A Fallow Heart (Tommy Creek #2)(6)

“Oh.” She smiled. “Thank you.” Showing her gratitude, she reached up and cupped his face in her warm palm.

God, there went those soft fingers of hers again, driving him to distraction.

Too afraid to even breathe in fear she might stop, Cooper could only stare. But a second later, she closed her eyes and dropped her wilted hand to her side. His shoulders slumped. Yanking free from her pocket, he clutched the house key in his shaky grip and pulled away from her before he did something infinitely stupid…like kiss the vulnerable, passed-out, drunk girl he’d been crushing on for as long as he could remember.

After shoving himself out of his truck, he closed his eyes and sucked in fresh air, bolstering his resolve, before he raced around to the passenger side and opened her door. Passed out cold, she continued to breathe deeply. Not bothering to try waking her, he pulled her out and situated her in his arms, then carried her to the back entrance, relishing the way her limp head lulled so trustingly on his shoulder. Realizing he couldn’t continue to hold her and unlock the door at the same time, he woke her as he set her feet down and leaned her against the side of the house.

“Jo Ellen, you need to wake up for me and stand here while I unlock the door.”

“’Kay.” Yet she rested against him instead of the house. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she yawned loudly and snuggled closer.

Her hips pressed firm to the front of his jeans, cradling his erection. He would’ve nudged her back a step, but the friction remained too satisfying to push away. Besides, as out-of-it as she was, he figured she wouldn’t even notice.

He soon learned how wrong he was. Just as he unlocked the door and pulled the key free, a curious hand trailed down his chest and grasped him through his jeans.

“Jesus,” he yelped, dropping her key.





Jo Ellen floated on a pleasant high, warm and protected against a chest that was more comfortable than the mattress of her bed, more comfortable except for that hard bulge prodding her hip. She reached down to investigate and immediately realized what she was handling.

An expletive rippled its way from her protector’s throat, vibrating through his chest. His body went taut, yet he didn’t push her away.

Strangely more curious than traumatized about grabbing some guy’s junk, Jo Ellen slid her fingers up and down his length, exploring the size and shape of his distended fly.

“That’s not a toy, darlin’.” Soft and husky, his voice sent chills along her spine.

Grasping her wrist, he gently pried her hand from the front of his trousers. But she wasn’t done with her inspection, so she latched onto him more firmly.

He sucked in a breath, his grip on her wrist tightening, though he stopped trying to pull her away. Her head rested near his throat. It didn’t take much for her to move her face so she could inhale more of the musky, enticing aroma wafting off him.

“Smell so good,” she said.

He groaned. “Jo Ellen.” Tenderly, five fingers slid up the back of her neck, into her hair, and cradled her nape. She liked his touch, liked his smell. Appreciative, she kissed the spot where his pulse pounded out a steady, soothing rhythm.

Again, he made a sound of pleasure mixed with painful longing. The noise seemed to come straight from the place she’d just kissed. So, she pressed her mouth to the spot again, wanting to feel the vibration of his moans quiver through her. She flicked out her tongue to get the taste of it and he rewarded her efforts by gasping out another greedy sound of approval.

His head fell back and he swallowed. It made his pronounced Adam’s apple slide up and down. Intrigued by its movement, Jo Ellen kissed the protrusion next. His intense response made her body pulse with a warm, bubbly sensation. She liked it.

But her hand grew tired of rubbing him through his jeans. She wanted to feel him skin to skin, so she inched her fingers up to his waistband and dipped inside.

“Oh, God! God. Jo Ellen, no.”

She barely brushed her fingers over the soft, swollen tip before he jerked her hand up and out of his pants where he held her wrist at arm’s length away from him.

Irritated by his resistance, she made a distressed sound and struggled to reach out again.

“Jesus, Jo Ellen,” he rasped, his breathing hard and labored. “Look, sweetie, you are falling-down drunk. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She frowned. She knew exactly what she was doing. Didn’t she? “I’m trying to feel your penis.”

A choking sound gurgled from his chest. “Okay, so you know what you’re doing then. But do you know who you’re doing it with?”

Again, she frowned, but this time she wasn’t sure how to answer. She knew him. She knew she knew him, had known him her entire life. He was safe, reliable, and trustworthy. But for some reason, his name escaped her.

“You have a boyfriend,” he told her. “Remember?”

“Travis.” Yes, there was a name she knew. Pleased she could remember at least that, she once again reached for the penis she wanted to investigate.

But the penis’s meanie owner remained intent about not letting her near him.

She felt more than saw him nod. “That’s right,” he congratulated her as he dodged her fingers, jerking his hips backward. “Travis is your boyfriend. And I’m not Travis.”

Her brow puckered. “I know that. Travis isn’t nearly this big.”