Somethin' Dirty: Country Fever, Book 4 (13 page)

He growled in response and his hips churned. He slipped his cock deeper into her mouth. She reveled in the salty flavor of the man and moved her tongue over his flesh to get more.

“Jeezus hell fucking shit.” He gripped the side of her face, trapping her hair under his hand, and pushed deeper. She continued to look up at him, unable to glance away from the acute pleasure on his face.

She relaxed her mouth to take every velvety inch of him. The way he stretched her jaw felt good, and she hummed her pleasure.

“Goddamn motherfuck.”

The harsh curses and the look on his face spurred her on. She moaned around him. With a hard thrust, he brought his cock deep into her mouth at the same moment he reached down her body and found her soaking wet pussy.

She cried out around his girth as he burrowed his fingers into her. Tipping her hips, she urged him toward that spot he knew so very well.

He eased his cock out and thrust back home. A salty drop of come hit her tongue, and she sucked. Wanting to drain him. To see those little creases of worry around his eyes dissipate even for a few minutes.

He circled her G-spot, and she flooded with fresh arousal. They shared a groan, and he did it again. And again. She grasped his ass and drew him forward, wanting to take him as deeply as possible.

“Gorgeous girl. Hair mixing with the hay, your eyes wide for me, this pussy hot for me.” He sank between her lips and plunged his fingers into her sheath five times…six. Her inner thigh muscles started to quiver, and her pussy clenched.

“Fuck yeah. My cock disappearing between your sweet lips and my fingers into your other lips… I can’t hold off much longer. Give me your orgasm. Now.” He pressed hard against her inner wall, and her whole body spasmed.

“Now. Now. Now.” Every naughty grunt he issued was music to her heart. Her pussy heated, then she tipped over the edge. With a cry around his fat cock, she came. He stiffened, and his mouth contorted to an O of bliss. His cock sank a millimeter deeper into her throat, and hot jets of come filled her.

She swallowed reflexively. He pistoned his hips, finger-fucked her and gave her more satisfaction than she would have imagined. Giving back to him in this way felt right.

Breathing heavily, he kept his fingers buried in her core but pulled his cock from her mouth. She ran her tongue around her lips to capture the last of his essence.

“Holy hell, baby doll.” He dropped his head to her shoulder and drew gulping breaths. She rubbed his nape, realizing just how vulnerable he was for all his masculinity and determination.

His mouth was near her ear, and his breathing started to slow. A snippet of a melody soughed softly from him, and her heart jerked. Fear raced off through the fields of her soul as she realized the hummed tune was a bar from the song he’d sung for Lyric.

Only one lyric important enough to sing to you.

Fuck. She had to get to Nashville before it was too late.

Chapter Eight

Crumbles of earth clung to the backs of Griffin’s hands as he finished burying the calf. He locked his jaw against a roar. He only had one calf left. The illness had wiped them out. That meant no new cows to auction at the end of the summer. No money coming in.

He had a big installment due for Miranda’s schooling. In another year, she’d be finished, but for now, he was stretched to the max. Add vet bills and extra gas money it took to drive into Reedy almost daily with his ma, and he was about to buckle under the financial weight.

And Nola…it almost felt wrong to pay her. He was so entrenched in their relationship, and she was so much more than Lyric’s caretaker to him.

He rocked back on his heels and stared at the grave. Two more cows were ready to drop calves, but dread filled him at the thought. As soon as the newborns burst into the world, the fight would be on.

With a sigh, he gained his feet and grabbed the shovel. Heading for the outbuilding, he scoured the grounds for a glimpse of Nola. Sometimes she’d come outside with a thermos of scalding coffee for him, but not today.

No, after their shared release in the hay, she’d withdrawn. Silently she’d returned to the house, and his chest had tightened further with fear.

He put away the shovel and washed up in the outdoor sink. He needed to shower before taking Ma into the hospital, but the position of the sun told him he was already running late.

When he entered the house, he found his ma sitting at the kitchen table, dressed to go.

“How did you get here?”

“Martha Gallagher was driving up to visit a friend and I hitched a ride with her.”

“When?”

“An hour or so ago.”

“Am I running that far behind?” he asked.

“A lot behind, son. We missed my appointment.”

“What?” He shot a look at the wall clock and found it an hour later than he’d guessed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Someone should have hollered for me. Can we reschedule?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t want to go anyway. Let’s forget about it for today—”

He stomped across the room to the phone. “Like hell.” Neither of them was giving up that fight. He punched a few buttons on the phone. Just as it started to ring, Nola entered with Lyric.

She avoided his gaze, and he pressed his lips into a tight line to keep from barking at her. Someone answered the phone in the chemo center, and he opened his mouth to speak at the same time Lyric gave a peal of rage.

He whirled on Nola. She was cradling the baby instead of hoisting the infant over her shoulder so Lyric could look around. Of course Lyric was upset.

He covered the phone with his hand. “Dammit, Nola, she hates being held that way.”

Shock passed over her face, and he could feel his ma’s sharp glare. He spun away from all three difficult females and spoke to the woman on the phone about a new time for his mother to come in.

When he had a new time in his head, he turned back. Nola had Lyric on her shoulder, and the baby’s bright eyes blinked at him over her stiff shoulder. Annoyance mounted in his chest.

He glanced at his mother, who gave him a withering look of disapproval. He almost felt his balls draw up into those of an eight-year-old boy’s. He started to speak, then caught sight of an envelope lying on the kitchen table—the university logo apparent.

The goddamn bill came early.

“Nola, get the bottles made for the day, and make sure I have enough diapers to get me through tonight. I think we’re running low.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she glared at him.
 
“I’ll do that,” she said coolly.

