Page 39 of Ridin' Free
“My house isn’t just my home—it’s my sanctuary. It’s the first place I’ve ever been able to callmine.It’s the first place I’ve ever felt free.” The words poured out of me without a second thought, my filter obviously temporarily disabled.
Or maybe I knew, deep down, he’d seen enough of me now to understand.
I frowned as I dropped my gaze down to my lap, realizing he’d know what I meant better than most when I admitted, “It’s why I didn’t want Georgia or Tommy anywhere near it.” I closed my eyes, willing myself to shove them back to the furthest, darkest corner of my mind.
I pictured my garden. My safe haven. My paradise.
“Hey.”
I hadn’t heard him move, but as he spoke, he grabbed hold of my right thigh and gave it a gentle squeeze. My eyes flew open, and I caught a glimpse of his ink covered hand before my headsnapped up to find he was there—standing directly in front of me.
“Not somethin’ you need to worry about. Not anymore.”
What did you do?
The question crept to the tip of my tongue, but I didn’t ask it. Fact of the matter was, whatever he did—he’d done it forme.Rather than dig for details, I found myself reaching for a fistful of his tee-shirt, my heart rate speeding up as my awareness of his proximity began to clear away the mess in my mind.
That, and the scent of him.
In the wee hours of morning, the cedar and amber were more subtle—leather and his natural musk fighting for dominance, reminding me of the wild man he was.
The next thing I knew, his mouth was on mine. The hum that crawled up my throat was completely involuntary, but as his tongue sought entrance between my lips, it forced its way out. As if the sound was all the permission he needed, he wrapped his free hand around the nape of my neck, holding me steady as he opened his mouth wider and consumed me.
I tugged at his shirt as I spread my knees, making space for him. I needed him closer. Fuck—but I was powerless against his kiss. With my opposite hand, I felt my way up his arm, wrapping my fingers around the side of his bicep as I tangled my tongue with his. Our teeth clashed, his beard scraped the delicate skin around my mouth, and my sex pulsed as desire began to pool in my belly.
I was so lost in him I barely heard the sound of the oven—its beep alerting us that it was preheated. Twister was the one to break our kiss, but he didn’t let me go right away.
His face still mere millimeters from mine, he shook his head slightly then breathed, “Damn. Forty-one fuckin’ years. Never met a woman I liked kissin’ as much as I liked fuckin’—untilyou.”
Before I could even begin to process what he said, he nipped my bottom lip between his teeth, grazed it with his tongue, then slowly pulled away. His hand at my nape and the other at my thigh gave me a squeeze, and then he was gone—at the freezer, pulling out the frozen pizza.
I watched him, all the while certain in all my thirty-four years, I’d never kissed a man I liked as much as I liked him. Even just the thought made me feel trepidatious, but I kept my ass on his counter anyway. Whatever we were doing was only for now. He wouldn’t hurt me because it would never get that far. It couldn’t be more obvious he wasn’t the type to settle down—and I sure as hell was not looking for anything serious.
‘I got you, sparky. You’re safe.’
I brushed aside the memory, determined not to ascribe any significance to it, then sought out my next distraction.
“Got anything to drink?” I asked, swinging my legs before I hopped off the counter.
“Couple Coronas in the fridge. No limes, though.”
“I think we’ll live,” I said as I went to snag them.
“What’s the deal with your yard? You got all this land, anything going on out back?” I wondered aloud as I uncapped the beers.
I handed him a bottle as he turned from setting a twelve-minute timer.
“Other than grass I gotta mow all summer long, nope. If I wanna grill, I pull it out of the garage and do it in the driveway.”
I stared at him, suddenly really glad I’d only ever been to his place at night so I couldn’t see the absolute waste of potential I imagined sprawled behind his house.
“So, basically—if you’re not workin’ you’re ridin’; if you’re not ridin’ you’re partyin’; and if you’re not partyin’, you’re camped out on the couch in your blank slate of a house watchin’ TV.”
“What can I say? I keep it simple,” he teased, tilting his bottle toward his lips.
He swallowed a long pull, and I did the same.
Honestly, I didn’t have any room to judge. If anything, my life was even more boring than his—just decorated better. And I preferred it that way.
