Truck Stop Tryst Page 7

  “What?” was the only response I could squeeze past the lump in my throat.

  “Don’t get me wrong. You’re hot as hell with the face art. But damn. Look at you.”

  I didn’t want to look at myself. I wanted to enjoy the way Tucker looked at me. There was something so pure and honest in his expression, and the warmth behind his smile was infectious, filling my fevered body with foreign emotions, and, like a neglected puppy, I wanted to roll on my back, expose my belly, and beg for more of his attention.

  I didn’t roll over for anyone.

  If he continued to look at me that way, I probably would have whimpered and licked his face. My stomach rumbled again, begging for food.

  “We better feed that baby, she’s getting angry,” he said, shifting the gear into drive and checking the road before pulling back onto the street.

  I studied Tucker, his square jawline, those thick arms, his strong hands. My body warmed, my insides tingled. I forced my eyes closed and drew a deep breath, his airy, woodsy scent a lullaby to my frantic nerves. My limbs grew heavy. I inhaled again, absorbing his aroma, greedy for his warmth, and melted into the seat, relaxing more with each rock and bounce of the Jeep.

  “Aida.” Warm fingers grazed my cheek. “Sleeping Beauty. Wake up. We’re here.”

  Tucker’s white teeth slowly came into focus. Then his dazzling baby blues.

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Did I fall asleep?”

  “Out like a hibernating bear.”

  “Is that cooking grease I smell?”

  Tucker held up a paper bag. “Burgers and fries. Not Charlie’s. Hope that’s okay. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “How long was I out?”

  “About forty-five minutes.”

  “Where are we?” I asked, eyeing the paper bag.

  “The mall.” Tucker pulled out a burger, unwrapped it, then handed it to me.

  “The mall? You hate shopping.”

  “You need things.”

  “You don’t have to do this.” I took a bite, and moaned as the flavor exploded in my mouth.

  “I know.”

  Tucker finished eating before me, but waited patiently while I enjoyed my bacon double cheeseburger.

  When I finished, Tucker reached for his glovebox and retrieved, once again, his stash of baby wipes. “Here. They’re great for greasy fingers, too.”

  We strolled through the mall’s main entrance. Like a man on a mission, Tucker beelined for the baby store, leading me straight to the furniture department. He talked in great detail about crib safety, testing the latches and hardware on every model. We moved on to car seats, then strollers.

  Somewhere along the way, he’d picked up a shopping cart and proceeded to fill it with diapers of different sizes, baby wipes, bottles, pacifiers, and something called changing pads.

  The cart was overflowing by the time we rolled up to the check-out stand.

  Tucker ordered me to head to the clothing store next door while he ran his purchases out to the Jeep. I walked the short jaunt through the mall between shops and no less than five different people either smiled at or said hello to me. Kids ran free, screaming and laughing, and nobody seemed to mind. A group of elderly women wearing matching pink T-shirts, power-walked around me, their conversation as lively as their pace. A security officer nodded at me as I passed, then continued his conversation with a group of twenty-somethings.

  A feeling of dread blanketed me.

  I was surrounded by people, friendly people, yet I’d never felt so alone, so out of my element. A foreigner in a land of happy-go-lucky strangers.

  I had just found the maternity department when Tucker caught up with me. “Hey,” he said, a bit breathy, his gaze raking the length of me. “Go crazy. Do your girl thing.” He plopped his butt down on the velour green couch stationed outside the fitting room and shoed me off with his hand. “I know it’s not the designer labels you’re used to, but we’re not leaving empty-handed. You need clothes that will stretch over that beer belly, and this is the best Whisper Springs has to offer.”

  Beer belly? I looked down at my expanding waistline. He’d pay for that little dig.

  A sales lady must have overheard our conversation and bounced over to greet us, studying me with adoring eyes. “Hi. Oh wow. Look at you. Glowing.” She turned and winked at Tucker. “What a lucky man you are.”

  Tucker sat back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, ankle to knee. He folded his arms, tilted his head, and pretended to inspect me. “Yeah. She’ll do. Think I’ll keep this one.”

