Truck Stop Tryst Page 8

  His body trembled, and he breathed, “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” into my neck.

  Tucking one hand under my head, he curled his fingers in my hair. His other hand skimmed my side and gripped my hip, tilting me, rubbing himself harder between my legs.

  When he slid back down my body, nestled his shoulders between my knees, and kissed where I needed it most, I closed my eyes and gave myself fully to the sensation. I refrained from trying to control my orgasm. I didn’t care if I came. I was lost in all that was Tucker—his scent, his labored breaths, his heat, and hardness. His strength.

  For the first time in my life, I submitted beneath a man, my body pliant, trusting him to take me where I needed to go. He pulled my panties to the side and worked me slow and steady, licking, biting, sucking. His muscles coiled and bunched beneath the rake of my fingernails. When I slid my hands into his hair, pulling tight, he trembled, moaning, working me more frantically.

  He lifted his head, molten eyes meeting mine, and whispered, “Jesus, Aida. You’re perfect.”

  I didn’t know if it was the words, or the way he spoke them, or the way he prowled up my body to claim my lips, pressing his erection again between my legs, or maybe it was the way he possessed me with his kiss, but I came. There was no slow build-up. It was fast and hard. And when I cried into his kiss, Tucker came, too, his hips locking against mine, his body going rigid. Sticky moisture warmed my lower abdomen.

  I curled my arms around his neck, my legs around his hips, and I squeezed. I never wanted to let go. I wanted this man on top of me, inside me, by my side, forever.

  Tucker drew a deep breath, then rolled off, leaving me warm and liquid on the couch. With his back to me, he looked down, mumbled, “shit” and righted his jeans. He scooped his shirt off the floor, and pulled it over his head.

  I couldn’t move.

  Tucker couldn’t move fast enough.

  Silent and stiff, he grabbed tissues off Slade’s desk and wiped my stomach and then his own. Then he retrieved my clothes and helped me dress. After brushing hair off my face, his hand lingering on my cheek, he dropped his forehead to mine, squeezed his eyes shut, and whispered, “You relaxed now?”

  I shivered at the cold bite to his tone, and rubbed my arms up and over his shoulders, hoping I was reading him wrong. “I’m so fucking relaxed.” I lifted my chin, seeking his lips.

  “Aida. Listen,” he said, stepping back, dropping his gaze to the floor, and scrubbing the top of his head. “I, uh. I gotta go. I’ll have Slade drive you home.”

  Without so much as a glance my way, he slipped out the door.

  “PLEASE, CHARLIE. I SAID I’m sorry. I promise, it won’t happen again.” I slunk deep into his personal space, close as I could get without violating him, and craned my neck, tilting at an odd angle to challenge his angry, stubborn pout.

  Slade butted in, “I thought you wanted to help with the books.”

  “I hate numbers,” I confessed, not taking my eyes off the giant, spatula-wielding, burger genius. “Just a few hours in the morning? Prep. Please?”

  New wrinkles formed on his forehead above where his brows met in the middle of his red face. “No.”

  I steepled my fingers. Batted my lashes. Pursed my lips.

  Charlie shook his head no.

  I’d had it with Whisper Springs. Mostly the men of Whisper Springs, who seemed to get off on rejecting me. I was about to voice my thoughts when Slade pushed between us, nudging me toward the door. “Aida, give Charlie and me a minute, will ya?”

  Deflated, but not defeated, I made my way toward the ladies’ room, pausing when I heard Rocky’s giggle coming from the office. I poked my head through the half-opened door.

  Father and son sat on the couch. Rocky was tucked under his dad’s arm, holding an open book, sounding out words one consonant at a time.

  “Hey, boys.” I crouched as Mini Tango shimmied off the seat and barreled at me, full speed ahead.

  “Aida. Guess what?” he shouted, throwing his arms around me.

  “What?” I asked, struggling to stay upright.

  He wiggled free before I could enjoy a full squeeze. Bouncing on his toes, he exclaimed, “Uncle Tuck is taking me to see Grandma and Grandpa next weekend.”

  “Yeah?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady at the mention of Tucker’s name. “That’s great.”

  “He’s picking up his girlfriend.”

