Bucking the Rules (7 page)

“J. J. Jeff,” he corrected. “Jeff Junior, but everyone called me J. J. growing up. I'm trying to get rid of it.”

“Well, Jeff, it's nice to meet you.” She held out a hand and he quickly shook it. She flashed him an apologetic smile as she stood to fill an order quickly, and then came back. “Excited about law school?”

“Sure. Family business. Can't beat what you already know.”

She could relate, so she nodded. “Leaving any girls back here with broken hearts while you run off to school?”

“No,” he answered fast. “No girls.”

“Just as well for them, then. No need to leave a trail of crumbled souls behind you, right?” Jo winked, then glanced up as Stu motioned for her to follow him into the kitchen. “Looks like my break's over. Thanks for keeping me company.”

He saluted her with his ice water, and she was relieved to see it didn't appear as though he would order another drink. With any luck, he'd finish off that glass before heading out the door. And as she watched from a distance while he cashed out with her secondary bartender, leaving a healthy tip behind, she was glad to see he walked straight and without a hitch. She took her business seriously, and over-serving was never an option.

Three hours later, Jo stretched and watched the last of her servers clock out for the evening. Amanda hung back and waited while the rest walked across the street to the parking lot as a group.

“How was your date?” Jo asked, swiping her manager's card to bring up the day's receipts.

Amanda gave her a knowing smile. “Can't complain.”

“Who was the lucky cowboy?”

“Oh, some guy passing through. I think he's already gone.” Amanda shrugged and folded her apron before tossing it into a bin to be laundered. “I wasn't looking for forever. For now is good enough. Know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” She did. She'd always had for now. Sometimes she wondered what forever looked like. God knew, she didn't have a solid example from her mother. Her father? Never seen him. But even her friends had a similar outlook to Amanda's. There were no wedding invitations—Regina excluded—no calls to be a bridesmaid, no gushing e-mails about being the love of someone's life. Her friends all sat on the same side of the line with regard to soul mates and true love.

“I saw Trace Muldoon hanging around a long while the other night.” Amanda stalled by starting to roll silverware for the next day's lunch shift. “He have anything interesting to say?”

“Not a word,” Jo lied. “Just another cowboy. You know how that goes.”

“Yeah.” Her friend sighed lustily. “But God, what a sexy one. And there's something to be said for the quiet types who know what to do in bed and don't ruin it with a lot of chatter.”

Jo couldn't disagree, so she simply kept her mouth shut.

“You know, it's interesting about him. He—”

“Amanda. For the love of God. I'm—”

“Not listening to gossip. Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Amanda rolled her eyes and let the last silverware roll drop into a bin. “No fun, that's what you are.”

“Says so on my name tag.” Jo patted the embroidered pocket of her polo saying it was Jo's Place.

Amanda snorted in disgust. “Fine. Stay here in your little bubble of solitude. When you want to know the good shit, come find me.”

Amanda left, and Jo watched her walk across the street and get safely into her car before turning away from the door. Now that she was alone, she hauled ass to get through the last of her duties and locked up. Walking around the corner toward her steps, she slowed, and then stopped as a feeling of déjà vu came over her.

“Hey, stranger.”

“Hey, yourself.” Trace leaned against the side of his truck, but didn't approach. Just like last time. “It's a little late, but I took a chance you wouldn't kick me out on my ass.”

Jo shrugged. “I'm more inclined to get pissed over an early wake-up call than a late night visit.”

His smile was slow and easy. “That's encouraging.”

Jo waited a beat, then swept her arm toward the stairs. Why pretend they didn't both want it? That was self-defeating, and she made it a point to not be. “Well, if you're coming, then let's go.”

He followed her, then held out a hand when they reached her front door.

She eyed it. “What?”

“Keys.”

“I'm not giving you my keys. I can open the damn door myself. Country boys,” she muttered as she wrestled with the key ring and the fifty thousand keys on it. Seriously, did they make babies while the lights were out? When did she ever get this many keys? After trial and error, she found the one she wanted and unlocked her door.

“Maybe it's just a polite thing, not a country thing. What, no city guys open your door for you?”

“They knew modern, twenty-first century gals like to do some heavy lifting ourselves,” she shot back. Clearly, she would have to lay down a few rules or else the man would be running over her life like a freight train. “I'm fully capable of carrying my own packages and opening doors and paying for dinner.”

“Of course you are.” He said it so easily, it took her a moment to figure out if he was joking or not. “But why do it, if you don't have to?”

