Читать книгу Lead Me On - Crystal Green, Crystal Green - Страница 9

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SO FAR, EVERYONE had treated the subject of the video as if it was no big deal, and that gave Margot quite the shot of joy. Why had she even been worried? They were all way past college mischief.

But she couldn’t ignore how some of the brothers, as well as Brad, kept glancing over at Clint. Even if they weren’t teasing her about that video, it was on everyone’s mind.

Just one more reason to avoid him.

She’d actually been working up to telling Brad about her basket for the past hour, but things were still a little haven’t-seen-you-in-a-long-time tense between them. Still, he hadn’t dropped any hints about having a girlfriend or anything.

So why not go forward?

She ran a gaze from his wavy dark brown hair to his smile. He’d always reminded her of Ben Affleck but much less cocksure...unlike another person she could name.

But she wasn’t going to think of Kid Quick-Trigger on the other side of the room, in his booth, drinking whiskey. Mr. I’m-So-Cool-in-a-Cowboy-Hat. Señor Slick. She’d been telling herself to ignore Clint Barrows over and over, but this time she meant it.

Brad set his beer down on the bar. It was still half-full. “It really is good to see you, Margot.”

Did she hear a “but...” in there somewhere?

“I liked seeing you, too,” she said. “Catching up has been nice.”

Was nice the word for the conversation they’d been having about running a dairy farm?

Then again, was her auction basket all about the art of conversation?

He fiddled with his beer mug for a moment, then said, “Some of us are getting up early tomorrow to go fishing. Don’t ask me why we torture ourselves like this.”

“Why do you?” She smiled, hoping to get past this semi-awkward stage and right to the basket.

“Because that’s what we used to do,” he said. “Fish. Golf. Be sportsmen.” He checked his silver watch, then got out his wallet to pay the bar tab. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the homecoming pregame kegger?”

He was...leaving?

Margot’s Girl Survival Mode kicked into gear, telling her this was a bad time to blurt out that, hey, she’d really like to spend some private, quality sex time with him, and by the way, here’s what her basket would look like tomorrow evening at the auction, because she really, truly thought they could have quite the reunion all by themselves.

One more adventure, right?

But, ever since she’d gotten the news from her publisher, she’d started to wonder if, after college, she had set out to have adventures on her own only because experiences filled a hole that’d been put there by never having a true home. Had she been trying to find one by going from place to place, person to person, just as her parents had before they’d passed on eight years ago?

And...her parents. It’s not like they’d taught her about a whole lot besides “loving life” and “smelling the roses along the primrose path.” Sometimes, she even wondered if they’d loved her half as much as all their pleasure-seeking activities. One time, they had even turned a room in the two-bedroom house they’d been renting into an art studio for their projects, and she’d had to sleep on the couch. She’d been eight.

The thoughts dogged her, even as she started to get the vibe that things weren’t gelling with Brad.

He rested a companionable hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, then started to leave the bar. “See you later, Marg.”

As he left, she tried not to let hurt set in. She was usually much better at this, distancing herself before anyone could do it to her first.

She just sat there as he disappeared, wondering why Brad’s attitude didn’t hurt more.

She decided to go, too, and she thought she felt Clint’s gaze tracking her out the door. Then it occurred to her... Even though Brad hadn’t teased her about the video, had it made him look at her differently?

As used goods, viewed by hundreds of people sitting in front of a computer?

It didn’t matter anyway, because she’d blown her chance to tell Brad about her basket so he could bid on it.

On her way into the lobby, she came to a dead stop. What was with her? She’d always taken charge. It was what a single girl did.

At least, the type she used to be.

Full of determination, she went to the reception desk, asked for paper and an envelope, then scribbled a note, since the clerk wouldn’t release a room number that she could call.

Brad,

I didn’t get the chance to broach the subject, but I’d love to get together before the weekend’s over. If you’re interested, you could always bid on the basket with the silver and gold stars attached to the handle. It might bring back a few adventurous memories...or make a few new ones.

It wasn’t like her to hesitate, but she definitely did when she reread that last part.

Ah, screw it. Adventure!

She signed her name, stuffed the note into the hotel envelope, then generously tipped the concierge and asked him to deliver it to Brad. She liked this much more mysterious way to approach him rather than just calling him up. It was part of the basket’s seduction.

Feeling much better, she took a detour outside to the parking lot, to her Prius, where her bags were still in the trunk. She had arrived before her room was ready and met Leigh and Dani right after checking in.

The night was mid-October-crisp, with the scent of wood smoke in the air. Avila Grande, home of Cal-U, was near Route 99, and she could hear the faint swish of cars traveling along it. In high school, she’d loved John Steinbeck’s work—what could she say about the streak of Americana in her?—and when Cal-U had offered her a scholarship for their fledgling English program, she’d snapped it up.

