Slow and Steady Rush (27 page)

Robbie lay on the quilt, a soft woman pressed against him. He let out a long, slow sigh and squeezed her even closer, finally content. The previous two weeks had been tortuous, but not because of school, football, or his injuries. His stitches had come out and the wounds no longer pained him. They’d won their last two games, and two more wins would put them into the state playoffs. No, it was Darcy. Or more specifically, his lack of access to Darcy. Or even more specifically, his lack of access to Darcy’s body.

He stopped by Miss Ada’s on his way home every night. The three of them shared dinner and watched Ada’s fuzzy TV or played cards. Darcy had roped him into reading
The Grapes of Wrath
so they could all discuss it—Ada’s choice.

Darcy always walked him outside at the end of the evening. Most nights, they made out on the dark side of the truck. Hands roamed under shirts and into pants. The drapes would twitch or the light would flicker, sending them reeling apart from each other to adjust their clothes. He’d turned into a horny, blue-balled teenager again.

But now, it was Saturday night, and Darcy had led him into the middle of the field between their houses. She’d laid out a quilt, and they had a picnic dinner, sharing a few sips of Malone’s moonshine. The smell of wood smoke was in the air, and night creatures called from the woods. No artificial light dimmed the twinkle from the black blanket overhead.

Her head was pillowed on his shoulder, and she roved her hand under his shirt and over his chest. Fingers circled his nipples, and nails scraped along his side. Pleasurable waves shuddered through his torso.

He sifted through the hair tickling his arm, kissed the top of her head, and buried his nose in the sweet-smelling mass. She hadn’t straightened it tonight. He liked it wild.

“I brought three condoms. Do you think that will cover us?” He smiled into her hair.

“Actually …” She shifted and propped her chin on his chest. “Don’t freak out, but I went on the Pill.”

He tensed, his mind firing. He’d be able to sink inside of her bare, skin on skin.

She continued, “It doesn’t mean anything … well, except that we’re not going to be sleeping with anyone else. Right?”

He reversed their positions, his chest pressing her down. He caught her gasp on a quick, hard kiss. “You’d better not be. You’re mine.”

She fisted her hands in his hair and tugged hard enough for his scalp to tingle. “And, you’re mine.”

“Yes.” He hissed the word before swooping to take her mouth. The intensity of the moment made their previous hook-ups seem light-hearted. Impatience had his hands at her shirt, his fingers clumsy, pulling and tugging until her pink lace bra was revealed.

He yanked his shirt off. She fumbled with his belt. For once, he didn’t stop to admire the packaging. Her shorts and panties skimmed down her legs. Her bra was tossed aside. He stood to shuck off his pants and boxer briefs. The picture she made on the quilt made him pause.

The starlit night emphasized curves touched by moonlight. She raised her arms above her head and arched her back in the ultimate pose of seduction. Her legs parted enough for him to see the shadowed folds between.

He was rock hard and burned to stake a permanent claim. Dropping over her, he slanted his mouth over hers. His dick slipped between her legs and was bathed in wet heat.

He reared up on his knees between her legs. Her image burned into his memory, adding to the growing collection. Half-lidded eyes, kiss-swollen red lips, full breasts tipped with peaked nipples. But his concentration focused between her legs. Grasping himself, he teased her. Wetting the end in her folds, he rubbed where her need was the greatest.

Urgency drove his jerky movements. She had to come first. Once he was inside her, he wouldn’t be able to focus on her pleasure. Slipping the head of his dick inside of her, he went to work with his fingers. Once she had been a foreign language, but he’d become fluent in her moans and squirms.

She was close. His gaze moved from between her legs and up her body. One of her hands had wandered to her breast, and her nipple peaked through fingers. He took her other breast and squeezed while he pushed in another inch. God, she felt amazing. In spite of the cool night, sweat broke over his shoulders.

She arched off the ground and cried his name. The music drew him into the dance. He thrust fully inside of her. Her tight vaginal walls squeezed him in the same rhythm his fingers pinched her nipple. Her breasts and face flushed. He wanted to close his eyes, to focus on his gratification, but even more, he needed to watch her in the throes of climax.

