A Fallow Heart (Tommy Creek #2)(88)

“No problem,” she answered, though she didn’t bother to hide the irritation from her voice.

Closing his eyes, he once again remembered the night at Jo Ellen’s back door, when he’d tried to fumble in the dark with the key he’d dug from her pocket. His body stirred, recalling how she’d pressed against him and kissed his throat while she stroked him through his jeans. He couldn’t remember ever being that turned on in his life, snuggled in the dark with the forbidden girl of his dreams fondling him.

He groaned and pressed his nose into the ponytail of the woman in front of him. But she didn’t smell like Jo Ellen.

She froze; the jingling of keys stopped. “Coop?”

“I’m so messed up,” he admitted, the ache inside him pouring through his voice.

“Shit,” she whispered, and shoved open the door. Her presence left him before a light came on in the back mudroom. Then she appeared from inside and took his arm. “Come on.”

He entered, tripping over the threshold.

B.J. gripped him tighter, steadying him, then led him into her kitchen and through another doorway. She didn’t turn on the light in the living room, but it spilled in from the back so he could see the couch she took him to. It was long and covered in a butt-ugly plaid design, but looked like heaven.

He slumped down as soon as he reached it, except he forgot to let go of his hold on B.J. She yelped as he unintentionally yanked her down with him where she landed in a tangled wad in his lap.

“Jesus, Gerhardt.” She wiggled and squirmed to free herself and hop off him. But her knee grazed his erection, so he caught her hip, stilling her before she could de-man him. She paused as if he’d petrified her.

When her wide brown gaze met his, he closed his eyes and drew her closer. “Don’t go.”

Still frozen on his lap, she delicately cleared her throat. “You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

She frowned and blew out a long breath. “Okay. This is kind of weird.” Then she shrugged, muttered, “oh, what the hell,” and leaned in to kiss him.

He opened his mouth and accepted it, growling when he tried to drag his hands through her hair only to find a ponytail in his way. He ripped out the holder and captured the silken dark locks. They were nearly the same oaky shade as Jo Ellen’s. But he’d never confuse the two women. B.J. was more toned, full of muscle; she wasn’t nearly as soft as Jo Ellen.

Damn it. He was doing this to forget that dreaded woman, not compare her to every other female in the universe. Gripping B.J.’s hips, he pulled her snuggly into his lap so she was riding him through his jeans.

She cupped his face as she kissed him and he wanted to rip her hands away. He didn’t want it soft or sweet. He wanted hard, fast, rough—

Catching her plaid shirt, he ripped it open, satisfied by the sound of tearing cloth and popping buttons. He shoved the shirt off her shoulders, and she helped him, seemingly just as frantic as he was. The damn tight tank top went next. He ripped it over her head and zeroed his attention on the deep shadowed valley between her bra cups.

“Motorboat them, and I’ll kill you,” she panted, heaving each breath and making her breasts press tighter against her bra with each inhale.

He laughed despite his feral mood and leaned down to sink his teeth into her shoulder as he tugged at the back closure of her bra. All the while, she divested him of his shirt.

Over her bare shoulder, however, a poster tacked to her wall caught his attention. He blinked at it, then about burst into tears; the Cars main character, Lightning McQueen, flashed across the brilliantly colored picture. He made a sound in the back of his throat, half laugh and half sob. His chin shook.

B.J. lifted her face, caught his diverted gaze, and sat up. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and pointed. “You’re a Cars fan.”

She twisted her torso to take in the movie advertisement. “Yeah. So?”

“Tell me, who do you think would win a race?” he had to ask, unable to help himself. “Lightning McQueen or the Roadrunner?”

B.J. frowned and shook her head. “The Roadrunner?”

“Yeah. You know, the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote from the Looney Tunes.”

She nodded a few times as if she realized who he meant before she exploded. “Are you freaking kidding me? Lighting is a Chevy Corvette C1, Gerhardt. The Roadrunner is a bird. Who the hell do you think would win?”

His shoulders slumped with disappointment. “Damn it.” he rubbed his face with a tired hand. “I can’t do this, B.J. I just can’t.”

Her mouth fell open as she glanced toward her poster. “Because I think a car is faster than a bird?”

He choked out another miserable laugh. “No. I’m sorry. Jesus. It has nothing to do with that.”

B.J. studied him before she narrowed her eyes. “This woman has totally twisted you inside out, hasn’t she?”

He hissed out a harsh sound, agreeing.

“Well, if you call me a sorry substitute for her I’m libel to give you a shiner.”

He cracked a smile, but it only lasted a moment. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “What am I going to do?”

“Well…” She blew out a depressed breath. “Since you just turned down a night of complete and utter ecstasy with me, I guess there’s only one thing left to do.”