Home at Chestnut Creek Page 18

  Then I run into my wall of reality.

  “What is it?” Joseph’s fingers tighten on mine. “Do you want to choose different?”

  “No.” That’s one thing I know for sure. “But you need to know some things, before you choose me.” I pull my hand away and clasp them both in my lap. “Stuff I’ve never told anyone. About Houston.”

  But his eyes won’t let me go. “Tell me.”

  I know I have to, and not just because of what Carly said. I want to. Because I need to. It’s time.

  * * *

  Joseph

  Nevada looks at her lap. I’m sure she’s traveling to her past, and I’m just as sure it’s not somewhere she wants to go. I want to make it easier, but I know she wouldn’t appreciate that—Nevada does things on her own.

  “I don’t know when my mom started using drugs, because as far as I remember, she was always doing them. We were living in Vegas, and in the beginning, she worked as a night cocktail waitress at a casino and did pills to stay awake. It escalated from there. I was a kid. I thought everybody’s mom was jittery and exhausted all the time. I thought everyone lived like we did.”

  She puts her forearms on the table and picks at her cuticles. They’re not model’s hands. They’re like her: blunt and scarred and strong. I respect them.

  “When the casino realized she had a problem, they fired her. She got another job, off the Strip, but for less money.”

  Her shoulders are shifting in small increments from a slump, drawing in, and rising toward her ears. The pads of her fingers are white when they press on the table. I want to reach out, to hold her hand, and let her know I’m here. That she’s not alone. But I’m afraid it’ll stop her words. And she needs to say them as much as I need to hear them.

  “Then the money ran out, and her dealer was practically living with us. I begged her. We could pack up, move away, and start over, somewhere it didn’t smell like trash and pee—somewhere clean. She really saw me that time. I know she did. She said she was sorry for being such a bad mom. That she’d always meant to be better.”

  She takes a deep breath that comes out in a sigh.

  “I had hope when she went to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting. But that was it—one. Then things went back to ‘normal.’ I didn’t want to quit school, but something had to change. She didn’t eat much, but I needed to, and somebody had to pay the rent. So, I went out and got a job.”

  She looks up, her brows drawn together. “I’m not telling you this for a ‘poor me,’ only to explain so you can see how I got to where I did.”

  She may not be telling me for my sympathy, but she has it. My childhood may not have been idyllic—we didn’t have much—but I had a dependable mom, and a grandmother who was my champion. Nevada had to grow up way too soon. No wonder she only depends on herself; she’s never had anyone dependable around. And the fact that she’s trusting me with this means more than it would for anyone else. This woman doesn’t lean. She’s trusting me to be dependable.

  “I worked the night shift at the Stop ’n Go. One morning I came home, and the house was dead quiet. It was always quiet but somehow the quiet sounded different this time. I opened her door and stuck my head in the bedroom…”

  She’s looking at the wall over my head, hands in her lap, and she’s rocking; tiny movements, rocking back and forth. I want to pull her into my lap. Watching her pain hurts me more than my own. But I know she doesn’t want that. The only thing she needs right now is for me to listen. To hear.

  “It was a picture I’d seen before. Mom and her dealer in bed, naked, dead to the world. Mom had been going downhill. And there was the reason for it, lying there like a blood-sucking leech, even when she had nothing else to give but her body.”

  She lowers her head to stare at the table, and her rocking speeds up. I don’t know what to do, but I don’t think it matters. I couldn’t stop her until she gets through with this, even if I tried.

  “I was standing by the bed looking down, when he woke up. He sat up and leered at me, said it was about time for him to ‘break me in,’ since my mom was used up.”

  She looks up, straight into my eyes, and her chin comes out, though her lower lip is wobbling. “Then he lunged at me. Got his hands around my thigh and pulled. I snatched an empty vodka bottle from the nightstand and smacked him in the face with it. He fell back on the bed—I thought I’d killed him. Hoped I had. I flushed his stash down the toilet, took his wad of cash, and ran out.” She takes a breath, and her shoulders straighten. “I’m not proud of it. But that’s what happened.” Her shoulders fall to a defeated droop. “The dealer’s boss has been after me ever since. It’s about the money and the drugs for sure, but more than that, it’s about his reputation. Word on the street is that he let a girl get away with dissing him. The cartel has no use for narcotraficantes who don’t get respect.” She takes a breath, and her shoulders straighten.

