Fall Into Me: Hearts of the South Page 12

  Straddling his thighs, she wound her arms about his neck and took his mouth. Her short, full skirt blossomed around them, his slacks coarse against her bare thighs, his damp erection sliding against her naked skin. He caught the elasticized edge of her neckline and pulled down, until the cap sleeves freed her arms, until the cotton dress pooled at her waist. Painting her neck and collarbone with kisses, he enfolded her breasts with hot palms, thumbs brushing hardening nipples through thin lace.

  “I’m falling so fast for you.” He murmured the words over her heart.

  The crisp edges of his short hair at his nape delighted her fingers. Her throat closed on answering words and she swallowed. If he could take that risk, so could she.

  She framed his jaw with trembling fingers and held his gaze. “A lot of people would say it’s too fast. Shoot, I should say it’s too fast, but I don’t care. There’s so much with you, all of it good and strong and true.”

  His familiar, wonderful grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “I think I can handle you speeding, just this once.”

  Laughter bubbled in her. “Oh, you can, huh?”

  “Yeah. But only with me.”

  She traced the tiny almost-healed scar on his chin. “I don’t want anyone else.”

  An arm came around her waist in a hard band. “Glad to hear it. I like being the only variable in your equation.”

  “Really? Show me how much.”

  On a low growl, he spun them, and she found herself flat on the bed and staring up at him. He lowered his head, kissing the corner of her lips, then the pulse point below her jaw. “This much.” Another light kiss on her sternum. “And this much.” His tongue rasped over one tight nipple. “And this—”

  “Troy Lee.” She shivered under the sweet torture of his mouth on her breast.

  He lifted his head. “Ma’am?”

  “Anyone ever mention sometimes you talk a little too much?” She raised her thumb and index finger, holding them a small distance apart.

  “Once or twice.”

  “This is the time to talk less, love more.”

  His grin widened, his eyes gleaming. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Deep rhythmic bass pounded into Angel’s consciousness, penetrating the fog of exhausted sleep. Even behind closed lids, her brain registered that the angle of light was wrong. She passed a palm over sheets that weren’t her vintage embroidered French linens.

  Where was she? What was that noise?

  Beside her, Troy Lee groaned, rolled to his stomach and dragged a pillow over his head. A memory rose, of his nuzzling her shoulder after they’d made love and he’d collapsed against her, asking if she wanted to go back to her place. She didn’t remember making a reply, just the sweet darkness of satisfied sleep.

  So she was in Troy Lee’s tiny apartment, in his bed, but that didn’t explain the heavy beat that seemed to pulse into her chest. Levering up on an elbow, she held the sheet to her bare breasts. “What is that?”

  “That is Lil’ Wayne. Damn it.” Troy Lee shoved the pillow aside, rolled from the bed and stalked naked to the kitchen to pound a fist on the wall. “Devonte! Too loud.”

  The music dropped, still audible through the thin wall, followed by an answering thumping on the studs. Shaking his head, Troy Lee ambled back to bed and dropped to the mattress. He buried his face against her throat. “Morning.”

  Having his long, lean body pressed all along hers sent spikes of shivery pleasure under her skin, although it didn’t quite alleviate the fatigue gripping her. She sifted her fingers through his short hair. “What time is it?”

  He reached across her to lift his watch from the nightstand. “Almost nine.”

  She closed her eyes on a sigh. If she planned to meet her family at church, she’d need to—

  “Let’s stay in bed all day.” Troy Lee snuggled into her, as much as a six-foot-one male was capable of snuggling. He kissed the side of her neck. “Or at least until I have to be on duty this afternoon. We can sleep a couple more hours, make love, take a nap, make love some more.”

  “I detect a pattern there.” Regret shimmied through her. “And it sounds wonderful, but I have to get up and get moving. Mama’s been on me about missing church and I promised her I’d go today. I still have to go home and shower and change.”

  He propped on an elbow and trailed a knuckle over her shoulder. “Want me to go with you?”

