Truck Stop Tryst: A Friends To Lovers, Mafia Romance

Book 2: Truck Stop

by Krissy Daniels

Genres: Contemporary Romance; Erotic & Steamy Romance; Multicultural & Interracial Romance; Small-town Romance; Romantic Suspense

Synopsis

Aida Voltolini. Mob Princess with a knife fetish.
Pregnant heir to a deadly throne.

The woman was sinful temptation wrapped in a pretty package, and hell-bent on using me to scratch her itch.

I couldn't resist her laugh. I was defenseless against those damn doe eyes.
I had no room in my life for a relationship. I meant to stay away.

But then...
She kissed me.

Tucker Slade. Country boy with a heart of gold.
A beautiful distraction with a dark secret.

The man was painfully honorable, and determined to keep our friendship platonic despite my advances.

He pushed my limits and saw past my bullshit.
I had no room in my life for a relationship. He was only meant to be a tryst.

But then...
That kiss. Oh, that kiss.

Release date: July 11, 2017

Publisher: Kiss Me Dizzy Books

Print pages: 338

Sample

TRUCK STOP TRYST

 

Krissy Daniels

Prologue

“Aida, Princess. You are not supposed to be here.” 

My spine stiffened at the gruff, irritated rasp. I turned to face my best friend, knowing he’d have my back despite his ire. 

Jaw set tight, he flashed me a warning glare that held little conviction. 

“I missed your ugly mug,” I teased, planting a kiss on his scratchy cheek. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tito grumbled, pushing me away. “Your pops is gonna rearrange my mug if I let you step one foot closer to that ring.”

My father would skin me alive, after he’d disemboweled my bodyguards for letting me give them the slip. 

Ever since the word pregnant appeared on that damn Clearblue digital stick, Dad had forbidden me to attend, or come within a three-thousand-mile radius of his fights.

Crappy for me, because I loved everything about the violent gatherings—muscles, egos, blood, and bruises. 

Adding salt to my wound, my banishment from the underground scene had created the perfect opportunity for Rafael, my soon-to-be-ex, to wander. And wander he did. Straight into the arms of a beautiful blonde. What I couldn’t figure out, was why he had put zero effort into hiding his extra-whore-icular activities. 

Too bad I had to take him out. Rafael Turner was an impressive fighter, but his real talent was in the bedroom. The man was an orgasm-inducing wonder.   

“Listen.” Tito wrapped his thick fingers around my upper arm. “Don’t start anything. My bullshit bucket is full. I don’t have time to mop up another one of your messes. You have to behave.”

“Aw.” I pursed my lips at my lifelong partner in crime. “Don’t spoil my fun tonight.”  

“Aida,” he warned. “Swear to fuck, you start anything, there will be hell to pay.” 

“You and I both know Rafael Turner is double-dipping that legendary cock of his. He should’ve considered the consequences. I’m carrying his child. Am I supposed to give him a free pass?”

“Let your father handle it, Aida.” He pointed a finger at my face. “Hell, let me handle it. I’ve been itching to put that guy in his place.”

“No, Tits.” I’d given Tito his nickname, Tits, in sixth grade, after I’d caught him feeling up Olivia Fields. He’d said, “I can’t help it. I’m a tit man.” The name stuck. I was the only human on Earth who could get away with calling him Tits.

 Demon-like fury flashed in his eyes, crimson and terrifying. Damn, Tito was a scary fucker when he was pissed.

He gripped my shoulders. “This is what’s gonna happen. You sit here like a good little girl until I get back. Fold those hands in your lap. Bow your head. Pray to God your father doesn’t see you. When the fight is over, I’ll drive you home. We’ve got seven figures riding on this match-up. Turner is a key player. We need his head in the game. Got me? Until then, no trouble.”

I leaned forward and planted a kiss on Tito’s cheek. “I promise, no trouble.” 

We both knew I was lying. But what could he do? Hog-tie a pregnant woman?

Tito pulled a crate behind me. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

Most would cower under the heavy weight of his command. I simply rolled my eyes. 

“Sure thing, Tits.” I perched my ass on the wood box and watched while he stormed down the hallway, then blurred into the crowd. 

Too easy.

I found Rafael in a matter of minutes. Wasn’t hard. Empty hall. No bodyguards, no posse, no managers. No hype. 

