Honey to Burn (Sweet & Dirty BBW MC Romance Book 10) Page 4

  She was staring at him, her eyes locked onto his chest... no, they were cruising down his happy trail straight toward his cock, and she was licking her lips. The heated look on her face was a dead giveaway that she'd just had a great shot of his ass, too.

  That was all right—he didn't mind putting on a show if she wanted to watch. Maybe it would convince her into coming back for more.

  Mac wasn't the kind of guy who turned all the chicks' heads when he walked into a place, but he worked out, so he was solid and fit.

  He reached up and yanked his T-shirt on over his head, pulled it down then reached up and combed his fingers through his hair. He probably had bedhead, something he usually did not worry about one bit. But for her, he reckoned he'd wet his unruly blond hair down, see if he could make himself look more presentable instead of like some drunk guy she'd hooked up with last night and never wanted to see again.

  He gestured toward the door in the far wall. "Bathroom's through there," he said. "You go first. I'll be in the kitchen."

  Walking out of the bedroom, he tried to summon up some suave line to make her stay, or at least hook up with him again soon.

  Real soon.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Her hot hookup guy might be comfortable with mornings after, but RaeAnn was not.

  As soon as Mac disappeared through the doorway of his bedroom, she was out of bed and across the cluttered floor to his tiny bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  She had to dodge his discarded boots, sneakers, and what looked like a couple of weeks’ worth of dirty laundry.

  She put off her impending freak-out long enough to use his toilet—which, thank God, was fairly clean—wash her hands and use some toilet paper to dab at the eye-makeup which had streaked all around her eyes.

  Ack, she looked like a blonde raccoon. She rinsed her face with cold water, finger-combed her hair, which luckily still held some of the curl she'd put in it yesterday, and then she stared at herself in the small mirror over the sink.

  Her eyes were wide and her face was flushed—and not just from the cold water. Her heart was beating quickly and her hands showed a distressing tendency to want to flutter in mid-air. Because now she was definitely freaking out.

  She had hooked up, as in had a one-night stand with a stranger.

  She, who had grown up with a single mother and now not only lived in a garage apartment on her mother's property, but also worked for her mother five days a week, earning her plenty of time to soak up the stream of constant cautions and warnings that Ellen Denton felt compelled to shower on her only child. About how men wanted one thing from a woman—and when they got it, they took off, never to be heard from again.

  And RaeAnn was shy by nature, which made her hooking up with a stranger even more out of character.

  Thankfully, she was able to put her shyness on hold while helping customers at E Boutique. But her customers were mostly women who wanted her help or professional advice. And the men they came in with were taken, so there was no need to be shy with them either.

  But with other guys—eligible guys, especially guys like Mac, who had that sexy confidence and twinkle in his eyes... yeah. With them, she was definitely shy.

  She'd had one boyfriend in high school, Seth, who had been more of a best buddy than a great romance.

  In the four years since high school, she’d had two more boyfriends, both of whom had talked her into sex. Not that it had been that difficult for them—she was a typical healthy, young woman with a normal libido. She owned a vibrator and knew how to find porn online.

  But with both guys she had been on several dates before things progressed to sex.

  And she'd certainly never hooked up.

  She had friends and acquaintances who did so regularly, but she lacked the courage to do so herself.

  Until last night, that is.

  In Mac’s bathroom mirror, her deer-in-the-headlights look dissolved into a guilty, gleeful grin. Her cheeks heated all over again, just as they had earlier when Mac had held her in his arms, both of them naked, and wanted to talk.

  And the things he'd said—hoo-boy. All about how he 'wanted him some more of what they'd had last night', how he wanted inside her again, and so on. She fanned herself with both hands, remembering the naughty thrill those words had sent through her.

  No guy had ever talked to her that way before, that was for sure. And even though it embarrassed the heck out of her, she'd liked it.

  She'd liked the doing of those things with him even more.

  Last night, she'd let him go down on her, put his tongue and his lips on her pussy.

  And then she'd had penetrative sex with him, in two positions.

  Oh my gawd. Her body, even though she was sore in certain places, was turned on all over again, like it wanted more.

  She blew out a harsh breath, her cheeks puffing, then shook her head at her reflection.

  "Down, girl," she hissed to herself. "You don't have time for this—this craziness."

  Totally the truth. She needed to get her clothes on, find her purse, and get her butt home and then to work—hopefully without her mother realizing that she had not been home all night.

  She cracked open the door of the bathroom and peered out. Only when she’d made sure that the tiny bedroom was empty did she slip back out.

  Her jeans and top, thank God, were draped over the nightstand beside the bed. Her bra was there too, but her panties were mysteriously nowhere to be found. Which meant she would have to get dressed without them. Ick. Well, nothing else she could do right now.

  If she waited much longer, Mac might come back in to see what she was doing, and she was not ready for him to see her parading around naked. He might be all casual and comfortable with that but she was not.

  She grabbed her clothing and hustled back into the bathroom, where she wriggled into her jeans and donned her bra and top.

  Safely clothed, she went back out into his bedroom and searched again for her panties.

