Small-Town Redemption (16 page)

He angled his head, took their kiss deeper, swept his tongue into her mouth. She trembled. He groaned. He loved how she responded to him so quickly, so easily. As though she couldn’t get enough of him.

He dragged his hand up her back, trailing his fingers along her spine, pulling her shirt up. He ached with the need to be with her, and he didn’t like wanting, not this much, having it be this important to him.

He set out to seduce her, not with flowery words he didn’t mean, wasn’t sure he’d ever mean. Not with promises he had no intention of keeping or soft touches or long kisses. He wanted her to be inflamed, to be as desperate for him as he was for her.

He wanted to lose himself in her. If only for a little while.

He kissed her hungrily, turning them around and around until they were in the living room. Pushing her against the wall, he kept his hand at the back of her head, held her there. Deepened the kiss, knowing he was out of control, hungry and desperate for her, but he couldn’t seem to stop.

Please, God, don’t let her stop him.

Her hands went to his shoulders and then up to his head, her fingers stabbing into his hair. She matched the movement of his tongue, of his hips gently rotating against hers. Matched his desire. He kissed her again and again until they were both gasping for breath, her hands caressing his shoulders, his neck, down his left arm and back up again.

He stepped back far enough to slide his hand under the hem of her shirt. She was soft and warm and so receptive to his touch, the way her muscles jerked under his hand, how she gasped into his mouth.

He broke the kiss and somehow managed to pull her shirt up with one hand, helped her tug it off, then tossed it aside and kissed her again. Her breasts were small, but they were big enough to press against him, fill his hand as he cupped her through her lacy bra, his thumb bringing one nipple to a hard peak. She whimpered into his mouth, squirmed, so he did it again. And again, then pinched it lightly.

She bucked against him, her hips brushing his erection, and he growled. Stepped back and ripped open the buttons of his shirt, shoved it off his good arm, then quickly removed his sling and pulled the shirt down his cast. Her hands were there, helping him, skimming against his stomach, his ribs. The material caught on his cast and she was already kissing him again, touching his chest as he yanked the shirt off. He loved the way she touched him, as if memorizing the feel of him, his shape. It drove him crazy. Having her hands on him was better than he’d ever imagined. And he had imagined being with her. He hadn’t wanted to, didn’t want this strong of a need for anyone. He couldn’t count on her to be there, didn’t want her to count on him to be there after this was done.

But they were together now. That was all that mattered.

He kissed her again, deep kisses, his tongue rubbing against hers, his hand sliding up and down her side, her back, his fingers trailing across the side of her breast. He walked her toward the hallway, intending on somehow making it to his bedroom, to his bed, but when he got to the doorway, he couldn’t help but press against her there, his body holding her prisoner.

He kissed a line down her throat, across her collarbone and to the slope of her breasts. Then tugged her bra down and touched her. “I wish I could put both of my hands on you,” he growled in frustration, loving the flush that turned her chest pink.

He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth and sucked.

He kissed his way between her breasts, down her stomach to her lower abdomen, his hand gripping her waist. He straightened, kissed her again, hungrier this time, demanding a response from her, an answer to his need. Her hands were hesitant on him, but he couldn’t get enough of her touch, the feel of her fingers skimming his shoulders, down his chest.

“Kane,” she gasped, tearing her mouth from his. Now she pressed against his chest. Holding him back. He didn’t like that at all. “Wait.”

It took all his willpower to straighten, to keep his hand on her still, to not kiss her mouth, which was swollen and glossy. “What’s wrong?”

He winced. He hadn’t meant for that to come out so rough, so accusing.

Her eyes were wide. Still dazed from his kisses, his touch. She licked her lips, the move unconsciously, incomprehensively sexy when she stood before him, naked from the waist up, her hair tousled. “I...I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

He inhaled through his nose, tried to calm his heart rate. He needed to slow down. A woman like Charlotte, with her pretty fantasies about what life was supposed to be like, about relationships and happy ever after, needed more than a quick bang against the wall.

She deserved so much more.

He wished he could give her more, wished he could walk away from her, but his need for her was too great. Being with her soothed the ache in his chest, appeased the constant hunger in his soul.