I didn’t bother to knock on the heavy wood door before peeking my head in the dimly lit room. Chanel No. 5 overpowered the usual scent of sweat, leather, and the musty tang of a building well past its prime. I listened before venturing farther inside.

A woman’s giggle. The shuffle of feet. The buzz of florescent lighting.  

A breathy voice said, “I thought you weren’t supposed to fuck before a fight.”

“Doesn’t matter, baby,” came a deep, throaty reply. “This one’s in the bag. Dixon will go down in the fourth. All I gotta do is put on a good show.”

“Rafi,” she whined. “Please tell me you didn’t make a deal with Voltolini.”

Rafi? Dear God, she’d given him a pet name.

“I’ll tell you whatever you wanna hear, doll, as long as you’re on your knees. You’ve promised that mouth for days. We’ve got twenty minutes. Work your magic.”

A low moan followed a sensual giggle. “Oh, sweet Jesus, you’re huge.”

Perfect. Caught in the act. Made retribution all the sweeter.

I stepped out of the shadows. There was no arguing, Rafael’s cock was a thing of beauty, which, to be honest, was my favorite thing about him. Despite the fact I was finished with the bastard, I had no desire to see his meat in someone else’s mouth.  

I sauntered around the corner, every inch of my body vibrating with venomous wrath. “Sorry to break up your little party.” I pounded my palm to my forehead. “Wait. Not sorry. Not sorry at all.”

“Aida, shit,” Rafael sputtered, leaning forward and scrambling to pull himself away from the woman’s busy tongue. “What? Who let…? I mean. What the hell are you doing here? You’re not supposed to come anywhere near the fucking fights.”

“Oh, honey. That’s no way to talk to the mother of your child.” I dropped my gaze to the woman on the floor. Rafael’s erection deflated in blondie’s hand, and I decided I’d been wrong. The dipshit’s twiddle-stick wasn’t all that impressive. 

The young woman scrambled to her feet. “You said she couldn’t come here. Goddammit, Rafi.” Her wild eyes searched the room, landing everywhere but on me. “Are you trying to get me killed?”

Rafael fumbled with the drawstring of his pants. I smiled and dropped the blades from their holders in my sleeves, hiding them in the palms of my hands. 

“So, Rafi.” I poured plenty of sticky sweet syrup into his name. “Am I correct in assuming that you’ve been stuffing your cock in other holes the whole time you were proclaiming your undying love to me? That’s bold, albeit terribly stupid, using me to weasel into my father’s good graces.”

A sheen of sweat glistened on the dark skin of his forehead. “You and me, Princess? We’re not over, if that’s what you’re getting at. You’re wearing my ring. Carrying my child. That makes you mine. No matter who I choose to fuck.”

Fatally arrogant twat.

“Oh, but you see, I’m not wearing the ring. I’ve yet to give you an answer.” Moving closer, I admired his thick chest for the last time. I would miss his muscles almost as much as his dick. The rest of him, not so much. “Aside from knocking me up, then getting caught…” I dropped my glare to his groin, then met his green eyes again. “With your pants down … you only made one mistake.”

“I don’t make mistakes,” he said, confident as all dumbfuck. 

“Au contraire, love.” Ignoring the woman fumbling to put her shirt on behind me, I stepped closer and poked a finger between his pecs, lowering my other hand to his crotch. “One. Fatal. Miscalculation.”

A haughty smirk played across his face as he looked down his nose at me. “Okay, baby. I’ll bite.” 

I thrust my knife upward into the soft flesh between his legs. His mouth formed an O in a silent scream, his lips working like a fish out of water. “You underestimated me.” I pulled the knife out and struck again.

Rafael raised a fist, but before he could aim, I slashed my other blade across his wrist. This time, his scream reached my ears. As did the woman’s high-pitched, “Oh my God! Oh my God!” 

Blondie ran to his side and followed him to the floor as he folded and fell, writhing in pain. 

I wiped my blades on the crisp, white towels stacked in a neat pile next to his boxing trunks

“I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you, crazy bitch!” he cried, floundering in the smears of blood on the floor. “I don’t give a shit who your father is.”

“Aw. Rafael. You’ll be fine. They’re only flesh wounds,” I reassured him as I tucked away my blades. “Unfortunately, you’ll have to forfeit the fight. Afraid you can’t put on a good show in that condition. My father will not be pleased.”

Papa Voltolini would have no choice but to dispose of him. 