  “I’m a fool. I knew better. But I just lost it…” Her jaw is clamped, her eyes flash with anger. And tears. “And now, I found you. For once, I have someplace I want to stay, and…” She pulls in a hitching breath. “I can’t!” The storm she’s been fighting breaks.

  I knew this woman was strong, but I had no idea how heavy the burden she carried.

  I’m around the table and pulling her up, into my arms, in one smooth motion. I wrap myself around her while she sobs. “It’s okay. You have me now. You’re safe.”

  I’ll see to it.

  * * *

  Nevada

  I should pull myself together and figure out how to fix this. I didn’t mean to blurt that last part, and now Joseph’s going to want to go all superhero on me. But being wrapped up in his arms feels too damned good to move.

  Letting out the secret has opened a space in my chest, giving my lungs room to expand. I hadn’t realized how long it’s been since I’ve been able to take a deep breath.

  Rain starts up, pattering onto the roof.

  “Shhhhhh.” His chin scrapes over my hair as he rocks from one foot to another, a rhythm that quiets the panic in me. Even though I know I should, I’m too heartsore to step away from his comfort. His caring.

  I’m not stupid; I know it’s an illusion, this safety. I still have to leave. More now than ever, because I can’t put him in the line of fire—this man who has seen beyond my disguise to who I am, deep down—and likes me anyway.

  I back up only enough to be able to see his face. “Joseph, will you take me to bed?”

  His arms tighten, and his mouth comes down on mine, but it’s only a warm brush when I’m aching for fire. A cleansing fire, to burn away the real world, if only for an hour or two.

  “Come.” He lets me go, except for my hand, and takes the one step to the door.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “My bed. It’s big and comfortable. I’ve had enough of this dollhouse.”

  When I step out of the trailer, I realize the patter of rain has turned to a downpour. Joseph’s T-shirt is darkening in streaks. He tightens his grip on my hand and takes off at a run for the house. I’m taking two steps to his one, and we’re splashing through widening puddles, laughing like fools.

  We’re soaked through by the time we make it to his uncovered porch. Thunder booms overhead and my chest vibrates with it. He reaches to open the door, but I pull him back. The air is charged with electricity that gathers in my body—a ball of static that builds, pushing out, wanting release. My hands snake around his neck and I pull him down to me.

  The kiss is wild and hot. His skin is warm and slick, and I want more of it. I pull up the bottom of his T-shirt, breaking the kiss just long enough to peel it off him. He stands with watchful eyes, water running off his long, beautiful muscles. God, I could eat this man for dessert. I lick his chest, and he pulls me to him and kisses me with all the fire I wished for earlier.

  Lightning cracks the horizon and thunder hits with a boom that echoes through me, then rolls away across the land.

  He tugs at m
y shirt and I peel it over my head. There’s no one to see us out here, and I don’t care anyway. I twist my front-clasp bra, and it falls away. My boobs are small, and I suddenly care too much about what he thinks.

  But his eyes are soft and hungry, his mouth slack with want. He pulls me to him, and our wet, hot skin meets, hitting me like a shock of static. He twists against me, and my nipples zing an electric current between my legs. When he catches my mouth, I moan into his.

  I pull away to toe out of my shoes while I undo my jeans.

  “What—”

  “Don’t want wet clothes on your wood floor.” I turn and peel my jeans down my legs.

  I hear the hiss of his indrawn breath and it makes me glad I don’t often wear underwear.

  When I turn back, he’s unbuttoning his Levi’s, revealing a line of dark hair like an arrow, leading where I want to be. When he pulls them down, he springs out, hard, large, and long, and I realize that I used the wrong criteria when I chose that dorky little guy to take my virginity.