Jo opened her mouth, then closed it again. He'd asked a legit question. One she didn't have a smartass answer to. She'd save that for later. “Whatever. Are you staying?”

“Are you inviting me?”

“You're in my home and it's one in the morning. I think if I didn't want you to stay, it would have been foolish to let you in.” It was probably foolish, regardless. Something about Trace Muldoon screamed danger, and not in the
bad boy biker dude
sort of way. But in the
you could so get burned
way.

“Well, since you're struggling to issue the invitation, I'll do the hard work myself.” Trace took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it a little. The hat dropped to her entry table and his boots thudded softly over her scarred hardwood floors. “Jo, I'd like to stay with you tonight.”

Jo dug for some sort of snappy remark, but she came up empty. When his body closed in on hers, she breathed, “All right.”

His own sigh matched hers. Jo almost laughed. Was he relieved she'd said yes? Like she'd be able to resist him.

Trace reached out with one hand and cupped the back of her head, just below her ponytail, and tipped her face up to look at him. “I'm planning to stay all night.”

“If I get sick of you, I know how to bounce you.”

Trace chuckled low, and she wanted to hear more. It sounded rusty, as if he didn't make the sound often. But she'd be willing to bet Trace was a guy who found humor in life frequently. He just seemed to have that kind of personality.

“Let's hope you don't have to bounce me, period.” It was the last thing either of them said before he bent to kiss her.

S
he could taste the salty sweetness of his lips, and a hint of coffee, as if he'd been drinking it on the road. His tongue invaded her mouth without waiting for an invitation, though he likely assumed her moan was one.

Close enough.

He wrapped his hand around her ponytail and tugged so her neck was arched back, exposing her throat. “God, you are sweet,” he murmured against her skin. “I don't think I've tasted anything better.”

Sweet was so not a word used to describe Jo Tallen. At least not usually. Sassy, sometimes sexy, if she played it right, sarcastic for sure. But sweet? New territory.

“Okay, cowboy. Take me to bed.”

“I thought you'd never ask.” He shifted and put his arms under her knees, as if he were about to lift her up. Everything girly and completely illogical in her sighed with delight . . . though she would go to her grave denying it. But then he stood again and winced. “Sorry, darling. I had these big dreams of sweeping you off your feet and carrying you in there, all movie-style like.”

“I can get behind that.”

“Except I sort of wrenched my back at the event this weekend and the only thing worse than not being able to carry out this little fantasy of mine is the thought that I might drop you.”

“Oh.” Hmm. “Good point. Well then.” Lemons into lemonade. She stepped to the side, out of reach, and pulled her polo top over her head, letting it drop to the floor. She crooked one finger and walked backwards toward the bedroom. “Follow me, if you please. No heavy lifting required.”

He snorted. “Like you'd be heavy.”

As a woman who would never be thin, Jo appreciated the comment. “You can try the he-man thing another time, when you're less broken.” Suddenly, she stopped. “Should you even be . . .”

He waited for her to continue, but she just jerked a thumb to the bed instead of saying it. “Oh, hell no. There is no way I'm about to miss out on this again.” He growled and pounced on her, half-pushing, half-pulling her over the threshold of her bedroom. “Hell if I'm letting you escape.”

Before she could say a word or crack another joke, he had her bra off. How did he do that? The practical, beige number designed to keep her too-ample breasts in place while running her ass off behind the bar dropped to the floor unnoticed.

At least he didn't dwell on the industrial strength underwire. So not sexy.

Trace's hands were cupping her breasts, pushing them together, testing the weight of each one individually. Learning her body, her shape. Would he be a total breast man, or more interested in her legs? In her experience, men tended to be one or the other.

She had her answer when he leaned down to kiss the swell of one breast. “These are definitely being hidden beneath that black shirt you wear every day.”

“The health inspector warned me to stop serving drinks with my shirt off,” she said, biting back a moan when he took one nipple in his mouth and sucked. “Something about health code violations or whatever.”

“I won't argue. If no other man knows what he's missing, then I don't have to share.”

“I don't share, period.” Might as well get that out of the way now. “When I go to bed with a man, he's it . . . until he's not.”

He looked at her, warm mouth abandoning her breast. The now-wet skin peaked and tightened in the cooler air until she wanted to beg him to go back at it.

“I'm not looking to just fuck and run, Jo. I'm not starting a harem.”