“You know what that means, right?” I made my way to the door. “The deal you made with my father is off.” Pausing in the threshold, I tapped a fingernail on the frame and looked over my shoulder. “And so is any chance of a wedding, obviously.”

Rafael pushed from the floor and charged, hatred contorting his face. I twisted to dodge his assault at the same time someone grabbed me from behind and swung me backward, pulling me out of harm’s way. 

Idiots had no clue I was the dangerous one. 

Tito and two other fighters dragged Rafael, kicking and cussing from the dressing room, down the dark corridor, and through the back exit. 

I laughed, satisfied, and to my surprise, relieved, until a deep voice startled me from behind. “Aida.”

I turned to face the wrath of Luciano Voltolini. Under the flickering bulbs lighting the dark hallway, Dad looked considerably older than his fifty-some years—his wrinkles more pronounced, the dark shadows under his whiskey-colored eyes deeper, darker, and deadlier than I’d ever seen. 

I crossed my arms in defiance, daring him to wax poetic the new ways in which I’d broken his heart and disappointed him.

For the first time in my life, he didn’t lecture. Lips pursed, he waited for an explanation.

When I didn’t give one, he gestured to his bodyguard. Sebastian handed my father his favorite knife. 

“Thank you, Sebi,” Dad said, admiring his weapon. “Take care of the girl. Then help Tito secure Rafael. I’ll be there shortly.” He pulled a polishing cloth from his pocket and rubbed the blade, raising one eyebrow, inviting me to explain myself. 

“I won’t apologize. He used me to get closer to you.”

“You think I’m a fool?” His lip curled in disgust, a rare show of emotion. “I own that man. It’s my business to know his every move. He played you from the beginning. I had no intention of allowing a marriage. I only needed time to figure out his end game.” 

That stung. “You knew he was playing me?”

His head remained down, but his eyes lifted to mine. “I know everything.”

Sucker-punch straight to the throat. “And you let it happen? At what cost? My heart? Your empire is more important than your only daughter?” The pressure was building too fast. “I’m fucking pregnant,” I screamed and raised my hand to strike. I had never, ever in my twenty-five years, raised a hand to my father.

Dad caught my wrist. Eyes dark as midnight, he hissed, “Love has no place in our world. I taught you better than that.” A dark curl fell across his forehead, and he released my arm to swipe the loose hair back into place. 

Dad rarely lost composure. Standing before me, father to defiant daughter, he was dangerously close to revealing his true colors. “Princess. I’m sorry it has to be this way. Yes, the child was a surprise. I can’t take the blame for that irresponsible turn of events. You should’ve protected yourself. You and I both know you were never in love with Turner.”

“I did protect myself. You didn’t raise an idiot.” 

It hadn’t taken long after I’d missed my first period to realize Rafael had messed with my birth control. Reason number one for choosing to target his baby makers.

“He’ll suffer for using you. Give me your knives.”

“No.” 

“Aida. They’re evidence. They need to disappear.” A man like my father didn’t care about evidence. Taking away my babies was his way of punishing me for my lapse in judgment and self-control.

“Dad. No. Not my knives.”

“You can hand them to me, or Sebi can disarm you. Your choice.”

Sebastian was one of only a few men I’d yet to take down on the training mats. One of the only people on the planet I feared.  

 I pulled up my sleeves, unfastened my wrist sheaths, and surrendered my favorite accessories. With a deep breath and a regretful twinge of shame, I pulled the large diamond engagement ring out of my pocket and dropped it into my father’s hand. “Make him choke on it.”

His lip twitched, threatening to lift in a smirk. “Aida. Princess.” 

A loud, pained scream echoed through the hallway. 

My father’s deadly mask fell back into place. “I understand your rage, and I share it with you, but you’ve gone too far this time. You have no idea what you’ve done.” 

Chapter One

Tucker

 

I plopped my ass onto a stool and watched my sister float across the black and white checkered tile, in the arms of her best friend, and, as of today, her fiancé. It’d been three hours since Tango popped the question in my sister’s newly remodeled diner, The Truck Stop, and we’d all watched from behind the scenes.

She hadn’t stopped smiling since.

I strained to keep my gaze on the happy couple and away from the raven-haired sex-goddess laughing and dancing with the other men at the party. Christ, she was a beauty. Eighty percent curves, twenty percent doe-eyes. One hundred percent feminine wiles. 