#

Ripples of bliss pulsed from between her legs with every one of his thrusts. She’d never known the pleasure of climaxing with him inside of her, hard and bare. There was no room for second thoughts or analyzing motivations.

He dropped to his hands, looming over her. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead to land near her lip. She licked it up, the salty warmth an aphrodisiac. His thrusts grew wild. She wrapped her legs around his hips and her hands around his biceps. He toppled on top of her and slid his hands under her buttocks.

Muttering calls to the almighty, he froze. His entire body convulsed while hers pulsed in time with his ejaculation. Her legs held him inside of her. She didn’t want him to leave her in any way. Even if leaving was inevitable.

The crickets’ song had sweetened, and the soft brush of an owl’s call hovered over them. Her lips close to his ear, she whispered, “I love you, Robbie.”

As if cement shot into his veins, his every muscle and sinew hardened. He rolled off to lay on his back next to her. A chill snaked down her body. Her heart kept up a frantic beating, the aftermath of their lovemaking ruined by her confession. First, she told him going on the Pill didn’t mean anything, and then she busted out the dreaded L-word?

Night sounds filled the prolonged silence, but this time the frogs and crickets sounded mournful and lonely.

His voice rumbled between them, hoarse with emotion. “You don’t love me. You don’t even know me. Not really. And, if you did, you’d end up hating me. I’m a fucking emotional cripple.”

Bitterness flavored his final words as if he’d heard them too many times from someone else. “You’re not. Look at what you’ve done for the town, for Tyler—”

“You asked one time why I joined the army. You want the truth? I spent years pissed as hell at the hand I’d been dealt. After my coach died, the man he saw in me died too. I bounced around, always on the edge of trouble, until I wandered into a recruitment center. The army fed my anger, channeled it, but it forced something else on me. A code of conduct, honor, brotherhood.” The earlier emotion in his voice had dissipated into the darkness, leaving his voice flat.

Shifting to her side, she curled an arm over her breasts. She bit her lip, wanting to touch him, but invisible, impenetrable walls had formed between them. She had to try to breech them. “Your coach, the army … neither could force you to be honorable, Robbie. They only coaxed out what was buried under the anger, already there. Don’t you understand that?”

Silence met her question. She battered at his walls more. “I understand why you resented your foster family, your lot in life. Anger was your way of wielding control, but your coach saw past that, didn’t he?”

His nod was nearly imperceptible. “He constantly harped on my potential.”

“Don’t you think you’ve realized that potential? Don’t you think he’d be proud of you?”

He stared at the sky, his hands knitted over his stomach. “You don’t love me.”

Now, he was plain pissing her off, and she wanted to slap some sense into him. Maybe punch the blank, cold expression off his face. She fumbled her panties and shorts on. Her bra clasp was too intricate for her shaking hands, so she pulled her blouse on without it. “I’m not one of your players that you can boss around. I can love you if I want to, Robert Dalton. There’s not a damn thing you can do about it.”

He pulled on his clothes while she shook the grass off the quilt and folded it over her arm. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going home.”

He was obviously not planning to stop her.

She refused to sidestep the emotional fragments both their confessions left behind like land mines. She flicked a finger between the two of them. “This is not working for me.”

In a roughened voice, he asked, “What do you mean?”

“Our casual season of sex. I don’t feel casual about you, and what we did tonight wasn’t just sex, was it?”

“Look, I care about you, I do. But you’re leaving soon. There’s no reason to discuss this. Why can’t we keep hooking up until you go back to Atlanta? Enjoy each other.” He half-turned away and averted his face as if he were protecting himself.

Could she keep having sex with him knowing the end was almost upon them? She’d take him any way she could get him, and the acknowledgement of her weakness cut her words short. “Sure, text me sometime.”

Without another word or a backward glance she stalked away, leaving pieces of her heart along the path.

Chapter 21

Darcy drove home from the library on autopilot, a tornado of plans and worries whirling in her head. Her time was almost up, and instead of a simple path back to Atlanta, she had choices to make, but every decision seemed to hinge on Robbie.

They would have to hash out where their relationship was headed, but he needed time to recover from the bomb she’d dropped, and she needed time to coax out all his secrets. She had to believe he cared a little bit about her. If he didn’t … She forced the door closed on the pain of that possibility. She pulled out her phone and texted him on the way to the door.

