Page 70 of It's Always Been You

“I want to taste you,” Caitlin whispered.

Travis’s face was pained. “My control is not there,sunshine. Last thing I want to do is to make a big mess. Let’s wait until I can make love to you properly.”

Disappointed, Caitlin plopped back to her side. “That was a one-time offer.”

“We’ll see,” Travis said in a more level voice. “You can never resist my cock.” His eyes slanted to her teasingly.

“Never knew a man who could resist a blow job.”

Travis tensed beside her; the air turning frosty having nothing to do with the blasting AC. “Was there someone else other than Cooper you’ve given blow jobs to?”

Caitlin realized how her statement came across. “I mean generally. What—what I read in magazines. And where the hell did that come from?”

Travis didn’t answer her, just stared fixedly in the distance.

“That statement was made in poor taste, Travis.”

“Was there someone other than Cooper?” Travis repeated. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel tightly.

“I’m not answering that,” Caitlin fired back. “My time with Jase is my own. You don’t get to be a part of that.”

She fisted her hand in her mouth to stop her from saying something more hurtful.

“Fuck!” Travis growled, hitting his palm on the dashboard.

It was going to be a long drive.

They arrivedin the town of Iron Ridge late in the evening. Instead of going to a diner, Travis suggested they just head to the local bar that was known for their microbrew choices and their farm-to-table philosophy.

They had reservations at the Bluebell Bed and Breakfast under the name, Mr. and Mrs. Travis Bennett. The country inn had three suites and five regular rooms. They managed tosnag a suite because of a cancellation. Caitlin hated that she and Travis were barely civil to each other. Their tiff in the car caused a very uncomfortable four-hour drive, rife with tension, neither willing to apologize. She refused to censor her words all the time. The statement wouldn’t have been a big deal if she had all her memories. Travis needed to get over her past.

It was a hot and humid night, so she pulled out one of her strapless dresses with a flounce skirt. Iron Ridge was a small community known for an eclectic mix of people from hippies and hipsters to bikers. So really anything went. She’d probably dress biker chic tomorrow, and was curious what Travis would think of that.

Travis emerged from the bathroom, towel around his hips, which he quickly discarded to dry his hair and back further. Caitlin managed not to react from the display of chiseled perfection. The rippling of muscles under taut skin as he rubbed the towel against himself was infinitely erotic. It didn’t help that he had a magnificent ass and imagining how it flexed as he pounded inside her—Whew, it’s getting hot in here.She concentrated on gathering her hair up in a messy knot, ignoring the heat that flushed her skin before simmering down to her belly. She could feel her core start to swell with arousal.Stop it!

When she turned from the lighted vanity table, she drew in a ragged breath. Travis was watching her with a predatory gaze. His eyes never wavered even as he buttoned on a white linen shirt. Thankfully, he had already put on cargo shorts.

“I’m ready.” Caitlin hated how her voice quivered.

“You look nice,” Travis said.

Okay, they were still pissed at each other. Nice? What happened to sexy or gorgeous? Clearly her man was trying to get a rise out of her. She childishly didn’t want to give in and say he looked devastatingly handsome. The white shirt played against his tan. What was he trying to do, give all the estrogen in the bar apoplexy?

“Can we get moving? I’m hungry,” Caitlin groused.

Travis shrugged as he sat on the bed to put on his sneakers. He rose slowly and rested his hand on the small on her back to nudge her forward. “Come on.”

Foster Bar was already hopping.The hostess sat them at a corner booth, leaving them with a couple of menus. There was a game room in the back with a couple of pool tables. Dark wood vaulted ceilings, a nickel-plated bar, and a collection of antique-looking tables and chairs brought a uniqueness to this place that suited the quaint town.

One end of the main room had a communal table that was presently occupied by a group of bikers and their women. Caitlin knew a bit about biker culture from watching a popular series on TV. Some of the women were called “sweet butts,” who were like groupies that hung around the club. They were property of the club and had its protection. Others had earned the position as an “old lady,” who was a biker’s steady girl or wife. Hipsters in their tight jeans and vintage clothes filled the other side of the establishment. They were huddled together discussing politics and art. Some were busy on their smartphones texting or posting on some social media website. One thing Caitlin would say though, there was no shortage of tattooed bodies around. Travis himself had ink on his back.

“Interesting place,” Travis murmured above the din of chatter, clinking bottles, and laughter. His eyes were watchful. He was frowning at the group of bikers. More than a couple of them had turned their heads when she and Travis walked in.

Their server stopped by and set glasses of water on the table. “Anything to drink besides water?”

“What do you have on tap?”

The waitress rattled off a couple of local brews, plus thestandard fare of Bud and Heineken. Both of them ordered a pilsner. For dinner, Travis chose the grass-fed porterhouse steak, and Caitlin went with the lamb burger with tzatziki sauce. They were sitting side by side on the booth, Travis’s thighs rubbing languidly against hers. Caitlin ignored his underhanded tactic of seducing her to revert to the status quo. He was out of line earlier and he needed to apologize.

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