It was cramped in the stall and she was forced to lean back against the door, watching his denim-clad ass flex as he dragged his zipper down. Angling her head to the right, she could see a hint of smooth flesh as he pulled his cock out, enough to make her want more. There was something about watching him in the bathroom that felt dirty and wrong, almost like she was a peeping tom. She didn’t have to see his face to know he was enjoying the attention.
Damned if she wasn’t enjoying it too. Maybe a little too much. Her body felt like it had been in hibernation, her cells stretching and vibrating with life. It had been too long since she’d last felt this way, lik
e she was able to make a man fall at her knees. Now the sensation was back, dancing around her skin, coiling in her stomach like a spring. She wanted him. All of him. Not just to protect her, not just to divert him. Desire was drowning her instincts until she wasn’t sure how to react.
Pleasure pulsed through her veins when she saw he was semi-hard. She wanted to reach out and run her finger around the engorged tip, forcing pre-come from his slit.
Her lips trembled with the need to take him in her mouth, to taste the smooth skin. Giving head made her feel like she had the power, the ability to bring a man to his knees when nothing else worked. It may have seemed foolish to think of sex at a time when she should be thinking about survival, but for her the two had always been intertwined.
Would Murphy trust her enough to let her do that? Could she take advantage enough to escape? It would be a price worth paying, even if the thought made her feel like a whore.
Murphy finished his business and rearranged his clothes, turning around and pulling at the door. He pushed her ahead of him, his gaze locked on her as they moved toward the sinks.
His hand washing was cursory compared to Rachel’s, and his quick rinse and shake gave her another insight into his psyche.
He was an impatient asshole.
She liked that, too. It wasn’t difficult to imagine it being a weakness if she used it against him at the right moment. It was even easier to imagine the way his impatient hands would feel when he ran them down her body. And there she was again, letting her libido smother her brain. Her train of thought seemed to be stopping at all the wrong stations tonight.
“It’s getting late.” Murphy glanced at his watch, his eyebrows rising up as he noticed the time. His eyes drifted to the door, insinuating it was time to get moving. The impending nature of their departure hit her like a sledgehammer, knocking those sexual thoughts right out of her skull. She wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t sure she ever would be. The moment they stepped outside the bar, she was a dead woman walking. She needed to stall.
“Can I pack a bag?”
Murphy shook his head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. Just get your coat. That way I can make sure you’re not packing a concealed weapon.” He grinned. “You know, that one you applied for three months ago?”
She closed her eyes with slow frustration, realization slapping her face like an open palm. So that’s how he’d found her. She thought she’d been so careful, but there was no disguising her identity when she applied for a concealed weapon license, and her need for protection had overridden any sense of safety. Using her real name to buy a gun wasn’t the best idea she’d ever had, though she hadn’t banked on it becoming the flaw which exposed her.
It was almost Shakespearean in its irony.
Murphy took her hand and pulled her through the door behind the bar and into the hallway leading to the living quarters, motioning for her to climb the stairs in front of him. Walking up, she could feel him close behind her and see his large body casting a shadow across the stairs. She wondered how such a muscular frame would feel against hers. The need for contact confused her, made her question her sense of self-preservation.
There was something about Murphy that made her question everything she knew.
Her jacket was in the small wooden closet in her bedroom. She pulled it from the misshapen wire hanger, glancing at the rest of her remaining clothes. She’d never see them again. Not this place, or Buddy and Marianne. They would wonder where she’d gone, and why all her things were still here. Buddy would start to panic, and maybe his weak heart would beat a little too fast. Her shoulders dropped as she imagined him clutching at his chest and the bright blue lights of an ambulance flashing outside the bar. She felt sick with fear, knowing he could get hurt because of what she’d brought here. She should never have taken his offer of a home. Just being here put him in danger.
Murphy snatched the jacket from her hands and held it out for her, shaking it impatiently. She put her arms out and slid them into the sleeves. As she shrugged the coat on, his fingers lingered on her shoulders, squeezing for a moment too long. She felt the pressure low in her chest, and wondered what his touch signified. Maybe, despite his being there to drag her home, there was a part of him that knew it was wrong. Could she have been right about him all along? Was there something more to him that just brawn and determination?
“Let’s just go,” she muttered, the rawness of her voice belying her stilted reply. Stalling was no longer an option, and she’d reached the point where she wanted to get things over with. Did a death-row inmate feel like this after the final meal was cooked and the last prayer was said? Perhaps, like them, she could accept her fate.
Rachel flipped off light switches as they walked back down through the bar, remembering to lock the register. Murphy took her hand, wrapping his strong, rough palm around hers. He pulled open the main door and a cold burst of air rushed in, hitting their skin like a harsh slap. The frozen wind stole her breath.
It was a whiteout. The flakes of snow were falling so hard they could barely see the outline of his car in the parking lot. They were settling fast. Rachel felt laughter bubble in her throat, her head feeling giddy as she watched the greatest stalling tactic of all.
Even if God wasn’t listening to her prayers, maybe Mother Nature was.
“Motherfucking snow,” Murphy muttered, pulling at her hand until they were back inside the bar. He slammed the door closed behind them, and the sudden warmth against her skin made her eyes close momentarily as she luxuriated in the relief of being back indoors.
“What’s the plan, Stan?” She tried to keep the amusement out of her voice.
He pushed her toward the bench at the far side of the bar. “Sit down.” Without a word she followed his command, warily eyeing the calculating expression painted across his face. She watched him silently as he pulled his cell from his pocket, pressing buttons in an effort to get some reception.
Rachel tried not to smile, knowing full well there was no signal to be found. Regardless of carrier, cells didn’t seem to work in Hillbrook. It was like the land time forgot.
“Piece of fucking junk.” Murphy gave up and pushed the phone back in his pocket, turning his head toward the TV. “Can you switch that on?”
She stood up and flipped the switch at the back of the screen, making the images flicker to life. A low clicking noise vibrated from the speakers as it warmed up.
“Find the weather channel.” His voice was harsh and commanding, causing her chest to hitch. Memories of long ago—of demands and obeisance—flashed through her mind. He stared at her with hot eyes and a rapt expression. It was like he could see through her, as if he knew she got off on being told what to do. A shiver shot through her body.