Page 17 of That Kiss

I slowly remove my hand, all the excitement and flirtatious energy dissipating like a mist. I roll my eyes, refusing to let him see my hurt. “Whatever you say. See ya.” I give him a little wave and dance my way back out to the floor, where the party is just getting started. And I make damn sure he regrets not following me out here.

I twist my hips, closing my eyes and grinding to the music. I make sure to give him a flirty little glance over my shoulder once or twice. Slowly, the rest of our group leaves until the only other people left on the dance floor are the two guys from earlier.

“Did everyone leave?” I spin around to glance over my shoulder at Decker, but he’s not there. I hear footsteps walking across the floor and the music comes to a stop.

“Hey, man!” I hear one of the guys slur before Decker’s hand is around my arm and he’s leading me toward the exit.

“Party’s over, darlin’. Time to get your ass home.”

“Excuse me,” I jerk my arm from his grasp, “I think I can make my own decisions.”

“Can you?” His strides are twice as long as mine, and I struggle to keep up. Finally, he stops in the parking lot, stepping forward as he leers over me. “Because it looked like you still can’t manage to make the right ones.”

I glare at him. “Why, because you’re jealous? You could have danced with me. I offered, remember? You were the one choosing to sit in the back and sulk like an overgrown crybaby.”

His scowl cracks, a grin breaking across his face, accompanied by a low chuckle. “Jesus Christ, Juney, you try my ever-loving patience, you know that?”

“How? I’m just existing.” I make an exasperated gesture.

He stares down at me like he’s holding back saying what’s really on his mind, then he rubs his temples and reaches for the door handle. “Just . . . get in the fucking truck.”

I don’t move right away and he steps toward me, grabbing me around the waist and hoisting me up and into the seat in one swift motion, like he’s done it a hundred times before. My stomach flops at how easily he maneuvered me. I sit in silence in the cab for a few seconds before he jerks his door open and climbs up inside. The radio crackles and a slow Tim McGraw song comes through the speakers.

Neither of us speaks for several minutes until he finally glances over at me. “Why the hell do you do that?” I open my mouth to ask him what he’s talking about when he cuts me off. “And don’t you dare act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I told you—you and I—and you still?—”

He’s not finishing his sentences, and his knuckles grow white as the leather of the steering wheel creaks beneath his grip.

“Because we’ve always done that, Deck. For the last three years, it’s been a running joke that I liked you, and I guess old habits die hard. What’s the big deal anyway?”

“We had that conversation, only I remember it ending in agreement that this,” he gestures between us, “isn’t going to happen.”

I’ve never seen him this tense over something so silly as some harmless flirting. Then it hits me: He isn’t frustrated that it can’t happen; he’s frustrated that he has no reason to hold back anymore. So I decide to go for it—to tell him why I really did it.

“I—I guess,” I say softly, “since you told me it wouldn’t work, and that I was too young . . . that made it more exciting.” I shrug. “It’s forbidden and naughty.” I almost whisper my response, a little embarrassed now that I’ve said it out loud. I half-expect him to burst into laughter at my response, but he’s silent. I had been staring out the window to avoid eye contact, but now I turn to look at him.

This time he doesn’t respond. He just slams on the brakes, whipping the truck around in the opposite direction of my house, and steps on the gas. He keeps one hand on the wheel as the other reaches firmly behind me, around the back of my neck.

Moments later, the Slade Ranch sign comes into view, and my stomach flips as he pulls his truck through the massive entrance. Excitement unravels in my belly as he flips off his headlights and slowly pulls his truck down the winding lane and through the ranch to his house. He kills the engine when we reach the garage, his hand sliding away from my neck before he places it on my inner thigh.

Decker’s always been a large man. Even when he was a teenager, he was over six feet tall. But now, sitting next to him as his thick, calloused fingers rest against my thigh, I’m realizing just how large he actually is. Suddenly my mouth goes dry when I flash to the outline of his cock earlier. My eyes drop to his lap for a second before jerking them away.

He sits in silence, staring at where his fingers rest against my skin, my eyes watching as he drags his thumb in small circles. The dome light goes out and floods us with darkness. A second later, he removes his hand and exits the truck, walking around to help me down from the seat. I glance back at him as he walks behind me into the house.

I’m nervous, my pulse growing more rapid by the second. I don’t know what to expect or what’s happening right now. Is this a sleep-on-the-couch situation? I open my mouth, turning to say something—anything—when he cuts me off.

“Don’t say anything.” He barely gets it out before he’s pushing me against the wall of his entryway, his hands in my hair and his lips on mine.

Chapter 9

Decker

The warmth of her body in my arms and the taste of her tongue against mine has my head spinning in a thousand different directions. Her lips feel like little pillows of forbidden fruit that I can’t get enough of. Her curves are soft and warm against me.

My hands move from her hair down to her body. I reach around to grab her ass, seconds away from hiking her up the wall so her legs can wrap around my waist, when the sound of her phone falling from her back pocket to the floor startles us.

“Shit,” I mutter, dragging my hands down my face and beard as I stumble back against the wall. “Fuck. ” She doesn’t grab her phone—just leans against the other side of the hallway wall staring at me—her hair now fucked-up from where my hands were tangling it, and her lips pink and swollen.

“Don’t stop.” She reaches for me, her hand coming to rest against my belt buckle as her other hand pulls at my shirt. She’s still panting, trying to catch her breath from when I stole it just a second ago.

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