Full Throttle

CHAPTER SIX

RHETT knew that Shawn was stressed out. He also knew that she was expecting him to hit on her and that if he did, she would resist. So he was going to sneak around and try to enter from the back door. Not literally. That would keep for a while. He’d give her a week at least on that one. No, he meant he was not going to approach the subject of sex head-on. He was going to come at it from an unexpected direction by trying to get to know her.

It wasn’t game playing. He was curious about her. But he knew she wasn’t expecting it, and it would help her let her guard down.

“So you said you have one brother,” he said as they pulled out of the parking lot. He probably could have driven—the tequila hadn’t really affected him at all—but better safe than sorry, and he had wanted to establish that they were a couple now in everyone’s eyes. They needed to communicate and act the part. “What’s his name?”

Shawn glanced at him, clearly startled. “Will. He’s an optometrist and he’s married. His wife is Kate. And they were married before the Prince of England and Kate Middleton, so it’s just a coincidence.”

“I never would have thought about the prince, trust me. I’m not one to follow royal gossip.” Any gossip for that matter. He couldn’t tell you who was dating who in Hollywood, and he didn’t give a rat’s ass. “Is he older or younger?”

“Younger. By two years. My mom and grandparents raised us. My father lit out when I was four.”

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly in the ten and two positions, but it was clear she was comfortable with her car. She drove a stick, which was the only way to drive as far as he was concerned. “I’m sorry. That sucks. I have no respect for a man who can knock a woman up, but not stick around.”

“Me either,” she said wryly. “But I don’t remember him, so no big deal. My grandfather was a good role model. The only mistake he ever made was putting this dumb marriage deal in his will.”

“I guess we’ll just have to make the best of it.” He fully intended to. At the end of six months, he wanted to look back and say that he’d fully explored Shawn and their relationship, no matter what the end result was. If they had to act married, why not attempt to be married, in a manner of speaking?

“I guess so.” She glanced over at him at the red light. “Rhett, I should say thank you. I mean, I know I’m paying you, but this isn’t easy. It’s a big deal to tell people we’re married. To move in with me. I appreciate you keeping it together and handling the details. I’m a big-picture type of girl, and this is all a little overwhelming for me.”

“No problem.” It pleased him that she recognized he had been trying to pave the way for her. He wasn’t someone who got much credit for being thoughtful, because he didn’t smile and laugh and flirt all the time. Serious seemed to equal selfish to a lot of people, when the opposite was true. If he cared about someone, he was loyal, and he busted his ass to make her happy. He couldn’t crack jokes like Nolan, but he’d change your oil, wash the dishes, and make you come five times, all in the same night, and he thought that was nothing to sneeze at.

Shawn was already someone he knew he could care about. She was by far the least irrational woman he had encountered, and when she got angry, it blew over faster than a summer storm. The fury seemed to come and go in under five minutes. She didn’t whine, she didn’t cry, as far as he could tell, and she was honest, which was maybe his number-one requirement for a healthy relationship.

“Where are we going?” he asked suddenly when he realized they were heading out of Mooresville, not that far from his parents’ house.

“To my house,” she said, sounding bewildered. “Isn’t that what you wanted to do?”

“For some reason, I thought you had an apartment in town. I’m not sure why.” He had pictured her in a modern new-build apartment, with a perky little balcony in a complex called Symme’s Landing or some other similarly vague name. But he could see he had been way off base when she turned off down a dirt road.

“No. I live in my grandparents’ old house. I like not having the neighbors too close. Is that a problem?”

“Hell, no.” He was actually relieved. “I prefer this. I like having some space myself.” Aside from the fresh air, and the room to tinker on cars, it meant no one would hear Shawn when he made her scream in pleasure. It was perfect.

“The house isn’t exactly up-to-date, and it’s only two bedrooms, but it’s cozy. I like it.”

“My parents raised nine kids in a three-bedroom ranch. If the plumbing works, that’s the only amenity I need.”

“It does. The toilet may be powder blue a la 1950, but it works just fine.”

“Perfect. It sounds manly.”

“So what was growing up with eight siblings like?”

“Noisy.” Rhett craned his neck to see the house as they pulled up to it. It was a brick ranch with an aluminum awning, surrounded by trees. The garage was set back and had a dilapidated basketball hoop. It was a hell of a lot like the house he’d grown up in. “But I have no complaints. Being the baby, my sisters, well, babied me. I didn’t have to walk unless I really wanted to until I was about five, because there was always someone to carry me.”

She laughed. “I have a hard time picturing that.”

“Every picture of me under the age of three is on a sister’s hip, with a sippy cup or a pacifier or a lollipop in my mouth. It was a tough life.” Though until he was at least four, he’d thought his name was actually Rhettie-poo. His reality was bad, but at least not that bad.