  The girl laughed and turned back to me. “I’m Linda. What can I help you find?”

  “Everything,” Tucker interjected. “She needs everything, from underwear to a winter coat.”

  Linda and I raised our brows simultaneously.

  “Well, this is going to be fun.” She rubbed her hands together and shooed me into a fitting room. “You get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  “My back is killing me,” Aida complained as I helped her into the Jeep.

  Her hair brushed across my face, and I inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scent. My hands lingered on her hip longer than necessary, and I hoped to hell she hadn’t noticed.

  Shopping had been torture. But watching how Aida had interacted with the sales girl, softening to her, laughing with her, had made the painful excursion all worthwhile. Before we left, Aida shocked me by pulling Linda in for a hug.

  I drove her home, texted Tango one more time, letting him know we were back, and unloaded her bags.

  Aida had already fallen into the couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. Phone in one hand, she thumbed the screen. With her free hand, she started the click, click, click of her nails.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked, parking my ass next to hers.

  “No word from Tito.” She dropped the phone and turned to me. “I’m worried.” Click, click, click. “Did Tango say if he’d heard from anyone?”

  I shook my head no, pulling her hand into mine, straightening her fingers to stop the nervous tick. “I’m sure we’ll hear from him soon.”

  “We won’t. I can feel it in my gut.” She pushed from the couch and paced the living room, rubbing frantic circles over her stomach. “It’s my father. Something’s happened. I knew this day would come. I’ve always known. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

  She stopped in her tracks and looked down at me, eyes liquid, face crumpling. “What if I did this? What if this is my fault? He told me the night I stabbed Rafael that I’d gone too far. That I had no idea what I’d done. Oh. Tuck. What if it’s my fault that he’s dead?”

  “Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.” I jumped to my feet and skirted the coffee table to meet her toe to toe. “Who said anything about him being dead? Jesus, Aida. Stop worrying yourself.” I rubbed my hands up and down her shoulders.

  She wrenched free of my grip. “Can you take me to The Stop? Now. I need to go now.”

  “Maybe we should stay here.”

  “Tucker. God dammit. Either you drive, or I’m walking.”

  Five minutes later, I followed Aida into the kitchen of The Truck Stop. I watched from the corner as she twisted her hair into a bun and covered it with a little black net.

  “Move, Charlie,” she grunted, pushing past the gentle giant and pulling a knife out of a drawer I’d never noticed before.

  Charlie shot me a what the hell glance.

  I held out a palm, gesturing for him to back away.

  “I need to chop. Charlie, what can I chop?”

  “Choppin’ is done, Aida. It’s about closing time.”

  Her gaze bounced around the room. “Then give me a chicken. Give me a goddamned chicken or a slab of meat, Charlie, or swear to Christ, I’ll go Freddie Krueger on your ass.”

  Slade burst through the doors. “What the heck is going on back here?”

  “She needs to chop,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “Or de-bone.”

  “This
isn’t funny,” Aida yelled, yanking the cooler door open and sticking her head inside. “Where do you keep the poultry, Charlie?”

  Charlie’s face reddened. If there was one thing I’d learned about my sister’s famed chef over the years, it was that nobody, not even hot-blooded, sexy, knife-wielding mafia princesses called the shots in his kitchen.

  Voice deeper than I’d ever heard come out of his mouth, Charlie warned, “Back away from the meat locker, little lady, or so help me, I’ll throw you over my knee and—”

  The knife Aida had been holding stuck into the wall above Charlie’s head, mere inches from his balding scalp.

  “And what?” she asked, voice low and threatening.

  Audible gasps filled the room before Charlie exploded in a cataclysmic kaleidoscope of profanities.

  When he charged, Slade and I simultaneously jumped into the line of fire. I pushed Aida behind me. Slade threw herself in front of Charlie, arms outstretched, palms slamming into his chest. Charlie stalked forward, promising, with a colorful vocabulary, to spank some manners and respect into Aida. Slade’s Chucks squeaked, trying to find purchase against the tile floor as he pushed her backward.