But being here now felt a little lonely, and she tried not to sink into the mire of her thoughts again—the voice of her literary agent telling her that it didn’t look likely that she would be picked up by her publishing house anytime in the near future. She fought back the looming question of where her paychecks would be coming from after her royalties dried up and her savings had been gutted.

This weekend was supposed to be about Dani, but maybe also about thinking of a new direction for herself, right? So why wasn’t she feeling brave?

When she heard boot steps on the pavement, she slammed down her trunk and set her bags on the blacktop. She’d taken Krav Maga, and she was always ready to use it.

“Whoa,” said a familiar male voice that made shivers sweep up and down her skin.

She went tight all over again—in her belly, then lower, until she got a little wet at the sight of a lamp-lit Clint Barrows in that cowboy hat, snug T-shirt and jeans.

Wonderful, faded, leg-hugging jeans....

“I saw you go out of the hotel by yourself,” he said. “It’s not exactly a concrete jungle out here, but it’s dark.”

He’d taken off his hat, the illumination making his hair look golden and so thick that it conjured naughty thoughts about that night all those years ago. Hot, dizzy, breath-stealing thoughts. Her mind went even further, and she pictured him kissing his way down her neck, her chest...lower, until he made his way across her stomach and then...

Her pulse was thudding in all the places she’d just pictured, as if his mouth was actually on her, driving her wild.

“Why’re you really out here?” she asked, cooling herself off, making a show of corralling her luggage—which she did quite easily all on her own. A girl never traveled with more than she could handle.

As she headed back to the hotel, pulling her suitcase behind her, she walked closer to him. He was leaning back against what had to be his truck—a comfortable, beat-up blue Dodge—and he’d rested his hat on top of the cab, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops.

“I’m going to tell you my side of the story,” he said. “Maybe not out here, maybe not at the kegger tomorrow, but you’ll know it before the weekend comes to a close. And you’ll know how much I regret what happened.”

The soft rumble of her suitcase wheels went silent as she stopped just past him. “How could you regret it? You’re the one who came off looking like a stud. I came off looking like something...rented.”

She hadn’t meant to say that much, but it’d come out, anyway.

His voice was low and, again, seemingly genuine. “I’m truly sorry about that, Margot.”

She didn’t like the way he said her name. Or, more to the point, she did like it. Way too much.

She turned to him, chin a notch higher than usual. “So what do you want to tell me? That Jay Halverson was behind all the camera stuff back in college? Because I’ve heard it all from Riley over the years.”

“And you didn’t believe him.”

She only shrugged. She didn’t owe him the truth.

Had she started to enjoy thinking he was the bad guy? Did it give her some kind of excuse to stay away?

His peace-offering grin stroked over her, and her heart lost a beat.

She girded herself. “Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me that Jay posted that video last night.”

“He did.”

Okay, then. Mystery solved. “I guess that settles the score.”

She started to leave.

“Not so fast.” He’d lowered his voice to a sexy timbre, making her wonder why the hell she had her sights set on Brad, who was already in his room.

But she knew the answer. Brad was a known quantity, and maybe she needed someone safe this weekend, even as she imagined him part of some big adventure with her basket. Mild-mannered Brad had never broken her trust or given grist to the gossip mill with a video.

It’d bothered her more that her privacy had been violated, and especially that she’d been filmed with the playboy who’d had every other girl except her, it seemed.

Before she knew it, Clint had reached out, gently taking hold of her sweater, near the bottom. It gaped away from her body, the air like a caress, tickling her belly.

No, make that tickling her everywhere, especially in the last place she wanted Clint Barrows to be.

But she ached there, too, between her legs. Ached so badly.

He must’ve sensed that, because he tugged her closer. As the night breathed under the cashmere, she let go of her suitcase and stumbled toward him, close enough to smell the hay and clover on his clothing and skin.

The pure masculinity of him—the clean scent, the knowledge that there was muscle under his own shirt, so close, just a touch away—spiked desire through her.

“I’m going to make it all up to you,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

She swallowed at his bold comment. A melting, lazy pull of sensation stretched in her, creating friction until there were sparks flaring in her stomach.

“You can’t make up for what’s been done,” she said breathlessly.

He laughed, soft and low. “Sure I can. And in eighty ways, too.”

Great—he must’ve overheard what the tag would be on her auction offering.

She grabbed his hand and tried to pull it away from her sweater. “That basket’s not for you.”

She realized her mistake right away, because beneath her palm and fingers, his skin was well worked, manly, strong. The feel of it fired a need through her that she hadn’t realized was there, and it made her go even wetter for him.

“So you’re saving yourself for another man,” he said, twining his fingers through hers.

Oh, God, even such a simple connection sent the adrenaline racing through her, awakening her completely.

“Margot,” he said softly. “You’re being real difficult about this when it should be so easy.”

But it wasn’t. Not even close. Giving in to Clint Barrows was unthinkable at a reunion where everyone was just waiting for him to finally nail the one girl who’d slipped through his fingers.