  They were just black stretch bikinis, nothing special, but the thought of discarding them in a man's bedroom—especially a man who was still a virtual stranger—felt weird.

  She found her sandals and stepped into them, found her little purse and jacket, too.

  But her panties were still nowhere to be seen and she wasn't digging through piles of stinky, male laundry to find them. Euww.

  Were all single guys this gross, or was it just Mac? It seriously made her rethink her attraction to him.

  She tried to imagine bringing a guy home to her apartment with her things strewn about... and could not. She just wouldn’t do that. It would be like... like chewing with her mouth open at the table, or wearing hip-hugger jeans that showed her ass-crack in public.

  Anyhoo, it was time to go, no more putting it off.

  She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and prepared to do the walk of shame—or whatever a woman was supposed to call walking out of a man's bedroom the morning after and pretending she hadn't just engaged in the kind of slutty behavior her mother was always warning her about.

  Since RaeAnn was contemplating a series of ninja-like moves to make it to the front door without having to look Mac in the eye, 'walk of shame' seemed more than appropriate.

  Last night had happened in a magical haze of margaritas and hormones and country music.

  Now, in the bright light of an early September, Eastern Washington morning... all those buffers were gone. And it was just her and the man she'd danced with, and come back to his place with, and taken off her clothes with, and fallen into his bed, into the sheets that were fairly clean, but musky with his scent, and then... yikes.

  She could not picture again the things they'd done together, and the things he'd done to her, or she would not be able to walk out of his bedroom and face him on legs that were already shaky, with cheeks that were already burning with a blush that made her want to dash back into his bathroom for more splashes of cold water.

  Not to
mention other parts of her that pulsed with sensation every time she did remember...

  No. She could not do that right now. Instead, she rehearsed the words she needed to say, 'By the way, I couldn't find my panties. I'd really like them back, so if you find them...'

  Not great, but it would work. She could do this—move her feet and walk out of his bedroom, across the narrow hallway that led back to who-knew-what, and around the corner wall into the main room.

  She was doing great until her feet stopped of their own accord beside his small kitchen island. Because there he stood, arms straight, hands braced on the counter, and a smile on his face as he watched her walk toward him.

  She braced one of her own hands on the counter because that smile was every bit as potent as it had been last night across a crowded bar room, and earlier this morning in his bed.

  That smile, and the lazy heat in his hazel eyes, weakened her knees, made her lady bits and her nipples tighten with sheer, naughty yearning.

  When he smiled like that, as if she was the sexiest, prettiest woman he’d seen in a long time, she forgot about all the reasons why last night shouldn’t have happened. She wanted to be naked and snuggled into his arms again, all warm and a little sweaty, surrounded with his male scent and those strong arms, just like earlier. But then she’d frozen and missed her chance for more of his hot, raunchy brand of lovin'.

  His smile widened. "So..." he drawled.

  That’s when RaeAnn realized she was just standing there gaping at him like a teenager up close to James Franco, no doubt with the same dopey, star-struck look on her face.

  She blinked and forced her voice to work. "So—I guess I'll, um, see you," she said, her voice strange and breathy, even to her own ears.

  His brows shot together, and his smile slipped.

  "You're leaving already?" He sounded disappointed, which was at once balm to her frazzled soul and extremely disconcerting, because wasn't that what she was supposed to do now, leave?

  Once they were up and dressed, didn't guys want all their hookups to wave goodbye and not let the door hit them in the butt on the way out?

  "Um, yes?" she squeaked, and blushed even hotter because that sounded like she was waiting for him to ask her to stay.

  But if he did ask her to stay, what the heck would they do? Have coffee and read the morning papers together? Maybe discuss politics and the weather?

  Not that she really thought he'd want to do those things, but better to picture that, than him talking her into taking off her clothes again in broad daylight and doing sexy things.

  "Yes," she said again, nodding this time to show she meant it.

  Strangely, this made him grin again—no doubt at her dorkiness. Gah. "Because, work. So, thanks for... I mean—well... bye."

  Her face was on fire now, as if she'd just poured his hot coffee over it, and she stepped back from the counter and headed for his front door, not quite running, but close.

  "'Bye," he called behind her, his voice rich with amusement. At least she hoped it was amusement as opposed to being at her expense, which she thought her extra-dorkiness deserved at the moment.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  RaeAnn made it outside into the cool, clear September morning, squinting against the sun shining in her eyes. As she trod down the steps to the gravel drive, reality smacked her right in the face—she didn’t have her car.

  Oh, gawd, strike her with a bolt of lightning right here, right now.

  Mac was no doubt waiting for her to sidle back in there and ask him to give her a ride home. Well, she wasn't going to. Nope.

  She pulled her cellphone out of her tiny purse and flipped it open to call a taxi. It was going to cost a fortune, probably, to get a ride all the way into town, but she guessed that was the price of pride.

  Her phone did not light up. The battery was dead.

  Rae squeezed her eyes shut and considered just sitting down on his steps and having herself a good cry. The way her emotions were see-sawing, and her head was beginning to ache, it would not be hard to summon the tears.

  Behind her, the trailer door opened. "Hey," Mac said, a smile in his voice. "Need a ride home?"