Aida Voltolini had the best laugh. Raspy and deep. Paired with her wicked smile, the woman was downright bewitching. 

My nephew, Rocky, squealed. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Aida scoop him into her arms and spin. The little tyke had fallen under her spell, too. 

“No. That’s not how you do it,” he said, giggling. 

Curiosity got the best of me, and I turned their way, giving them my full attention. 

Rocky pulled Aida’s hand into his and held his arm out straight. “Like this, see?” 

“Oh. Yes. That’s much better.” Aida straightened her back and spun, raising up on her toes, then dipping low, laughing, and kissing the little lady-killer on the cheek. 

Tango, breathless from dancing, and still wearing a cheesy grin, set one elbow on the counter next to me and leaned close. “Thanks for helping me arrange this shindig.”

Sometimes I hated the guy for taking away my family. Sometimes I wanted to hug him for putting that fucking brilliant smile on my sister’s face.

“No problem,” I said, unable to peel my eyes off the mob princess and my nephew.

Tango leaned close, so only I could hear him ask, “The house ready?” 

“Good to go.” I pulled a set of keys from my pocket and handed them back to the grinning man. “Slade doesn’t know yet?”

“Doesn’t have a clue.”

My sister’s home had burned to the ground a little over a month ago. She and my nephew had been staying with me until their new house was move-in ready. Unbeknownst to Slade, Tango had hired a crew to speed up the process. He was about to surprise her and their son with their newly remodeled abode. Thank God. I couldn’t wait to head to my condo and get reacquainted with my king-size. The couch had been a killer on my back.

I waved a hand to shoo him off. “Take your dancing queen to her new castle. I’ll help Charlie clean up the mess here and lock up.”

“Do you mind bringing Aida home later?”

Hell yeah, I minded. 

“Not at all.” The smile I forced was painful. Last thing I needed was to be alone with the only woman who’d stirred the blood in my cock in years. “She all moved in?”

“Yeah. Furniture was delivered day before yesterday. Tito helped her settle in last night. He said she only grumbled for the first three or four hours. Can’t blame her. It’s got to be hard, moving from a castle to a nine hundred square foot basement apartment.”

“Poor spoiled princess,” I huffed.

“You have no idea.” With a hard clap to my shoulder, Tango said goodbye. I watched the happy family make their exit. As Tango lifted Rocky to his shoulders and tucked Slade under his arm, my chest ached. 

I had watched over my sister and nephew for years. Now that they had Tango, I wasn’t sure what to do with my spare time. And the damn hole in my chest only seemed to get bigger. I itched for a hunt. Yeah. That sounded good. I’d hunt. After dropping the mob princess at home. 

Mom, Dad, and the rest of the partygoers said their farewells and made their way out the door.

Tango’s cousin, Tito Moretti, wrapped a beefy arm around my shoulder. “I’m off. Got a plane to catch. Keep in touch, Tuck. Ever want to visit the Big Apple, I’m your man.” The guy was all beef and smooth talk, layered over a deadly confidence. He nodded toward Aida who was saying goodbye to Tango’s father. “Keep an eye on my girl over there. She’s got a heart bigger than Texas. Just gotta shovel through a valley of bullshit to find it.”

“My eyes aren’t going anywhere near that vixen.” Let alone any of my other body parts. 

“Aw. She isn’t so bad, once you dust off the gunpowder.” Tito strutted toward the door and pulled Aida into a tight embrace, his hands on her hips, his mouth on her cheek, whispering words that made her smile and blush. 

I curled my fingers into my palm and headed to the kitchen for a trash bag. Damn. I didn’t like seeing Tito’s arms around her. Not one bit. More disturbing, was the fact that their intimacy bothered me. I shook that thought off real quick. 

The girl was trouble. Not a chance in hell I was getting close to that. Aida was Tango’s problem, not mine. 

I lived a carefully designed, drama-free life. Work. Gym. Eat. Hunt. Sleep. 

No girlfriend.

No worries.

I made quick work of helping Charlie tidy the kitchen before heading back to the dining area where Aida would no doubt be waiting, all doe-eyes, moist red lips, and attitude. I pushed through the swinging stainless steel doors and damn near fell to my knees at the sight of her, bending over, heart-shaped ass in the air, fiddling with the hem of her gown. 