  She stared. “You’re volunteering to go to church with me and my family?”

  “Well, yeah. I mean, I’ve been to church before, Angel. I don’t think the roof is going to fall in or anything if I show up.”

  “That’s not what I—”

  “Ah-ah-ah.” He shook a finger between them. “We’re back to the Jim thing, aren’t we?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “I am not Jim Tyre.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “Good.” He caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now let him go.”

  “I’m trying.” Easing from his hold, she sat up against the headboard, keeping the sheet over her breasts. “I am, Troy Lee, I swear.”

  “I know.” With his arm across her body, he cradled her hip in his palm and rubbed his thumb over the jut of her hipbone. “But how would you like it if I were constantly comparing you to Morgan in my head?”

  A wave of jealous pinpricks moved over her skin. “Who’s Morgan?”

  “My two-year mistake from college. We all have one. Yours just lasted longer than most.” He shook his head, eyes serious. “You have to turn it loose.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you comparing me to Morgan?”

  “Not in a million years.” His rich laugh hovered between them. “There is no comparison, baby. None at all. As far as I’m concerned, no woman exists but you.”

  “Right.” She shifted to the edge of the bed, careful not to move too quickly, grateful that the dizziness and nausea of the past few days seemed nowhere to be found this morning. She reached down to snag her crumpled dress. “Lord, Troy Lee, I’ve seen the girls that flock around—”

  “Shit, this is old.” He flung the comforter aside and vaulted from the bed. He strode into the kitchen, and the rattling of silverware followed the slamming of a cabinet door. Unease trickled down Angel’s spine and she slipped her wrinkled dress over her head. Where were her panties, anyway? And what was old? He reappeared in the doorway, stark naked, a jar of peanut butter and spoon in hand.

  “You’re everything.” Peanut butter muffled his voice, but not the irritation lacing it. “Intelligent, beautiful, successful, funny, the best damn lover I’ve ever had. So why the hell do you believe you’re not as good as everyone else?”

  She blinked. “Troy Lee, what are you talking about?”

  “I tell you I don’t see anyone else, and you bring up how many girls throw themselves at me, which you’ve brought up a lot. I don’t really think you believe I’m interested in fucking any of them, so all I can figure is that for some reason you see them as a threat of some sort.”

  The nausea made a reappearance and she swallowed. “Would you watch your language, please? I don’t like—”

  “Would you stop trying to change the subject?” He spooned up another mouthful of peanut butter and threw out his hands. “Yeah, fine. Women like me. They have since I was fifteen. Big damn deal. I could probably get laid once a shift if I wanted to, but I don’t. Hell, Angel, I’m falling in love with you and I’m not looking for anyone else.”

  “You might find someone better.” The words spilled before she was aware of forming them.

  “Better?” He made a frustrated gesture. “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t know how to make you understand.”

  His mouth firmed and they stared at one another in silence. He set the jar aside on his small bureau with a tight, deliberate movement and grabbed the pair of worn jeans tossed over a straight chair. He pulled them on with jerky motions, zipping them but leaving the button undone. A
rms crossed over his chest, he studied her with the implacable cop stare until she wanted to squirm.

  “All right,” he said finally. “Let’s have this out and settle it once and for all.”

  Nervousness intensified the queasiness attacking her. “I don’t have time to argue with you. I told you—”

  “Your mama will be just fine if you’re late or you miss church altogether. Our relationship won’t if we don’t deal with this. Do not”—he held up a hand as she opened her mouth—“even try to tell me we don’t have a relationship. We do and you know it.”

  She wanted out, wanted away from this slow relentless conversation. Except she was never the one who backed down from a struggle, an unpleasant situation.

  Well, she really, really wanted to back down from this one, especially since her stomach seemed determined to rebel and her nerves were jumping all over the place.

  Rubbing a slow circle over his chest, he watched her. “If we don’t deal with this, it’s just going to keep coming up, coming between us. Do you really want that?”

  She looked away, blinked, then turned her gaze back to his. “No.”