He looked so offended at the thought, she had to laugh. “I didn't say you were. Just telling you how I play. I'm a one-on-one kind of girl. And I expect the same from whoever I'm with.”

“I'll try to keep my horny pants at home, unless I'm with you,” he said dryly. He started to head for her other breast, but she needed to get it out of the way now.

“And you have to wear a condom. Always.”

One brow raised. “Okay . . . any other rules?”

“I don't like gossip.” Not anymore.

“Not a fan of it myself,” he agreed easily.

“Just saying, I don't want to get into work tomorrow and have everyone I serve a beer to ask how you were in bed the night before. I don't want people thinking we're, like, together or whatever. . . .” she finished, wondering how she could have screwed that up so badly.

A thundercloud of anger crossed over his face. “So, I'm good enough to fuck in secret. Just as long as nobody knows, right?”

“No!” She replayed what he'd said. “Yes? Hold on, I'm confused.” She stepped back, out of his reach, so his touch couldn't distract her more. “It's not you. It's anyone I'm with. I just don't like the thought of anyone talking about who I'm with, or not with, or what I'm doing with my personal life.” She took a breath.

“I'm not used to the small-town thing yet. I'm used to nobody caring what everyone does with everyone else, and being anonymous. Now that that's not an option, I want to keep things private.”

He nodded slowly. “All right. Since I feel likewise, I don't see a problem. Now, can we pick up where we left off?” He stared at her chest meaningfully.

“Good enough for me,” she chirped, and was rewarded with a long, possessive kiss. When he broke free, she could barely open her eyes again. “God, you're good at that.”

“Let's see how many times we can get you to say that exact same sentence tonight.”

The prospect had her shivering.

 

Perfect. She was perfect. Every dream of the ideal woman was plowed over by the sight of Jo standing there, defiant as she casually laid out the rules of their affair, her chin jutting out like she was prepared to take on the world. Without a shirt on.

Her breasts were a handful, maybe more. That torture device she wore clearly kept those babies under wraps at work, and he couldn't blame her. But now they hung free, heavy, red wine-colored nipples puckered, waiting for his touch. And he was more than willing to give them all the attention they desired.

“You have the prettiest breasts I think I've ever seen.” He said it softly, then mentally winced. Probably not what a woman wanted to hear.

But Jo smiled brightly. “Why thanks. I grew them myself.” She cupped one breast in each hand, the soft flesh spilling up invitingly. “You should come back here and tell them yourself.”

“Gladly.” She was short enough—or he was tall enough—that standing while attending to her homegrown breasts was difficult. After a split-second decision, he went down to one knee, biting back a wince at the soreness from his fall. Like hell would he let Lad's bad attitude ruin this for him.

The pain subsided quickly when he nuzzled against the soft skin of her cleavage. She moaned and gripped the back of his head, guiding him to one rosy, gathered tip. He sucked it into his mouth, smiling as she tightened her hold at the back of his head. Her breasts were responsive, just as he'd hoped. And Jo wasn't intent on letting him just run the show himself. No, when she felt she'd had enough on one side, she cupped her other breast and rubbed it along the side of his jaw, silently directing him.

He wasn't averse to a woman leading things in bed. Not if it got them both to where they wanted. And if Jo was ready to show him what she needed? He'd give it to her without hesitation. He moved to the other breast, nibbling the skin around her pointed tip, drawing it out before finally taking her into his mouth to use his tongue and teeth to tease more.

“You're good at this,” she said on a breath. Her fingers ran through his hair, scratching his scalp a little.

“No use in being bad.” He kissed his way down to her stomach, pausing a moment to examine the little silver bar with a dangling star hanging from her belly button. “This makes seven.”

“Seven what?”

“Piercings. Four in one ear, two in the other, and this little guy here.” He traced the bar with his tongue, wiggling it a little with his teeth. “Any more to find?”

She looked down at him and grinned. “There's only one way to find out.”

“Guess I've got some exploring to do.” With hands that nearly shook with anticipation, he started to undo the button of her jeans. “Why a star?”

“Would you believe it's a reminder to always shoot for the stars?”

The wry tone in her voice made him laugh. “For you? Not a chance in hell.”

“You're right. Too cliché. Really, it was a gift from a friend. I have another one around here somewhere, a plainer one that I like better. I lost the bottom ball so I can't wear it. And Marshall isn't exactly teeming with body piercing stores to get a replacement.”