Made him feel less alone.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice low as he trailed one finger down the long line of her neck. He watched that finger slide over her collarbone, dip into the hollow at the base of her throat before sliding down the slope of her breast. Her nipple tightened. “I think it’s the best idea I’ve had this week. Maybe ever.”

Now he had to convince her to agree. He didn’t want her to have regrets, didn’t want her to think of this as a mistake. He wouldn’t force her. But he’d do his damnedest to seduce her.

He traced her nipple, watched as the pink bud tightened, jutting out, waiting for his hands. His mouth. “Do you like when I touch you?” he asked.

Her chest rose and fell heavily to match her breathing. “I... Yes...but—”

He kissed her, nibbling at her lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. Leaned back so their mouths were inches apart. “Do you like when I kiss you?”

Her fingers trembled on his chest, above his heart. “You know I do, it’s just—”

He kissed her again, dragged his hand down her side, traced his fingers back and forth along the waistband of her pants. “I love touching you,” he murmured.

“You...you do?”

He’d done too good of a job of convincing her he hadn’t wanted her that night. “I do. I want to touch you all over. I want you, Charlotte.”

So much. Too much.

Her fingers relaxed, her hands going back to smoothing over his chest. It took some work, but he managed to undo the button of her jeans with one hand, pulled down the zipper, the noise loud in the silence. He slid his hand under the denim and, palming her hip, pushed the material down. He wanted to shove at them, tear off her panties, bury himself deep inside her warmth. Her sweetness. Hunger for her filled him, snapped at his self-control, frayed the hold he had on his willpower.

His hand was unsteady as he slipped one finger under the thin strap of her panties, then tugged them down. She was perfect, all long lines, subtle curves and glowing skin. He wanted to taste her, the most elemental part of her, to hold her against the wall, his hand on her stomach, and kiss her core.

But he didn’t want to frighten her, not when she was watching him, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips parted. He crouched before her, traced light circles over her skin, around her navel. Her skin heated beneath his touch, her breathing grew ragged. Her legs were slim and smooth. Soft. He slid his hand up and down the back of her leg, behind her knee and up her inner thigh.

Her thigh muscles clenched.

He rose. Kissed her neck. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. “Tell me what you like.”

“I...I don’t know,” she said, her breathlessness exciting him even more.

He flicked her earlobe with his tongue. “Let’s find out.”

He dragged his mouth up and down the side of her neck, settled his lips behind her ear. “Do you like that?”

She swallowed. “Yes.”

He touched her core, grazing the coarse curls there. She jerked, pressed against the wall. “Do you like that?”

“I... Yes,” she whispered as if admitting some deep secret.

He slipped his hand between her legs. Rubbed her most sensitive spot. She gasped then bit her lower lip. “Do you like that?” he asked.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She nodded.

He shifted to the side, worked her with long, smooth strokes, kissing her breasts, her shoulders, her face before settling on her mouth for a long, leisurely kiss, his tongue lazily touching hers. Continued his slow seduction of her until she relaxed against the wall, until her hips began undulating against his hand.

He moved faster, lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She panted, her hips banging against the wall. When her body tightened around his hand, he straightened. Held her eyes. She shook her head as if denying the pleasure he was giving her. As if afraid of it.

That wouldn’t do. Ruthlessly, he worked her. Harder. Faster. Until she came apart with a soft, throaty cry.

* * *

E
VEN
AS
THE
most potent, powerful sensations swept through her, Charlotte couldn’t look away from Kane’s eyes. Her mouth rounded and his eyes darkened, his breathing grew unsteady though she was the one who felt as if she were flying. Pleasure coursed through her, wave after wave, the intensity overwhelming, her own response to him terrifying.

As she came down from her orgasm, he kissed her, the heat building again between them. “I want to do that again,” he told her, his voice rough, his body vibrating with tension. “I want to make you come again, Charlotte. I want to be inside of you.”

Yes. Yes, she wanted that, too. So much. Too much.

He leaned in again to kiss her, but she turned her head, pushed him back. “Wait. Kane...I... God, I’m sorry. I...can’t.”

He paused. Unlike when she’d stopped him before, it wasn’t just resolve that filled his eyes, but frustration and a bit of temper. “Damn it, Red. Why not?”

