The Great Escape (Wynette, Texas #7)(75)

A warning siren fired in his brain. An explosion. The grit of sand, taste of whiskey, bite of memory. He shoved the darkness away.

She opened her eyes and gazed into his. “That was nice.”

Too sweet. Too good.

“Nice?” He dropped his arm over the side of the cushions and touched the bag of candy. One of the licorice sticks had fallen out. He picked it up and nudged her ear with his lips. “Get ready to retract that.”

“Why?”

He dangled the licorice in front of her. “You keep forgetting that I have a mean streak.”

She stirred beneath him, those green-flecked eyes alive with interest. “I guess I’m in trouble now.”

“Big-time.”

He nipped her bottom lip with his own, and then he whipped her with the licorice stick. Flicks at her nipples. The soft skin of her stomach. Her open thighs. Between.

“Evil,” she moaned when he stopped. “Do it some more.”

And so he did until she snatched the licorice away and returned the pleasure. Except he’d unleashed her secret dominatrix, and she wasn’t nearly as careful as he’d been. When he told her he’d had enough, she told him to beg, and what could he do after that but punish her?

He bent her over the cushions, gave her rear a soft smack, and exacted retribution. Or tried to. Because the whole episode was getting foggy in terms of who was doing the punishing and who was being punished.

Outside the boathouse, the storm began to calm, but inside, it had just begun.





Chapter Seventeen




LUCY SNIFFED LIKE A DISAPPROVING aunt. “That was way too perverted for me.”

“I could tell.” Panda tried to remember the last time he’d lost himself like this with a woman. They were wedged in the stuffy berth, their bodies pressed together, their skin sticking to the vinyl cushions, and even though he could feel her, it wasn’t enough. He extracted his arm, rolled to his elbow, and flipped on one of the small, battery-powered lights mounted in the bow.

She lay on her side, the naked line of her shoulder, waist, and hip forming a golden curve, her dragon tattoo alien on the smooth column of her neck. Her small nose, mercifully free of its nostril ring, wrinkled in disdain. “Don’t ever do that again.”

He touched her bottom lip, swollen from his kisses. “Midnight tomorrow?”

“If I don’t have anything better to do.”

“I hate it when a woman plays hard to get.”

She traced a vein that ran down his arm. “Really I just want your food stash. If I have to put out to get to your Cheetos, so what?”

“A pragmatist.”

“Stop using big words. It depresses me.” She bent her arm beneath her head, revealing the rosy side of her breast where his beard had abraded her skin. He wouldn’t hurt her for anything, but his dark side felt a primitive satisfaction in seeing the mark he’d left on her.

Her question shocked him out of his lethargy. “Where did the condoms come from?”

He should have known she’d latch onto that. “My pocket. You want some more chips?”

“You carry condoms around?”

“Not always. Sometimes. Who needs an STD, right?”

She pulled on one of her ratty pink dreadlocks. “So, you carry them in case you and Temple decide to add a little variety to your workouts?”

He hit her full force with his badass sneer, hoping to shut her up. “That’s right.”

“Bull. The two of you would eat nails before you’d screw each other.”

“Nice talk.”

She pinned him with those shrewd eyes. “You didn’t know I was coming down here tonight, yet you were ready for action. That leads me to believe that you actually do carry those things around.”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you didn’t say why.”

Shit. He gave up. “Because you drive me out of my mind, that’s why. I never know what the hell you’re going to do next. Or what I’m going to do. Now shut up about it.”

She smiled, lifted her arm, and tugged on a couple of his pain-in-the-ass curls, her expression tender enough to bring him back to cold reality. He was an ex-cop. She was the president’s daughter. He was scrap metal. She was pure gold. Beyond all that, he had a dead zone a mile wide inside him, while she bubbled with life. “Lucy …”

“Oh lord …” She rolled her eyes and flopped to her back. “Here we go. The speech.” She deepened her voice in exaggerated imitation of him. “Before this goes any further, Lucy, I need to make sure you don’t get the wrong idea. I’m a cowboy, wild and free. No little filly can ever tame a man like me.” She sneered. “As if I’d want to.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.” It was exactly what he’d intended to say—not so sarcastically, but she had the general idea.

“Let’s get this straight, Patrick.” The tip of her finger poked his bicep. “I may be screwed up about my future right now, but I know it includes kids. That rules you out, so all the complications your paranoia is conjuring up are a waste of your limited brain power. You’re for entertainment, Mr. Shade. The missing ingredient in my lost summer. And here’s what you need to understand.” She flicked his chest. “When you cease to pleasure me, I’ll find somebody who can. Clear?”