Lip Lock: Country Fever, Book 2 (18 page)

“Jesus, Hayley, what’s wrong?”

She backed away from him, grabbed her bag, and made a run for the door. But how would she get back to her truck?
Trapped. I’m trapped
.

He rolled off the bed, cock still erect and glistening with their combined juices. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

“Baby…”

“I want to go, Brant. Take me back to the bed and breakfast.”

His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m completely serious. Take. Me. Back. Now.”

In the recesses of her mind, she realized her action was irrational. But she’d been thrust into a time of old, and there was no fucking way in hell she was riding that dead horse again. Now was the best time to leave Brant—before she opened her big fat mouth and spewed all the words of love and devotion she felt.

Things she felt but shouldn’t say.

Dumb. So dumb.

Brant stared at her for a long minute, a mottled blush climbing his handsome face and anger sparking in his hard eyes. Finally, and without a word, he dressed and followed her out to the car, where they rode in silence back to the place Hayley had been staying. At one time, electricity had sparked in the air between them. Now only sadness hung, a weight that towed her straight to the bottom of her psyche.

Chapter Fourteen

Thousands of teeth. Brant had looked at impacted teeth, crowded teeth and poorly-spaced teeth. He’d checked out posterior and anterior first molars. And he’d spent hours in surgery, breaking and resetting jaws and implanting genetically missing teeth.

But he hadn’t set eyes on Hayley’s gorgeous mouth in two weeks.

His heart ached, and each time he caught sight of a mane of blonde hair, his stomach dropped into the burning fires of loss.

He shook his head hard. Still unable to wrap his mind around what had happened between them that night at the ranch, he tried once more to detach himself—to let it go.

As he strode toward the coffee shop in hopes of grabbing a coffee as replacement for a healthy dinner, the summer breeze caught his shirt and puffed it out, circulating air around his perspiring chest.

A fleeting thought of Hayley, and his temperature rocketed. Automatically, he glanced up the street at Anecdote. The welcoming suit of armor no longer held the “open” sign, but the door was still propped open as Andrea closed up for the evening. Had Hayley already gone home?

Just then, she drifted onto the sidewalk, purse tucked close and hair a riot around the oval of her beautiful face. Brant stopped dead as if he’d just walked through quick-set cement.

She reached up and bundled the mass of waves into a fist, holding it off her neck. The view of her vulnerable nape invited thoughts of sultry kisses and maddening passion. Hell, of putting a collar around that neck and telling the world she was his forever.

His cock hardened to the point of pain. He thought about the last time he’d had her in the back room of Anecdote, cradling her hot little ass in the cup of his groin, sucking on the fragrant column of her throat.

“No, I’m all sweaty,” she’d said.

“I like to call it moist. How about here? You moist for me, baby?”

The precious bubble of memory burst when Hayley rounded the corner, out of sight.

With a grunt of determination, he broke into a run. Her beat-up truck would surely be parked down the side street, in the lot where she didn’t have to pay. Well, his vehicle was close enough that he could jump into it and follow her—something he’d never dared to do.

But he’d had enough time to get over his anger and shock at her walking out on him that night. He’d analyzed his own fucked-up desire to be in charge of her, from knowing where she went and whether or not she was safe to when she got sexual release. If she wanted him, she’d have to take all of him.

He raked over the hot coals of the events once more. She’d gone wild when he spanked her. But after hearing his love words, she’d jumped ship, which led him to believe that she wasn’t afraid of what he was.

Now, he wanted reconciliation. If she wouldn’t come to him—stubborn woman—then he’d face her on her own turf.

Keeping her in his line of vision, he dug out his keys and slipped into the souped-up truck he typically drove when he wanted to go off-roading after work. Well, he was going off-roading all right. This territory was new between them, and he was damn well going to force Hayley to navigate it with him.

He started the engine and trailed her truck out of town, following at a distance so she wouldn’t recognize him.

Past the nicer homes, which were closer to town, and into the residential section they drove. When she turned down a side road, his heart rate sped up. Only a few houses were down this road that he knew of—and one of them was the small, four-unit apartment complex he owned.

He punched Steve’s number.

“Yeah?”

“Steve, do you have a resident named Hayley Graff?”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, she’s behind on her rent payments, has been warned several times. I’m about to post an official letter on her door.”

Brant’s throat closed up. Behind in rent. Money trouble. Everything slid into place—Hayley taking side refinishing jobs and going out of town for Andrea. Extra money?

He knew things were tight, but he didn’t realize how tight. Damn, he should have investigated further.

And she must know he owned the building, which was why she’d never allowed him to even pick her up here.

He slammed the heel of his hand off the steering wheel. “Don’t post that notice yet, Steve. Let me handle it.”

If he had his way, she’d live there free of rent. No. If he had it his way, she and Drake would be tucked up in his big house, and no longer would he rattle around the spacious interior alone.

Chest tight, he waited for Hayley to pull into a parking spot before her apartment. When she climbed out and disappeared into her place, Brant parked and knocked on Steve’s door.

The man wore his surprise on his craggy features. “I didn’t realize you’d planned to handle it right now.” He stepped aside to allow Brant into his small space, which housed a desk, tool storage and a tiny bachelor pad in the rear.

Brant’s nostrils pinched at the scent of beer and smoke. He’d never deny his apartment manager the right to live the way he wished in his own space, but his days may be numbered if he didn’t stop treating tenants badly.

“Tell me about Hayley Graff.” She lived in the apartment with the broken sink—the one Steve was avoiding repairs on.

“Uh…” He leafed through a stack of papers and held up one in particular. “She’s late all the time. She’s been delinquent seven times in twelve months. Somehow she manages to escape eviction by coming up with the cash in the eleventh hour. Right now I’m about to give her a two-week notice.”

