“This is why people drive cars, with roofs and windows and stuff!” I exclaimed as Wade shut off the engine.
“Well, if I knew I was going to be carrying a passenger through a storm, I woulda taken my truck to work tonight.”
“Don’t make your meteorological miscalculations my fault,” I teased. “How far did we get?”
“About halfway,” he said. “No sense in callin’ anyone. We’ll just wait it out.”
“Or be sacrificed by the scary tobacco cult that clearly holds its meetings here.” I put my cell phone on flashlight mode and held it up so Wade could see the tables full of scythes.
He recoiled. “Yep. We live in a strange town.”
I nodded. “So just you and me. In a tobacco-torture-cult barn.”
“Can’t say I don’t know how to show a girl a good time.”
“If you try to tell me that we should ‘get out of these wet clothes,’ I will smack you. A lot.”
Wade laughed and jostled me with his shoulder. “Smartass.”
“My appeal is ninety-two percent sass-based.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Wade shook the water out of his hair. “It’s more a sixty-forty split.”
“Oh, really? And does the other forty percent depend on my ‘greatest rack in the history of racks’?”
Wade’s blue eyes bugged out of his head. “That wasn’t a dream?”
“Oh, no, it was very real.” I laughed as he dropped his head to his shoulder and groaned. I giggled, giving his shoulder a comforting “sorry you made an ass out of yourself” pat.
“Thank you for not killin’ me in my sleep,” he muttered against my damp skin.
“Eh, you’re cute, and you smell nice, so I think I’ll keep you.”
“That’s all of my good qualities?” he muttered. “Thanks a lot.”
I laughed, tilting his chin up so he had to meet my gaze. “OK, you are a good man and an excellent father. You are funny and smart and kind, and you listen to me. No one has ever really listened to me before. And you remind me that these insane things I’m doing, I’m doing them for the right reasons. And you just drive me crazy sometimes with how pretty you are, which I don’t think should be overlooked, in terms of a virtue—”
Wade closed his mouth over mine, effectively shutting me up. His hands, warm and alive, slid under my wet jacket and pulled me closer, so I could feel the beat of his heart against my own silent chest. I threaded my fingers through his damp hair, rubbing my thumb over his pulse point. It jumped with every stroke.
He broke away, chuckling softly as he backed me toward one of the tables. I could feel my nipples drawing tight and hard against the wet fabric of our shirts. I felt desire flicker between my thighs, and for the first time in years, I knew that desire was about to be fulfilled. Waves of an entirely different sort of hunger rolled through me, and I could feel my fangs stir, aching to break through and strike at Wade’s neck. The very idea of his sweet, warm blood flooding my mouth, into my throat, made me moan, even as the more human, rational parts of my brain rebelled.
I turned my head, capturing his lips to distract myself from the temptation of his jugular. I growled in appreciation at the taste of his mouth, cinnamon gum and the hint of smoke. He took advantage of this, sliding his tongue across my lips to dance with my own. He spread his hands over my ass and lifted me, wrapping my thighs around his waist. He hitched me up, raking my aching center over the growing bulge behind his zipper.
“We need to get you out of those wet clothes,” he rumbled against my lips as he carried me across the room to a table only half full of deadly farm implements. Laughing, I smacked at his arms, even as he spread me out over an empty spot on the table. He pushed at my wet jacket, protecting me from the rough wooden boards with its damp, heavy material. He rubbed his thumb across my bottom lip, raising his eyebrows, as if to ask permission.
I nodded and kissed him, hoping I was giving him some idea of how much I wanted him, how much I wanted to touch and be touched, how glad I was that it was Wade here with me. He propped my ass on the edge of the table and pushed his wet jacket back, letting it drop to the ground. His fingers splayed across my collarbone, tracing its curve down to the swell of my breasts. He kneaded them, teasing the nipples through the wet cotton of my shirt. I moaned, arching into his hands, bucking my hips. My ankles locked at the small of his back, trapping him against me. He tried not to let the wince show, but it was clear I was hurting him. I relaxed my legs from their vise-like grip, and he fell against me, face tucked into the valley of my cleavage.