, physical work that involves my body. Not my voice. I’m hands on when I complete tasks and communicate with others. When I talk to my brother, we use our fists. When I’m interested in a woman, I tell her with my eyes. When I want to talk to her, I tie her to a support beam and express myself with the lash of a crop.” I give her a knowing look. “Sex is communication at the deepest level.”

“For a tactile guy, you explained that fairly well with words.”

“I can explain myself a whole lot better with my hands.” I rest a hand on the seat between us, palm up.

“That sounds like a pick-up line.”

“I’ve never used a pick-up line in my life.”

“Because you don’t have to,” she mutters. “Women throw themselves at you.”

“I’m willing to work for this. I want to. But I need you to work for it, too. Meet me in the middle.”

She stares at my hand, where it waits between us. After a moment of hesitation, she reaches out and slides her fingers along the scar on my palm.

“Thank you.” I close my hand around hers. “I’m going to touch you for the next two hours. I’ll push against your boundaries, but I’ll stop before you say the word.”

“How will you know?”

“It’s what I’m good at, Maybe. I know how to read a woman’s body.”

“Really?” A bark of laughter. “What’s mine telling you?”

I give her a once over. Darting gaze, tense neck, excessive swallowing, clammy palm, and a subtle bounce in her foot.

“You’re annoyed. Conflicted. Apprehensive.” I return to her eyes and absorb the pain she tries so hard to conceal. “Lonely and lost.”