“Toward a relationship. A real one, where you spend every night with me, or me with you, and we date in public. You bring me flowers, we have an anniversary, and then people around town start speculating about when we’re going to tie the knot.” She looked like she wanted to throw up, either from nerves or pure distaste at the thought.
“And that would be plain awful, right?”
Her brows drew together. “It’s not my style. I didn’t think it was yours, but you’re starting to worry me a little. Maybe you’re more ‘hearth and home’ than I originally thought.”
“Kiss of death, apparently,” he muttered into his napkin.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He tossed the linen on the table and held out a hand, standing with her. “What is it about relationships that kills it for you?”
“They tie you down,” she answered quickly. This wasn’t something she’d just thought of. It was a very real deal to her. “They weigh on you. They make you change, take you places you didn’t want to go.”
“Physically?”
“That, too, but mentally, emotionally as well.” She shrugged into the jacket he held out for her. “It’s not my thing.” She moved her hair so it slid out from under the collar, the strands moving together like inky silk. He wanted to bite the back of her neck, hold her in place like a stallion pinning down its mare.
“It’s too limiting,” he summarized.
“Can be.” She took his arm and followed him out to the parking lot. Thanks to the long drive, they’d made it to dinner on the late side, and were one of the last to leave. His truck sat in the back of the lot. “I’m not a fan of that whole settle down, build a picket fence, have two-point-two kids and the dopey lab thing. I mean, I live above a bar, for Christ’s sake. And I like it there.”
Minus the last one-point-two kids, she’d all but described his current life. Problems abounded if he was going to get her to come around to his side of the fence, picket or otherwise.
So he’d ease her in. Get her hooked on him, on them as a unit. And once that happened, maybe he could get her used to the idea of more than just a commitment that ran from one evening to the next.
“Relationships are boring, huh.”
She headed around to her side of the truck and waited while he reached for the door. “I’m just not convinced being in a full-blown relationship could keep me excited.”
That was it. He whirled her around until her back hit the door of the truck and pressed against her. “I think that was a personal challenge.”
Her eyes widened in the weak light of the parking lot. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
“Sweetheart, I’m taking it as one.” He didn’t give her a chance to argue, but kissed her with all the passion, confusion, annoyance, and desperation he felt. He let it all pour out of him, into their kiss, communicating the feelings behind it.
Yes, feelings. He had feelings for her, ones he couldn’t quite describe yet. But they were intense and he wasn’t about to walk away from them—from her—because of a simple challenge.
Jo lifted one leg and wrapped her ankle around his knee, drawing him in closer. Trace pulled her more firmly against his chest with one hand at the small of her back and groped for the door handle. He managed to pry it open before lifting her up by the ass and setting her down on the bench seat.
She stared down at him a moment, panting. “Well. That was something. I should unintentionally challenge you more often.”
He stared at her, shaking his head. “You think I’m done?”
One brow rose, a silent question.
“Jo, that was just an appetizer.”
Chapter Thirteen
Jo shivered and wondered just how fast he could drive them back without breaking too many laws or getting pulled over. The ridge of his cock had been so hard, so full against her stomach as he’d pressed into her, she knew he was hurting as much, maybe more than she was. Ready, primed to go.
Apparently, Trace wasn’t concerned with the drive back. He vaulted into the truck like a cat, crouching over her, blocking out any of the miniscule light from the lone lamp in the parking lot. His figure was only a shadow over her, poised and ready.
But she knew him. She knew the shape of his face, the angles and planes of his body, the gentleness he used when he wanted to. The tenderness she sometimes caught him watching her with. That same tenderness that made her want to jump at him and wrap her limbs around his torso and never let go. The tenderness that made her want to sprint for the hills and never look back.
“I’m at the point of no return here, Jo. So if you want me to stop, say it.” He pressed the hard length of his erection against her crotch, the panties and denim a pathetic barrier between the heat they both burned with.