Turn & Burn (11 page)

His tongue slid past my frozen lips, searching, twisting, thrusting, teasing mine to engage. He raked my skirt up my thighs and drove his knee in between my legs. I slammed my palms against his chest again. He didn’t budge. His heartbeat tattooed my left palm and my tongue moved of its own accord.

And I felt all the things I never felt when any other man touched me. My small breasts felt like bowling balls and I needed his hands to help ease their weight. My nipples peaked and I ached to feel his fingers twisting the hard points until I cried out. The rushing beat that told me I was alive raced through my blood to thud inside my clit. I almost grabbed his hand and brought it to my nub, so he’d torture it in that way only he dared.

His scent surrounded me, the familiar blend of Hugo Boss, Dial soap, and the soft musk that was pure Caine. I tightened my channel, aching to feel his fingers thrusting inside me, slick with my desire. I wanted to wrap my fingers around his rigid cock and squeeze until his heartbeat sank into my palm. Then, I’d go to my knees—

He jerked away. My knees trembled so, I nearly staggered.

“But goddammit, you don’t even know I’m around if Colt’s in the room. Only your body knows. I fucked you first, not Colt. I was the first man to take that sweet little ass, not Colt. But he’s always been the only one you saw, even when he was mockin’ me by feedin’ you the lines I couldn’t figure out how to say.”

Colt did
what
?

“It was me who stole your acceptance letter from that fancy college. I was hopin’... I thought if you’d go to college here, I could find a way to make you see me instead of Colt. Then he found it in my room. I guess he gave it back, but I knew by then, I had to let you go. Then later, I found out what really sent you runnin’. I should’ve come after you right then, but I been protectin’ Colt for so long, I don’t know how to stop. Not even for you. Just remember, I did warn you, he’s the best liar that ever was.”

The pain in his voice drove a sharp blade through my chest.

I knew when he moved out of reach, even though I heard no sound. Another door opened on the far side of the room. Caine strode through it, slamming the light switch up on his way by. I stared at the neat desk, blinking in the cold light. A blank computer monitor stared back.

What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?

W
hen I stepped into the hall, I had a fifty-fifty shot at going the opposite direction as Caine, and guessed wrong.

The Barracuda was parked in the aisle at the far end of the massive garage, in front of the biggest rollup door I’d ever seen. A group of men leaned against a nearby car that was hidden underneath gray canvas. Another group loitered by the bar, but every face looked toward the car.

Insults flew while Caine pumped a floor jack, lifting the entire passenger side into the air. Dale stood with his back to the crowded bar, jacket off and hands on his hips. When Caine backed away from the jack handle, Dale grabbed a tire and rim and hurled it toward his son.

Caine stepped back, let it drop, then slammed his palm against the tread. The heavy wheel struck the polished cement and bounced up to meet his palm again. Grinning, Caine jogged the entire length of the ‘Cuda, to the rear axle. The onlookers whistled and hooted.

My mouth fell open. What kind of strength did it take to bounce a tire and rim like a basketball? An involuntary shudder ran through me, ending in a wet spot on my underwear.

“Jesus.” I recognized Phillip’s voice, but didn’t look back. “That’s impressive.”

Caine squatted. Dale grabbed another tire and followed suit. Snaking red hoses connected to air ratchets resting on the floor at their sides. The crowd around the ‘Cuda began to shout, but their voices tumbled over each other. Between the general uproar and the air compressor, I couldn’t really tell what was said, just had a general impression that Caine had to do well, if he wanted to rub shoulders with this bunch.

“Fucking showoff.”

Startled, I jerked around to see Colt’s new buddy at my elbow. Good. Maybe I could drag Jonny into some dark office and fuck his brains out.

The ratchets began to whine. I smiled at Jonny, but watched Dale from the corner of my eye. He moved the gun with blinding speed.

“Now that my speech is done, I’m just waiting for Santa. I think I could,”—I went on tiptoe to speak into his ear—“fit you in if you wanna get freaky.”

