that she’d not considered protection at all.
For all her internal admonishments to not be affected, something must have shown on her face. His gaze met hers in the dimmed light of her room, a distinct blush creeping up his neck. “I. Um. That’s been in there for a while.”
She offered up a small smile before extending her arms, welcoming him back to bed. “I’m glad, since I hadn’t given protection much thought.”
“You don’t keep anything? In your house?”
“I think I may have something colored and vaguely dirty from a bachelorette party last year buried in the back of the medicine cabinet.”
Hoyt resettled himself over her, holding his weight up on his forearms. “Dirty, you say?”
“Very.”
“Since my wallet stash extends to one, perhaps we can go hunting in the back of your medicine cabinet later.”
The indication he didn’t have a stack of condoms waiting to be used on his person went the rest of the way toward defusing the situation and Reese deftly ignored the subtle sense of relief. Maybe he didn’t do this every week. Or maybe even every month. And maybe she wasn’t just a notch on his belt.
And maybe you need to stop thinking, Grantham, and get back to feeling.
Desperate for those gloriously mindless moments in his arms, Reese reached for the condom in Hoyt’s hand and did the work of sheathing him herself. In moments, he was repositioned above her, fitted intimately inside of her.
It had been a while since she’d felt that delicious stretch of warm welcome, and she took him in, the thoughts that had dogged her fading as he began to move. And as pleasure once again took the place of thoughts or words, Reese gave herself up to the moment.
And the mindless oblivion of making love with Hoyt Reynolds.
The small, quiet neighborhood had settled down for the evening, the good citizens of Midnight Pass nestled snug in their beds. Normally, the small split-level with the neatly mowed lawn that sat toward the end of the lane housed the same. Front room lights that went on precisely each evening at eight o’clock and then snapped off promptly at eleven o’clock. A porch light that burned most evenings, whether the owner was home or not. And a driveway that remained persistently empty of guests.
Only not tonight.
The woman sat in her car, taking in the altered landscape and wondering what had finally made Reese Grantham snap out of that Prissy-Missy attitude and drag herself home a hot cowboy. If she didn’t hate Reese so badly—or bear such a deep-seated grudge and anger—she might have actually cheered for the woman.
About damn time Prissy Missy got some.
The stick that sat perpetually lodged in her ass must get awfully uncomfortable.
But that large truck tucked up in the small driveway proved everyone had urges and needed to let ’em out for a walk every now and again.
The real question, the woman thought, was how she could use this to her advantage. It would be easy to whisper a few words in some well-placed PTA members’ ears. Or drop a few hints down at the general store about what she’d seen.
But that would be easy. Crass, really. Besides, this game had gone on far too long to fold with such an easy hand.
Gossips got discovered. And someone always remembered where they heard something first.
As she pulled away from the curb and took one last pass in front of the house, that porch light still flaring bright this late at night, the woman knew what she needed to do.
Bide her time.
She’d waited this long, what was a bit more? The right moment would show itself. And when it did, she’d strike.
Swift. Immediate. And utterly remorseless.
* * *
Reese talked too much.
That was the first thought that drifted through his mind as Hoyt lay there, early morning summer sun beating over his eyelids. The second thought was that he couldn’t seem to find the energy to mind. In fact, he thought, with no small shot of surprise, he sort of liked it.
Her voice was slightly husky—like just after she’d done that shot of whiskey—and drifted over him with a light, sultry drawl.
“Just in case you’re concerned I have a big mouth, I won’t say anything to anyone.”
“I didn’t think that.”
“Good, because I’m not like that.”
Hoyt often considered himself more perceptive than he usually let on—subtext wasn’t nearly as hard to read as others often made it out to be—but he’d have had to have been deaf to miss what lay beneath Reese’s words. Rolling to his side, he took in the flushed face and still-sleepy eyes. “I’m not worried about anyone finding out anything.”
“But people saw us leave The Border Line.”
“So?”
“And your truck’s been in the driveway all night and now it’s morning.”
“And?”
He wasn’t quite sure why he was enjoying this so much—gossip had a way of causing problems, no matter how deftly you ignored it—but something about the little furrow that creased the space between her eyes and the small frown that marred those incredibly kissable lips had him smiling.
“Hoyt Reynolds, tell me you’re not that dense.”
“I’m not dense at all. I’m just trying to figure out what happened between that convincing speech you gave me on the front porch last night and right now.”
“What speech?”
“The we’re adults speech. And it was rather convincing.” Unable to help himself, he reached out and ran the tip of his index finger over her shoulder. Her skin was still warm from sleep and as soft as he remembered from throughout the night.
Something flickered in her gaze, erasing any lingering vestiges of sleep, but that small divide remained between her eyes. “It wasn’t a speech.”
“Monologue, then.”
“I was hardly the host of a late-night comedy show.”
“Soliloquy?”
“You’re being—”
Hoyt struck quick, the move at odds with the contented, lazy feeling that still suffused his limbs. But damn it all, she was cute, with the confuzzled look and the worry about something they could neither change nor take back.
Something he had no interest in taking back.
That thought gripped him as he rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body. His lips found hers—ready, waiting and willing—and everything else seemed