Making chicken potpie. Dinner at seven
.

Busy. Another time.

He was passing over food? The pit in her stomach grew.

She dropped her purse on the kitchen table and went straight to Ada who was propped up on a mass of pillows, reading. Wrapping her arms around Ada’s shoulders, Darcy nestled her forehead against Ada’s neck and took a deep breath.

“Good Lord, who died?” Ada asked solemnly.

“No one died. Geez, can’t I hug my grandmother?” Giving her one last squeeze, Darcy plopped on the couch.

“I welcome all hugs, but that was a ‘something’s wrong’ hug.”

Where to begin? Darcy played with the fringe of the afghan. “I got offered your job at the library.”

During the skip of silence, Darcy chanced a glance toward Ada. A smile played around her mouth, and a definite twinkle lilted her words. “And, I’m not even cold in my grave.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about it.”

“Lighten up, darling. This is fantastic news. Isn’t it?”

“The council wants me to organize all the historical documents. Collect as much as we can from neighboring libraries and county courthouses. Turn the Falcon library into a genealogy research center for north Alabama.” Darcy could hear the thread of excitement in her voice.

“You’re going to take it.” Ada’s smile was part triumphant and part joyous.

“If you’d told me three months ago that I’d be considering moving back permanently, I would have died of hysterics.” But, Falcon had changed. Or, maybe, Falcon had changed her. The caricature of a small, close-minded Southern town from her memories had turned into a complex tapestry of people who weaved the town together. “There’s a small problem.”

“Small? Or about six foot two?”

Darcy sighed. “The latter. I told him I loved him, and now he’s backing away like I’m aiming a loaded pistol at his heart.”

“That’s probably an accurate analogy for Dalt.” Ada tapped her fingers on her book and held Darcy’s gaze. “When he moved here, he was like an abused dog. Not used to kindness, suspicious, protecting himself. He’s actually come a long way, and if you can get him to accept your love, then he’ll be the most loyal of husbands.”

“Husband? I don’t even know if he considers himself my boyfriend.” No way would Darcy admit to Ada she’d agreed to be his booty call. “I mean, he wanted to keep things casual, and I go use the L-word.”

“And how’s the casual thing working out for you?” Ada said dryly.

Darcy rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Pretty shitty. What should I do?”

“Does he know you’ve been offered the library job?”

“No.”

“Then, tell him. Communicate. Neither one of you are mind readers.”

“That’s the only bone you’re going to throw me? I thought with age came wisdom?”

“Wisdom is lost on youth,” Ada quipped back.

Darcy palmed her phone and texted him with fumbling thumbs.

Need to talk. Where RU?
She didn’t have long to wait.

The Tavern.

She stood and huffed out a bracing breath. “Wish me luck. I’m going in.”

“Good luck, darling. Be honest and tell him how you feel and what you want.”

Darcy nodded, gave Ada a kiss, and grabbed her keys on the way out the door.

The lot was packed. She parked next to Robbie’s truck and ran her hand down the sleek black cab. Completely occupied rehearsing what she’d say, she headed around back to the kitchen door, realizing too late she’d stumbled into a scene where she wasn’t a player.

Sheila and Rick grappled in the shadows of a dumpster. Each sought dominance, but Darcy couldn’t determine whether it was sexual or abusive. Surrounded by puddles of murky water, the stage wasn’t ripe for a romantic liaison.

Darcy stepped into the drama, her words tripping nervously through the darkness. “Sheila, do you need help?”

The two combatants broke apart, breathing hard. Darcy was still unsure if she’d interrupted a fight or a lovers’ tryst.

Sheila stepped closer. Her scooped tank top and tight miniskirt complemented mascara-smudged eyes. The night air was cool, but hatred burned from her eyes. There was something else too. A nuance Darcy had never seen, or maybe she’d never bothered to notice. Pain.

“If it isn’t the daughter of the town whore. Figured out who your daddy is, yet?”

The barbs didn’t sting like they used too. The wound was still there, but no longer festered. An understanding softened her words. “You’re the only one who’s living in the past.”