21. Spitfire

Chapter 21

Spitfire

"You, Charlie Hunnicutt, are a man of many talents," Joy teased. "You can sing, strut, play guitar, draw, make jewelry, mix cocktails, and turn a ramshackle pile of wood into a masterpiece."

"That's debatable, except for maybe that last thing."

"Do you cook too?"

"Not very well."

She faked a snap of her fingers. "Well, damn. That was the last box on my list that needed ticking before I got down on one knee and proposed."

"You're kind of adorable when you're being ridiculous," he snorted. Not only was she damn cute tonight, but she was sexy as hell. Whether it was her new look or the fact that he was seeing her in a different setting, he had no idea, and he didn't care. This Joy Holiday was a version he liked a helluvalot, even when she wasn't being goofy. Was the alcohol in her system responsible for this peek behind the curtain, or did she simply feel comfortable enough around him that she was exposing her human side in its entirety? He hoped it was the latter .

"I'll take that compliment and run with it." She squinted at him through the dim light. "Why are you single again?"

Charlie hadn't had much to drink—definitely not as much as Joy—but he was on a high that loosened his tongue. The answer he gave was an honest one. "I don't want to settle. I want what my parents have. I want what Noah and Hailey have." He shrugged. "I haven't met anyone who meets the requirements. To be fair, I haven't been looking."

"How old are you?"

"Just turned twenty-seven in June, which I guess makes me responsible now that my prefrontal cortex is fully mature." He paused until she stopped giggling. "How about you?"

"I'm twenty-nine. Way ahead of you."

"Ooh, I love me an older woman. There's so much she can teach a young pup like me." He grinned at her, enjoying this conversation way too much.

"Ha! I have a feeling there's not much left to teach you, young pup. Seriously, you have the entire female population of at least two counties to choose from. Are you that picky, or have you been through them all already?"

"Even if that were true," he scoffed, "the counties you're referring to aren't that big. We're talking about three thousand people total , and the average age is fifty-five. So no, I have definitely not been through them all, nor have I wanted to. Not even close."

Their waitress brought them fresh beers, and Joy raised hers to him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad I came tonight. And now you can tell anyone who cares that you weren't lying, and it'll be true."

He toasted her back, holding her eyes with his. "Me too. For all kinds of reasons that have nothing to do with lying about tonight."

Joy's cheeks pinkened. She put down her beer and bent over the table toward him, giving him an enticing glimpse of the silky skin below her neckline. She crooked her finger at him, and he leaned in like one of his dogs about to get a treat. Eager.

She dropped her voice. "There's something I've been dying to know."

If that kiss in the dark at Miners was real? If I've read every single one of Lacey Dewinter's sex scenes and jacked off afterward? Hell yeah, to both questions. Pinpricks of desire raised goose bumps along his arm. "Whatever it is, I'm dying to tell you. "

"Is Charles your real name?" She bit her bottom lip.

Well, damn. He sat back. "No, I'm just Charlie. My parents never intended to call me Charles and thought it would keep things simpler." He swallowed nearly half his beer to cool himself off.

Sultry eyes swept him languidly from head to stomach, practically undressing him. "You're quite the prize, Charlie Hunnicutt. Wonder what else you can do."

His cock roared to life, eager to show her what else he could do. "Had enough of the Silver Lode?" He looked around for the closest exit, despite his inner voice shouting down the idea.

Joy straightened and took a long pull of her beer. He was tempted to reach across and take it from her, but she was Joy Holiday and therefore held a tight rein on her actions at all times.

Her delicate brows pulled together. "I'm not sure I can drive right now. Maybe if I work it off … Let's dance." She wobbled to her feet.

"Yes, your highness." Adjusting himself quickly, he motioned to their waitress to bring waters.

Joy tugged his hand and jerked him toward the dance floor, calling over her shoulder, "Not highness. I'm the boss."

He followed, both willing and concerned. How much had she had to drink, and why hadn't he paid closer attention? She couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds, and it wouldn't have taken much beer to make her tipsy.

Out on the packed dance floor, she fizzed with laughter. He put his arms around her, more to hold her up than to feel the press of her body against his, though he had nothing against the latter.

They danced one fast song, and Joy rose up on tiptoe and looped her arms around his neck. "Let's dance this one, then sit back down. I'm feeling a little dizzy," she whispered beside his ear.

Though it shouldn't have, having her mouth so close to his ear had chills swarming him. He tucked her against him to protect her from the bumping bodies until the song was over. When they returned to their table, though, two dudes had commandeered it.

Joy planted her feet in front of one guy, parked her hands on her hips, and tapped her foot. "Hey, you took our table! You can't do that!"

Uh-oh .

The guy stood; he was tall and broad. Charlie was no slouch, but this guy was massive—and he had a buddy who wasn't much smaller. He slid a glare Charlie's way. "Does this little lady belong to you?"