“Don’t. She doesn’t get evicted.”

Steve stared at him, a gleam of understanding in his eyes. “Yeah, sure, okay. You’re the boss. But this is prime space, Brant. You could be getting a hundred more a month from her apartment if you rented to one of the many people who are moving to Reedy.”

Brant shook his head. “No. I’ll handle it, Steve. Thanks for all the information.”

When he swung out the door, he threw a glance at the front of Hayley’s apartment and found her truck gone.

His possessive nature rose sharply—that man who’d paddled her with a hairbrush and demanded that she give herself wholeheartedly in his bed was back with a vengeance.

Where the hell had she gone now? It crossed his mind that he could wait for her, but with her record of taking off for hours or days, he couldn’t expect her to come back in a reasonable amount of time.

“Fuck.” He bit the word off through tight lips. And again, with passion. “Fuck.”

Well, he could either wait for a while and hope she returned, or he could abandon the idea of seeing her today. Tomorrow was a Saturday, and he might be able to corner her.

He leaned against his bumper and stared at the front of her apartment. She’d made it her own with a selection of mismatched pots bearing herbs and flowers. And an old metal crate filled with vintage glass Coke bottles each held a wildflower, which had obviously been picked along the road. Reedy was blooming with these flowers right now, and every half mile, he came across the obstacle of a tourist stopping to pick flowers too.

Something about those Coke bottles made the wheels of his mind start turning. The front window of Anecdote had a huge display of Coca-Cola items right now.

Decision made, he jumped back into his truck and raced back to town. His muscles quivered with tension. If he was right about his hunch…

He swept a hand over his face. He’d find out soon enough.

Heart throbbing as he hit the main stretch of street, he locked his gaze on Anecdote. And relief made his heart swim. Anecdote’s door still hung open, and a group of people stood in the entrance, chatting.

He pulled along the curb in a no parking zone, set his emergency brake and leaped to the ground. A cursory glance at the oncoming traffic, and he was crossing to Anecdote. His muscles tightened at what would come next. He’d either be right and find that Hayley was in a bad enough way financially to sell off a collection of Coca-Cola items, or he’d just be an asshole who was butting into her personal life.

A life she didn’t want him in.

Swallowing his emotion, his blood cycled back to his head and he was able to gain enough calm to talk to Andrea when she looked up.

“Excuse me,” he said to the people she was speaking with. “Andrea, may I look at this collection in the window?”

“Uh, sure, Dr. Foxfire. Go right on in. I’ll be there in a minute in case you have questions.”

He nodded and moved past her the instant he had her agreement. The scent of old objects mingled with the heart-wrenching odor of stain.

The big bay window held the mass of objects. Instantly, he pictured them in Hayley’s possession. From the porcelain canister set to the miniature doll-sized bottles, he saw Hayley.

I could be wrong
.

Andrea’s step fell close to him. When he turned to greet her, he knew his heart was in his eyes.

“It’s her collection, isn’t it?”

Andrea didn’t pretend not to understand. “Yes. She sold it to me a few days ago. I’ve been steadily selling items from this display—several a day. The tourists are snatching them up. And I’ve got a few rare items on an online auction site.”

He traced a finger over a small truck. “You gave her cash for the lot?”

Dipping her head, Andrea stared at her hands. “No. I overspent this month at the flea markets and wasn’t able to give Hayley that much at once. I gave her a small deposit and have her set up to receive a monthly payment according to her sales.”

Brant issued a sigh so heavy Andrea rocked on her heels.

Their gazes met. “I wanted to do more for her. I really did.”

“I do too, Andrea. And I intend to. If I buy this—all of this—will you give her the money right away?”

A light flickered in her eyes. Happiness for herself or for Hayley?

“Yes, of course. I’ll cut her a check Monday.”

“Then I’ll take it. Every piece. Even the ones you have on auction. Just put it all in the back, out of Hayley’s sight, and I’ll pick it up later.”

“Of course, Dr. Foxfire. I’ll do it tonight.”

“Good. And Andrea, one more thing. Under no circumstances is she to know who the buyer is.”

Back outside, his bank account substantially lighter, he turned his truck toward Hayley’s apartment once again. A hundred things tripped through his head, most of them instilling guilt. He’d lied about his vehicles, hadn’t come clean about the number of properties he owned. Why? Because she was obviously sensitive to his financial status.

This idea blew his mind. She didn’t want him to share the things he’d worked hard for, yet what good were these assets if he had no one to share with?

By the time he reached the apartment, he was so worked up, wanting her with a longing akin to fierceness, he could barely register what he was seeing—Drake coming out of Steve’s apartment, both males heading toward Steve’s truck.

Brant whipped up in front of them and dropped the window. “What’s going on?”

Drake’s young face broadcasted relief. “Mom’s broken down—the old truck finally blew. She’s stranded on the way to Casper.”

“What the hell’s she doing there?”

“She’s supposed to start a new job waitressing. Weekend shifts so she can keep her job here too, since Andrea doesn’t need her on weekends.”

Brant’s chest burned. “Get in. Thanks, Steve. I’ll take care of this.”

Drake thanked Steve and climbed into the passenger seat.

“She’s along the main highway?”

“Yes.”

“You drive yet, Drake?”

“No, sir.”

“But can you?”

A grin stretched past his teeth—teeth that were slowly straightening under the metalwork Brant had glued in place. “I can drive.”

“Good. We’re swinging by my place. I have a little problem, and it seems your mom can help me out. You see, I have too many vehicles for one person. And your mom has a dead engine. We’re going to get one of my cars, and you can drive it home for your mother to use. And I’ll go pick her up.”