Page 80 of When the Storm Breaks
He stroked his jaw. “Anyone hurt?”
“Nope. It’s all good.”
His eyes darted to my truck then back to me. Ready to accuse me of committing a crime or breaking the law. It felt like old times. “There a reason you got blood on your hands?”
When I was a teenager, Silas called me a juvenile delinquent and told me if I didn’t straighten up, I’d turn out to be exactly like my no-good father. I couldn’t think of a worse thing you could say to a sixteen-year-old. I’d told him to go fuck himself. After that, I’d gotten picked up a few times for minor infractions and had spent a few nights behind bars.
“I hit a deer,” I said, opting for a half-truth. “Damn shame too. She was a beauty.”
“You hit a deer?”
“That’s what I said.”
“So you were driving a friend’s truck and you hit a deer?”
“Yup.”
“That’s not what happened,” Shiloh said. “It was—”
“Me. I hit the deer,” Ridge said, coming to stand next to me. “It was me. I freaked out. Called Brody. He came out and took care of it.”
Silas’ eyes narrowed on Ridge. “You’re the kid who stole the trucker’s wallet, ain’t ya?”
Ridge gave him a surly look. “Yup.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. Shelby McCallister was always trouble. The apples don’t fall far from the tree.”
My jaw clenched. Ridge opened his mouth about to say what I was sure would land him in more trouble. Before he could get a word out, I elbowed him in the ribs hard enough that he grunted. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way. I’ll get the truck towed tomorrow.”
He held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Not so fast. Show me the deer you hit. And I’m gonna need to see your license and the registration for that truck,” he told Ridge.
“Ridge. Brody. You don’t have to—”
I slammed the door shut, stopping the rest of Shiloh’s words and beeped the locks so she couldn’t get out of the truck. No need to get her involved in Silas Barnes’ bullshit. Ridge and I would handle it.
Turns out, Ridge was a hell of a lot like me. I was so damn proud to call him my brother.
* * *
I steppedinto the steaming hot shower behind Shiloh and turned her around to face me, the water pouring down over her head, mascara tracks on her cheeks and her smudged eyeliner giving her raccoon eyes. Only Shiloh could manage to make smeared eyeliner look so fucking sexy. I soaped every inch of her body, mindful of the bruises and welts on her skin from the seat belt digging into her and the injuries she’d sustained from whiplash. She let me do it without saying a word or putting up a fight. I squeezed shampoo into my hand and washed her hair then wiped the mascara off her cheekbones with the pads of my thumbs.
After we’d dealt with the sheriff who had a hard-on for the McCallisters from the wrong side of the tracks—not to be confused with Patrick’s sons—I’d brought her back to my house and stripped off her clothes then threw them in the wash with mine. She’d been in the shower for twenty minutes, just standing under the water before I joined her. I’d already taken a quick shower in the one I’d installed next to the laundry room.
“What were you doing in here?” I asked her as the soap suds rinsed from her hair and circled the drain. Thankfully, the cut on her forehead wasn’t too deep and I didn’t think she needed stitches, but she’d taken the two Tylenol I’d given her because I thought the crying and the blow to her head would give her a headache.
She mustered a smile, and it was so sad, I’d have to add it to my list of things that made me want to cry. “I was letting it go.”
“What do you have to let go, Shy?”
She lifted her hands to my face and cradled it. For a moment, I thought she was talking about us, but I knew it was something more. Something that went a lot deeper. She kissed my lips and it felt like goodbye. I wrapped my arm around her waist, her slippery-wet body flush with mine and it didn’t seem like the time to think about sex but damn if my dick didn’t get hard, like it had a mind of its own. She reached between us, her hand wrapping around my cock and squeezing, sliding up and down, applying just the right amount of pressure.
My mouth found hers and I kissed her softly then deepened the kiss, my tongue tangling with hers as she continued to stroke me, my dick getting impossibly hard in her hand.
She pulled back from our kiss, her lips still on mine and murmured, “I want you. I need you. Right now.” As if to drive home her point, she stroked me harder and faster, her chest heaving and her eyes at half-mast while the water cascaded over us and the steam filled the bathroom, making this look like a dreamscape.
My hands coasted over her ass and to the backs of her thighs and I lifted her up, her arms and legs wrapped around me as I pushed her against the tiles and drove into her.
“Fuck me,” she said. “Fuck me hard.”