  “So tell me what I have to do to convince you that you have no competition.”

  The nausea disappeared under a rush of anger. “You know, Troy Lee, it’s a little hard to put my faith in that, since I’ve seen how quickly competition can arise, not once, but twice in the last—”

  “Ah, hell.” He rolled his eyes. “Angel. Look at me. I am not Jim Tyre. The man is a certified idiot for even looking twice at—”

  “He did more than look. He married her. Explain that to me.” To her absolute horror, her voice cracked and her eyes burned. “Explain to me how he could leave one week telling me he loved me, be engaged to me, and come back married to someone else.”

  “I can’t. I don’t understand it.” Intensity vibrated in his voice. “Because I don’t see how a man could want anything but you. Oh, but hell, Angel, it may make me a bastard, but I’m glad he did what he did, because otherwise you’d still be trapped in a train wreck that was never going to make you happy. Tell me something. If he showed up on your doorstep today, would you want him back?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “What if Cookie turned up, ready to drop Tori for you? Would you want him?”

  Where was he going with this? “No. I want you.”

  “You have me.” He advanced on her, setting off a different type of fluttering rush in her belly, the nausea and turmoil forgotten. He reached for her hand, fingers warm on her wrist, and laid her palm flat against his chest. “You have me, Angel. Only you, I swear.”

  “I believe you,” she whispered.

  “Not here, you don’t.” Still holding her wrist, he spread his other hand over her heart. “Not yet. I’m not sure why you think you’re not on a level with other women, and I’m pretty sure it goes deeper than Jim marrying Rhonda so quickly or Cookie picking up with Tori. Only you know that for sure. Nobody compares to you, not where I’m concerned. Nobody.”

  His intense blue gaze held hers, willing her to believe. She pulled in a shaky breath. Each second, he’d said. This second, then another, then another, until she believed all the time. She closed her eyes. She wanted to trust in him, in them. Why did it have to be so darn hard?

  Using his hold on her wrist, he drew her closer, leaned down to rest his cheek against hers. “I’m yours,” he murmured near her ear. “You have me. Believe that, baby.”

  She nodded and slipped her arms about his neck, holding on hard. “I’m trying.”

  “I know.” He rested a hand against her spine, dropped a kiss on the curve of her shoulder. “One second at a time, Angel. We have all the time you need.”

  The sister was going to be trouble.

  Troy Lee had known it since the first narrow-eyed once-over Hope had given him as he and Angel slipped into the family’s pew, with a couple of minutes to spare before the service started. Her measuring of him continued throughout the service and the mingling that took place on the lawn of the small country church, then picked up again as soon as he set foot in her parents’ home.

  Angel’s mother appeared to have no such reservations, first greeting him warmly at church and now putting a glass of iced tea in his hand and pushing him toward the den with Angel’s father and Hope’s husband. He wasn’t much for syrupy sweet tea and would have rather stayed in Angel’s presence, but Christine hadn’t raised a fool either. This house seemed to hold a distinct set of male and female roles, and he wasn’t about to rock the boat his first time there.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He lifted the glass, gave her his best smile and followed Ron Henderson and Darryl Owens along the dim hallway behind the kitchen. They stepped down into a recessed room with dark wood paneling. Humor pulled at Troy Lee’s mouth. They ragged Chris about his bachelor’s pad man-cave, but his little den had nothing on Ron Henderson’s. University of Georgia memorabilia dominated the décor, sharing wall space with photos of his daughters and granddaughters. Three plush recliners and a thick couch faced an old-fashioned console television.

  Ron sprawled in the center recliner, placed his tea on the adjacent table and let out the footrest with a replete sigh. Darryl took the recliner to Ron’s right, settling his tea on the tin TV tray next to the big chair. Troy Lee eyed the third recliner. Why did he just know that had been Jim Tyre’s spot?

  Damn if he was going to sit in that chair. What the hell was he supposed to do, anyway? Christine and his dad had been big on manners, and sitting without being invited was one of Christine’s pet peeves.