  I reach to touch, but he grabs my hand. “My bed is—”

  “Later.” I pull my hand free and cup him; he puts his head back and moans. Rain runs down his face, his body. A body that deserves to be worshipped. I kneel and take him in my mouth. His skin is velvet on steel. But he only allows me a few strokes before he hauls me up, lifting me like I weigh nothing. I wrap my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I try to lower myself onto him, but his fingers find me, through the swollen flesh to the center of my heat, and everything in me turns liquid. He strokes me in a long, gentle abrasion. Once, twice, and I’m there, my muscles clenching in a spasm of ecstasy so intense, the world goes colorless for a few spastic heartbeats.

  He catches my mouth and plunges into me, filling me, and my orgasm goes on, one long, shuddering explosion, carrying me places I’ve never been. Chest heaving, muscles straining, he pumps into me, then with a guttural cry he comes, buried in my wetness.

  I cling to him as we fall back into reality. Random thoughts ping through my mind: water is cascading from the roof on us, running off his hair, and damn, I’ve got to be heavy. I kiss him on the nose, and when I unlock my legs, he slips out of me. He holds me tight as I slide down to stand on trembling legs.

  I’m not sure what to say. I just stand there, trying to gather words. With the internal heat cooling, the rain no longer feels warm. A shiver rips down my spine, and I wrap my arms around my waist.

  “Hey.” He lifts my chin. “You okay?” He stands like a god, as comfortable in his nakedness as he is in his skin. The side of his mouth lifts. “Okay if we move this inside where it’s warm and dry?”

  “Um. Yeah.” I look down at my pale feet and tuck wet hair behind my ear.

  He takes my hand. “We need sustenance and showers. But don’t you even think I’m done with you yet.”

  A smile skirts the tenseness in my chest. “I can get behind that.”

  He turns the knob and pushes open the door.

  I tiptoe by him, and he smacks my butt on the way by. “We’ll throw the clothes in the dryer later. I’m freezing, and starving, and we’re not done talking.”

  I hoped the hormone surge made him forget. “I’m done talking.”

  He raises a brow. “Let’s grab a shower first. I’d invite you in mine, but then we wouldn’t eat, and I plan to need all the energy I can get tonight.” He winks. “You know where everything is, right?”

  “Go. I’ll meet you back here. Oh, and I call dibs on cooking.”

  “You got it.”

  He looks like a jungle cat, climbing the ladder; all sleek muscle and grace. I can’t turn away until his toes disappear, then I head to the bathroom on this floor for a hot shower. I go through the routine on autopilot, while my brain tries to work out how I got from there—in the trailer, wanting—to here, trying to recover from sex so wild it’s like a scene from a movie.

  Multilayered emotions pour over me like the hot water: fear, of leaving myself open, dread, of having to leave, regret, for the hurt I’m going to leave him with. But above all that, delight. A stupid, girly word, but it’s what this feels like.

  Joseph “Fishing Eagle” King wants me. He’s got his pick of women—the Wings are practically cat-fighting over him. I see how women’s eyes follow him, how they turn to check out his butt as he walks away. They react to him sensing, I think, his sense of self, his caring nature, his kindness.

  And this incredible man chose me— a city stray with bad manners, no education, and a criminal conviction. How unbelievably amazing is that?

  I step out and dry off. My smile in the mirror makes me look even more like someone else. I towel-dry my hair, wishing it was blond again. Me again.

  I realize I have no clothes. Screw it. I wrap the towel around me and head for the kitchen, happy to live in the “now.” I’ve never cooked naked before. I pull open the fridge to see what there is to work with. It’s gotta be something fast; my stomach is about to eat a hole in me.

  I’m digging through cupboards when Joseph climbs down the ladder in his running outfit: shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt. I love the stark whiteness against his skin. His hair is unbound and still wet.

  “Here.” He tosses me a T-shirt.

  I hold it up. It’s red, faded to almost pink, and has Gathering of the Nations—2006 across the front. “Oh, way cool. Just so you know, you will not be getting this back.” I pull it over my head. It comes down to mid-thigh, so I pull off the damp towel. “I’m making doctored soup, okay?”

  “You make it, I’ll eat it.”

  “Now there’s an endorsement if I ever heard one.” I pull down two cans of generic soup from the shelf, and his arms come around me from behind.

  “I love it when you cook.” He nips my earlobe. “Both kinds.”

  My face gets hot, and I push him away. “Out of the kitchen. You’re distracting me.”

