Page 88 of Coming Home Country
His throat bobbed on a swallow, and he rasped, “Yes.”
A wicked grin curved on my lips, and I began to slink down his body, my intent clear before taunting, “Maybe I’ll just have to kiss it better.”
Those brilliant blue eyes snapped open, and I was on my back in a flash.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” he growled, tugging my lower lip between his teeth.
A victorious thrill shot through me. “Guess it’s a good thing I know CPR, then.”
Here’s to making the most of these extra days.
Tucker finally dragged me out of bed around noon. At which point, we both realized that all my clothes were at my mom’s.
While I didn’t mind lounging around in Tucker’s clothes—or better yet, wearing none at all—he was insistent on taking me out. Though he refused to disclose our destination, wherever it was would require the use of my own clothing.
His pickup rolled to a stop outside the quaint two-bedroom house I’d called home for the first eighteen years of my life, and out of nowhere, the nerves roared to life.
Mama had been at the wedding, had probably seen Tucker cart me out of the event over his shoulder, but suddenly, I felt like a teenager again, afraid of getting caught sneaking into the house after spending all night with a boy.
Except that I wasn’t seventeen anymore, and it wasn’t just before dawn with the hopes of my mother still being asleep. Now, I was a grown woman fully capable of making decisions about whom she slept with and when, but that didn’t mean I needed to disrespect the woman who’d raised me by casually walking into her house with the man I’d let defile me by my side. While also still wearing his clothes, I might add.
Tucker reached for the door handle of his truck, but I halted him with a hand to his forearm. “You think you could stay here while I pop inside?”
His gaze shifted toward the house before returning to meet mine, and I could have sworn I saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes.
I was probably mistaken. Because there was nothing funny about not wanting to flaunt our pre-marital sex in front of my church secretary mother.
“Okay.” He nodded his agreement. “At least let me get the door for you.”
Before I could open my mouth to reply, he’d already hopped out and was rounding the hood to get to my side.
Manners. They were practically non-existent in the city. Doors weren’t held open, seats weren’t vacated on public transit for pregnant women or the elderly. Everyone was only out for themselves. It made me sad that common courtesy had fallen by the wayside in most places, but there was comfort in knowing it was still alive and well down here.
My door was wrenched open, and a hand was extended from the man standing before me, a silent offer of help in climbing down from the cabin.
I slid a palm against his, allowing his warm fingers to curl around my hand as he eased me onto solid ground.
Pressing a kiss to my cheek, he said softly, “I’ll be right here. Take your time.”
“Thanks.”
I turned on my heel and climbed the few porch steps before reaching the front door. Peeking back, I found Tucker leaning against his truck, his legs crossed at the ankles, his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets, and the cowboy hat gracing his head tipped down enough that it cast a shadow over his handsome face.
My smile was automatic. As was the rush of arousal that pooled low in my belly.
Jesus. I needed to get a grip. My lady bits were throbbing—yeah, that professional opinion he’d offered earlier had been spot on—but I was still tempted to say,fuck it, and jump his bones anyway.
Shaking my head, attempting to clear the lust taking over my brain, I inhaled deeply before pushing inside the house.
“Bex, honey, is that you?” My mother called out from the direction of her bedroom.
I latched the door behind me. “Yeah.”
“I was wonderin’ when you’d drop by to say goodbye.” Mama turned the corner, dressed down for a quiet Sunday afternoon and evening, now that church service had concluded and she had the rest of the day free.
My gaze dropped to the floor as my face flamed. “I, uh, decided to delay my return to Chicago.”
“That so?” Her tone remained completely neutral, but for some reason, I found myself getting defensive.
