something about the way he’d swooped in and taken care of her that chafed. She was a grown woman, and she had a right to a night out to do whatever she wanted. She didn’t need permission. And she didn’t need anyone watching out for her. She was sick and tired of sitting in the home she loved day in and day out, feeling like a prisoner in the one place she’d created to be a haven. So she’d gone out, looking for a nice time and a fun evening and a few hours to forget about her life.
“I’m not grumpy. I’m just not interested in seeing Midnight Pass High School’s favorite English teacher end up in trouble for puking her guts out in the Border Line parking lot. Or worse.”
“My father’s already done worse. So has my brother. It’s a rather high bar.”
Those attractive lips of his—thick and lush—had tightened back to a straight line. “I’m sorry about that. About your father.”
“Why?”
“Some decisions—” Hoyt stopped and, after braking at a stop sign, turned toward her. “Some decisions can’t be changed or reconsidered or amended. But he was once a good man. I know that.”
“He killed someone on your property.”
“So?” He phrased that single syllable more as a question than anything else and Reese momentarily found herself at a loss for words.
Didn’t that bother him? Because it sure as hell bothered her.
Only she didn’t say that. Instead, she focused on his bigger point. The one she’d struggled with for the past two months since her father’s sins had come to light. “Well—”
From her vantage point, she watched as one lone eyebrow lifted as he eyed her from the driver’s seat. “Well what?”
“How can you say that about him? He broke, Hoyt. Broke in two and became a monster. That’s not my definition of a good man. It’s not my mother’s. It’s not even the expectations my father set for my brother and me from the time we were young.”
The anger spilled out, again a product of all those years of trying to be perfect. She’d done as she was told. Had worked hard to be a model daughter. And yet, where had it gotten her?
The object of ridicule and gossip, and, if the quiet suggestion earlier that day while she selected a cantaloupe at the market was any indication, questions from the PTA asking if she was fit to keep her teaching job.
When Hoyt said nothing in response, just accelerated through the intersection, Reese realized she’d overstepped. And goodness, why had she gone there? Here he was being nothing but nice and she’d tossed out those little bons mots like they were candy. Worse, they were the creeping, dissatisfying secrets of her life.
“This your street?” he asked.
At her acknowledgment, he turned down her road and followed her directions to the driveway. In moments, he was parked and was already around the car, opening her door for her like a gentleman.
“You didn’t need to do that,” she said, in a lame attempt to defuse this damned awareness of him.
“According to you, I don’t need to do a lot of things. Sit with you at The Border Line. Drive you home. Give a hand to someone who really needs one.” As if to prove his point, he took her hand and helped her out of the high seat.
It hadn’t seemed quite that high getting in, but the drop down to the ground was farther than she thought and she hit the driveway harder than expected, the backs of her heels thudding on concrete.
“Easy,” Hoyt said, shifting his grip to steady her with his large hands.
Working man hands.
Capable hands.
She settled her palms where each of his hands rested on her hips, the moment changing with all the finesse of a spring storm.
The attraction that had simmered all night, kept at bay with her frustrations and embarrassment over the public nature of her family’s downfall, suddenly had no place to go. Instead, all the pain and anger she’d bottled up for two long months—hell, for nearly a decade—needed a place to bubble up and land.
With his hands still cradling her hips and hers still pressed against the ridges of his knuckles, she ignored the little voice that always urged her to be careful and cautious and lifted her head toward his. It was a matter of inches that separated them and a quick reach on her tiptoes had their mouths meeting in the moonlight.
She expected resistance. Sexual tension had simmered between them all evening—she wasn’t imagining that—but he’d also maintained a gentlemanly distance. A maddening distance, if she were honest.
Which meant the quick brush of lips that exploded into an inferno of hot carnal passion caught her just enough off guard that she barely had time to catch her breath. Even less time when she realized that she was being consumed, body and soul, by the delectable form of Hoyt Reynolds.
His mouth was hot on hers, his tongue filling the small O of surprise between her lips with smooth, effortless grace. His tongue was strong and persuasive and welcome, she admitted to herself. What should have felt like an intrusion was the exact opposite and as heat flared through her nerve endings like lightning, it filled every last inch of her body with the most delicious electricity.
Was this what it felt like to be kissed? Really and truly kissed?
She’d been kissed before, obviously. She’d had sex, too. If she’d considered it even an hour before, she’d have said those experiences were good ones. On a grading curve, satisfactory moving on toward excellent.
Oh, how little she’d understood.
Especially as every one of those experiences seemed to wash away in a sea of dull memory as Hoyt filled in its place. Nothing had ever felt like this. It was as if a sensual live wire lit her up, sparking from the inside out.
It was glorious.
It was heavenly.
And in that moment, she’d have gladly given up all she possessed to keep on kissing him.
Suddenly realizing she was doing way more analyzing than enjoying, Reese quickly fixed that, giving into the impulse that had her kissing him in the first place.
The strong shoulders beneath her palms flexed as he shifted his position, deepening the kiss and taking them another level. She took what he gave, all the while using her fingertips to explore the thick muscle and rounded curves of his shoulders. This was a man in his prime, of that there was no doubt. He was a product of hard, daily physical labor and she could hardly argue with the results.
Nor was she quite ready to let go yet.
Which made the lift of his head and the grim line of his mouth, more than evident in the glow of her front door light, that much harder to accept.
“I should get you to your door.”
“Why?” That same tartness that had accompanied her comments on the ride home rose up to the fore. Which wasn’t like her, yet seemed right for the moment.
“For all the reasons we talked about at