“That it's not.” He finally managed to slip the button from its hole, then went after the zipper. It rasped down slowly and he wondered for just a moment what kind of underwear she would be wearing.

Would her panties match her bra, simple and serviceable? Maybe she went wild on the bottom and had something completely sexy.

He wasn't expecting to find smiley faces grinning at him when he parted the denim and pulled it down.

“Don't worry, be happy?”

She laughed. “I'm not really into lace or G-strings. So I like to have fun with them.”

“I'm all for it.” He pulled down her jeans to her knees, then realized his own knee was starting to ache like a son of a bitch. If he didn't change positions soon, he'd struggle to get up. Nothing was sexier than stiff joints. “How about we shift this program to the bed?”

“Luckily, I happen to have one mere steps away.” She shuffle-slid over until she could sit on the edge of the queen-size mattress and started to take her simple black shoes off. Shoes she probably wore because they were easier to stand in for eight hours than anything else. When those came off, she started peeling the jeans down. “Hey, cowboy, make tracks. You're losing steam.”

He realized she meant his clothes, and stood without groaning—barely. He toed off his boots and looked for a good place to put them.

“Under the bed will work.” She grinned when he smirked. “Hey, if I'm going to be taking a cowboy lover, I might as well go for the whole country-western song appeal, right?”

“You have a twisted mind, Jo Tallen.”

Taking that as a compliment, she beamed. “Pants off, cowboy.”

He wasn't sure if he liked the way she used the word “cowboy,” as if she were checking this one off her list of types of lovers. Fireman, police officer, cowboy, athlete . . .

Not his concern. He unsnapped his shirt and shrugged out of it, trying his best to not mess his back up in the process. All the night needed was him half naked, locked up on the floor in agony. After that, the pants took seconds and he was completely naked.

He turned to the bed and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head in visual pleasure. She was a pagan goddess, brought down just for his enjoyment. She'd taken her ponytail out, so her long black hair spread out over the pillow around her. Her breasts were full and waiting for his touch once more. One hand rested lightly over her stomach. And the panties were gone, revealing . . . everything.

He raised a brow and stroked his cock once. He couldn't help it. From this distance, he couldn't tell if she was pierced below the belt. But he did see she was waxed. And holy hell, he nearly had to squeeze the base of his cock to head off an early end to the evening.

“I'm impressed.” She rubbed the heel of her hand over her stomach, silver bar glinting in the low light of the one lamp she'd turned on by her bed. “I mean, one always hopes for a decent treat once you get the wrapping off, but . . .” She crooked a finger to him. “You're exceeding expectations so far.”

“Let's see if I can keep that up.” He climbed on the bed next to her, taking his time. He didn't want to just mount her and go. This wasn't a horse trailer and they didn't have ten minutes before his next event. He had all the time in the world, and he was going to take it.

 

Jo shivered in anticipation. The way Trace watched her, waited for her, stared at her body made her feel beautiful. Sexy. She hadn't hurt for partners in the past, but half the time she'd felt like they were just taking what was in front of them, rather than pursuing her for her. Bartender at the end of a night at the bar. Convenient. If she got her bell rung in the process, who cared? End goal achieved.

But with Trace's attention spent all directly on her, she knew what she'd been missing out on. The intensity of the experience when you wanted each other, and nobody else . . . the need for the other person, because nobody else would do. There were no substitutions. He stared at her like he would have chased after her even if she'd been a bank teller, an accountant, or a stripper.

Well, the stripper was probably a given.

His thick cock brushed against her hip as he moved over her, kissing her shoulder, her breast, the tip of her nipple. He moved down more and once again found the belly button ring she'd gotten at nineteen, and regretted by twenty.

Who knew why she kept it.

Oh, right. Because her mother hated it. Jo wasn't above being petty when it suited her.

She wondered just for a moment if he cared that her hips had a little more padding than she'd like, if she was a little more round than what was considered sexy. But he said not a word as he found his way down to the crease between her thighs, nudging them open with his elbow.

And then making her moan as his tongue found her center with deadly accuracy. He got right to the heart of it—to the heart of her—as he licked and worked his tongue expertly. Alternating between deep, penetrating licks and quick flicks of the tongue directly on her clit, he had her biting back moans she knew would come out closer to sobs. Once he added in a finger, she couldn't keep her hips still. She bucked and swerved and tried to keep up with his thrusts, his sliding licks, his quick sucks until she couldn't even keep track anymore and relented to the oncoming orgasm.