Her hair swung forward, shielding them from anything beyond the kiss, but the sharp scent of smoke clung to the curls, reminding him of how easily fate could have twisted in a different direction, and he wouldn’t be holding her now.
The realization set off another one of those primitive needs. This time he didn’t fight it. He shoved his arm between her legs, lifted her over the console, and positioned her on her knees astride his lap. A domineering move, he acknowledged, despite the fact that it put her on top. She thought so too, judging by her reactions. She bit his lip hard enough to bruise—punishment for reminding her she wasn’t in charge. At the same time, she rocked herself against his arm, still lodged at the apex of her thighs. She needed this, badly. The hot, wet seam of her shorts pressed against his skin didn’t lie.
He tightened his arm, trapping her squirming hips in the angle where his flexors met his biceps.
She bucked, putting one last effort into controlling the ride, then let out a little cry and wrapped her arms around his head.
Surrender so sweet deserved a reward. He jostled her in the crook of his arm. Three times. Fast and hard. Her breasts, restrained only by her sweatshirt, bounced against his face.
“Oh. Oh. Oooooh.” Her hold on him tightened. Her body trembled, then stiffened, and her husky moan filled the car.
A second later she slumped forward, face against the headrest. He turned his head and kissed the curve of her neck. “That’s never going to fool my family. You’ll have to try harder.”
She laughed, and gave him a weak hug. “That will get you disowned. I meant to demonstrate how convincing I can be with a kiss, but some people”—she drew away and rolled her eyes—“don’t know when to quit.”
“Some people don’t know better than to squirm around in my lap.”
“That’s a risk you run when you drag a person onto your lap.” Very deliberately, she squirmed again.
He grabbed her hips to still her. “I’m the one who doesn’t know when to quit?”
“Feels to me like we quit too soon.” Despite his restraining grip, she rocked forward, managing to grind his balls and his cock in one fluid motion. While he sucked in a breath, she licked her lips seductively. “There’s still plenty of work here, and I hate to leave a task unfinished.”
His body ached to let her finish him, but after spending the last few hours sweating in last night’s clothes, he needed a long shower before he was fit to be worked on. “Sorry, Jailbait. I instituted a firm ‘No blowjobs in my parents’ driveway’ policy after an unfortunate incident my sophomore year of high school.”
Her
eyebrows lifted. “Sophomore year? My, weren’t you precocious.”
“I didn’t say I was involved. I said it was an unfortunate incident.”
“Were you involved?”
“I was sixteen, I’d gotten a car for my birthday, and I was in love. That’s all I’ll admit.”
“Hey, you’re the one who wants to convince your mother we’re in love. Just sayin’,” she added when he blocked her hand from wandering to his fly.
“I was in love with the car.” He swept her hair back from her face, relieved to see the desolate look haunting her features since the fire mostly gone. He wanted to keep it that way, which meant it was time to close the deal. “But when it comes to us, I think you’re right. The chemistry is very convincing.”
Her expression sobered. She looked toward his parents’ property and cleared her throat. “Booker, I don’t pretend to be an expert on families, least of all yours, but making them think we’re”—she paused and made air quotes—“‘in love’, might be a bad call, even if your mother is overstepping her bounds. I have nothing to lose if things go sideways, but you could damage your relationship with your parents.” She turned back to him and pinned him with a serious look. “Have you thought this through?”
Her concern took him by surprise. He’d been so intent on finding an acceptable way to help her, he hadn’t anticipated she’d worry about him. “The genius of my plan is in its simplicity. Nothing will go sideways.”
She laughed and crawled off his lap. “Jesus, you’re cocky.”
“I’m a realist,” he echoed her earlier self-assessment. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at seven.”
Confusion notched her brows. “What’s tomorrow night?”
“Our first date. Wear something pretty.”
…
Another outfit landed across the bed. Laurie sighed at the growing pile, and dug into her closet again.
The first options had seemed too dressy, and the next, way too casual. Of course, she was aiming at an unknown target, considering Booker had given her no details beyond Wear something pretty. She pulled a slinky blue dress out of her closet and looked at it critically before shoving it back into the closet. Too…something.
What did one wear for a fake date with the town sheriff?