"I'm not a little lady," she fired back, "and I don't belong to anybody!"

Charlie wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her against him. "Sorry, dude. The missus has had one too many. We'll find a different table."

Joy protested, and he tightened his grip even as amusement percolated inside him. Damn if she wasn't a hot-blooded troublemaker! "Let's go, princess. I'm not in the mood for a bar brawl tonight."

Behind him, the big guy laughed. "Good luck with that."

"He took our drinks and our table," she hissed.

Charlie walked her to an outdoor patio that was roped off and pushed her gently onto a chair. Then he bent down, hands on his knees, and leveled his gaze with hers. "I asked the waitress to get us waters. She must have misunderstood and thought we were done with our beers. Not those guys' fault."

Joy popped up. "Then I'll have a talk with her. She owes me a beer. And you too."

Shit, the beer was hitting Joy all at once.

Charlie took evasive action. He sat in the chair and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her middle to anchor her against him.

She twisted and squirmed on his thighs. "Hey, what do you think you're doing?" Her tone was more curious than peeved. He took that as a good sign.

"Keeping you here until you sober up. You're our ride home, remember?"

The waitress picked that moment to poke her head out. "You can't be out here. It's closed."

"I don't think you want us in there , sweetheart. How about those waters you never brought? And two Cokes in place of the beers that disappeared."

She sauntered over. "I'll bring them, but you can't stay out here. I'll close out your tab too."

Great. Now they were being thrown out? He pulled a credit card from his wallet and handed it to her.

Within minutes, the waitress brought out a tray and slid it onto the table. It held four water bottles, two jumbo to-go cups, and a pair of straws .

Joy bobbled one of the cups. "Is this sugar-free?"

"Sorry, no." The waitress handed Charlie the receipt and left.

Joy remained on his lap as if she'd forgotten she was sitting on him. Thank God she had stopped moving around. He was already sporting a semi, and her tight little ass wiggling against his crotch wouldn't help him focus on their next plan of action—it would only lead his mind astray in interesting, wholly different directions.

She stabbed a straw into one of the sodas, took a cheek-hollowing sip, and moaned. "Oh my God, this is so good! I forgot what real sugar tastes like."

How simply sipping a Coke could be so damn sexy was a mystery to him. Actually, just about everything she was doing tonight was translating into a turn-on, including getting them tossed from the Silver Lode. He needed to get himself back to reality and under control. Whatever his libido was cooking up could not happen. He would have to look elsewhere for the kind of release it craved.

He slid her off his lap and onto her own chair. She didn't seem to notice, which both relieved and disappointed him. She took another sip of her soda and slumped forward, cupping her cheek in her palm.

He tipped his chin. "What?"

"What do we do now?"

He signed the receipt and pocketed it and the credit card. "Well, Cinderella, I think it's time we head back to Fall River."

She sat upright. "I've had too much to drink. I shouldn't drive." She gave him a contrite smile. "I don't usually do this."

"I know." And he did. He hadn't known Joy long, but he was witnessing a rarity: her allowing even an infinitesimal amount of control to become untethered. He grabbed her hand, pulled her up, and held out his palm. "Now might be a good time to turn over the keys. I'll drive."

"I can't let you drive the Beamer. I'll be breaking the rental contract rules."

His one hand still held hers, and he didn't let go, twining his fingers with her soft delicate ones. They nestled nicely together. "Well, I can't let you drive it either because you'll be breaking the laws of the state and common sense. I don't want you, me, or some poor schmo to wind up wrapped around a tree because you were under the influence. Besides, I know these roads way better than you do. So where does that leave us, princess?" He gave her a pointed stare.

She gave it right back. "Maybe we should ask the big guy who stole our table to drive us back."

A laugh formed in his belly and rolled through him. He was helpless to stop it. Soon he and Joy were both doubled over.

She swiped at the tears that had spilled down her cheeks. "Oh my God, I can't remember when I've laughed so hard. It's so … liberating." She jutted a hip at him. "All right. It's all yours."

A grin spread over his face. "What exactly are you offering me?"

She stuck her snub nose in the air and tutted. "The fob. It's in my right front pocket."

They both knew she was capable of taking it out on her own, but he wasn't going to bring this to her attention. When she sobered up, the opportunity might never present itself again. "Aren't you worried I'll put my hand where it's not supposed to go?"

"Maybe I'm hoping you will." She raised her brows suggestively.

Releasing her hand, he slid around her, hauling her back to his front, and steadied her with both hands on her hips. She let out a little gasp that got all his cock's attention. Leaning down, he rubbed his nose against the shell of her ear and whispered, "Which pocket was that, princess?"

