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I turn so that I’m straddling his lap, still kissing those perfect lips, still feeling those strong, toned arms around me. But now I’m feeling heat from a different source. His cock is growing in his briefs, jutting against my leg as I rock against his fingers.
He suddenly breaks the kiss, pulling me tighter against him and grinding his thumb against my clit. “I want to taste you,” he growls into my ear.
I can barely speak as sparks explode behind my eyes, and I certainly don’t care that Rhett’s going to go down on me in the back of a van he doesn’t even own yet. He could have suggested anything, anything at all, even running right back into that frigid water, and I would say yes as long as he kept touching me that way.
He moves us so that I’m laying on my back and he’s leaning over me, pressing his mouth to every piece of me that he can get — lips, jaw, breasts, neck. Those fingers are still at work. And he’s just starting to move south, my hands are just starting to tear at my hair, at his, in anticipation—
An unholy bang hits the side of the van like a canister bomb. Rhett jumps up so quickly he hits his head on the ceiling of the van.
“Jesus Christ!” he curses, rubbing the back of his skull.
“Not quite, boy,” the old man’s voice barks outside of the van. “I don’t know what you two have been doing in there for so long, but whatever it is, you need to do it on your own property.”
Rhett and I stare at each other. I’m hot now. From the sex, from the heat vents pounding out warm air, from the humiliation of having to get out of this van.
The silence stretches between us for one second, two, ten. Then Rhett’s handsome face breaks into an easy, self-satisfied smile.
“Just give us a second,” he calls out to the old man. “Oh, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RHETT
Awkward doesn’t even begin to describe getting off that guy’s property.
I try to explain our spontaneous polar plunge while Liz blushes behind me, suddenly very interested in the Arctic landscape of Lake Michigan in January.
Bob, my Craig’s List contact, doesn’t necessarily say he doesn’t believe us, but he also doesn’t seem at all interested in my explanation.
Once I’m done, all he says is, “So you want ‘er?”
It takes a stunned beat for me to realize he’s talking about the van.
“Yeah,” I say. “Seems to run great. The running board is falling off and there’s some rust on the interior though so I’d like you to come down to six grand.”
Bob spits his soggy toothpick to the side. “Deal,” he says. “I’ll get my plow so you can haul ‘er outta here.”
Liz and I watch him trundle back through the snow toward his garage in silence.
“You can start driving back,” I offer finally. “No point in you waiting around in the cold.”
“Okay,” Liz says. I can’t interpret anything from her tone. A true businesswoman, Liz has the poker face of someone blacklisted from Vegas.
“Make sure you warm up properly at the hotel,” I say. “No running off to wheel and deal at any of those lectures.”
She smirks, those gray eyes dancing, sharp and clear. “I’ll do my best. I so very much want to learn about the future of cellular motherboards.”
Liz pauses, as if there’s something more she wants to say. Suddenly confliction is clear again in her eyes, in the downward curve of her lips. I’d seen it in the van too, just as I started to kiss her.
This time I don’t ask if everything is okay. I just wait, and when the slight smile returns, I don’t push further no matter how much I want to.
Liz reaches out, squeezes my hand, and then without another word treks back toward the Challenger and the long ride home.
My eyes don’t leave her until she disappears around the house and they stay fixed on that spot for a long time. What had she wanted to say? What did I want to say?
An hour later, I’m almost back in the city. The van has held up well enough on the highway, though it has a suspicious rattle, like a smoker’s cough, that I’ll have to investigate later.
I’m no closer to understanding Liz, though I do have a couple theories.