I regretted the comment instantly. It reminded me that Colt made me believe I was so tiny, my pussy needed to be stretched by fucking other guys before I’d be able to handle that horse cock he hauled around between his legs.

Great. I didn’t want to think about Colt’s cock, but now the image was in my head. The buzz in my bloodstream rose in volume. The smell of gasoline and rubber wasn’t something I encountered in the dorm rooms of the guys I slept with, but the pungent aroma in this place was irretrievably linked to the rough sexual awakening Colt and Caine had given me. Combined with Caine’s explosive kiss, I was aching to be penetrated.

My obvious invitation made Jonny’s eyes flash, but he looked away. “Yeah. I’m headed back to Spartanburg in a few.”

Well, dammit.

“Something light,” I turned and snapped at Harry. Spying a bottle of red syrupy liquid, I added, “Sloe gin and cranberry juice.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Seriously? One cherry cough syrup coming right up. Who have you been kissing? Your lipstick’s all smeared.”

I grabbed a cocktail napkin and wiped the edges of my lips. “There’s mistletoe everywhere. Someone grabbed me.” Shrugging, I turned to Jonny, determined to try again. “What would you like?”

He barely glanced my way. “Uh, Heineken in a bottle.”

Harry grabbed the ingredients for my drink while Phillip got the beer and removed the top. I felt Harry’s quizzical stare, but Jonny was still looking at Dale.

“Grab my beer, will you? I’ll be over there with Dale and your brothers.” He didn’t even look my way before he started off.

What on earth had gotten in to him? Had Dale said something to him? Dale and Caine were both grinning and trash talking. Colt stood to the side, watching them, but he turned my way. Catching me looking at him, he gave me a sly grin.

Oh, you wish.
Spinning, I asked Phillip for a Budweiser, thinking I’d take the beer to Dale. A moment later, someone stepped too close behind me. Expecting Colt, I stiffened, but when I looked, I was more annoyed to see Kolby Barnes.

“Nice little story.” His dismissive tone made me bristle. “Scotch and soda,” he added, cutting his eyes away from me.

Harry and Phillip set the drinks I’d ordered in front of me. I tried to gather all three items in my hands, intent on getting away from the arrogant driver.

“Need some help?” Kolby grabbed the can of Budweiser. “I guess this is for Dale?”

I gave a grudging nod. “I can handle it, thanks.”

“Nah, I got it.” He moved to my side, crowding close. “But I don’t understand something.”

“Wow, what a shock.”

He gave me an arrogant grin. “I know what I earned when I was Rookie of the Year. That Barracuda only cost about six grand when it was new. Can’t quite figure out why your daddy didn’t have plenty of cash on hand, even if he did knock up some whore. Kinda turns that little heartbreaking tale into one of piss-poor financial management, doesn’t it?”

Did you walk out in the middle of my speech just stand in the hall and listen? Just got out of your seat to be a dick?

I was so pissed off, it took me a second to follow his line of reasoning. I burst out laughing.

“Seriously? Kolby, how old do you think Dale is? When he was trying to buy a Barracuda Hemi, the car had been out of production for almost two decades. 1971 was the last year they were built, not to mention, only six thousand convertibles were ever made. Six grand wouldn’t touch that car the year Dale won the honor. The collectible market for muscle cars was already skyrocketing.”

I decided to abandon Dale’s beer. I’d come back for another later, or he could fetch his own. I had to get away from this jackass. I almost went to look for Mom and Francine, but was more interested in what Dale was doing.

When I reached the Barracuda, the driver’s side was in the air. Caine stood back with his arms crossed. Jonny slid his jacket off.

Laughing because the man just had to compete with Caine and Dale, I set the drinks down on a stool and pulled myself onto a gleaming red tool cabinet to watch. Caine took that wide-legged stance and scowled.
Why doesn’t he like Jonny?

I realized Ernie was an onlooker, too. The old gent headed for me with a grin.