“Apparently.” Shawn parked her car alongside the house and turned to him. “Maybe that’s why you grew up getting what you want. You’re used to it.”

“Maybe.” But he didn’t tend to think about the psychology of how he was raised. He liked to be in charge in the bedroom and that’s just the way he was. It didn’t require diagnosis. “Since you weren’t expecting me until Monday, I’m sure my room isn’t ready. I can sleep on the couch.”

That seemed to throw her. “Okay,” she said, but she looked troubled.

Exactly as he intended. He wanted her to invite him into her bed.

Rhett opened the car door and pulled out his bag. They walked the few feet to the side of the house, Shawn pulling back the squeaky storm door and propping it with her shoulder. He took the weight of it, holding it for her.

“Thanks,” she murmured as she shoved the wood door open and flicked on the hall light.

It was a typical ranch, with the side entrance opening onto a tiny landing with two steps up to the kitchen, and a narrow steep staircase straight in front leading to the basement.

Before she could step inside, Rhett dropped his bag on the gravel and dirt drive, and kicked the metal bar on the bottom of the screen door with his foot so it would hold the door on its own.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking down at the propped door.

“Carrying you over the threshold,” he told her, no smile, just all serious intention. It may be a fake marriage, but that didn’t mean a girl didn’t deserve to have a little romance. He wanted her to feel comfortable around him, comfortable with her decision to have him in her home, her life, for six months bare minimum. He wanted her to like him enough to open her body to him and let him inside so they could both gain as much pleasure as possible from their arrangement.

“Oh, God, please don’t,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “It seems so fake. Forced.”

“I don’t believe I asked you for permission,” he told her, reaching over and gripping her under her backside and lifting her into his arms.

She was light, but she shrieked and instantly squirmed and flailed. “Put me down!”

“I intend to. In your bed,” he promised. And that’s where he was going to leave her. Alone, aroused, wishing for his hard cock.

SHAWN really didn’t want to be in Rhett’s arms being carried over the threshold like a blushing and happy bride. But neither did she want him to drop her down the basement stairs, so she realized it would behoove her to quit jerking around. Given his spot on Evan Monroe’s pit crew as a gasman, he had killer biceps and excellent strength, but he probably didn’t work out by wrangling giraffelike women with thrashing limbs, so if she valued her skull, it seemed best to at least get into the kitchen before putting up a fight. Because she had to put up a fight to get out of his embrace or she was going to find herself in bed with him on top of her, and then how the hell was she supposed to say no to nekkid fun?

He wouldn’t ask. He would just start stripping her, and it was so damn hard to say no to him. It was like she was looking at a shaman or something, the way he stared at her so intently, like he was digging into her sexual soul. Saying no would feel bad, but she would have to, and really she just wanted to avoid the whole situation. But she could allow herself one tiny moment to relax and feel very feminine and very womanly captured in his rock-solid embrace. He was doing it—watching her, while his grip on her was firm. He smelled good, like skin and heat and nothing more.

When they got up the two steps to the kitchen, she didn’t bother to fight. It felt kind of good, actually, and why deny herself? “Do I get a sippy cup next?” she asked. Then realized immediately there was all sort of naughty directions he could take that question, regarding other things she could put in her mouth.

But he didn’t, surprisingly enough. He just said, “No.” But then he did add, “It’s bedtime, young lady.”

Oh, God, that shouldn’t have turned her on, but it did. She heard herself giggle nervously, and was appalled. She was a giggler, she had to admit, but Rhett wasn’t the guy you giggled with. He wasn’t going to laugh back.

Nope. He definitely didn’t. He just kept walking, in the dark, through the kitchen and past the living room and down the hall, like he knew the house. “Don’t you want to turn a light on?” she asked. “I don’t want you to trip.”

“I’m fine.”

“My room is the . . .” Room he was already going into. “How do you know your way around my house?” she tittered. Now she was tittering. Good God. Next she’d be simpering.

“Common sense.”

Of course. It wasn’t like all ranches didn’t have about the same basic floor plan. Shawn said, “Just set me down next to the bed, thanks.”

But he didn’t. He deposited her on her bed, brushing her hair back off her cheek as he bent over her, his hip close to hers, warm breath rushing over her face. Shawn waited, teeth clenched and shoulders tense.

“Can I use the bathroom first? I just need five minutes,” he said.

Now that wasn’t what she was expecting him to say, but it made sense. He probably wanted to brush his teeth. Not that he had bad breath, because he didn’t. But he probably wanted to before bed, and he wanted to dig a condom out of his bag, sure he was going to get some. Which he wasn’t. She put a stop to her pointless panicky thoughts and managed a casual, “Sure.”

“I can find it myself.” He stood up, the air around her suddenly empty.

He went into the hallway, partially closing her door on the way out, which was courteous. Shawn lay on her bed, forcibly letting her body relax, one muscle group at a time.

