I couldn’t help but return the smile as his were still infectious. “Last I knew, the truck was still parked at the community center with catastrophic engine troubles.”

“Not troubles, sweetheart.” Beau’s tone was gentle and replete with sympathy. “You’ve still got catastrophic engine failure. You need a new engine.”

I stuffed my hands in the back pockets of my khaki skirt and shifted on my feet. “I know that. But I don’t have the money right now to get a new engine.”

“We figured as much,” Duane cut in, stepping forward so he was shoulder to shoulder with his brother and directly in front of me. “We’d like to buy the truck from you, if you’re willing.”

I waited two seconds before lifting my gaze to Duane’s, needing time to gather my faculties. When I met his stare I was glad I’d taken the time to prepare. If Beau’s eyes were the tranquil summer sky, then Duane’s were a tempest at sea—a stormy aquamarine.

“Duane,” I said unnecessarily, and a little dreamily, on an exhaled breath.

His attention drifted over my face and his non-expression softened. “Hi, Jessica.”

My heart gave a little leap. Even though his features were completely absent a smile, I felt one—a blasted shy, wistful one—tug at my lips. “Hi, Duane.”

Then silence.

I wasn’t aware of it at first because I’d tumbled into an aquamarine tempest. My mind was fully occupied with memories of Halloween night, of his hands on me, his mouth on mine, the hot velvet touch of his tongue. Preoccupation with my memories became something else—fixation on a wish…I think—and my chest felt heavy and full.

I only became aware of the quiet when it was broken.

“Claire, can I take a look under your hood? I think, uh, one of your engine mounts might be loose. I heard a rattling sound when you pulled up,” Beau said, as he took Claire’s elbow in hand and walked her toward her truck, not waiting for a response.

If she made one I swear I didn’t hear it. The soundtrack in my brain had started again. This time Roberta Flack’s The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face was playing, the music swelling, carrying my sense out to sea.

Duane and I were now basically alone, giving each other hot looks.

CHAPTER 6

“Don't let your luggage define your travels, each life unravels differently.”

? Shane Koyczan

~Duane~

I was going to kiss her.

But first I was going to strangle her.

“Duane…” She said my name again in that breathless way, making my neck itch and my throat tighten.

Jessica was looking at me expectantly. Her big amber eyes on mine like I was the center of her world. I liked it too much. It was also irritating because I didn’t know what it meant, what she was thinking. She hadn’t said a damn word to me on our walk back from the lake. She hadn’t called me. We hadn’t spoken since Friday.

Five days. Five days without touching or tasting her.

I was going to kiss her while I strangled her.

“Yeah?” I said, the edge of my irritation clear. I wasn’t trying to hide it, there was no need. One way or the other we were coming to an agreement that involved something definite, not definitely maybes. Better she knew I wasn’t planning on rolling over unless it involved her beneath me.

Jessica blinked at me, likely because of my tone, and I watched her shake herself a little like I’d startled her.

“Uh, so…the truck.” She cleared her throat, her eyes sliding to the side and away from me.

“What about the truck?”

“You towed it.”

“Yes, I did.” I allowed myself a moment to look at her body. She was wearing a thin, pink shirt with buttons down the front, with a white, lacy tank top under. It was tucked into a tan skirt that ended at her knees. She was also wearing brown high-heeled boots, the kind that don’t make sense.

Boots are for working, for walking through wet mud, for keeping feet from getting shredded by broken glass and falling machine parts. Boots with spiked heels were just as practical as sandals with steel toes.

Still not looking at me, she asked, “So, you want to buy it?” Her voice was different, higher pitched.

“That’s what I just said.” Again, my irritation was clear.

Her eyes cut to mine, throwing me splinters of frustration. “Well there’s no need to be rude, Duane.”

“I’m sorry, was I being rude?” I couldn’t help myself, I took a full step forward, forcing her to lift her chin to keep eye contact. “Should I have called?”

“Yes,” she ground out. “You can’t just tow other peoples’ cars without asking.”

“Excuse me, Princess. But Mike McClure called me and asked if I minded moving the truck here. I figured he was calling on your behalf.”

