Caught Up in the Touch (21 page)

“Can I get you something?” He was back, propping both hands on the edge of the bar. A grin was on his face, but she saw behind it.

She closed the file and folded her hands on top. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He dropped his eyes, his grin falling away. In a roughened voice, he said, “This is hard.”

His fingers were turning white where they clutched the wood. She reached out and grasped his wrist. His arm relaxed and she slid her hand to his. She whispered, “I know, but you’re not alone.”

His gaze rose and met hers. How had she ever thought him a simple redneck? A host of emotions roiled between them, but before either of them could speak, another customer drew him away.

She turned on the stool, feeling defensive and protective. Some people gawked like rubberneckers at a car wreck, some ate their dinners engrossed in one another, some went out of their way to speak to Logan, usually with a forced jolliness, but at least they tried.

The night passed slower than the clock would indicate, and once the crowd thinned, she retreated to his office to work on his records but checked on him regularly, if only to send him a smile or squeeze his arm on his way to or from the kitchen. By ten o’clock, everyone had cleared out and Logan locked the front door. Another hour passed while he closed up the register, and the staff got the kitchen ready for the next day.

After everyone had left, Jessica wandered onto the restaurant floor, only the handful of emergency exit lights cutting through the darkness. His redlined shadow was misshapen and eerie on the back wall.

The tap of her heels echoed through the empty room. He half-sat on one of the tables and stared at the Faulkner quote. Not sure what to do but needing to do something, she rubbed his arm. “It’s going to be okay, Logan.”

“I know.” His sigh contradicted his words. “I’ll dig until I uncover the truth, but my past will never die. There will always be some in this town who’re watching and waiting for me to screw up.”

She dropped her hand. Babying him would only nudge him further down his slide into self-pity. “Yeah? Why waste your time worrying about those kinds of people? Eff ’em.” It was the closest she’d ever come to dropping the F-bomb, and after the pent-up frustration and anger of the evening, it felt … awesome.

His focus had switched from the portrait to her. “Jessica Montgomery, did you say what I think you said?”

The teasing amusement in his voice encouraged her. “Actually what I meant to say was
fuck
them. The people who want to dredge up your past sins and use them now can go to … hell.” She drew the blasphemy into three syllables like a fire-and-brimstone preacher on the pulpit.

“You’re turning into an absolute heathen.” A familiar ease tinged his voice, and his shoulders shook with laughter. He pushed off the table and drew her close, their cheeks pressed together. He sighed again, but she could feel his smile. “Thank you.”

They left out of the back door. This time she waited close by while he fiddled with the padlock. Since their confrontation with Scott, sinister undertones colored her view of the alley.

He put an arm around her shoulders, and she wrapped her arm around his waist on their walk to the parking lot. As they approached the Dumpster, his steps slowed and his body tensed against hers. He stepped in front of her much like he’d done the other night.

“Who’s there?” he asked in a low voice.

A man sauntered from behind the Dumpster. He took one more hit on the cigarette he held between his thumb and forefinger before throwing it on the ground and stubbing it with the toe of his black motorcycle boot. His shoulder-length blond hair was pulled into a neat ponytail. The tattoo of a snake curled up his forearm and into the sleeve of a black polo. He was lean but muscular from what she could tell. Menacing. Jessica made a grab for Logan’s arm to pull him backward, but he was already moving forward.

“Goddammit, Whitey, you could have come in.” Logan and the man clasped hands and bumped shoulders in a typically masculine greeting. Jessica let her hands fall to her sides, the dark overtones dissipating into the night.

Whitey tilted his head and looked at her. “Was waiting to catch you alone, but it looks like that ain’t happening. She good?”

Logan chucked his chin in her direction. “I trust her.”

If Whitey hadn’t been standing there, she would have kissed Logan Wilde right then and there. She settled for stepping next to him. His fingers coasted over her wrist and moved down until he clasped her hand and gave it a squeeze. She squeezed back.

“First, let me say I’ve never exchanged two words with that Larkin kid. We don’t exactly run in the same crowd.” A defensive edge sharpened Whitey’s voice as if he was intimately acquainted with trouble. “No doubt, I’ve done some shitty things—’scuse me, ma’am.”