  “Hey, how’s the ankle? I never even asked about it.”

  “Almost good as new. Don’t even need the wrap anymore. That salve of your grandmother’s is amazing.”

  He sits in a chair at the bar. “Now, let’s talk about how we get you out of this mess.”

  I’m pouring soup into a saucepan, and some spills over my fingers. “We aren’t doing anything. This isn’t your problem. Stay out of it.” Fear makes my voice louder than I meant.

  “Bull. Did you think that when I told you I wanted you, I meant for one night?”

  A little zing of happiness vibrates in my chest before I squash it. “Doesn’t matter what you want. I’m handling this.”

  “Really? How? By running for the rest of your life?”

  “For as long as I can, yeah.” I turn on the gas, pull out a frying pan, and root in the fridge again. “You don’t know this guy.”

  “Nevada, listen to me. I can help. We can go to the police, and—”

  “And what?” I whirl on him. “Tell them that I stole a guy’s money? Me? The girl who did twelve months for larceny?”

  “But we can—”

  “Oh, and this crime took place in a different state.” I’m nodding, forking butter into the pan. “They should jump right on that.”

  “They can protect you. Send out patrols.”

  “Hello, what part of ‘head of the cartel’ didn’t you get? Do you think he’s going to come into town with guns blazing?” I try to butter the bread, but all I’m doing is ripping holes in it. I drop it and turn to him. “It’ll be a bullet fired from a silencer. Probably before I even know he’s there.”

  “But we have to do something. The cops can look it up. Get in contact—”

  “Look, I know you’re trying to help. It means so much that you want to. But can we drop it now?” I turn back and finish buttering the bread, drop it into the sizzling pan, then put on sharp cheddar and Swiss slices, and the other buttered piece on top. “I’m not putting anyone else in danger. I’m leaving. End of the discussion.”

  * * *

  Joseph

>   When Nevada sets her feet, it’s time to quit pulling—that donkey’s going nowhere. Doesn’t mean I’m giving up. She’s not the only one with donkey in her bloodline. Tomorrow, I’ll break through her stubbornness. But I’ll have to go slow, or she’ll light out of here before the soup is cold.

  We finish eating her rich, crunchy, grilled cheese sandwiches with soup that’s way too good to have come from a can. My stomach is full, but I’m still hungry. She’s adorable with my T-shirt falling off her shoulder, hair rumpled from finger-combing, her bare feet one on top of the other on the rung of the bar stool. I touch her hair. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

  She looks up, and there’s war being waged in her eyes. There’s want, but reluctance, and…fear? Not of me, surely, after that crazy-hot sex in the rain. Every time I think I’ve figured out Nevada Sweet, I find another layer. I run a finger down her bare arm, loving her shiver. “I’ve dreamed of you, in my bed.”

  She tips her head to the side, and her cheeks redden. “You have?”

  “Yes. And I want to see if reality could possibly be as good.”

  “Ah, that settles it then. I’m always up for a challenge.”

  “I’ll clean the kitchen.”

  “I’ll go throw our clothes in the dryer. I need my jeans for work tomorrow.”

  I’ve just turned off the kitchen lights when she steps back in the front door. I can’t wait to peel my shirt off her.

  I don’t need to. She walks to the middle of the room, holds my gaze, and pulls it over her head.

  We were so frenzied earlier, I got to feel her, but not look at her. I make up for it now, starting at her delicate feet, up her soft muscled legs, the blond thatch that proves her hair color a lie, her narrow waist, just-right breasts. The lamplight loves her creamy skin.

  My cock strains the front of my shorts with a throbbing demand. It’s going to have to wait, because I plan to take my time. I step to her and cup her face in my hands. “You are so beautiful.”

  “No.” There’s laughter in her eyes. “You are.”

  I capture her mouth, and when she opens to me, I begin a slow assault with my tongue. I run my hands up under her hair, then down, to trace the muscles of her neck. I’m like a blind man, imprinting her body on my mind. The long, hard curve of her collarbone, the delicate knobs of her spine, the pebbled tautness of her nipples. My stomach muscles jerk in response to my cock’s demand, tipping my hips forward. Whoa there, easy. You have all night.