At the sound of the doors clunking, she stood up and looked over her bare shoulder. The diamond earrings she wore caught the light just right, flashing a bright sparkle across her olive skin. 

“Oh, hey Tuck.” She gripped the sides of her bustier and adjusted her breasts. “What can I do to help?”

Christ, that voice. Soft and deep. Seductive. So damn intoxicating. The suit pants I wore were insufficient to hide my growing erection. Thank God, I’d untucked my shirt earlier. 

After clearing the lust from my throat, I pointed to a stool. “Nothing. I’ve got it, Charlie’s got the kitchen, you relax. Can I get you something to drink?”

Aida quirked a brow at me and rubbed a hand over her small belly. “I’m pregnant. Not helpless.”

And … that took care of the boner problem. 

Aida was off-limits. Pregnant. Under the protection of Tango, my soon to be brother-in-law. Not to mention, the only daughter of one of America’s most elusive criminals, Luciano Voltolini. 

Yep. Definitely off-limits. 

“Didn’t say you were helpless. Just thought you might need a breather after all that dancing.” I plucked red plastic cups off the bar and dropped them into the trash bag. 

Aida sauntered around the corner, grabbed a bottle of spray cleaner and a towel, and proceeded to wipe down the counter as I cleared it of debris. 

“There,” she said after we finished. “Good as new.” 

By the time I’d dumped the trash bag in the bin behind the diner, and returned with the push broom, Aida had made herself comfortable on the new, red leather couch in Slade’s office. 

Feet perched on a pillow, she smiled up at me and wiggled her bare feet. “You were right. This feels good.”  

I proceeded to sweep, counting my strokes to keep my mind off those naked legs and perfectly manicured toes. 

The day couldn’t end soon enough. A few more hours and I’d be home free. Back to my simple, single life.

#

 

Aida

 

Single life was not working for me. I hated being alone. In Whisper Springs, my options for male companionship were slim to one. The one being the only single man I’d met since being sent to my small-town hell. 

Tucker Slade was not my type. Not even close. My type wore Armani suits, drove Ferrari’s or Porsche’s. My type bloodied faces in their spare time, in the underground fights controlled by my father. Slick. Shiny. Beautiful. Dangerous.

Tucker Slade was rough, burly, and unpolished. He wore his suit like a peacock in a beige leotard. Damn thing choked the very life and personality right out of him. Thick, unkempt brows, two-day stubble, not a lick of styling product in his wavy hair. Quiet. Brooding. 

Not my type.

Then why, after every time his gaze fell on me, did I feel like a woman claimed, owned, wanted? Why did my skin heat, my heart race, my body ache to the bone? 

Pregnancy hormones. The only logical explanation.

My fascination with the man definitely had nothing to do with the way he smelled like leather and pine, or those denim-colored eyes, or the way he looked at me like I was the only woman on the planet. Most men looked at me that way. Perhaps the fact that Tucker hadn’t acted on the obvious attraction was what had my brain jumbled. 

I rubbed my small baby bump. Wasn’t even a bump yet. Swell? Puff? Whatever. I knew it was there. I knew what was coming, or who, rather. “Mama’s losing it, little one. It’s all your fault.”

Pre-pregnancy, my life was all about sex. 

Stressed? Call the trainer, work out in bed. 

Angry? Fighter’s rage fucked like nobody’s business.

Celebrating? Hit the clubs with private rooms. 

Getting to know the enemy? Seduce them. Most men fuck the same way they conduct business. 

Lonely? My little black book had been upgraded from notebook to novel years ago. 

I was sexually frustrated, to say the least. It’d been months. Now all I could think about was climbing and conquering Mount Tucker. I laughed to myself. Not a chance in hell a man with his manners and rugged, country boy charm would want to bang a knocked-up single girl with a knife fetish and ties to the mafia.

 Nope. Wasn’t gonna happen. I needed a distraction. Scratch that. I needed an industrial strength vibrator. 

Unfortunately, I’d been whisked off to my temporary prison with little time to pack, and tragically, every one of my BOBs had been left in the dust. 

I heard the smack of Tucker’s flip-flops before he entered the office. Flip-flops were ridiculous creations, and I’d only ever worn them to the salon, but they’d been required for this engagement party, so we all donned a brand-new pair. Who was I to judge? I had a knife fetish. Apparently, Slade had a rubber footwear fetish. Whatever floats your boat. 