Yes, she had every right to put the brakes on, but the least she could do was explain why. “I...I’ve...never...” She gestured weakly to herself, then to him, noted the bulge behind his zipper, how labored his breathing was. Inhaling, she shut her eyes and forced the words, the confession, past the tightness in her throat. “I’ve never done this before. I’m a virgin.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H
ER
WORDS
SEEMED
to echo in the room. Stark. Honest.

She could feel Kane’s stunned silence, could hear the hard rasp of his quickly indrawn breath. Forcing her eyes open, she swallowed. Brought her arms up to cover her naked breasts, hating the shock in his gaze.

She lifted her chin. “I’m a virgin,” she repeated because it was a choice, her choice, and nothing to be ashamed of. And she didn’t want her first time to be like this, rough and quick against the wall, neither of them sure of where they stood with the other.

“Shit,” he muttered, stepping back, staring at her as if she was some sort of act at the freak show. His hair was mussed from her hands, his expression set in hard lines. “Shit. Goddamn it, Charlotte. What do you mean, you’re a virgin?”

She winced. Well, he didn’t have to make it sound like she was a freaking leper. “I’d say it was pretty self-explanatory.” Hurt and mortified, she pulled her panties and jeans up. She scooped up her shirt and put it on, well aware of her braless state, her breasts pleasantly sensitive. Even dressed, she wanted more than anything to dive for the blanket on the couch, to cover and hide herself.

She’d face him, and this latest humiliation, on her feet, thank you very much. She gave him a small, tight smile. Crossed her arms and wished he’d move back, let her leave so she could drown in her embarrassment and regrets. Then crawl into her bed and have a good cry.

“What was that?” he asked, grabbing his shirt and shaking it at her. “What the hell was that?”

“Well, seeing as how you have more experience in this area, I’m not sure how to answer that. But if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say what that was, was a mistake. A big one. But then, you don’t worry about mistakes, do you?”

“You came to me,” he accused, struggling to yank on his shirt, his broken arm falling heavily against his side. “You came to me last fall, ready and willing to take me to bed. You threw yourself at me!”

After picking up her bra and stuffing it in her back pocket, she met his gaze steadily. “I’m well aware of what happened between us last fall. I’m almost twenty-five years old and, as you’ve pointed out to me before, it’s time...past time...I grew up.”

Time she stopped believing in fairy tales like true love and happily ever after.

Oh, she wanted to believe in them. Wanted to believe there was someone out there who would love her forever.

But it was getting harder and harder to do.

“I got carried away,” she continued. “We both did.”

“You never should have let me touch you.”

She shrugged, then sighed. She’d let him touch her because he’d needed her. Wanted her. She’d never had a man want her that much. Had never experienced such a rush of pleasure, of heat and desire. “No, I shouldn’t have,” she said quietly.

“Look,” she said when he remained silent, standing there glaring at her, his shirt open, his mouth a thin line. “There’s no reason for you to be so upset. Nothing happened.”

His expression grew stormy. “I made you come,” he said, the words heated and blatant. “You call that nothing?”

Her entire body grew warm and she remembered, oh how she remembered the sensations flowing through her. The first time a man had made her feel that way. “Yes, you did. Why was that?”

He looked away. They both knew he’d seduced her, taken his experience and her lack of it, and used it to get what he wanted.

To almost get what he wanted, she corrected silently. She was so confused, her feelings for him conflicted. She didn’t love him. He wasn’t the man she planned on marrying, planned on spending the rest of her life with—and she still would have made love with him. Shame swept through her.

“Can we just...forget this ever happened?” she asked, stepping forward.

Blocking her way, he raised his eyebrows. “I doubt it.”

She blushed. “Okay, so maybe
forget
isn’t the right word. Maybe we could...move past it? The sooner the better. As in, right now.”

“You want to move past this? Move past the fact that we almost had sex against the wall, that it would have been your first time. Now we’ll...what? Go on with our lives?”

“Yes, please.” She stepped to the right. He moved to his left. In her way again. “If we could go on with them now, that’d be great.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

She linked her hands together in front of her waist. “I mean, I’d really like to go home, so please get out of my way.”

