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“I had a shot of bourbon before I left the office.”
My chest does something inconvenient as it warms. “Have you brought a lot of women home? Sorry,” I add quickly. “That’s none of my business.”
His sigh sounds protracted. “You’re the first.”
“Really?” That shouldn’t make me gleeful.
“The first here.”
“Of course.” It’s not like he’s been pining for me all these years. “It’s just good to know that I don’t need to worry about other girl cooties. And stains.” Good Lord.
“Good night, Clara.”
“Good night, Troy.” I hope he can’t hear my smile as I roll onto my side to face the windows.
A moment later, the sheets rustle as he does the same. Rolls the opposite way.
It feels comfortable. Almost. Even if the space between us feels kind of smaller.
I tuck my hands under my chin and close my eyes again. And despite the very weirdest of all weird, I finally drift off.
Chapter 18
Clara
Past
“You feel so fucking good.”
The party is in less than two hours. My stepmother’s stylist, hairstylist, and makeup artist will already be here. I know I’m supposed to leave, that they’ll be looking for me. Vanessa isn’t leaving my appearance to chance for their big party. But their anniversary is nothing I want to celebrate—the day my cheating father brought his side ho permanently home. I wonder if my mom knew before she died. Did she die of a broken heart?
“God, your lips, Clara,” Troy whispers in the space between his kisses.
“You like my mouth, huh?”
“Yeah, I like your mouth.” His hand disappears under my tennis dress, his fingers like a brand to my thigh. He smells of cut grass and soap. Of man and honest, hard work. I can’t get enough of him. “I like it a whole lot.”
“You like my mouth when it’s wrapped around your cock.”
“That is a dirty mouth you have on you, Miss Clara,” he rasps, hitching his knee higher between my thighs. He captures my soft moan with his mouth. “And I fuckin’ love it.”
“Maybe you should use it.”
I hook my thumbs into the waistband of his jeans. I left the house to avoid getting ready. To find Troy and make him distract me. And boy, has he. He went down on me for so long and so well that my knees still feel a little weak. But it’s not enough. I need for him to make me forget how fucked up this all is.
“Someone is going to notice the abandoned mower,” he says, putting his hands over mine.
“Let them,” I whisper, sliding my hands around his neck instead. I press my breasts against his chest because I know what he likes. “I want you.” My husky words find his ear. “In my mouth.”
“Fuck.” His curse is all groan, and my joy surges. For a moment, I think I have him. Until his hands come around my hips. He sets me back.
Dust swirls golden in the air, the late-afternoon light slipping in through the dirty window. But I suddenly feel cold.
“What is going on, Clara?”
“Let’s leave—let’s take the car and drive. Somewhere.”
“What?”