  “Have a seat, Troy.” Ron reached for the remote. The pregame show for the Steelers and the Oilers appeared on the screen. “Take a load off.”

  Troy Lee swallowed the reminder that he went by both names—Troy had been his father and he’d been Troy Lee since day one—and sat on the edge of the couch. The apprehension he usually only experienced when facing Calvert’s displeasure wound through him. “Thank you, sir.”

  “So you work for the sheriff’s department.” Ron took a long swallow of tea.

  “Yes, sir.” Troy Lee started to set his own untouched glass aside on the oak end table beside the couch. Damn, no coaster. He kept the glass in hand. Condensation dripped onto his knee.

  “Not from around here originally, are you?” Ron’s attention veered to the announcers onscreen. Darryl appeared to ignore them both, his gaze trained on the stats.

  “No, sir.” Troy Lee lifted the glass to his mouth. Pure sugar exploded on his tongue and his taste buds rebelled. How did Calvert drink this stuff all the time? “I grew up in Atlanta.”

  Ron nodded but didn’t glance his way, gaze trained on the unfolding pregame comparison. “Stanton Reed seems like a good-enough fellow.”

  “He runs a tight department.”

  The low grunt Ron made dripped with disparagement. “Someone needed to, after Hollowell and his boys. Bunch-a damn crooks.”

  Darryl huffed his agreement and the room lapsed into silence broken only by obnoxious commentators and the tinkle of ice as Darryl and Ron sipped their tea. Troy Lee expelled a relieved breath, rotating his dripping glass between both palms. With the other men immersed in Sunday afternoon football, he let his gaze travel over the family photos on the walls, picking out the path of Angel’s life.

  In the picture of her holding a fishing rod and dangling a small catfish from a line in the other hand, she was sunburned and snaggletoothed. She looked all of seven. Damn, that photo had probably been taken before he was even born.

  A shelf by the sliding glass doors, covered by heavy vertical blinds, held myriad 4-H and FFA ribbons and trophies along with more photos—Angel as an awkward preteen, showing livestock. Prom photos, both Angel and Hope’s, lined the top shelf, and sure enough, in both of Angel’s, she graced the arm of a much younger Jim Tyre.

  High school graduation, and Angel wore yellow and red cords, as well as a salutatorian medal. A snapshot of her with her par
ents on the lawn before the local community college, she in cap and gown and bearing a diploma, her parents beaming with pride. A studio portrait of her and Jim in their early twenties, one of those shots that turned up in the engagement announcements section of the Daily Herald. Shit, they still had that thing on the wall, after what Jim had done? And Angel had to look at that every time she came in here?

  No wonder she was having a hard time letting go of what the selfish bastard had done.

  Darryl drained his glass and held it aloft, rattling the ice against the sides. Troy Lee frowned. What was that about?

  Moments later, Hope appeared through the door with a pitcher. She took Darryl’s glass and refilled it, returning it to him. “Daddy, do you need a top off?”

  “Sure, baby.” Ron handed her the glass.

  Holy shit. Troy Lee stared. If he tried that, Angel would kick his ass.

  “Troy Lee?” Hope held the pitcher of tea aloft. Her gaze scraped over him.

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” He returned her stare for stare. If he could take Calvert’s Lord-you’re-a-dumbass look or face down any suspect out there, he could take her skepticism and mistrust. She could get over it and stop looking at him like that, because damn if he was going anywhere.

  She gave a curt little nod, turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall once more.

  Thankfully, he was only left staring at the rapidly melting ice in his glass for ten or fifteen minutes before Marie Henderson called them to the table. Angel squeezed his hand once as he slipped into the chair next to hers. At Marie’s request, Darryl offered a brief blessing then Marie passed the platter of roast beef and the bowls of field peas, mashed potatoes and squash with onions. Hope’s pair of teenaged daughters filled plates with a minimum of food and disappeared into the kitchen, giggling and texting.

  A television sat in the nook off the dining room and Ron used a remote to tune in to the beginning of the football game.