“All done here, ready to head home?” He braced his arms on the doorframe above his head. The way he filled the space, all muscles and white teeth, made my head spin and heat swirl through my insides.

I sat up, tucked my legs underneath me, and patted the cushion. “No. Not yet. Lets give Tango and Slade time alone in their new home.” 

Tucker dropped his head low and moaned. 

Ouch. That stung. 

Back home, men threw themselves at me. Kissed my ass, too, and yes, it was because my last name was Voltolini. Didn’t matter. I gobbled the attention, demanded it, rather. In Whisper Springs, Idaho, Aida was a nobody.

I wasn’t ready to retreat to my basement apartment below the new Rossi love-shack. The last thing I needed was to hear the lovebirds and their happy family dancing over my head. However, it was clear by the scowl on Tucker’s face that he had no interest in keeping me company.

I had a battle on my hands. 

I patted the cushion. “Come on, Cowboy. Please. We can fire up Slade’s new television.” 

He quirked a brow. “Cowboy?”

I offered him the remote. “I’ll even let you pick the show.” Tango had recently remodeled The Truck Stop Diner for Slade, restoring it to its nineteen fifties retro vibe. The office, however, was designed with his son Rocky in mind, complete with a play area, pint-sized homework desk, couch, and flat-screen television. Slade’s desk was hardly noticeable, tucked in the far corner. 

“I’ve got an early day tomorrow. I should head home.” He rubbed a hand through the mess of hair on top of his head.

“Please. Just an hour. Please. I’ll slit my throat if I have to watch another second of their happy, love crap.” 

“Aida. You have a separate apartment downstairs. You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to.”

“Oh. You must be referring to my dark and gloomy underground prison. Yeah. That’s something to look forward to.” I batted my lashes and patted the cushion one more time. “You have any idea what that cave will do to my healthy glow? You want me to be hideous and pale?”

Tucker closed the distance between us in four long strides and dropped next to me with a loud sigh, throwing his heat, and his welcoming scent around me like a rainy day wool sweater. He quirked a brow and grabbed the remote from my hand. “What did you do to earn this banishment? Had to be bad if Luciano Voltolini sent his only daughter away.”

Out of habit, I rubbed at the bare spot on my left forearm where my knife holder had once lived like a second skin. I missed my babies.

No use lying. Aside from Slade, Tango, and Tango’s father, Carlos, Tucker was the only other person in town who knew my real identity. I was introduced to everyone else as Tango’s cousin, Aida Suarez. “I stabbed the father of my baby. In the balls.” I held up two fingers. “Twice.”

His jaw dropped before he caught it and lifted his lips into a nervous smirk. “That’s a good one. Seriously, what’d you do? Or are you not allowed to talk about it?”

“I’m telling the truth. The asshole cheated on me. I caught him in the act. Stabbed him twice.”

Tucker’s face paled. 

Shoot. Should’ve lied. No way his dick would come anywhere near me now. I was doomed to serve my sentence as a celibate—horny, and growing less attractive by the day.

 Tucker didn’t ask me to elaborate, but I did, because it felt good to talk to someone who wasn’t being paid to appease me. “I’ve never had unprotected sex in my life. I’ve always used birth control and condoms. Faithfully. Rafael figured if he knocked me up, he’d have an in. Access to my father. Not sure how he did it. Damn sure wasn’t going to let him get away with using me. Seems Dad had a plan of his own, though. One I wasn’t privy to. Apparently, I caused a ton of trouble for Dad, pissed off the wrong people. Now, I’m hiding here, in Butt-Fuck-Idaho until Dad mops up my mess.” I slumped into the buttery soft leather. 

Tucker loosened his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt before scooting deeper into the cushions himself, hands at his sides, knees spread wide. “So, you’re kind of a badass, then?” He clicked the power button on the remote and chuckled. “Princess Badass. Nice.”

Wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. Most men would run for the hills, cupping their junk. Tucker seemed to find my twisted idea of justice amusing. Okay, so maybe there was hope for the guy. Of course, if anything of the sexual variety were to happen between the two of us, it could only be a fling. A dalliance. My father would send for me soon.

 Until then, Tucker could be a beautiful and much-needed distraction. Tucker Slade and his brilliant blue eyes. 

#

Tucker

 

Those damn doe-eyes. All liquid chocolate framed with long lashes. Sucked me right in. Deceiving as hell. 

