* * *
The next morning, Kale left without so much as saying a word to me, and I fumed inwardly. I’d come up with one last-ditch effort to try to get that necklace, and it was a long shot. Hell, it was a shot in the dark.
I couldn’t seduce him, but maybe I could get him to open up some other way. If I could just be friendly, maybe he’d start talking. And if he did that, then maybe I could get him to talk about his girlfriend. And maybe, just maybe, that would somehow lead me to some information about the necklace.
I didn’t think it would work, but I didn’t have anything else to try at this point. The whole job had blown up in my face, and I was grasping at straws. When Hudson had taken me to the auto shop the other day, I’d seen a grocery store that was less than a mile away. It would be a hike, but I thought I could make it there and back on foot. Part of my plan for getting Kale to talk hinged on having a home-cooked meal.
They always said that the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach, didn’t they?
I had to try.
As I was getting ready to leave and go to the grocery store, my cell phone rang. I picked it up. “Hello?”
“Hi there.” Hudson Slade’s easy drawl.
My heart stopped.
“This is Hudson, from the shop?” he said.
“Yeah, I know,” I said. I noticed that he hadn’t asked to speak to me at the beginning of the conversation. He must recognize my voice too.
“I got a lead on a junkyard that has a couple cars same make and model as yours,” he said. “I was wondering if you wanted to drive out there with me.”
Oh. Well, that was a very bad idea. I needed to be focused on Kale right now, on the necklace, not on distractions like yummy, husky auto-repairmen. “I’d love to.”
“Great.” I could hear the smile in his voice.
He arrived soon afterward, and I found myself very happy to see him. When I got into his truck, we grinned across the bench seat at each other for a solid minute, I swear.
He had a great smile, too. He wasn’t what I’d call cute—not exactly. There was too much raw masculinity about him to quite qualify for such a label. But he had symmetrical, appealing features—a straight nose, finely shaped lips, big, dark eyes. When he smiled, it softened him. He seemed less like a grizzly and more like a teddy bear.
We drove. Again, we didn’t talk much, but there was something comfortable about being close to him. I hadn’t felt this at ease with myself since before everything went wrong in my life. Before that horrible full moon where I lost control of myself and everything started falling apart, piece by piece. It was like a return to innocence, and I found myself wishing I could be what he thought he was. I wished that I really was a girl who’d wrecked her car, who had nowhere to go. Instead, I was a jewel thief, and I was only here to make a score and get some cash. I was miles away from innocence.
But sitting there with him, watching the pastoral scenery go by, I felt innocent.
We reached the junkyard after about ten or fifteen minutes of driving, and I watched while Hudson talked with the owner. They had a rapport that only comes from living in a small town, knowing each other, and also knowing every one else. Within a few minutes, the owner was taking us over to look at the other Beetles. There was a red one and a lime green one. The red one had been rear-ended and it was crumpled and destroyed in the back. The green one looked fine from the outside. It must have had some internal problems—maybe an engine or something. Both had the part we needed, and Hudson took it off of the red one quickly and easily.
“How much?” he asked the owner. “And remember.” He winked at me. “She’s a good friend of mine.”
The junkyard owner quoted me a price that was well, well under the price of a brand new one. I happily paid him for it, and Hudson and I got back on the road.
I openly watched him as he drove, just taking in how beautiful he was.
He clasped and unclasped the steering wheel. “So, you really doing okay where you’re staying?”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling guilty as I remembered that I was supposed to be preparing food for Kale as way to try to get him to open up, not running all over the place with Hudson.
It was quiet again, that easy silence that seemed to fall between us effortlessly. I was struck again by the desire to touch him—that running my hands over his biceps would be perfectly normal, perfectly—
Oh shit. I was actually doing it.
My hand was caressing him through his shirt, and I was feeling every inch of the firm smoothness of his upper arm. It felt amazing.
Stop it, Piper, I told myself. But I couldn’t seem to do it. I liked having my hand there.
Hudson let out a noisy breath. Abruptly, he turned the car onto a dirt road, pulled over, and parked.
I was still touching him.
“Listen,” he said, his voice a rasp, “I’m not usually…” And then he was kissing me.
His mouth was hot and insistent but soft and giving against me. I was flooded with sensations of warmth and goodness. And I couldn’t stop touching him. Both my hands were on him now, exploring his arms, his chest, his back.
He slid his hands under my shirt, his fingers against the softness of my stomach.
I gasped.
His mouth left mine, kissing a trail down my jaw and neck, over my earlobe.
Each of his kisses wrenched moans from my mouth. I had my hands inside his shirt too. I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Everything felt so good. I was trapped in sweetness, and all I wanted was more. More of his lips. More of his skin.
I yanked open the buttons of his shirt, baring his chest. Like his forearms, it was covered in a fine sheen of dark hair. The hair wasn’t coarse, but soft, like down feathers, like… fur.
He groaned, his hands going higher inside my shirt, finding the edge of my bra. He pushed the cups aside, and then both my breasts were in his hands.
I let out a little cry, writhing against him.
Somehow, I’d ended up on my back with him over top of me, both of us spread out on the seat like horny teenagers. I wrapped my legs around his hips.
He ground into me, his fingers stroking my breasts, expertly teasing my nipples stiff.
It felt amazing. I panted, thrusting my own hands lower down his chest, fumbling with his belt.
He pushed my shirt up to bare my skin. He put his mouth on one of my nipples.
I moaned.
He sucked me.
I yanked his belt open, the button of his pants too. And then I had him in my hand. He was hard and thick and huge there as well. He pulsed against my skin. I rubbed him.
He let out a strangled gasp, raising his head from my breast.
We looked into each other’s eyes.
I pumped his cock.
He shut his eyes. When he spoke, his voice was labored. “What are you doing to me?”
“Should I…” I was breathless. “Should I not do this?”
He didn’t answer, he just groaned again, lowering his mouth to my other nipple.
I groaned too, squeezing him with my fingers.
“I don’t think I have…” he muttered into my skin, “anything.”
“What are you talking about?” I breathed.
“Protection. I don’t think I—”
And his phone rang. The sound of the cell ringer cut into the small expanse of the truck.
We both froze, as if someone had caught us in the act.
The phone kept ringing.
Slowly, he disentangled himself from me, sitting back up. His cock was still sticking straight up.
I stared at it.
He answered the phone. “Slade…. Yeah, I’ll be back in the shop soon.” He eyed me.
I sat up, yanking my shirt back into place. What the fuck was I doing? I threw open the door to the truck.
I started running.
I heard him yelling my name, but I didn’t stop. I ran.