  My heart shriveled. “Girlfriend? Tucker has a girlfriend? You sure?”

  The boy nodded. “And I get to ride her.”

  “Ride her?” I reached behind me and gripped the wall for balance. Did he mean, ride with her? Was Tucker’s girlfriend a truck driver?

  “Yeah.” He leaned closer and whispered, “She’s really big, but she’s not scary.”

  I didn’t dare look at Tango, for fear of revealing my utter, devastating disappointment.

  “You wanna come?” Rocky asked, back to bouncing.

  “Oh, no. I can’t.” Nor would I want to. I hadn’t seen Tucker since he’d left me, alone and confused, in the very same room I was currently standing in, over a week ago.

  Girlfriend.

  Girlfriend?

  Huh.

  That would explain his reluctance to fuck me, and his need to flee the moment our mutual orgasms had occurred. Damn. Where were my knives when I needed them?

  “Okay,” Rocky shrugged, flashing his killer green eyes at me and skipping out the door.

  I struggled to stand. Tango watched from his spot on the couch, smirk on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, faking a smile.

  “You. All fat and shit.” His gaze travelled the length of me before resting on my baby bump.

  “Shut your mouth, pretty boy.” I dropped my butt next to his and pretended I wasn’t stewing over the girlfriend comment. Why was this the first I’d heard of her? And why the hell did my insides feel like pâté. “I’m gorgeous, and you’re jealous because I’m prettier than you.”

  “Yeah,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “We all know you’re gorgeous. It’s fun watching you expand. You should slow down on the burgers, though. That ass gets any bigger, we’ll have to hire a tent maker for your next wardrobe upgrade.”

  “Low blow.” I reached over and gave his nipple a twist. “Have you forgotten? I can snap my fingers and make you disappear.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, smacking my hand away. He dropped a kiss to the top of my head. “How you holding up?”

  I drew a cleansing breath and relaxed into his warm embrace. Tango, in all his pretty-boy glory, had gradually become a salve to my ever-blistering burn. “I’m going out of my mind. Have you heard from Tits?”

  “No. And we need to stay off radar. Can’t reach out, Princess. You know that as well as I do.”

  “I know,” I sighed. He was right. Without knowing which enemy we were fighting, we couldn’t risk exposure. “Tango, what if he’s gone?”

  His thoughts hung in the air between us, unvocalized, but blaring nonetheless.

  We’d known this was coming.

  “Are you ready for that? If it happens?”

  I’d never been eager to take the helm, but I’d always been prepared. “I used to think I was. Now?” I rubbed my stomach. “I’m not so sure.”

  Tango cleared his throat. “You have options.”

  “Do I?” I’d been born into the dark underbelly of society. Raised to fight, scheme, thrive, at any cost. Stay two steps ahead of the game. Trust no one. Kill or be killed. “If I don’t step up, claim my throne, I lose everything. Everything Dad has spent his life building. My home. Our investments. The vultures will swoop in and devour all of it.”

  With a huff, he let go of me and leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “It’s only money.”

  When he tilted his head to look at me, I could see the worry in his eyes.

  “It’s my future. Her future,” I said, tasting the sour bite of those words before they left my lips.
God. What kind of mother wanted that destiny for her child?

  “Aida. You’re one of the most resourceful people I’ve ever met. Luciano didn’t raise a fool. You can build your own damn empire if that’s what you want. Or? Hell. Wash your hands of that world. Start fresh and clean, here with us.”

  “I don’t know how to exist in your world.”

  With a cocked brow, he argued, “You’re doing fine so far.”

  “I’m hiding.”

  “True. But you’re adapting, too. I can see it. Even Slade has noticed.”

  I didn’t want to acclimate. I wanted to go home.

  “Doesn’t matter. Eventually, I’ll need to go back, whether it be to snuff the torch or burn Dad’s enemies to the ground.”

  We sat in silence, because really, what more was there to say? When my exile was over, whatever the outcome, I had no choice but to return home. I didn’t belong in Idaho. I belonged in New York, where I was heir to a dark and bloody throne.

  “What was Rocky whispering to you over there?” Tango asked, snapping me out of my dismal thoughts.