He looked as if he wanted to argue, and she prayed he wouldn’t because she was vulnerable and unsteady, and if she stayed, even for another minute, she’d break down in front of him. And that would not do.

“This isn’t over,” he told her through gritted teeth as he shifted to the side.

“Oh, I think it is,” she said before grabbing her purse and rushing out the door.

* * *

J
UST
WHEN
K
ANE
thought his night couldn’t get any shittier, the door to O’Riley’s opened and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a three-piece suit and a Stetson stepped inside. Damn it. Kane had come down to the bar after Estelle got home because he couldn’t stand being cooped up in that apartment one more minute, not after what had happened between him and Char.

What had almost happened.

I’m a virgin.

Kane’s fingers tightened on his bottle of water, denting the plastic. He’d known, somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, he’d known she was innocent. But it hadn’t mattered. He would have taken her, right there in his living room, without a thought or care about anything except his own wants and needs.

Just like the entitled boy he’d once been.

And like that boy, he’d reacted like an angry, spoiled brat when he hadn’t gotten what he’d wanted. He’d hurt her. For once, he hadn’t meant to. He just wasn’t sure how to make it right. If he should even try.

The cowboy’s gaze found him. He tipped his stupid hat and jerked his head toward the table in the corner.

Kane ground his teeth together, sent the asshole a middle finger in answer to his silent order and went back to work.

Too bad there wasn’t much to do. It was almost time for last call and the place hadn’t exactly been jumping after the dinner rush left. Mary Susan and Garret, the twenty-year-old Kane had hired to do dishes, had cleaned the kitchen and already taken off. Just he and Julie were left. Him manning the bar while she wiped down tables.

Usually, this was his favorite part of the night, when things wound down. He liked to do most of the cleanup himself, enjoyed the quiet of it, being alone with his thoughts as he did the mundane chores of sweeping, mopping, washing tables and chairs.

No settling those thoughts down tonight. Not with this visitor from his past sitting in the corner watching him steadily. Not with the feel of Charlotte still on his fingertips, the taste of her on his mouth.

“That guy in the cowboy hat wants to talk to you,” Julie told Kane as she came up to the bar.

“Yep.”

He felt, more than saw, her study him.

“He can wait,” Kane said.

She shrugged, but he saw the curiosity in her eyes, knew she was wondering what was going on. It was only a matter of time, moments probably, before she started asking him questions.

Instead, she surprised him by turning and straight toward the cowboy.

“Sorry,” she told him, her voice carrying through the almost empty room. She sounded friendly, but there was a thread of steel under her easy tone that went with the weird hairstyle, neck tattoo and soon-to-be law degree. “We’re about to have last call. As the saying goes, you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.”

The cowboy smiled, probably thought it was charming. “See, here’s the problem, darlin’,” he said in a Texas twang that grated on Kane’s last nerve. “I just sat down.”

Julie nodded. “That is a problem,” she said all faux concern. Then she leaned forward, had the cowboy’s gaze flicking to her dark jeans, which molded her ass, before slowly going back to her face. “But the thing is,” she continued, not the least bit upset about some asshole checking her out, “it’s not my problem. You need to leave. Now.”

Kane came out from behind the bar slowly, knowing the cowboy hated being told what to do.

It was one of the few things they had in common.

The cowboy smirked at him. “You’ve got yourself a real pretty little guard dog.”

Julie, her eyes still on the man before her, asked Kane, “You want me to call the cops?”

“Yes, Kane,” the cowboy drawled, amused as hell. “You want the pretty lady here to call the cops?”

“That’s not necessary,” Kane ground out from between his teeth. “Though I imagine you’d be real popular in jail with that pretty face of yours.”

The cowboy took off his hat, ran a hand through his hair, and Julie slowly straightened. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the cowboy, then at Kane.

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” she said to Kane.

Clinton Jr. held out his hand. “C.J. Bartasavich.”

She shook C.J.’s hand. “Just because you’re related doesn’t mean I won’t still call the cops and have your ass kicked out of here.”

“Duly noted.”

Kane sighed. “It’s okay,” he told Julie as the last customer left with a wave. “Go on home. I’ve got this.”

“You sure?” she asked.

He nodded.

