And then I tell her everything I know.
Cameron's face says it all. My and Rocket's hunch is correct, and now that I'm saying all these facts out loud, it seems pretty freaking obvious what has been going on.
She grips my arm. "Thank you for telling me. One of the crew just informed me that someone created a diversion backstage in the moment before the fire happened. I think there's a connection. You did the right thing."
As I watch her head off to make another phone call, I pretend that I'm heading for the restroom once again to wait for Rocket. Instead, Rocket is there, already waiting for me under the oak tree, her arms crossed around her front like she's getting ready to put me in time out. Pretending I don't notice her sassy attitude, I tower over her.
"Why do you keep coming back here? People are going to know what's going on," she whispers.
"I wanted to check on you to make sure you were okay." My eyes travel over her perfectly coiffed wavy hairdo and the shimmering bare skin of her shoulders.
"I am perfectly fine, as you can see."
What I see is an absolute angel in a shimmering evening gown that hugs every contour and shows off more curves than I knew any woman could possess. My mouth waters and yet my throat dries up.
I chuckle. "You mad at me? Is this our first fight? I can't wait for the makeup sex."
She shakes her head, and finally, a smile sneaks through.
"I thought you military types were good at following orders." Her lip curls up in a smirk, her tiny beauty mark teasing me to lick it.
I tell her, "I'm an officer. I fucking give orders."
She takes one step toward me, now so close her tits press up against my body.
"You're gonna get me disqualified."
"Whatever it takes to get you out of here and into the nearest bed."
Rocket's eyes travel down to my chest and back up to my mouth. "That's assuming I'm gonna agree to go anywhere with you," she says, her lips teasing me with her sly grin.
"Listen," I say. "I'm a man who hasn't been with a woman in years. Years. As soon as this is over I'm coming to your place, and you are going to let me in, and then you're gonna let me make you see stars."
"That a promise?"
"No, Rocket. That's an order."
Chapter Six
Rocket
I may put up a real confident front, but my insides tremble every time this man speaks. Normally I don't take kindly to being told what to do. Jet's commanding tone, edged with need, licks at me like flames to alcohol.
"I want to do something for you, Jet. As a thank you for everything you did today. But we need to go somewhere private."
Jet blows out a breath and his fingers grip my bare shoulders. When he speaks again, his voice trembles. I can hardly fathom that I've rendered this big strong fighter pilot nearly lost for words. "Did I die and go to heaven just now, because I sure am not breathing," he says.
Relieved, I smile and grab his hand.
"Come on, I know where to go."
Checking to make sure nobody from the pageant is watching us, I lead him across a grassy field full of livestock trailers and trucks. When I get to where we're going, I open up the back of a long truck and a blast of cold air hits me. I gesture with my chin. "Give me a boost?"
Jet smiles and brushes past me, hoisting himself into the back of the truck. He then turns and reaches down for me, lifting me into the back of the truck with him as if I weigh the same as a sack of potatoes.
The light streaming in from the gap in the door lets Jet get his bearings. I wait for him to figure out where we are. To our left, looming in the shadows is a life-size tableau of a pig and a spider, a web above them spelling out the words, "Some Pig."
"Wait a minute," Jet says. "Is that this year's butter sculpture?"
I unbutton his top two buttons of his uniform, swiping my tongue over the skin above the collar of his undershirt. "Mhmm, it'd better be; it'd be disgusting if it were last year's butter sculpture." My fingers tug the hem of his undershirt out of his uniform pants, and my palm smooths over the surface of his tummy. "A buttery Abraham Lincoln'd be all moldy by now, I suspect."
I half expect Jet to object to making out in front of Wilbur and Charlotte made of butter. But to my relief, he seems a little strangely thrilled by the idea, if the lump in his pants is any indication while his hands explore my bare shoulders. The rough pad of his thumb grazes over my collarbone, sending shivers all over my skin, and my arousal is at an all-time high.
My lips feather his fuzzy chest with kisses while my other hand fumbles with his belt. When he growls in response, my hand instinctively balls up his shirt and tugs it down. I might not have time to touch up my makeup before the congeniality round begins, but I don't care.
There's only one clear winner this year for the pageant, and it's for sure not me. So who gives a fuck about my makeup?
Chapter Seven
Jet
I can hardly make my mouth form the words; all the blood in my brain has been redirected to my dick. I'm helpless with her sweet hand wrapped around it, squeezing it, pumping it.
"Baby," I rattle out. "Ease up down there or I'm gonna make a mess all over your dress. It'll be the scandal of the state fair."
Her mouth whimpers against mine. "It's so pretty though."
I laugh. "Pretty, huh?"
She looks down at it and back up at me, blushing and nodding slowly.
"I'll allow it," I say. "But take it easy, baby. I mean it."
She pouts