  Damn. Bile rose in my throat. “He was telling me about his trip with Tucker.” I almost choked on his name.

  “Right. Tuck’s bringing Frankie home. Haven’t had the pleasure yet. Hear she’s a beauty.”

  The room shrunk around me. My lungs failed, collapsing under the weight of vile remorse and degradation. Never had I let a man make me feel that way. I pushed to my feet and headed for the door.

  “You okay?” Tango asked, hopping up, and coming my way.

  I wasn’t okay. I was pissed. And hurt. Mostly pissed because it hurt. I’d known he had a secret. I hadn’t expected it to devastate me. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of his girlfriend?” I turned around and crossed my arms, pinching my lips tight to hide the quiver.

  Tango’s brows drew tight. He sucked in a breath. Looked at the ceiling. Planted his hands on his hips. Then he laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “What?”

  The door flew open, hitting my backside and knocking me into Tango.

  “Oh God. I’m sorry.” Slade closed the door behind her. “Jeez. Sorry. I was just so excited to tell you that I talked Charlie into letting you help in the kitchen.”

  “He agreed?” I asked, unable to hide my glee, despite the pain in my shoulder.

  “Yep. Well. I didn’t give him a choice, really. I am the boss after all.”

  And a damn good boss she was. “You bribed him, didn’t you?”

  “I’ll never tell.” Her smirk told me all I needed to know.

  “That’s my girl.” I pulled her in for a hug. I was starting to like hugs. “So, I can start tomorrow?” I asked, peeling a chunk of her blonde hair out of my lipstick.

  “Tomorrow. Six AM sharp.” She pressed her lip to my ear and whispered, “Only for a few hours a day, though. Tango will kill me if I work you too hard.” She stepped away from me and into Tango’s arms.

  A few hours a day, with knives, slicing things. I could handle that. Especially if I pretended Tucker’s dick was on the chopping block. “I’m going to go tell Charlie thank you.”

  “No. No. No.” Slade held up a palm, shaking her finger. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you. When I walked out, he was still crying.”

  “Mom, are you crying?” I asked, when her sniffle registered through the speaker.

  Mom cleared her throat. Paused for a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Deep down I was hoping you would move back home. You know. Now that Tango is there to take care of your sister.”

  Mom hated that I had moved away, despite knowing I’d relocated for Slade and Rocky. Truth be told, my sister had never needed me. I’d used her single-parent status as an excuse to relocate. I’d had no choice. I couldn’t keep explaining to my mother, who used to stop by my apartment unannounced at least three times a week, my whereabouts on the nights I’d been out hunting. Living a state away from my parents gave me freedom to come and go as I pleased. Cell phones gave me the freedom to let Mom believe I was home, rather than waiting in a dark lot for the perfect girl to creep out of the shadows. “Love it here, Mom. Whisper Springs is home now. Didn’t Dad tell you? I found some property, gonna make on offer.” Billings held too many dark memories, I left unsaid.

  “He told me. I’m happy for you, I am. It’s just, part of me hoped you’d want to go back to work with the FBI.”

  “Can’t do that.” Too many rules. Too many eyes. I worked better on my own.

  Another huff came through the speaker. “I’ll see you Friday. Love you.”

  “Love you too, Mom.”

  I tossed my phone on the nightstand, crossed my arms behind my head, and closed my eyes, struggling to find peace amidst the chaos playing in my mind. As had happened every night this past week, Aida’s breasts, her flawless olive skin, her sweet voice begging me to make love to her, played like an amateur porno on the insides of my lids.

  The palm of my hand was a horrible substitute for the real thing, but it was all I had. Sleep never came until I allowed the movie to play to the end. Until I came all over my fist to the memory of Aida crying my name, her body trembling, then melting beneath me. As had become routine, I fell asleep hearing her laughter, picturing her smile. I woke every morning wearing a big ass grin but feeling empty all the same.

  I’d acted the jackass the last time I was with her. After she’d come undone, and clung to me like I was a fucking lifeline, I had lost my shit. Her vulnerability had hit me hard, in the gut, and in the chest.

