Slow Ride (13 page)
After rushing up the steps, Tuesday shoved open the door and burst out in the parking lot of the church. The evening air hit her in the face and she breathed deeply. It was too hot to be wearing her riding jacket without air-conditioning so she stripped it off, her cheeks burning.
She whirled when the door opened behind her and Diesel emerged. She gave him a glare. “What took you so long?”
“I was trying to piss you off,” he told her mildly.
Tuesday sighed. Most men would rise to the bait and snap right back at her. That he didn’t diffused her anger. She had been itching for a fight with him and he hadn’t even done anything wrong. It wasn’t his fault her dad was gone, yet she’d been eager to take it out on him. It was a relief that he wasn’t going to let her.
She opened her mouth to apologize when he caught her completely off guard. One second she was feeling guilty and deflated, ready to eat crow and tell him she was sorry, the next she found herself stumbling backward as he shoved her against the wall. Hard. Her shoulders hit the bricks of the building and her backside likewise.
As she recovered her balance, she said, “What the fuck are you doing?” even as she knew full well what his intention was.
“I’m kissing you.” He edged his knee in between her legs.
Tuesday wondered briefly if anyone inside the building could see them. “No, you’re not. You’re just manhandling me.”
His hands dug into her hair, yanking her head forward off the wall. “You haven’t even seen manhandling yet.”
Her nipples were hard, inner thighs damp already. She’d had no idea that she could get so turned on so quickly just from a man’s words. But there was something about the way he dominated her space, controlled what they were doing, that she found intensely sexy. “Are you going to show me?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her. It wasn’t hard, the way she was expecting. He completely caught her off guard yet again by kissing her softly, worshipfully, a gentle caress of his mouth over hers. Her shoulders sunk, her mouth drifted open, her knees actually crumpled as he kissed her with a gentleness in complete contradiction to his rough prelude.
Then he pulled back, so abruptly and so completely away from her that she swayed forward.
“Yes, I’m going to show you. But not right now. I prefer to spank you in private.”
Was he serious? Tuesday scanned his face, but she couldn’t really read much more than lust in his expression. And if he was serious, what did he mean exactly? A few swats in the middle of the action, sure, she had done that. Both on the giving and the receiving end. But was he talking hard-core corporal punishment, over-the-knee style? He didn’t look the type. But then, who did?
She had to admit, she wasn’t as appalled as she was just infinitely curious. And aroused. Don’t forget that.
Clutching her crop tighter to her chest, she told him, “Good luck with that. I’m the one holding the crop, remember?”
He just smiled, a sly, knowing smile that had her actual womb quivering in anticipation. “For now.”
For the first time since her virginal late teens, Tuesday thought she might be out of her league. But she was always up for a challenge.
“Bring it on.”
CHAPTER
SIX
SIX
TUESDAY
expected him to kiss her again. Slap her backside maybe. Do something sexual to cap off her statement, to show her he was the one in control of this night. But just like earlier, in contrast to the sexy words that had been coming out of his mouth, Diesel took her hand, like they were really on a date and said, “Let’s go then, sweetheart. Thanks for being so nice to my aunt and uncle.”
expected him to kiss her again. Slap her backside maybe. Do something sexual to cap off her statement, to show her he was the one in control of this night. But just like earlier, in contrast to the sexy words that had been coming out of his mouth, Diesel took her hand, like they were really on a date and said, “Let’s go then, sweetheart. Thanks for being so nice to my aunt and uncle.”
How did he shift gears like that? One glance down showed he still had an erection. But now he was back to casual nice boy out on a first date. She didn’t know what to do with that. Except that he probably expected she wouldn’t know what to do with it and would be passive. She wasn’t about to give him control that easily. “It was my pleasure. I had fun, and your aunt and uncle are good people.”
There was a brief pause where he glanced over at her, like he was surprised by her own equally casual response. She wasn’t going to ask him to explain his behavior. It just wasn’t going to happen.
“You’re quite the risk taker when it comes to betting.”
“Nah. Not normally. But this was for charity, remember? Though I should have had a beer.” Between thinking about her father and high-strung nervous anticipation of having Diesel inside her, she could use a drink.
Diesel opened the car door for her. “I don’t want you impaired while I’m giving you an orgasm.”
Yes. Just the thought of having an O created by Diesel had her clenching her thighs together as she slid into the car. She rolled her eyes up at him. “Like one beer would impair me. Please.”
Instead of answering, he slammed the door shut and came around to the driver’s side.
“You know, we’ve spent most of our time together in the car,” she told him. It was just a casual observation. Irrelevant. But it did strike her that for a man she’d only known for a few days, they’d spent a large amount of time driving around. “Maybe we should stop at a bar on the way home.”
“I’m not buying you a drink.”
Why did he have to be so petulant about it? “Who said you have to buy it? Just sit back and watch me pay.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
At this point, Tuesday didn’t really care that much about actually getting the drink. She just wanted to win. He had no right to deny her liquor. This was a free country. “Stop at the convenience store then.”
“No.” He gave her an exasperated look. “Do you have to be drunk to have sex with me?”
“No, of course not. I just want one drink.” She pointed to a gas station. “Pull in, right there.”
Diesel didn’t say a word as he indeed pulled off the street. When he put the car in park in front of the door, he shot her a look. “You owe me. And I will be collecting.”
“Like this is inconvenient for you? I owe you nothing.” What had started out as amusing now had just pissed her off. He had no right to order her around. If she had asked for some goddamn chicken nuggets would he have refused as well? He had no business judging her wants.
