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“All that means is that as a hotheaded young man, Rusty Dyle got into a fight.”
“With Foster.”
“You want it to be Rusty because of your silly feud.”
“What would my silly feud have to do with Rusty’s interest in you? Explain that.”
“Explain yours.”
“My what?”
“Your interest in that night. Your obsession with Rusty, Foster, my dad, the whole thing. If anyone has unexplained motives for his actions, it’s you.”
The truck bumped off the dirt road and lurched onto the highway. When it hit the blacktop, Ledge floorboarded the accelerator. He sped back to town without a word passing between them. Main thoroughfares, such as they were in Penton, were more heavily patrolled, so he stayed off them and took a backstreet route to Crystal’s house.
With a short distance still to go, he pulled over to a curb that bordered a vacant lot, cut the engine, and turned off the headlights.
“Why are you stopping?” she said. “Where are we?”
“A couple of blocks from Crystal’s house.”
“Take me to my car, Ledge. Now.”
“We can’t do this in front of Crystal’s house.”
“Do what?”
“Either fight or fuck. Which?”
Chapter 30
Then we fight,” she said.
“Okay. You go first.”
She blinked. She took a swift little breath. She waited too long.
He leaned across the console and captured her mouth with his.
She remained stiff and unresponsive for a couple of heartbeats, then her lips became pliant, and her tongue engaged with his, and her hot, sweet body seemed to melt into the car seat.
He curved his right arm around her shoulders, and his left around her waist, and pulled her as close as the console between them would allow. She tunneled all ten fingers through his hair, angled her head, and held his fast as they continued a kiss erotic and evocative, a kiss that was a mind-blowing preview of what sex with this woman would be like.
She didn’t kiss with the timidity of inexperience. But she also didn’t kiss with the near boredom of a woman who had frequent lovers. She wasn’t just going through the motions before moving on to the next step. She was into it, with an unabashed combination of pleasure in the kiss alone and a yearning for more.
He raised his head, looked into her face, pulled his arm from around her shoulders, and swept his thumb across her full, wet lower lip. “You want to know about my interest in you? It has a lot to do with this.”
“Actions speak louder than words.”
Holding her gaze, he slipped his left hand beneath the hem of her top, pressed his palm against her midriff, then moved it up to squeeze her breast and keep it plumped above the cup of her bra while lowering his head to nuzzle her.
He rubbed his face against those tantalizing breasts that for days—seemed like a lifetime—he had wanted to put his mouth to. His tongue dabbed at her nipple through her clothes.
She sighed his name. Her grip on his hair became tighter.
His mouth returned to hers while his thumb took up the brushing caresses that caused little catches in her breath. His mouth had left damp patches on her top like stamps of possession. They stirred the male in him to claim more.
He slid his hand from her breast to her waist, then between her thighs. Her slight, undulating shift in position granted permission and access. He pressed, stroked. She murmured something unintelligible, but whatever she said had desire behind it. She wanted to be felt, deep.