Her therapist’s words came to her. “You’re in a safe zone.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Whitey’s face, warming his ice-blue eyes. “You know I don’t deal, Logan. After what meth did to Mama…” His smile reversed into a frown, and his focus moved beyond them.

Logan nodded and dropped her hand to clap his shoulder. “I know, dude.”

Whitey continued. “I heard about the accusations and immediately called bullshit. Started asking around.”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble over me,” Logan said in an emotion-roughened voice.

“Don’t go all mushy on me, Coach. I owe you more than I could ever repay, but I didn’t find out much. You know a Galloway kid?”

“Hunter, yes. He’s on the team.”

Whitey rubbed across nearly invisible blond stubble on his chin. “Naw. Not that one. He have a brother, maybe? A cousin?”

“A brother, I think. Dropped out of school though.”

“He’s the one who’s been dealing. Get this, he’s no more than sixteen, but the dude thinks he’s going to rule the ’hood. Word is he went to Birmingham and got hold of a gun. If this Hunter kid is related, maybe you can lean on him to get to his brother.”

“Hunter lied for Scott. He didn’t look comfortable with it though.”

“Apply enough force and he’ll break,” Whitey said with too much wisdom of life’s darkness. “If I hear any more talk, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Whitey.”

Whitey lifted his chin with a wink and sauntered off, his hands deep in the pockets of his slouchy, well-worn jeans. Jessica stared at Logan, his face hard, any hint of lightness and warmth eradicated. Suppressed anger vibrated the air around him. The rumble of a motorcycle launched him into action.

He leapt forward and kicked the metal Dumpster, the clang discordant. Curse words erupted. He ran both of his hands threw his hair, linking them at his nape. “These are fucking kids, Jessie. Idiotic kids making boneheaded decisions because they don’t know any better. I can’t help some sixteen-year-old who’s measuring his dick against a gun. Maybe I should let them fucking self-destruct.”

She swallowed hard, knowing this moment was important. “Like you did?”

He leaned toward her like a predatory animal, his lip snarling. “Excuse me?”

Fight or flight impulses flooded her body, quivering her legs. In a stronger voice than she imagined she possessed in that moment, she said, “Don’t let them repeat your mistakes, Logan.”

Lightning flashed, freezing them in place. Seconds later, thunder growled.

She raised her hands, slowly and carefully, as if he were an animal she might spook, and laid them on his shoulders. Dynamic energy pulsed under his bunched muscles. “Let me help you. Tell me how I can help.”

He didn’t move, yet something in him softened. She trailed her hands to around his neck and kissed his jaw, the stubble tickling her lips. Against his skin, she said, “I want to help you.”

“We’re going to my house,” he whispered in her ear, banding his arms around her.

She nodded.

“I’m taking you to bed.”

His words sang through her body like a hallelujah chorus. Maybe he was using her to assuage his anger or maybe she was only a distraction from his troubles. In that moment, she didn’t care. “Let’s go, Mountain Man.”

He pushed his pelvis into her hers as his mouth descended. The kiss was wild and rough and arousing. His fingers bit into her hips. She welcomed the pain and dug her fingernails into his scalp in return. A moan vibrated his chest against her breasts.

He cupped her butt over her skirt and pressed her into his erection. She grabbed handfuls of his shirt and fumbled, a mewling cry of frustration escaping. Skin, she needed to touch bare skin. Finally, she slipped her hands under the edge of fabric and skimmed his flanks. Heated smoothness over hard muscle.

Her head lolled back, and he kissed down her neck. Her pulse fluttered in a skipping, quickened rhythm. From the moment she’d walked into Adaline’s and seen him leaning against the bar all rugged, primal male, she’d yearned for him. The need had built with every nuance he revealed, every sweet word he whispered, every touch of his hand, a crescendo to an opus yet to be performed.

Another streak of lightning shot overhead. The roll of thunder started softly but built to a deafening rumble. The sky cracked open and rain dribbled out, the promise of a deluge thickening the air.

With mutterings to the Almighty, he pulled away, leaving his hands resting lightly at her sides. Raindrops cooled the burning trail his lips left on her neck and shivers cascaded through her, pebbling her nipples.