Before she could catch her breath, he slid his hands into the back pockets of her skirt. "Is it back here?" Yeah, he was pushing the limits, but she wiggled her ass into his hold, signaling that she didn't mind. Fuck, she felt good! He reined in the urge to slide his hands out of the pockets and under the hem of her skirt. His mind raced with what he might find under the denim. Ass cheeks exposed by a thong? Tiny silk panties that matched the pink bra? Nothing but bare flesh?

Grasping his right hand in hers, she guided it to her front pocket. "What you're looking for is right here." Her voice was pure sex, dripping with decadence. At least that's the way he heard it.

His cock swelled and strained against his fly, pressing into her back. They were going through the steps of a different dance now, an intimate one that sizzled.

"You can't be out here!"

He snapped toward the waitress, whose annoyance was written all over her face. A guy who had to be a bouncer stood right behind her .

Charlie plucked the key from Joy's pocket and held it up. "Just getting the car key." The waitress narrowed her eyes, and he sent her a wink before grabbing a couple of waters and steering Joy off the prohibited patio, around the building, and into the parking lot.

He pointed the fob at the BMW. "I guess we're sleeping in your fancy car."

"You're joking."

"You can't drive, and I'm not allowed to. Got a better solution?" He opened the back door.

"Where are your dogs?"

"They can't drive either."

"No, I mean, don't you need to get home to them?"

"I thought it might be a late night, so they're with Neve. We trade."

Joy stared at him over her shoulder, seeming to process this information. She turned fully and faced him, balled fists on those hips where he wanted his hands. Her expression transformed to her fallback problem-solving resting face. "Can't we call an Uber?" She shook her head. "Never mind. I forgot where we are." As reality seemed to dawn in her eyes, she broke out in a fit of giggles. "I don't think I've ever spent the night in a car. This will be a new experience. Let's do this, Charlie Hunnicutt."

"Where has this Joy Holiday been?" he mumbled, apparently aloud because she responded with, "I'm not sure. Hiding in her fancy Chicago condo, I suppose."

"Well, I like this version. A lot. She's sexy and fun. Can you keep her around for a while?"

She smirked at him. "I'll see what I can do."

They clambered into the back seat of the car, which was a tight squeeze for his tall frame. He folded his legs, and when they finally settled in, he splayed those legs wide. "Well, this is cozy."

"Hmm, if you say so. Not as comfy as I imagined." She turned her body so she faced him. The denim skirt hiked up to the tops of her thighs, and he gave himself an inner pat on the back for keeping his gaze trained on her face. "How many times have you done it in the back seat of a car?"

"Excuse me?" he spluttered.

She whacked his chest playfully. "Come on. Don't be shy. I won't tell. "

A hearty laugh escaped his chest. "Who are you, and what have you done with my client?"

"Ouch. So I'm back to being a client."

"I-I didn't mean it that way," he stammered.

"And what way is that?"

"I have no idea. Your question made me lose my train of thought." And so did your voice, your scent, your body, your mouth, your—

"So? Any backseat action since high school?" The parking lot's sodium lights cast a soft amber glow over their bodies, and he watched in fascination as she twirled a hank of hair around her finger. What had she just asked him?

"Uh, no. No backseat action. As you can see, it's not exactly easy for me to maneuver."

Joy shrugged. "You don't need much maneuvering if she's straddling you. And bonus, she does all the work." A salacious smile matched the devil lights dancing in her eyes. God, he wanted his mouth on hers. His mouth on her body. His body on hers.

His swollen shaft was making sitting in this awkward position a hundred times more uncomfortable than it already was. That word— engorged —popped into his consciousness. "Can we please change the subject?"

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

Several beats passed before his brain came on board. "What was your impression of the Silver Lode?" There. Thinking of the dive bar would hurry along the shrinkage he needed.

"Um …"

"I know, right?" He hitched up his shoulders in a cringe. "You don't have to say it. The place is a dump. I apologize for this whole evening." Well, not all of it. The feel of her ass in his hands came roaring to the fore. He shifted in his seat. "If I were going to take you on a real date, it wouldn't be here." Shit, now he was talking dates ? He needed to stop his mouth from rambling, but coherent thought was difficult with his blood draining southward.

She canted her head. "Where would it be? Where do you usually take your dates?"

"Well, back when I was actually dating, it might have been Ouray. They have some nice restaurants there." God, he sounded lame !

She paused mid-twirl. "You're not dating? Why is that so hard for me to believe?"

Come on, brain! Engage, engage!

"Talk to me, Charlie Hunnicutt," she prodded. "Tell me why the available ladies in two counties don't cut it for you. Or have you been looking in the wrong places?"

He uncapped a water bottle, tipped it back for a long drink, and passed it to her. "Can't say as I've been looking at all, though I'm beginning to see opportunity in places I might not have considered before." This wasn't his usual brand of flirting, and he had no idea where it was leading him—them—but it felt good. It felt right. Which was a mind bender when he considered how two weeks ago, this woman had been enemy number one. Now he was primed to take her to bed, which would leave him doing a shaky two-step on a weak limb.