“Thank you for talkin’ me into coming, Shelby. I’ve let too damn much time go by without seein’ my old friends.” I had no idea where Ernie’s jacket was, but his short-sleeved T-shirt showed through his white shirt. I thought it was cool back here, but the neckline of his shirt was damp. His tie dangled from the back pocket of his dress slacks. I hadn’t seen such a big smile on his face since he day I’d handed him Dale’s registration card, and I saw him often. Francine still drove the 1965 Mustang convertible she’d gotten as a high school senior. About once a week, they’d swing by school in that car, pick me up, and treat me to dinner.

“No, thank you, Ernie. The story had a better ring to it, coming from your lips.”

He glanced down at the floor. “Sometimes, you just let stuff get in the way between you and an old friend. Then, before you know it, years have gone by, and you can’t figure out how to fix the rift.”

I thought of Caroline and squeezed his arm.

A drop of water landed on my knee. I scowled at the dripping can of Budweiser.
Wonderful.
Kolby thought my leaving the beer with him was an invitation to follow me. Either that, or the idiot just sucked at reading social cues. He plopped the can between my drink and Jonny’s Heineken.

Leaning a hip against the tool chest where I perched, he said, “I still don’t get it.”

I gave Ernie a wink. “Well, I did leave out some details. Thought the story was running too long. See, Chrysler execs were pissed off because the Barracuda didn’t sell as well as the Camaro or the Mustang. They decided that the last ‘Cuda convertible to roll off the line would be crushed. They were embarrassed by the low number, see?”

Dale yelled, “Go!” He and Jonny each tossed one of the heavy rims onto an axle, like they were lifting five pound bags of sugar.

I tipped my head toward Ernie, knowing how much he loved a fresh audience. He picked up where I’d left off.

“Except, that car didn’t get crushed.” The air ratchets shrieked. Dale and Jonny moved the gun around each rim, tightening lug nuts at blinding speeds, but Ernie just raised his voice. “It was spirited out of the factory and put in climate-controlled storage. When Dale saw it, the odometer said one point three miles. Except for a coat of dust, the car looked like it’d been sealed in a time capsule for two decades.”

Dale threw his ratchet to the concrete and gave his tire a spin a fraction of a second ahead of Jonny.

The onlookers cheered and shrill whistles filled the air. Cupping his hands around his mouth, Caine yelled. “Damn, J.J. He’s an old man. What’s your problem, dude?”

Dale didn’t look like an old man. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. Other voices chimed in, razzing Jonny, but I heard no racially charged insults.

“Hard to know what the last ‘Cuda ragtop ever made would bring today,” Ernie continued. “Number 5999 is in the Chrysler museum. 5998 and 5997 are documented total losses.” I was glad Dale couldn’t hear for the laughing, jeering men around him.

Jonny lowered the jack. The men swarmed the ‘Cuda, peering through the windows. Dale pulled the pins out of the hood latches. When he raised the hood, it was like throwing candy into the ball pit at Mickey D’s. Every head promptly ducked into the engine compartment.

“Ah. Well, that clears things up.” Kolby sipped his drink. “So, about that drag race, Shelby. How you gonna throw down a challenge like the one you mentioned, then back away from it?”

My face flamed, because—naturally—the crowd around the ‘Cuda fell silent while they admired the engine. Kolby’s taunt rang loud in the lofty garage.

How dare he bring that up in front of my stepfather? “You’re a real class act,” I muttered. “Didn’t you bring a date?”

“I date a lot of women. She’s nothing special.”

If possible, my opinion of the man dipped lower.

Dale stepped away from the car and turned on his heel. Something about the wide stance he took made me go still. Cocking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest and gave Kolby a narrow-eyed look.

“Call me crazy, but I think you should give the man his race, Shelby.”

My heart seized. I couldn’t meet Dale’s eyes, but I did fantasize about burying the toe of my shoe in Kolby’s nuts.