Take the Chance (Top Shelf Romance #9) - Brittainy Cherry Page 0,273

he said.

“OK, then. Go.”

“Changed a flat tire.”

“Oh, come on!” I scoffed. “Start with an easier one. Who does that for herself?”

“Plenty of people. You should learn how. You’ve got that old car, what are you going to do if you get a flat tire?”

“Call triple A.”

“What if you don’t have a phone?”

I sighed.

“One piece of clothing.” He said it like a warning.

“Fine.” I tugged off one boot. “Next.”

“Pumped your own gas.”

“Ha! I’ve totally done that.” I pointed at him. “Take something off.”

He grinned. “Take the wheel.”

I did, and he whipped off his t-shirt. My mouth watered. Even in the shadowy dark of the truck’s cab, I could see the bulges in his arms, the lines on his stomach.

He grabbed the wheel again. “Waited tables.”

“Oh, Jesus.” I took off the other boot. “I didn’t have summer jobs. We traveled abroad.”

Jack thought that was hilarious. “OK, OK. An easier one. Plunged a toilet.”

Off came one sock.

“Mowed a lawn.”

Off came the other.

“Smoked a joint.”

There went my t-shirt.

“Slept in a tent.”

I shimmied out of my jeans.

He was smiling. “This is fucking fun as hell.”

“I hope we don’t get pulled over,” I said, crossing my arms.

“I might pull over anyway.”

My bare toes tingled.

“Been in a fight.”

I thought for a second. “Like what kind of fight?”

“A fight. Where punches are thrown.”

“Punches, huh? Not scones?”

“What?” He glanced at me. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I started to laugh. “My weasel ex came over a couple weeks ago at two AM and proposed to me. I can’t even believe it now, but I sort of said I’d think about it. The very next night, he and his stupid girlfriend showed up to a fundraiser for my father’s campaign, and she was wearing the very diamond ring he’d proposed with. He’d gone right from my house to hers.”

“That is fucked up.”

“Yeah. Come to find out, his father said he had to quit dicking around with his life and get serious, and I guess getting married would show he was serious. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t inherit his trust fund, which he needs to pay off gambling debts.”

“Man.” Jack shook his head. “Guess having money doesn’t solve your problems.”

“Nope. Anyway, I was so mad that night at the fundraiser that I started screaming at him and throwing scones.”

He looked at me. “Scones? That was the best you could do? There wasn’t a vase or something? In movies, rich people throw vases around.”

I slapped his bare arm. “I knocked over a vase. Does that count? Oh! I also accidentally set fire to a table cloth.”

Jack shook his head again, but he was grinning. “Did you ever hit the target?”

“Once or twice.”

“How many scones did you throw?”

I shrugged. “Maybe a dozen or so?”

The grin widened. “Hopeless. And it doesn’t count as a fight.”

Sighing, I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. It dangled off my arms a moment while I looked around. We were on a rural highway that wasn’t well lit, and I hadn’t seen a lot of other cars, but still. I could just hear my mother saying Thurber women do not disrobe in moving vehicles.

“Well, come on, city girl. Show me what you’ve got.”

I slipped off the bra. Struck a sex kitten pose. “Happy?”

A quick glance my way, and he frowned. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t think this through. I don’t know if I can drive with you naked.”

“Ha! Should have thought of that before you started this little game.”

Next thing I knew, Jack slowed the truck and made a sharp right turn down a narrow dirt road between two fields. He switched off the car, and everything went dark and silent. “Come here.”

But before I could move, he slid toward me on the seat and flipped me onto his lap, my legs on either side of his thighs. Our mouths crashed together as his hands snaked down my back. He grabbed my ass and pulled me against the bulge in his jeans. I rocked my hips over him, feeling my panties go damp.

My hands moved over his chest and arms and abs, my head filled with the scent of him. I felt drunk with the idea of him, of us, of doing this crazy, spontaneous, probably illegal, definitely ill-advised thing on someone else’s property. We could be seen. We could be caught. We could get in trouble.

I’d never really been in trouble.

“My cock is so fucking hard.” He flexed his hips, lifting them off the seat.

“I love it.” Words I’d never uttered before tumbled out easily, breathlessly.