  By her own admission, sex was her way to relax. Like a fool, in the heat of the moment, I had convinced myself that I was merely giving her an outlet. Truth was, my motivations were shameful and selfish. I’d wanted to fuck her senseless from the very moment I’d laid eyes on those luscious curves, those wicked, seductive eyes, that damn dirty mouth. I’d seen the opportunity, and I had jumped her like a rabid dog in heat. Who in the hell took advantage of a pregnant woman like that?

  Aida deserved better than to be dry-humped on an office couch.

  I didn’t want to live like I’d been living the past weeks. I hated how she weaseled her way into every thought. How I woke in the morning, eager to see her face. How sleep only came after I’d jerked-off to the fantasy of her naked body. How I craved her laughter.

  I despised the fact that I wanted Aida more than I wanted to hunt girls.

  I didn’t want to need somebody.

  Aida woke something in me. Hunger. Desire. Hope. Damn if that didn’t make me vulnerable. Damn her for popping my self-imposed bubble.

  I’d avoided her for over a week. Giving the whole out of sight, out of mind theory another shot. Avoidance only made my cravings worse.

  I needed to man up. Tell Aida the truth. Expose my scars. Explain to her why I’d bailed. She deserved nothing less. To move forward, I’d have to come clean.

  I had to see her, regardless of what the future held.

  I’d intended on heading to Aida’s early, but when I stepped out of the shower and heard my work phone ringing, my high hopes shattered and crumbled at my feet.

  Rollover accident. West of Missoula on Interstate 90. One of our senior drivers, Bob Riggins, twenty years on the road. Minor injuries, no fatalities, thank God. Thirty thousand worth of merchandise damage. A truck worth over a hundred grand, headed for the scrapyard.

  What a shit storm.

  I thumbed through my cell, hovering over Aida’s number, then shot her a quick text.

  Need to see you, Bambi. Dinner tonight?

  I hunkered down at my desk to tackle the list of phone calls I didn’t want to make. First Dad, then the hospital to check on Bob, and on to the blood suckers. My head was ready to explode after talking to our insurance company. My suspicions were confirmed when the Montana Highway Patrol informed me the accident was caused by a driver who was most likely looking to cash in on an insurance claim, purposely trying to force Bob into rear-ending him. I fielded calls from report
ers and spent hours sweet-talking our clients, ensuring we wouldn’t lose one of our oldest accounts.

  At six, I’d had enough, and shut down the computer. Aida hadn’t responded to my message. I expected no less than a tongue lashing. I’d have taken anything. Even a simple go to hell.

  My stomach rumbled, protesting its neglected state. Wasn’t much in the mood for cooking so I headed to The Stop for dinner. When properly nourished and hydrated, I’d be in better shape to swing by Aida’s and grovel. I couldn’t let another day pass without seeing her. Tomorrow, Rocky and I were off to Billings and I couldn’t leave before at least attempting to fix what I’d broken.

  I pulled around to the back of The Stop, anxious and amped, my blood pumping harder, my tunnel vision directing me toward the diner, knowing I’d see my Bambi soon. That was probably why I hadn’t paid any mind to the truck parked in the dark corner of the lot, or why I chose to ignore the crunch of heavy boots pounding the gravel behind me.

  The putrid stench of tobacco hit my nose a mere blink before the first strike hit my head. Survival mode kicked in. My senses came into focus—the scent of surrounding pines, the cold bite of fall, soft waves lapping against the rocky shore of the beach just below the parking lot. The heavy breaths of three—no, four—men.

  I twisted, raising my left arm to block another blow, striking the assailant in the temple with my right fist, hard enough to render him unconscious. Maybe brain dead. It was a fine line, and it was safe to say I was off my game.

  The glint of a blade flashed to my right, and I ducked, throwing a punch to the man’s throat. He stumbled backward, knife still in hand, and fell on his ass, struggling for breath.

  A gun cocked to my left. “Let me kill this traitor. We’ll get the spic bitch later.”

  The voice was too close.

  Lucky for me.

  Shitty for the idiot holding the glock.

  I whirled, grabbed the barrel with my left hand, and cracked the man in the nose with my right. Warm liquid hit my face, and he flew back, shrieking in pain,

  “There will be no killing today, boys.” Another gun cocked over my right shoulder. “Pick up your trash. Run like hell. You have until the count of three.”