  Fuck. I needed to defuse the situation. And fast. Aida reached around me for another knife.

  I snagged her around the waist, swinging her away from the weapons and out the door. I pulled her across the hall and into the office, slammed and locked the door behind me.

  The second she found her footing, she threw a punch, clocking my left cheek, hard enough that my vision blurred.

  “Mother fucker,” I grunted, clapping a hand to my face and shaking the stars from my vision. Shit, the little spitfire knew how to hit.

  “Ow,” she cried, stumbling backward and rubbing her right hand.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “I just wanted to chop some fucking vegetables. I need my knives. I’m losing my mind,” she yelled, ripping the net from her hair.

  “Yeah, I get it. But you need to pull your shit together.”

  “I can’t. I’m scared. What if I killed him? What if Dad is gone because of me?”

  I slammed my arms around her, squeezing tight. “Stop. Just stop. I hate seeing you like this.”

  “I don’t have anybody else. I can’t lose him. He’s my only family.”

  “That’s not true.” I pressed a hand on the side of her abdomen, spread my fingers across the swell. “You have her, Aida. You have your daughter, and she needs you to keep your shit together.”

  Aida lifted her doe eyes to mine, cracking that damn armor again.

  And you have me, I wanted to say. My jaw clenched tight, holding the words where they belonged—in my head.

  Aida pushed up on her toes and crashed her lips to mine. Sliding her hands around my neck, she tangled her fingers in my hair and pulled me tighter against her assault, holding me steady, holding me captive.

  I knew what she wanted, what she thought she needed. It wasn’t me. It was relief. It was escape from the worry. She could get that from any man. She could go home and get it from her new vibrator. But fuck me and my selfish pride, I wanted to be the only one easing her frustration.

  I had no right.

  If I gave in to her desire, there would be no going back.

  A true gentleman would not take advantage of the situation.

  Then again, a real man would not let her leave the room unsatisfied.

  Satisfied that he’d gotten my not-so-subtle hint, I released my death grip on Tucker and wiggled free of his embrace. If I couldn’t chop, dice, or slice my frustrations away, I’d fuck them to dust.

  “We gonna do this?”

  “Slade could walk in,” he mumbled, shaking his head in a less than convincing no.

  “I need this. For the baby,” I said, hitting him in his soft spot. I took a slow step back, lifting the hem of my shirt.

  “For the baby? Or so you don’t go back out there and murder Charlie?” Tucker stalked forward, licking his bottom lip.

  I yanked the shirt over my head, thankful that I’d put on my white, lace bustier that morning. Its stretch made it easily removable. I made a slow-go of peeling it over my head, excited beyond measure at the blush of Tucker’s cheeks, the lust in his eyes. “Right. For Charlie, then.”

  I toed off my ballet flats and kicked them aside.

  Nostrils flaring, Tucker’s gaze dropped to my breasts, then lower to my round belly. He pulled me against him so fast and hard it stole my breath. Before I could think straight, he cupped my ass and lifted me off my feet, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist.

  Damn, he was strong.

  His kiss was hard and commanding. His body vibrated against mine. When he lowered me to the couch, his hands traveled without haste to the button of my jeans. With surprising skill, he slid them off my hips and down my thighs, tossing them to the floor.

  Kneeling between my shamefully open legs, he studied me. His chest rose and fell while he gnawed his lower lip. Oh God. He was going to bail. I could see the angel on his shoulder fighting with the devil in his ear. He didn’t want me.

  I needed him.

  I would not give up without a fight. I cupped my breasts, massaging the ache, teasing and tempting him, silently begging, don’t leave.

  Tucker dropped his chin to his chest, shook his head, and mumbled, “Fuck it.” Raising his tempestuous eyes to mine, he pulled his shirt over his head.

  Mother of Mercy, the man was built. Virile. Thick. Layered with proof that he’d clocked countless hours at the gym. Blond hair dusted his stacked chest, formed a trail down his ripped abs, and disappeared behind the waistband of his jeans.

  Mmm … I couldn’t wait to see what else was hiding behind that denim.