He hauled her to his side and moved them toward his truck. A stumbling walk was all she could manage in her heels with shaky ankles. He opened the passenger door. The leather seat was cool under her legs, and she ruffled a hand through her hair, droplets flying. In the brief solitude, her misgivings gained a voice.

Power. Weren’t all relationships, romantic and otherwise, about power? Who had it and how could you get more. The one in power was the one in control. That’s what she’d learned from her father. She was giving Logan all the power.

But then he was beside her, pulling her close for another kiss, and pure need for him bound and gagged the fear. She scooched closer, straddling the gear stick, and ran a hand under his damp shirt and over his stomach. A curtain of rain enshrouded them, lending a sense of isolation and privacy.

His house was too far away. She fumbled with his belt. He broke away from her mouth and skimmed his lips across her jaw to her ear. “What are you doing, Jessie?”

“We don’t need a bed. People do it in cars and trucks all the time.”

He pulled away, but the cab was too dim to see his expression. “When you walked into Adaline’s, I pegged you for an icy, control freak. I’ve never been so happy to be proved wrong.”

He leaned forward to kiss her again, but his words had her pulling back.

“I am a control freak. And you wouldn’t be the first to call me cold-hearted.”

He brushed her hair back and kissed her, first on the forehead, then on the nose, and finally a sweet brush over her mouth. “That’s what you want the world to believe, but you’ve shown me glimpses of the truth. You can’t backtrack from that. I won’t let you. You’ve got a wild streak a country-mile wide.”

She didn’t know about being wild, but a vulnerability brought the sting of tears to her eyes. Not only did he control her pleasure but he also held the power to hurt her. Maybe break her irreparably. Hopefully, he didn’t realize it.

The physical was uncomplicated compared to the complex emotions swirling in her heart. Sex she could handle. The rest of the mess she’d dissect when she was alone.

They kissed again, but along with the passion, another shade of emotion had entered the mix. It was something she wasn’t familiar with. A tenderness. Pressure built in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. The feeling didn’t register as panic, but something even more dangerous.

She grazed her hand over the front of his jeans, his erection thick and hard. Her breathing hitched, her eyes closed, her head floating away from her body. On a primal level, she only registered sensations—his hand burning through the fabric of her shirt, the denim of his jeans caressing her leg, the cool aftermath from his kisses on her skin.

He tugged her bottom lip between his teeth with a groan. This time he didn’t stop her when she fumbled his belt open and unzipped his jeans. She slipped her hand inside the waistband of his boxer briefs, finding the head of his erection at the top.

His head lolled against the seatback and his knees opened another few inches. “You’d think I was a blue-balled teenager, the way I’m acting. It’s been a decade since I made out in a truck.”

A little breathlessly, she said, “I’ve never had sex anywhere but a bed.”

He popped his head up. “Damn, why did you tell me that?”

The hand caressing his erection stilled. Sex had always been a silent affair for her. Had she killed the moment?

He shifted in his seat and went to work on her blouse, his fingers frantic and clumsy. The damp fabric made working the buttons difficult, and the last one pulled loose of its threads with his rough handling. He caressed up her sides, his hands coming to rest under her breasts. She arched her back, trying to encourage him to move his hands to claim them.

A growl rose from his throat. “There’s not enough damn light. I want to see you.”

“Please, touch me.” The reedy, begging note in her voice was foreign.

Over her bra, one warm hand covered a breast, lightly squeezing. Fingers brushed over her peaked nipple.

He tugged the cup down, and toyed with her exposed nipple. Pain-pleasure ricocheted through her body. She groaned and pressed closer, ready to hike up her skirt and straddle him. She wrapped her hand fully around his erection and squeezed. His hips bucked.

“I’m not fucking you in my truck.” He shifted away, both hands gripping the steering wheel. After a long moment, he started the truck and got them moving.

She let go of him and sat back, pulling her bra back in place and clutching the sides of her shirt together. He made no move to cover himself, and she had a hard time looking away from his gaping pants. She was the one who felt like a teenager who’d never taken Sex Ed. She shimmied a few inches back toward the passenger side of the truck, but his hand landed on her knee and she froze.