Instant Gratification (Wilder #2)(50)

There was no reason for her to feel like a complete ass, yet she did. With as much dignity as she could manage, she thanked Harley, arranged to go by the shop later to pay her, and then hopped up into the truck, the movement giving her a bad moment. Her ribs were killing her.

Her own fault.

Just as she put the truck in gear, the passenger door opened and Stone got in, as drenched as she. His hair was plastered to his head, little rivulets of water raining down his jaw. His eyes seemed darker, the lashes inky black and spiky with rain water. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I had a choice.” He plopped his big, wet body into the seat. Having given her his jacket, his t-shirt was sculpted to his chest. His jeans were plastered to him as well, the soft, worn, drenched denim lovingly molding to his hips, his thighs, the intriguing bulge behind his button fly—

She jerked her gaze up to his eyes, and met his wry ones. “Choice?”

“Between being a referee for TJ and Harley, or…” Leaning forward, he flicked the heater on high. “Figuring out how badly you’re really hurt.”

She hugged herself and her aching ribs. She was having trouble keeping her eyes off him, which was odd since she’d seen all there was to see last night. “I’m not.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

Yes. More than she could say, but that would be admitting defeat, and she never admitted defeat.

“I swear I won’t write the feminist police,” he said dryly.

She sighed. “It’s not that. If I let you drive, I’ll never be able to face this road again.”

He looked at her, something new coming into his eyes in addition to the irritation—approval.

It was unexpected, and washed over her like a welcome balm, whether she liked it not. For the record, she didn’t. She didn’t like it at all. She swiped at the water running out of her hair and into her eyes, a movement which hurt, dammit. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” he said.

That was another difference between them. She would never have left herself so wide open. What if she wanted to know how many lovers he’d had, or the last time he’d cried? “You were right about what you said before. How we only get one life, how we need to handle it right. So I guess what I want to know is…” She paused. Talk about putting herself out there, but it was too late to go back now. “Are you happy? Here? With what you do for a living?”

He let out a low sound that might have been a laugh, and scrubbed a hand over his face before he leaned back and looked at her. Water was running down his face too, in little rivulets. “I guess I thought whatever question you could possibly have for me might be a whole lot easier to answer than that one.”

“So you’re not? Happy?”

“Oh, I am. I get to work with my brothers, when they’re around. I’m my own boss, which actually isn’t quite as fun as it should be. I get to do the outdoor stuff I love to do, but…” He breathed out heavily and leaned forward to crank the heater up. “Sometimes I’d like to also do something else as well, not for Cam or TJ, but for me.”

“Like?”

“Come on. Do you really want to know this?”

“Actually, yes. Maybe I like knowing I’m not the only one who wishes things were different. Misery and company and all that.”

He arched a brow. “I almost thought you cared there for a minute.”

“Maybe I do care.”

“You have a lot of maybes going on.” His eyes were steady on hers. “I used to do some renovating and I want to get back to it. I want to restore one of the historical buildings in town, top to bottom.”

“Yourself?”

“I like the work, like using my hands to fix things up.”

Besides the fact that she had firsthand knowledge that he was excellent with his hands, she worked with her hands and she got it. “I can understand the appeal of that.”

His smile was small, but warmed her nevertheless. “Thought you might.”

She thrust the truck into drive, took a deep breath, which tweaked her ribs and gave her a jolt of pain as she eased back onto the road. The rain was still coming down in droves. Every bump was agony on her ribs, not that she’d admit it to the man sitting next to her.

For his part, Stone didn’t say a word, just sat there filling up the passenger seat of the cab with his big, tough, rangy body, until about a mile down the road when she hit another bump and just about died.

“Okay, stop.”

Instincts had her doing just that. “What?” She whipped her head from one side of the road to the other, looking for trouble. “Another deer?”

“Scoot over, toward me.” Before she could move, he shifted closer on the bench seat, his hands going to her hips, lifting her as he slid beneath her to switch positions without getting out into the rain. There was one breathless heartbeat at the halfway point, with him under her and her straining above him, when her bottom ground into his crotch.

She didn’t mean for it to happen, she sincerely doubted he meant for it to happen, but it did, and the two of them went utterly still.

She had no idea what he was thinking in the moment, but she knew what she was thinking.

Sweet Jesus.

The small, inarticulate sound that escaped her seemed to galvanize him into action and he lifted her over to the passenger seat, as he landed in the driver’s seat. For a minute, he stared straight ahead, hands on the wheel. The inside of the cab was warm and humid from their wet bodies. The windows were closed and a little fogged up.