  I reached for the button, biting my bottom lip to stifle a moan. When my fingers brushed his waist, he sucked in a sharp breath, captured my wrists, and pinned them above my head.

  Leaning forward, he pulled an earlobe between his teeth, nipping hard before trailing his lips down my neck and over my shoulder, sending bone-chilling tremors through my body.

  “I’m running this show, Bambi,” he said with a thick rasp. “I say if, or when, my jeans come off.”

  I turned my head, searching for his mouth—a kiss, a lick, a bite, anything. Anything that was more. More flesh, more heat, more Tucker.

  He brushed his lips softly against mine, then ducked lower, releasing my arms to balance himself mindfully and gracefully over me.

  His scent made my head spin, filling me with dizzying want. Sweat and warm, musky spice. He was raw, calloused, hard-working, all-American grit from head to toe. No frills, no fancy cologne. No polished shoes or fake tan.

  Tucker took his time tasting, exploring, inch by agonizing inch. My breasts ached. My clit throbbed. I writhed and arched beneath him, biting my lip, fighting the urge to scream in frustration, or beg for his cock. I had never begged, but oh, how I needed to feel him inside me.

  He moved from breast to breast, teasing each nipple into a painful peak. I flittered between anger and need. Anger because I had no control. Need, because his control was flawless, working me slow and steady in an upward spiral, pulse racing, muscles trembling, skin vibrating, tensing, melting under his touch.

  Moving down my body, he dropped soft kisses on my stomach, dancing his fingers in a delicate pattern over the stretched skin. Something shifted, deep inside me, a place untouched, unexplored, protected. As I watched him worship my body, admiring with his lips and tongue and fingers, not only me, but my child, I knew, what I needed from him was no longer about sexual gratification. I was exploring that dangerous territory that I had never dared cross into. Freely giving all of myself, not just flesh, but all of me—emotional, physical, spiritual.

  Surrender.

  And there was no question whether I could cross that line. It was done. He’d carried me over. And when he lifted his eyes to mine, his melty, possessive gaze, offering reassurance, acceptance, gratitude, I knew
beyond doubt or reason that I would never be the same.

  There was something so incredibly freeing in that realization.

  Tears sprung free, and as Tucker lowered his head between my legs, as he stroked a finger over the lace of my panties, as his hot breath warmed my swollen clit, I closed my eyes and surrendered.

  “Fuck me,” I begged. “I need you. Please.”

  I had never felt more vulnerable, or more powerful.

  Tucker crawled back over me, kissing me softly before whispering, “I can’t fuck you, beautiful. I don’t have any condoms.” He reached between us and skimmed a finger over the sensitive throb between my legs, sending delicious shivers through me. “Don’t worry. I know what you need. I’ll take care of you.”

  I cupped his face, pulling him closer. “You’re going to fuck me, Cowboy. Here. Now. I’m clean. Tell me you’re clean, Tucker. Tell me and I’ll believe you.” God, I’d never acted so desperate and mindless. But if there was one thing I knew about this man, it was that he wouldn’t lie, or put me or my child at risk.

  He studied my face, his battle of conscience evident by the set of his jaw, the wrinkle between his brows, the tempest brewing in the ocean of his eyes. He dipped his head and caught my gaze, holding it for a long spell, as if giving me time to change my mind, or perhaps trying to find permission in my eyes. And then he kissed me. Long and soft and sweet. My hands wandered to his waistband, and his body tensed, his kiss growing harder, his need stronger.

  Tucker reached between us, locking his fingers with mine. “No. I’m not fucking you today. Not like this.” He guided my palm over the thick mound of his erection, then raised my arms back over my head and pressed his lips to mine, settling his hips between my thighs. I wanted to look. I needed to touch, but Tucker kissed me dizzy—my mouth, my jaw, my neck.

  “Don’t worry sweet girl, I’ll take care of you,” he whispered with a strained gravel against my ear.

  Sweet girl. Nobody had ever called me sweet.

  Whimpering against his cheek, I brought both hands around his neck, arched as much as his heavy body would allow, and ground against his cock, begging him to fill me. “I want you. Please.”