Still, when he slid his other hand to her hip, massaging it with his thumb, she almost gave in.

She’d had too much to drink, she told herself. And she’d been lonely for the first time in her life because she was facing things she’d never faced before. All of that added up to a vulnerable Margot, and when he moved his hand to her backside, cupping her derriere, she sucked in a harsh breath.

“Just hear me out,” he said.

Yes. It was on the tip of her tongue. It was screaming in her head, pulling her toward him even as she tried to stay away.

But it wasn’t going to happen, because she still had a little something called pride.

“I’ve listened enough,” she said.

She stepped away and grabbed her suitcase handle again, the wheels reverberating over the blacktop just as loudly as an unexpected, almost overwhelming hunger rumbled through her.

* * *

BY THE NEXT morning, Margot hadn’t heard from Brad, and she told herself that it was still early—they had plenty of time before the auction.

And it wasn’t as if she was depending on him for the best good time ever, anyway. She’d had pretty decent fun last night after she’d unpacked her suitcase, then met Leigh and Dani again in the café, where they’d caught up with other sisters who had offered solace about the video. That hadn’t surprised Margot, because everyone but the biggest prudes had backed her up years ago when the first one had gone public.

Naturally, Margot had done her best to avoid the questions about future books and how well her sales were doing, all the while wondering if the concierge had gotten ahold of Brad yet with the “this is what my basket looks like” note and its less-than-subtle invitation to bid on it.

But there’d been some moments last night—a lot of them, actually—when she’d found her mind on someone else.

The cowboy with the cocky grin.

The man who’d used his sexy voice in the parking lot as if he were fully confident she was going to succumb to his supposedly irresistible charm.

Right.

She rolled out of bed, the digital clock on the nightstand blazing 9:00 a.m. in the dim room, darkened by the pulled heavy curtains. And when she glanced at the phone, the message light was dark, too, staring back at her blankly.

No calls.

But dammit all if she was going to bug the concierge by asking him if he’d even delivered the note to Brad.

Jeez, now she was wondering if it’d been such a good idea in the first place....

At least Leigh had told her last night that her note was a perfect prologue to her basket. Very old-school. And, hey, what guy wouldn’t be interested in that kind of message?

Margot cracked the curtains, squinting at the sunlight. She smiled when she saw the wide tomato fields and the pine trees lining the nearby open road.

Unfortunately, her gaze then went to the parking lot, where she saw Clint Barrows’s faded blue Dodge truck lounging next to her little Prius.

Why did it seem as if even his pickup was ready to devour her car?

Rubbing her arms, she wandered to the bathroom, turning on the shower, stripping off her long nightshirt. The second the heated mist whispered over her skin, she tightened with goose bumps, imagining that she heard a voice, soft and low, whispering quiet apologies to her.

Clint Barrows’s apologies.

Just hear me out, he’d said last night in the parking lot, when she’d known he meant so much more.

She stepped into the shower, hoping the water would wash her into a sane place. But as it sluiced over her, she imagined his hand on her hip, just like last night when he’d been bold enough to touch her.

Yet, now, there were no clothes between them, and as she closed her eyes, the uninterrupted flutter of water against her became his fingers, and she felt them ease to her belly, a fleeting butterfly touch.

You’re being real difficult about this when it should be so easy....

She leaned forward, bracing her hands against the tile wall. The water gently ran down her body, slipping over her thighs, in between her legs.

Wantonly, she opened them a little, loving the sensation as it skimmed over her clit.

The water became his fingers again, finding just the right spot, her breath quickening right along with her heartbeat.

You used to be a risk taker, she heard him tell her, as if they were talking again. The butterfly wings on her body traveled inward, beating in her belly, electric and tickling, making her bite her lip.

So why’re you set on safe, boring Brad?

Why not go for this new direction?

She took her hand from the wall, trailed it between her breasts, down her stomach to her pulsing center. Sliding her fingers through her cleft, she massaged herself, thinking of Clint.

At least, with Brad, they’d had a summer together. And when they’d returned to college, after the bloom had faded off their little affair, they had floated away from each other, going different ways.

It’d all been perfectly safe with Brad, just as it could be this weekend. No deception, no videos.

But, as she touched herself, the water caressing her, the mere thought of that unpredictability sent a jolt through her, making her breath catch.

Wet. Excited. And every time she circled her clit with her thumb, imagining that it was Clint touching her, her temperature rose. The heat pushed her up, up, tighter and tighter, until a tiny series of impending explosions quivered in her.

She fought the first one, pressing herself forward against the wall....

Then the second, as it rolled through her, shake by contained shake....

But the third—

She started to give in to it for the first time in months, slipping down the wall as blasts of sensation seized her, making her gasp just before she let go with one long, hard inhale...then...

As the water ran over her—just water now—she groaned, aching.

Still aching.

And hardly knowing just what it was anymore that she really wanted.