Tuesday climbed out of the car and slammed the door shut, hard. Stomping into the store, she wandered the aisles. There wasn’t quality alcohol to be had. It was mostly beer and cheap wine, the kind that made her want to die, clutching her head, after three glasses. She didn’t really like beer all that much, but she wasn’t even going to drink it. She was just going to buy it, on principle, so anything would do.
Pulling a six-pack of bottles out of the cooler, she took it to the counter and paid and stomped back out. Riding boots were good for making noise when she was annoyed. Diesel better have a big dick, that’s all she was saying.
“Don’t be huffy,” he told her.
“Who’s huffy?” she huffed. “And if I was huffy—which I’m not—I have the right to be since you’re bossing me around and accusing me of being drunk.” That was a bit of an exaggeration but she was not known for being the most rational when she was irritated.
“When did I say you’re drunk? And how could you be drunk when you haven’t even had a drink?” He pulled the car out of the parking spot. “How did we end up here, Jesus?”
She hadn’t a clue. “Here, as in the convenience store, or here, as in the middle of having an incredibly pointless and petty argument?”
He laughed. “The second one.”
“I don’t know.” She picked at the price sticker on the lid of one of the bottles in the six-pack in her lap. “Maybe it’s because I had a moment where your uncle reminded me of my dad.”
She could own her emotions. It wasn’t Diesel’s fault that she’d done a one-eighty on him, and he deserved to know where her head was.
“Shit, I’m sorry, Tuesday.” His voice was heavy with sympathy. “I’m sure that’s incredibly hard.”
“Yeah, it is.” Her finger was covered in sticky gunk from the sticker she had eradicated and balled up. Rolling it back and forth between her fingers, she squeezed it hard. “Plus I’m nervous about us having sex for the first time.”
“You are?”
“Well, aren’t you? There’s been a hell of a buildup. And while I’m sure it will go well, it’s still weird, the first time with anyone.”
“Yeah, it is. I’m a little on edge myself.”
He didn’t admit to nervousness exactly, but it was close enough. So they needed to wrap up this argument and get back to the excitement of getting naked together for the first time. “So don’t criticize me for suggesting we stop at a bar, have a drink, chat a little, and ease some of the nerves. That’s all I was suggesting and you shut me down hard.”
There was a pause, his eyes on the road as he drove. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole.”
“Most people aren’t trying to be assholes. They just are. So think before you say something.” If even half the world would try that, she would be a happy woman.
“I was just offended that you needed to get drunk to have sex with me. But you’re right—there’s a big difference between drunk and one drink.”
Which meant if he was offended at the thought, he cared about her opinion of him. He wanted to spend time with her. It wasn’t just about a quick lay for him. Which was hot.
So she was willing to let the whole thing go, given she had tossed a ton of petulance at him to begin with. “Okay, so we’re cool.” Time to lighten the mood. “Have you ever thought about how bizarre it is that there are about a hundred slang words for being drunk? What does that say about alcohol and English-speaking people?”
“That we’re a culture soaked in ale. Though I think a hundred is an exaggeration.”
“Let’s count. There’s drunk, inebriated, trashed, loaded.”
“Smashed, shit-faced, bombed.”
“Crunk.”
“What the hell is crunk?”
“Crazy drunk. Don’t you watch reality TV? Get your GTL on then get crunk.”
“GTL?”
“Gym, tan, laundry.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“It’s the mantra of these guys . . . okay, never mind. Back to the slang.” Tuesday picked up a beer bottle, like it would inspire her. “Crocked. Sauced. Wrecked.”
“I think wrecked is pushing it. That can mean more than one thing. Such as emotional or unstable. It’s not a word exclusive to alcohol.”
“Good point, but I’m still counting it because so far we only have eleven and that’s highly disappointing.”
“Tipsy.”
“I can’t believe you just said tipsy. That sounded so cute coming out of your mouth.”
“I didn’t make the word up.” Diesel was amazed at how Tuesday could make him feel both intensely masculine and sexy, no matter what he was saying or doing. For the first time ever, he was starting to clue in as to how men could stand there holding a wife or girlfriend’s purse and not feel like a complete loser. They were standing there not caring what anyone else thought because their girl managed to make them feel like the very definition of macho.
“That still only makes it twelve. I’m disappointed. I think we need to go to the urban dictionary and check for more.”
“Well, we can if you want. We’re at my place.” Diesel hit the button to open his garage door. “But I was kind of hoping we could do something else instead.”
“Eat cookies?” she asked, her tongue slipping out to moisten her lips.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “Eat cookies.”
But Tuesday was suddenly distracted as they pulled into his four-car garage. “Holy shit. This is a big garage.”
“Car parts take up a lot of room.” He’d bought the house before his accident, anticipating parking a boat and a hobby car or two. In the two years since, he’d been glad for it since he used most of it for his restoration projects.
“Yeah, but this is a house. I guess I expected you to live in a luxury apartment or a condo or something.”
“Why?” Diesel put his car in park and turned to look at her in the dark. The garage light cast a shadow across her face, hiding her eyes but showing her porcelain cheek.
He stared at her lips as she spoke. “I don’t know. Weird, huh? But I think of single guys as determined to be unattached to anything . . . even real estate.”
“I’ve never been determined to be unattached. I just haven’t met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. But I love this house, even if it is too big for me.”
“What style is it?”
“I believe the architect called it French country. To me, its just brick and wood and pretty damn awesome looking.” He opened his car door, holding the container of cookies she’d baked him in his hand. “And you can see it if you get out of the car.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but she did open her door as well. Diesel got out and walked around the front of his car. For some reason, he felt the urge to reach for her hand, but that seemed too intimate, too girlfriend-boyfriend. That wasn’t what they were doing.
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