  RaeAnn sniffed. "Thank you," she said stiffly, without turning to face him. "I tried to call a taxi, but my... my cellphone is dead."

  "Eh, you don't wanna do that out here—cost you a whack. Let me go grab my keys and a travel mug. You sure you don't want some java?"

  She shook her head. "No, I'm sure."

  "'Kay. Be right back."

  Rae stood and looked around her while she waited for him. What she saw was not impressive in the morning light. Mac's trailer was indeed older. The shutters were faded and bent, the steps made of untreated wood.

  Behind the trailer sat a locked shed, the kind people put up when they need extra storage without building something. A large Harley Davidson sign hung crookedly by the door, and outside sat a jumble of old tires, gas cans, and an old milk crate with junk in it. Grass had grown up around the shed, now dry and dead-looking.

  The trailer next door was also old, but neater, with curtains in the windows and wood planter boxes along the walkway to the front door. These held marigolds and some other flowers Rae didn't know, along with one of those rainbow spinners, now hanging still. An older model sedan with a mismatched bumper sat by the street, a doll in a frilly dress hanging from the rear-view mirror.

  The rest of the street contained mostly small, older houses, some with three and four vehicles parked by them and toys littering the faded grass in their yards.

  The next street over looked newer and more prosperous, like a recent development.

  Behind Mac's trailer on the other side stood some kind of business, with vehicles parked in the lot. The sign by the street read ‘JJ's Auto.’

  Mac emerged again, this time wearing sporty sunglasses and carrying a steaming travel mug and jingling keys. He'd also shrugged a black leather vest on over his snug tee.

  He reached back into his trailer, brought out a black gym bag, and tossed it in the back of his truck before slamming the trailer door.

  "Hop in," he said. "Let's go."

  Rae climbed into the cab of his truck for the second time is less than twelve hours.

  They were on the paved county road that led east toward Spokane before she let herself remember her incredibly awkward goodbye earlier. She had thanked him (gah!!) as if he'd serviced her car, or—or cleaned her carpets or something.

  Welp. He'd certainly performed an all-points service on her.

  She let out a sound that was half-snicker, half-hiccup of sheer humiliation. Luckily, it was covered by the classic rock he once again had playing.

  Oh, well. She sighed, gazing out the window of his truck as they rolled down the hill into Spokane. After this, she'd probably never see him again anyway.

  Just as well, because she could only imagine her mother's reaction to him. It would not be good. Sometimes, Rae wasn't sure how her mother had managed to unbend long enough to get pregnant with her. Her mom was only 45, but she might as well be 70 for all the interest she showed in men.

  When Mac steered his truck onto the winding street where Rae and her mother lived, she sat up straight, realization slamming her in the stomach in a sick punch.

  If Mac drove her to her front door, her mom would see his truck. But then again, if Rae asked to be let out before they got there, Ellen would see her walking along the driveway and know her daughter was just coming home from being out all night, anyway.

  Maybe she could... no. She had nothing.

  "Turn here," she told Mac, fatalism settling on her shoulders like a heavy, weighted yoke.

  As his truck nosed along the drive that led past the tidy, olive-and-tan split-level home where she'd grown up, the lights were on in the kitchen. A familiar, straight, slim figure stood at the window. Her mother.

  Rae wanted to tell Mac to hit the brakes, shift into reverse, and speed away, taking her with him.

  Instead, she
lifted a hand in stiff greeting as they rolled slowly past.

  Her apartment sat at the end of the drive. The tiny house had been built as a 'mother-in-law' apartment several years ago, for Rae's grandma Nita. The little house was painted olive, to match the main house, and had the same tan shutters and trim paint. The front door was the same muted plum as well.

  Once it was built, Nita had suddenly decided to move into a retirement community where she had spent the last years of her life. “I have more fun here than I would sitting around at that tiny house all day, alone, with you and RaeAnn at work,” she had proclaimed, much to Ellen’s fury. Since Nita had been flirting with a different octogenarian each time Rae had been there to visit, Rae believed her.

  And so the apartment had sat empty until Rae turned 21 and decided to get her own place. Her mother had pointed out she could have the apartment for free, instead of paying rent on another.

  Rae, having planned to ask Lacey or Dee, or both, to share an apartment with her, had been disappointed to the point of tears.

  But Ellen had proceeded to begin choosing cute furnishings for the place as if it was a done deal, and Rae had, as she nearly always did, just gone along. With Ellen, that was the easiest option.

  Now, Rae reached for the door handle of Mac's truck. "Thanks for the ride," she said without looking at him. Then she slid down from the high seat to face the music.

  "Hey," he said behind her. She looked back to see him frowning at her over the top of his sunglasses. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine," she replied. "You can go."

  He stared at her for a moment, then pushed his sunglasses up and shrugged, his mouth flat. "Okay, whatever, babe."

  RaeAnn slammed the door of his truck and turned to watch him back down the drive.

  When he reached the street, she blew out a breath of relief.

  He was so... he was like a vacuum, that was it. Sucking her into his orbit, claiming her attention, and her body as well. Exciting and seductive when she was buoyed up with alcohol and dancing.