Forbidden. Tori Carrington
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coax out his bittersweet semen. To hear him call out her name, his fingers entwined in her hair, tightly holding her to him.
With some awkwardness, she helped him rid her of her slacks and then straddled him, her right knee hitting the console, her left wedged tightly against the door. But she didn’t care. All she could concentrate on was how badly she wanted this one man. How hot she was, how hot he was, and how she knew that only he could put out the fire twisting and turning inside her.
She reached to position him against her hungry flesh. She gasped when he grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip.
“No,” he ground out.
The air disappeared from Leah’s lungs.
“Not like this. Not in a car. Not so soon.”
Leah blinked at him, incapable of speech.
J.T. stared at her for a long moment then deposited her back onto the driver’s seat. She watched, dumbstruck, as he adjusted his clothing with the same control he did everything else, then he sat back and looked at her, his eyes full of question and mystery.
“It was good seeing you, Leah,” he murmured.
Then he climbed out of the car and slammed the door.
J.T. STOOD ALONE in the parking lot, the cool spring rain washing over him as he watched Leah’s taillights disappear into the damp night. She had turned toward the big, warm house waiting for her a few miles to the west. The house that over the past twelve years she’d made a home. A place not unlike the hulking house she’d grown up in. He’d visited both places only once and had known instantly that he didn’t belong in either. Just as he’d known that Leah hadn’t belonged in either his father’s rusty trailer or the shabby, no-star motels he’d recently called home.
But if there was one thing he’d come to understand during his thirty-two years—and especially in the past year and a half—it was that outer trappings had very little to do with basic human wants and needs. And if the past thirty minutes were any indication, he wanted…needed Leah on a level he couldn’t begin to understand. All he knew was that he had to explore what it was. If for no other reason than to tuck her and whatever existed between them neatly into the past, where so far it had refused to rest.
Water dripped down over his face, soaking his T-shirt, running over his jacket, but still he couldn’t bring himself to move. What he’d experienced with Leah before had been profound. But what had passed between them a few minutes ago had shaken him to the bone. He hadn’t had sex in a car since he was eighteen. And, curiously enough, it had been with Leah. He’d been a hairbreadth away from taking what Leah had just so generously, hungrily offered. Had known such a ferocious desire to bury himself in her sweet, hot flesh that in that one moment everything else had emerged irrelevant.
Even his freedom.
His gaze cut to a car entering the parking lot from the opposite direction. A white and blue cruiser emblazoned with the words Toledo City Police Department. J.T. shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, then turned and made his way toward his bike. He heard the cruiser slowly pass by him, then continue on as he put on his helmet. He watched as the officers turned at the end of the lane then he straddled the wet Harley. He was less than a mile away from the city line. The cruiser exited the parking lot onto Secor Road, then disappeared from site. But the significance of his reaction to it lingered on, pounding against J.T. much like the rain.
If he’d needed a reminder of how much he was putting on the line by coming back to Toledo, by staying in one place for longer than he knew to be safe, the innocuous drive-by was it. While the cruiser and the officers in it hadn’t been looking for him, they might be tomorrow. Or the day after that. Which didn’t leave him much time to accomplish what he needed to.
The powerful bike started up with a quiet roar, echoing the emotions pulsing through him. So much at stake. With no guarantees. But he needed to find out if she was a bored middle-upper class housewife seeking a bit of fun with a bad boy from her younger days. Or if Leah Dubois Burger loved him. And he wasn’t leaving until he found out.
3
“I NEED THAT PERMISSION SLIP for the class trip today. And I can’t find my blue volleyball shorts.”
Leah squinted against the early-morning sun slanting in through the French doors as she stacked thinly sliced pieces of turkey breast onto a whole-wheat slice of bread. Bread that she had picked up at the market the night before last. Bread that had been the cause of long, restless nights filled with yearnings for a man she shouldn’t be yearning for.
“You can’t find your volleyball shorts because they’re in the laundry room waiting to be washed.” She tore lettuce apart and added it to the sandwich. “And what class trip?”
“You didn’t wash my shorts?”
Sami finally stepped out of the glare of the light. It never ceased to amaze Leah that an eleven-year-old girl could have so much to be angry about. Her daughter’s blue eyes flashed and her light brown hair seemed to crackle with electricity.
“No,” Leah said carefully, cutting the sandwich into two even halves then putting it into a baggie. “I didn’t wash your shorts, Sam. And you didn’t answer me about the trip.”
Her daughter continued to ignore her question, turning on her heel and stalking to the laundry room just off the dining area. Leah put the sandwich into a backpack along with a pear, carrot sticks and a juice pack and watched Sami pick through the laundry basket for her shorts. The navy blue material was wrinkled but otherwise unsoiled.
“I can’t possibly wear these!” Sami cried.
Leah stretched her neck, looked at her watch and asked again, “What class trip?”
Sami glared at her, stalked back across the kitchen to the crowded desk built into the cabinets, then fished out a slip of paper in among the bills. “This one.”
Sami slapped the paper onto the counter into a dollop of mustard then stalked from the room. Leah read the slip as she wiped the mustard from the back of it. It seemed two weeks ago her daughter’s History teacher had requested permission for Sami to go on a class trip to the Toledo Museum of Art. Leah was pretty certain she didn’t remember her daughter saying anything about the trip. And she’d gone through the bills stacked on her desk two nights ago and hadn’t seen the slip. But considering her own state of mind as of late, she couldn’t bring herself to lay the blame completely on her daughter. To say she hadn’t been on top of things recently would be akin to saying coffee was black.
Speaking of coffee…
She stared longingly at the empty carafe on the counter behind her, then winced at the sound of her daughter’s bedroom door slamming.
Leah briefly closed her eyes, trying to remember that it wasn’t all that long ago that she and Sami had been best friends. Well, okay, not best friends. But there had been a level of respect and trust and warmth there that Leah had once shared with her own mother.
Now it seemed she could do nothing right in the eleven-year-old’s eyes. If she breathed, she was doing it wrong. And on some days she found herself teetering between wanting to lock the girl in the basement or run away entirely.
Of course, she’d known the exact moment when the tides had turned. The night nearly a year and a half ago when she had sat Sami down and told her that she and her father were separating.
And the reason for their separation had been the very man who was causing her distraction now.
Two days had passed since she’d run into J. T. West at the market. Two days since he’d climbed into her car and she’d remembered all at once what it was be like to just…be. To feel like a woman. Not somebody’s mother. Not somebody’s daughter. Not somebody’s ex working toward reconciliation. Then she’d practically mauled him in the front seat.
It had been two days since she’d heard from him and was left to wonder if he was still in town. Two days since she’d