He was coming back, wasn’t he?

An hour later, it was evident he was not. She’d heard the toilet flush and the sink run, then there had been silence. Nothing but silence.

She had kicked off her shoes and gotten under the covers, but she was still wide awake, waiting for him to creep into her room and hit on her, so she could tell him no. Which she now realized wasn’t going to happen. So eventually she found herself doing the creeping, climbing out of bed and down the hall to the living room to confirm what she knew—that he wasn’t coming into her room. There he was, fast asleep on the couch, in his jeans and no shirt, on his side, hands tucked under his cheek in a way that was pretty damn cute. The bare chest wasn’t cute, it was smoking hot. She cursed the fact that he’d left the light on by the back door, because otherwise she wouldn’t have seen what she was missing.

And Lordy be, wasn’t he cold? It was February after all.

Shawn took the USC afghan off the easy chair and slowly, carefully draped it over Rhett.

“Thanks,” he murmured, eyes closed.

She jumped. Shit, he was awake. Sort of. His breathing was even and steady, like he was already sliding back into sleep. Shawn stood there for a minute, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did, so she went back to bed. Alone. And cursed herself to the ends of the earth for falling for another double-dog dare.

It was cold and lonely and very unsatisfying in her queen-size bed solo.

IT didn’t help when Rhett came in at seven in the morning, fully dressed, and gently shook her awake. “Shawn.”

“What?” she asked crossly, running on about zero sleep, her dreams plagued with erotic images of Rhett stroking her to orgasm, over and over.

“I have to go to work. I just called a cab. Are you going to be home later when I get back, or can you leave the door unlocked for me?”

Oh, my God. Details. More effing details. They were killing her. “I’ll be home.” Masturbating, apparently, since she was even hornier now than when she’d gone to bed. “And I can drive you to your car if you want. You’re going to need it, obviously.” Even though she would rather walk through a fire anthill naked, she would get up and drive him. Right after she pried her eyes open. They felt slightly glued together, but she managed to focus more clearly on him.

He looked wide-awake and sexy. Bastard.

“Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll have Nolan take me to my car. You sleep in.”

She tried to find something asshole-ish in any of that, but there wasn’t anything. Geez. He was making this so difficult. “Are you sure?”

He smiled. “Yes, I’m sure. See you later. And I’d love steak for dinner if you were wondering what to fix.”

That had her eyes popping back open. “Excuse me?”

Rhett actually laughed. “I’m kidding. God, the look on your face was great.”

“You’re not allowed to joke,” she told him, completely serious. “It’s out of character.”

That just made him grin even wider. “Go back to sleep, Shawn.”

He leaned down and kissed her, which made her squawk in alarm. She had saliva in the corner of her mouth, damn it.

Not that it mattered. It was a very brotherly sort of kiss. Or grandson to grandmother on her birthday. Coupled with his complete lack of interest in nailing her the night before, she suddenly felt very grumpy as he left her alone in her bed. What the hell was going on? Yes, she was fully intending to reject him, or more accurately fend him off for the next six days in order to prove her point, but the thing was, he was supposed to be making it necessary to fend him off. There was no need to fend, because he wasn’t trying anything. What was up with that?

Was she just no longer attractive to him? Did he see this as a purely business deal after all? The idea of being forced into celibacy for the next year was more than a little horrifying. Never mind that it had been a year since she’d had sex anyway, at least then she’d had the option of sex. But if Rhett didn’t want to diddle her, then she was going to be diddle-less.

That was not going to fly. Shawn shoved the covers back and decided she was going to brew some coffee, and then she was going to make Rhett Ford want her more than any woman he’d ever met in his entire life.

RHETT pulled up to Shawn’s house at six, exhausted and admittedly a little bit irritated. It had been a long day at work, juggling his usual responsibilities with having to repeat explanations over and over that yes, he had gotten married. No, he wasn’t an idiot. Yes, his new wife was older than him, and why did that matter? It had been harder than he had expected because he wasn’t really the kind of guy to share his feelings with anyone, least of all his coworkers.

What he would really like to do to turn his mood around was walk inside that house and bend his wife over the kitchen table and bury his frustration inside her wet and willing thighs. Only she was acting skittish and like she regretted this fake marriage, even though it had been her idea. It both insulted and hurt him, which just further increased his bitter mood.

There would be no easy conversation, no cuddling, no ball-draining endless nights in her bed. At least not yet. It was going to require patience and finesse he wasn’t entirely sure he had to coax Shawn into understanding this would all go a whole lot faster if they spent some of it in bed.

It had him wound tight, and he shoved the side door open harder than he intended.

What he saw in the kitchen was very possibly the only thing on earth that could have improved his mood.