“Griffin, you’re being an ass this morning.” His ma’s observation was a twig snapped in his chest. Lyric squealed again, and while he knew she just wanted him, he stormed across the kitchen and snapped her out of Nola’s arms.

The woman tilted her chin up at him, anger coating her delicate features. She set her fists on the narrow spot above her hips. Sparks of anger shot between them, then she grunted and whirled away.

“Griffin—”

He ignored his mother and chased Nola, Lyric flapping happily in his arm. That his daughter smelled faintly of Nola wasn’t lost on him.

In the living room he snagged Nola’s shoulder and spun her to face him. Something in her eyes shifted.

Hurt.

Guilt swelled in his chest.

“If I’m not doing a good job, then let me go. I have places to be anyhow.” The hard glitter in her eyes told him exactly what she was talking about.

“You want Nashville, then do it. Why wait around? I’m sure I’ve paid you enough money by now to get a flight and a hotel for a while.”

She issued a disgusted noise and continued through the living room to the duffle bag she’d been keeping there. Her personal items warmed him every time he spotted them.

With jerky movements she zipped the bag and hefted the long strap over her shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go home and make arrangements now.”

Every cell in his body screamed for him to stop being an asshole, get a grip and tell her to stay. He couldn’t do this without her, but his need for an employee had morphed into his need for a soul mate. If it was going to end, this was the best time—before he went out and added to his debt by buying a goddamn ring.

“I’ll go into town and get you the money I owe for this week if you want to stop by tomorrow for it.”

“Yeah.” Her words were flat, her eyes dead. “I’ll do that.”

She strode back to the kitchen. He drifted to the doorway in time to see her wrap an arm around his ma’s frail shoulders. “Take care, Alice.”

Without a backward glance, Nola walked out of his kitchen. Out of his house. Out of his life.

His throat constricted, and he buried his nose against Lyric’s throat, battling his own stubborn anger.

When the crunch of her car tires could be heard no longer, his mother finally spoke. “Ever hear that saying about it not being important how you weather the storm but how you dance in the rain, son?”

He could barely force a response past the knot in his throat. “No.”

“Well, you aren’t dancin’.” She got up and walked away too, leaving him alone with his daughter, who promptly pooped her pants.

Nola’s country music ringtone blared through her bedroom. She flailed an arm out of her covers and batted at the cell phone on the nightstand. It stopped ringing.

Thank God. She dropped her head back to the pillow just as it started blaring again.

Molly’s fist vibrated the wall between their rooms. On the opposite side of the room, a resounding bang that could only be her father’s fist sounded, followed by her mother’s, “Nola!”

She grabbed for the phone before her family had to hide her body. “It’s three o’clock in the morning. What the hell can be so important?” she answered the phone without glancing at the caller ID.

“Nola.”

Her heart spasmed at Griffin’s voice. Everything came back to her—his ugly behavior the previous morning, how he’d snapped at her and made her feel as if she was incompetent with Lyric. As if she didn’t feel incompetent enough.

“I need you. It’s Lyric. She rolled off my bed, and I—I’m freaking out.”

“I can hear that. Did you pick her up?” Now she was giving him advice on parenting? What a fucked-up change of pace.

“Of course I picked her up! And she quit crying already, but I’m afraid she has a head injury or something.”

Fear tingled in Nola’s fingertips. “Why did you have her in your bed?”

“I just wanted to feel her close to me,” he said. But Nola heard:
I missed you.

“I’ll be right there. If she starts acting strange, call 911. Did you call your mother?”

“No, she’s still in the hospital. She passed out during her chemo session.”

“Hell. Griffin, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thought it takes you half an hour to get to Needle’s Pass.”

She glanced down at her nightshirt. She could throw on some jeans and flip-flops and not bother tidying her hair. “Give me twenty minutes, but don’t expect my teeth to be brushed.”

She heard gratitude and a hint of a smile in his voice. “Thank you, baby doll.”

She didn’t respond but ended the call. Then she put on those jeans and flip-flops, too aware of how many hours it had been since he called her baby doll.

Navigating the twisty road to Needle’s Pass was harrowing enough in the daylight. At night, with animals bounding across the road in front of her and a nice haze of fog at the top of the mountain, Nola’s grip on the steering wheel left her knuckles white.

While she drove she ran through what she knew about head injuries, which was just about as much as she knew about infants. Still, the thought of Lyric being hurt made Nola’s stomach flutter.

And Lyric’s poor cowboy daddy, up there alone, worried for his mother and frightened by his daughter’s fall…

Nola navigated the car up the long gravel drive. By the time she reached the house, her knees were shaking. She could open that door and find anything. She wasn’t prepared for this sort of responsibility.

I’m only a friend.

She steeled her nerves and went inside. “Griffin!”

He came out in only his boxers, hair mussed, eyes frantic.

Nola’s stomach plummeted to her manicured toes. She rushed forward. “What is it?”

He grabbed her forearm and hauled her through the house to his bedroom. The bed was piled with pillows, but on closer inspection she realized Lyric was in the center of a pillow fort.

Nola hurried forward and climbed onto the bed. Lyric was fast asleep, her face just a little pink from crying. Nola watched her chest rise and fall rhythmically for a long minute. “She looks okay.”

“I…I think she is.” He sounded so unsure, so unlike himself that Nola caught his hand and pulled him onto the bed with her. He searched her eyes. Then with a gruff noise, he dropped his head to her shoulder and buried his nose against her neck. He brought his arms around her in a crushing grip.

Her heart leaped.

“God, Nola. Doing this all on my own sucks. She’s not a calf. I don’t know if she’s broken or well, if she’ll need birth control at sixteen or I should pull out the shotgun to greet her first boyfriend.”