“No, he wasn’t calling on my behalf. If I wanted to call you, I would have just called you.”

I felt those words in my stomach, just under my ribs, a quick slice. I’m sure I winced because her expression changed, but before she could explain away her meaning, I cut her off.

“Fine, I get you, loud and clear.”

“Duane—”

I lifted my hands to keep her from talking. She was so lovely, even her voice was pretty. But suddenly I couldn’t wait for her to leave and put me out of this misery of being with her when she wasn’t interested in being mine.

“We want to buy the truck and I’m willing to offer you a fair amount.”

“Would you just hold on a sec?” Jessica took my hand between hers, her grip surprisingly strong, her skin against mine sending a shock up my arm. I ignored it and ground my teeth.

“You can use the money for a new car, something smaller that gets better mileage.”

Paying no heed, Jessica took a half step forward, catching me unawares. One second she was glaring at me, the next she was lifting to her tiptoes and brushing her lips against mine. That was it, I was done for.

I was surprised, so it took me a second to respond.

But I was also motivated, so it only took me a second to respond.

I gripped her arm, staying any possible escape, and moved to deepen the kiss. Surprising me again, she moaned and opened her mouth, her hot little tongue searching for mine. I growled and I didn’t regret it.

I’d been thinking about her sweet curves, her silky skin, perfect fucking breasts, and round luscious ass for five days. Five days of an unending, tortured hard-on. I was impressed the only thing I did was growl, because what I wanted to do was throw her over my shoulder, take her to the room above the office, handcuff her to the chair, strip her naked, and listen to her moan, cry, and scream my name.

It didn’t have to be my name. Also acceptable: Oh God, and Yes please, and Don’t stop, and Harderfastermore.

…you get the picture.

I doubted her sheriff father or deputy brother would be pleased with that course of action, but I can’t say I cared much about their feelings on the subject.

Jessica’s hand released mine, slipped around my back, kneading and searching, pressing her soft body to mine, pulling against the hold I had on her arm. I relinquished her and grabbed a handful of her ass, snaking my other arm around her waist.

I needed leverage. We needed privacy. I needed to put her against something so I could do more of what I wanted to do. To that end, I lifted her slightly off her feet and carried her into the shop, past Cletus’s boots, past the Toyota he was working on, the rusty Master Lock toolbox on wheels, and into the supply room off the garage.

For her part, she never stopped kissing me. Tilting her head to one side and pressing herself to my chest, Jessica licked and bit my ear, giving me little sighs and enthusiastic moans. She also wrapped her arm around my neck and further accommodated our relocation by bending her legs, making it easier to traverse the obstacle course of the shop.

Once inside the supply room, I slammed the door and immediately turned and pressed her against it. Her hands came to the zipper at the front of my coveralls at my throat and fumbled for the tab.

Now, in that moment shut in the little room, surrounded by shelves of greasy cylinders, busted pistons, and an array of crankshafts, I admit I thought about hiking up her skirt, sliding into her sweet body, and taking her hard and fast against the door.

I thought about it. I did.

But I didn’t want to do that.

I wanted to marry this girl.

That was the truth of it. And maybe one day, after we’d been married for a while, I’d pull her in here and bend her over the table at the back and we’d have a real good time. Maybe we’d do it every Wednesday…when she was my wife.

But not now. Not yet. Not when I’m needing to be taken seriously and respected. That’s why, when I spotted the grease stain on the upper arm of her pretty top, most certainly left by my hand, I felt my engine cool and a good dose of sobriety chilled my veins.

I grabbed her hands before they could work the zipper of my coveralls down to my hips and brought them over her head. It was hard to think with her hands on me. It was also hard to think with her mouth doing its voodoo, so I bent my head to her neck and bit a spot on her shoulder. I took the opportunity to breathe her in and found this was a mistake if I wanted a clear head.

After placing one more kiss against her jaw, I lifted my head for some cooler air while trying to ignore her rapid pants of excitement and the beat of her heart against my ribs. We were pressed together knees to chest. I still held her wrists but I lowered them to her sides. My eyes were closed. I needed more than a minute, so I took it, and reminded myself that being shortsighted can ruin the long game.