Shawn was bent over the oven in a short dress and heels, pulling a couple of T-bone steaks out of the broiler. As he kicked off his muddy boots on the doormat, she turned. The front view was even better than the back. Her dress plunged in a V, and her breasts had been pushed up and together, like a couple of perky grapefruits in the grocery, on display perfectly. Just for him.

She smiled. “Oh, good, you’re just in time for dinner.”

Hello. “Well, then good thing I’m hungry.”

Fanning herself with the oven mitt, she said, “Whew, the broiler made me so hot. I think I need a cool drink.” She tugged her dress down lower, exposing enough cleavage to have his cock standing up to take notice as he went up the steps to the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything? A beer?” She picked up a cherry that had been used to garnish a pie—a fucking pie—and sucked the syrupy sauce off it, the plump fruit between her lips, a sassy glint in her eye.

Seriously? What alien had abducted Shawn and replaced her with this little flirt?

He wanted to ask her if she had hit her head, but the truth was, he didn’t really want the answer to that question. Whatever her game was—and it was clearly a game—he didn’t want to prevent her from playing. In fact, she sparked his competitive nature. If there was a game going on, he was bound and determined to win it. That was why he liked to be behind the wheel racing instead of on a crew. He liked to control the situation.

So he went over to her, still wearing his coat, and immediately gripped the back of her head with his hand, pulling her to him for a kiss, a hot, wet, tongue-plunging kiss that transferred the cherry from her lips to his mouth, where he bit it, then shared the sweet tangy juice with her.

Then he broke away and told her, “I stole your cherry.” He swiped the remnants of the juice that were clinging to her swollen lip and sucked it off his finger. “Mmm.”

“You didn’t even ask,” she said, her voice husky with desire. Her nipples jutted out prominently in her stretchy black dress, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was wearing more makeup than usual, her eyes carefully outlined in a charcoal gray.

Someone was trying to mess with him.

“You didn’t stop me,” he told her. “By the way, I like this dress. What’s the occasion?” He fiddled with the neckline, following the trail as it descended to her rib cage, his flesh brushing against the creamy exposed hills of her breasts.

“Just trying to get off on the right foot,” she said, leaning back on the counter. “We have to live together for a while. It would be better to do it in harmony.”

“It would be better to do it naked,” he told her, slipping a finger inside the dress to stroke lazily across her swollen nipple. “Pull your dress down, Shawn. Show me your breasts.”

“What? No!” Her cheeks pinkened from more than the blush she’d put on them.

Like he believed her indignation. “Why not? You clearly want me to notice them, otherwise you wouldn’t have put this dress on, and this bra that so nicely thrusts them out in my direction. So pull down the neck and let me really see them.”

“No. Does being so bossy work for you?” she asked, even as her hand fluttered up to her chest, her fingers playing with the fabric of the neckline, which was really more of a navel line, the plunge was so pronounced. “Because you’re very good at it.”

“Not really,” he told her truthfully, shifting his leg in between her ankles. “I haven’t met a woman strong enough to handle me yet.”

“Strong enough? Don’t you mean passive enough?”

He shook his head. “No. That’s been my mistake. I only scare those women. What I need is a woman strong enough to trust me, confident enough to enjoy obedience. I don’t want you to pull your dress down at my command and feel ashamed to do it. I want you to do it and be turned on by it, aroused by my demands. It’s a big difference.” His lust was dark and swirling inside him, a hot desire on his tongue, and he wanted her with an urgency that had him clenching his fists by his sides, his cock thick and throbbing in his jeans.

Her breathing had grown deeper, her eyes wide. “Oh. I guess I get that. But I’m not having sex with you tonight.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’re not having sex with me until I say so.”

She wouldn’t like that. At all. But it was true.

Then she did exactly what he had known she would. She peeled down her dress, taking her bra with it, so that her breasts sprang out, her nipples just barely in view. “Is this what you wanted to see?”

What she didn’t realize was that in her attempt to thwart him, to exert control, she had in fact submitted to him. It was immensely sexy.

She was also wearing the red lace bra he had given her, if he was not mistaken, which was deeply satisfying.

“Yes, that’s what I wanted to see.” Rhett just drank in the sight of her, color high in her cheeks, head held tall and proud, ripe breasts gloriously bare, a mere foot in front of him. If he leaned over, he could suck the taut bud up into his mouth and sink his teeth down on it, turning them both on with the sharp tang of her pain before he soothed her with his tongue. But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed her mouth, a soft, gentle, worshipping kiss, but not of the fervor of their earlier tongue tangle. Her hands were trapped behind them, her breasts pushed against his chest between them. “Thank you,” he told her as casually as he could manage. “Now let’s eat this dinner you were so sweet to make before it gets cold. Where are your plates?”

He moved out of her personal space and opened a cupboard to look for plates, knowing she would be baffled by his withdrawal. Just like he wanted.