"That kind of answers the second part of the question." She flashed that impish smile of hers.

He puffed out a breath. "The women in Fall River and other towns around are all right, but they seem content in stasis."

"I'm not sure I understand." Fastening on him, her golden hawk's eyes glinted in the half light.

He rearranged his body, making the seat squeak. "I like smart women who have their shit together. Problem is, a woman like that sees me and automatically slots me into a category that might be redneck or blue-collar—and always dumb—who's only good for one or two things, and they both involve muscles of one kind or another. Then they're off to find themselves a banker or a lawyer."

Did he detect a sheepish look in her eyes? Apparently not, because she shrugged and said, "Their loss. Bankers and lawyers are overrated."

"Glad you agree." He lingered on her comment for a contented beat, then, emboldened, gave voice to his thoughts, hoping they sounded coherent and not the rantings of a crazy man. "I look at you, and you've done so much already. You're killing it in a tough industry, and yet it's not enough. You want more, and you're not afraid to go and get it. I don't always agree with your ideas"—he paused while she snickered on cue—"but you don't have any shortage of them. Your mind is always searching, looking for new things, new angles. "

The admiration that came through in his tone was genuine, and it surprised him. He did admire her tenaciousness, her bullheadedness, the way she challenged everything—the very same traits that drove him bonkers. He put the discovery aside for examination later.

"The girls around here are happy to do the league minimum. They're in a holding pattern until their Mr. Right comes along. Usually, he's Mr. Wrong, but if the guy passes the test, which, from what I've seen, has a pretty low bar, they settle. I'm using a broad brush here, which isn't fair, but it still begs the question: Why don't they want more for themselves? Why don't they go out and get it? Why can't they see they deserve more?"

The smile slipped from her face. "I think you're giving me way too much credit. I'm not sure mine was ever a conscious decision. I was simply wired this way and did what came naturally."

"Yeah, but how did you become wired that way? I have no clue about how you were raised, so I can't begin to guess whether it was a nurture versus nature thing, but I'd bet money it was very much your decision to take the path you did. Maybe a subconscious one, but yours nonetheless. You made up your mind you wanted this life for yourself, and you went out and got it. That takes guts."

Her eyes widened. "I'm not that brave. I do one thing, and I do it well. I stay in my lane, where I can predict what will happen and where I'm comfortable staying. And if I'm not doing that , I retreat to my apartment and hide there."

"Not sure I buy that. Sounds like there's some fast-car driving, coffee drinking, and pastry eating that goes on with regularity." His heart lifted when the attractive blush returned to color her high cheekbones.

"You've got the pastry part all wrong. I don't indulge in Chicago. I'm blaming it on Amy and Hailey."

"Good strategy," he chuckled. "But don't sell yourself short on your courage."

"What do you mean?"

"You're out here far away from home, in a place you don't like, and you're working hard to do the right thing by your mother, who may or may not have deserved your loyalty."

Sadness crept into her expression, and he wanted to kick himself for bringing up what were obviously bad memories—memories he wanted to understand but had no right to .

The subject quickly shifted, Joy-style. "Tell me about your tattoo. How long did it take? Did it hurt? I promise to sit here like a good girl and behave."

"Is that even possible for you?" he chortled, trying to bring levity back into their conversation. "I'd say you're one step away from trouble at all times." You're certainly causing me a boatload of trouble.

"That sounds like something my mother would say." She sat back, and he could practically see her deflate before his eyes. "Except she thought I was nothing but trouble all the time."

Distress wound its way through him. He had ruined their fun time by inadvertently stepping in it, but worse, his words had exposed this strong, beautiful woman's vulnerability. He felt an inexplicable pull to make her world right.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you with my asinine comment." He crawled a finger across the seat and stroked the back of her hand, though all of him wanted to gather her up in his arms and protect her from the pain that had sucked the life from her being.

She cast a glance his way. Her eyes glimmered with moisture. "It's not your fault. Anything that reminds me of my mother tends to send me into a downward spiral, so I try to shut it down before it can spin. Plus, I don't handle kind words well, and though I genuinely appreciate what you said, I think you give me far too much credit. Case in point: this situation with my mother, my family, is something I would have taken on years ago if I'd been as brave as you seem to think I am. But I didn't. Even with weekly therapy sessions I've been paying for to move past it, I've been hiding from it instead."

He pulled in a hesitant breath. "None of my business, but have you considered now might be a good time to slay that dragon? I don't mean to sound like I'm pushing you, 'cause that's the last thing I want to do, but if you need to get something off your chest, I can be a good listener."

She tilted her head and drilled those whiskey eyes into his. "Maybe it is time. Got a few hours?"

He spread his hands wide. "I'm all yours."