“I—” Words were suddenly difficult to force through her tight throat. “I’ll try.”
“Try hard. Next, I’m going to speak to Earl about putting lights and a security cam behind Rawley’s. Don’t go back to work until he does. That’s not just for your sake,” he continued when she drew in a breath to argue. “Those measures enhance the safety of every employee. If Earl agrees, he’ll offer you a raise to offset your lost income from the nights you miss until he gets the lights and camera installed.”
“Okay.” A boulder of guilt rolled heavily onto her chest. “I’m happy to be an agent of change for the better, but you should know, I don’t usually go back there.” Confessions didn’t come naturally to her. Even this comparatively minor one thinned her voice. “It’s not, like, part of my job or anything.”
West exhaled deeply and turned to look at her. “I have a pretty good idea why you went back there, Reckless.”
Well, he did, but he didn’t. Could she tell him everything? Could she tell him she went back there to stress-smoke because she’d worked herself into a panic over stealing her guitar away from a pawnshop owned by a notorious loan shark? Could she risk losing Gibson? Losing West’s respect? She’d already tried his patience sorely in the last twelve hours. Maybe this wasn’t the best time? Even so, a part of her wanted to come clean. Whether she deserved it or not, a part of her wanted to cling to what she’d found here in Bluelick—this home, this life…this man. “I went back there to smoke.”
“I know.”
“Because…” Jesus, this was hard.
“Because you didn’t want anyone to see you.”
“Um, yes. I felt—”
“You wanted to sneak one in without anybody knowing, so there’d be no consequences.”
“Yeah. In a way, yes, but—” This was where she had to just let it rip. I had a panic attack because I’ve done something even more reckless than jumping a dog beater in the middle of a deserted lot. I’ve broken the law. I’ve committed grand larceny to get back what’s mine, and it’s in your house at this very moment. Her voice refused to cooperate.
“Smoking is dangerous behavior,” West continued. He rolled onto his side, so his body faced hers. “And we’ve talked about it already. Maybe you need some additional incentive to give it up?”
“I probably ought to tell you why I…” His words caught up to her racing mind. “I probably ought to, ah…” The look in his eyes made her voice stall out. It took three full seconds to recover it. “What kind of incentive are you talking about?”
“Well, Reckless, I did a little research on the topic, and can you guess the number one reason smokers say they smoke?”
Uh-oh. There was going to be a lecture after all. Experience had taught her the best way to cut the quit-smoking discussion short was to take the words out of the other person’s mouth. “Because we’re a bunch of self-destructive, nicotine-addicted knuckleheads?”
“Nope. Not even close.”
Huh. Leave it to West to keep her guessing. “All right, then. According to your research, why do people smoke?”
“To relax.”
She blinked. No counter argument rushed to mind. “Okay, I’ll buy that. So?”
“So…” With the sweep of an arm, he sent her sheet sailing to the end of the bed, startling the dog to the floor in the process. “I aim to provide you with a better form of relaxation.” Levering himself into a sitting position with a stunning array of crunching stomach muscles, he splayed a hand on her shoulder and eased her onto her stomach. “Head okay?”
“Uh-huh.” She might have forgotten she had a head altogether, because the sight of West, magnificently naked, crawling toward her prone body sent all her blood to places far away from her brain.
“Good.” The mattress groaned as he slung a knee over her and straddled her thighs. She waited, breath bated, as she imagined what he had in store for her. Her bare skin tingled from the chill of the air conditioner and anticipation of what was to come. Where would he touch her first?
Two big, warm palms eased onto her shoulders. Strong thumbs slowly kneaded the muscles low in her neck. Without really meaning to, she moaned.
The thumbs didn’t pause, thank God, because they were steadily dissolving every ounce of tension in her body, but a low voice rumbled over her shoulder. “Still okay?”
“Y-yesssss.” Confessions could wait. They could definitely wait.
“Relaxed?” His hands made their way to her shoulder blades and magically loosened muscles wound tight from lugging around heavy secrets in addition to that big-ass bag he’d mentioned earlier, and trays of food, and hours upon hours of playing guitar. “So, so relaxed.”
While his thumbs searched out and released trigger points along her spine, long fingers brushed the sides of her breasts. Incidental contact, she knew, but her body couldn’t tell the difference and instantly started to hum. The hum intensified to a low-level throb when he brushed the vulnerable swells again. Definitely not an accident this time. Unable to hold still, she shifted her hips, which caused a heady slide of skin against skin where sturdy knees bracketed her thighs.
His voice slid over her, too, low and slightly tactile with morning roughness. “The thing about smoking, according to the experts, is that it only appears to relax you. Inhaling the nicotine eases the discomfort of withdrawal that sets in when your system starts to miss the drug and causes a brief hit of a brain reward known as dopamine.”
“Your research sounds…” His hands eased down to her lower back and stopped at the crest of her hips,