She touched his arm as she passed. An offering of comfort. A sign of friendship.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. He didn’t have friends, didn’t want to count on anyone to be there for him because in his experience, they never were. But it was sort of nice knowing she offered.

They watched her go back behind the bar and get her purse, both keeping silent until she closed the door behind her.

“Taking after the old man, I see,” C.J. said, standing.

They were the same height, same build, though C.J. had a few pounds on Kane. “Not even a little.”

C.J. raised his eyebrows. “Sleeping with your employees? That’s Senior through and through.”

Kane didn’t bother contradicting him. He didn’t sleep with people he paid or held authority over. Besides, Julie was gay, and none of it was C.J.’s business. “You’re a long way from home,” Kane said to his older brother. “What do you want?”

“Checking up on you.” His gaze took in Kane’s face, the cast. “Heard you had yourself a little accident. You okay?”

“How did you...? Estelle.” His daughter must have told his father about the accident when she spoke with him on Sunday. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t sure how to take his brother’s seemingly genuine concern. “Good to know.” C.J. sat on a stool. “Now, seeing as how I came all this way to check on your well-being, the least you could do is offer your favorite brother a drink.”

“You’re not my favorite brother. Oakes is.”

“Oakes is everyone’s favorite.” C.J. went behind the bar and searched the bottles lined up in front of the mirror. “Including mine.”

Finding the bottle of Four Roses Single Barrel, C.J. poured himself a healthy amount and sipped his drink neat. They eyed each other, the same way they had all their lives, seeing the other as their greatest ally and biggest enemy. Though C.J. had probably flown from Houston, he didn’t look affected by the three-hour flight. His dark designer suit was as crisp and wrinkle-free as when he’d put it on—at some ungodly hour, Kane imagined—the material expensive, the fit perfect.

“Anything else you need to say?” Kane asked. “Because you could have just called to ask how I was.”

C.J.’s expression turned thoughtful as he sipped his drink, then leaned back as if he owned the bar and all it entailed, like a king surveying his lands. Not that it was his fault. He’d been groomed to take over the family business, and he’d eagerly stepped into that role, making the company bigger and better than it had ever been.

“Spit it out, Junior,” Kane said, knowing the nickname would only irritate his brother. “Some of us actually work for a living instead of sitting behind a big desk getting fat.”

The insult rolled off C.J.’s back. It was hard to get a rise out of his brother on his best day. Guess today wasn’t that day.

“Yes, I can see how busy this place must keep you,” C.J. said drily as he scanned the empty room. He slid a small, thick envelope out of his inner coat pocket and set it on the bar. “I didn’t just come here to check up on you. I’m here on official business.”

Kane flicked his gaze to the envelope, his chest tight as he saw the family business name on the upper left corner. His name was written across the front in dark, thick ink. His full name, including his middle, written in his father’s hand.

“Not interested,” Kane said.

“You might be.” C.J. used one finger to slide the envelope closer. “Once you see what he’s offering you.”

Kane picked it up, turned it in his hand, then tapped the corner against the bar. His father wanted the same thing he’d been after since Kane joined the Army. He wanted Kane back. Back in Houston, back under his control. He thought promising him a prime spot in the company was going to accomplish it, that all he had to do was offer a huge wad of cash and Kane would be scrambling to do Senior’s bidding, to give him what he wanted, no questions asked other than,
What else can I do for you?

Kane had worked damn hard to get away from them all. His mother and brothers and, especially, Clint Sr.

He wasn’t going back. His eyes on C.J., he ripped the envelope in two, tossed the pieces into the trash.

“I already know what he’s offering me. An office on the top floor, all the perks that come with having fancy initials after my name, my own private secretary—one he’s not interested in banging himself—and an annual salary high enough to support a small country. Plus the perk of being under his fat thumb for the rest of my life. No, thanks. Been there. Didn’t like how hard he pressed down.”

“He wants you in Houston, with your family where you belong,” C.J. said, leaning back, out of place in his fancy suit in Kane’s run-down bar. Kane was glad. He didn’t want his bar to be a place for people like his brother or their family. It was for people who worked hard for a living, who maybe didn’t make a ton of money, but they had things the Bartasaviches didn’t—integrity. Morals.