Princess Voltolini was dark and dangerous. I needed to remember that. 

I shifted, praying she wouldn’t notice the bulge swelling behind the fly of my ridiculous suit pants. I hadn’t worn a suit since Nicki’s funeral. Everything about the expensive get-up felt off. Scratchy, ill-fitting, and pompous.

Aida was nervous. The click of her red nails made that a no-brainer. Was she worried her little confession would scare me off? 

It should have. 

“What should we watch?” I asked, changing the subject, no longer eager to head home. Matter of fact, little miss knife fetish had become all the more tantalizing.  

“Really?” She blinked at me. “Anything. I’ll watch anything. Just don’t take me to that prison yet.”

“Alrighty then.” I pressed the channel change button at a steady pace, acutely aware, from scalp to toes, of the warm, sensual heat seated next to me. 

Aida continued to tap her nails together. 

Click. Click. Click.

Damn, that was annoying. Kinda cute. Mostly annoying.

I stopped channel surfing when a familiar image caught my eye. A rest stop on Highway 12 near the Idaho-Montana border. The title on the screen read Rest Area Reaper Claims Another Victim. Corny? Yes. Accurate? Hell, yes. 

The attacks were occurring more and more frequently and were no longer confined to the Pacific Northwest. Was I concerned? No. Every headline failed to report the most important fact about the psychopath targeting truck drivers. The specifics everyone in the trucking industry knew. A dirty little secret nobody talked about. Every trucker who had been attacked by the Rest Area Reaper had been fishing for underage companionship, under the cover of night, in the sleazy underbelly of my chosen profession. The victims didn’t talk to the authorities, for fear of prison, or their families discovering their illegal proclivities. The working girls didn’t talk for fear of losing their livelihood. The pimps, well, they stayed hidden.  

I wasn’t concerned. Our drivers were screened, drug tested, road tested, screened again. Our trucks had cameras running twenty-four-seven, inside and outside the cab, to ensure no illegal exchanges took place on our clock.

 Most victims of the Reaper were private contractors. Every one of them had narrowly escaped with their lives, beaten to a pulp. Not a single one could identify the person or persons who’d assaulted them.  

I changed the channel again, before Aida could process, or, God forbid, question me about the Reaper story, and landed on an image of a man in waders, hip deep in crystal clear water, demonstrating a brilliant river load cast.  

“Fishing? Really?” she asked with a huff.

“It’s relaxing.” I glanced at her hands. “You should try it sometime. I’ve never seen a girl wound so tight.”

“I have good reason.” She studied the screen.

“I suppose you do.”

It took unfathomable will power not to laugh as she shifted and squirmed next to me, clearly agitated, but trying hard to keep her trap shut. Sweet Mother of Mercy, she smelled good.

Her patience only lasted two minutes. “So, this is what you do to relax? Watch men in rivers play with their skinny rods?”

I melted deeper into the couch and laced my fingers behind my head. “When I need to relax, I hit the gym. Sometimes I go fishing.”

“You like to play with your rod, too?” Click. Click. Click. “Sounds fun.” 

I glanced her way in time to catch an eye roll. 

The mob princess could throw an attitude. Damn, I wanted to tame that fiery spirit. Or throw some gasoline on it and see how hot she could burn. I could’ve continued to banter. Instead, I asked, “What do you do to relax?”

“Sex,” she said without hesitation. Then her eyes widened, and she slapped a hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I mean. Um. Oh God. That sounded awful.”

Yeah. Her confession was too good to let slide. “So, I’m in the company of a nymphomaniac, testicle-carving, mob princess. I can’t for the life of me understand why any man would let you slip through his fingers.”    

She searched my face, gaze falling on my mouth, darting to my eyes, then dropping back to my lips. Her forehead wrinkled, eyes pinching together as if she couldn’t comprehend what I’d just said. 

Fuck me, but I wanted to devour those plump red kissers. “Stabbing him wasn’t enough, you know. Any guy who cheats deserves to have his nuts cracked, chopped, and slow-roasted over a campfire.”

And there it was—Aida’s deep, raspy, laugh.  

No better sound in the world. I did that. And quick as a snap, I was addicted. Obsessed. Committed to making her laugh every day. 

For the tenth or sixtieth time since meeting her, my cock swelled. Before I had time to adjust my hips and hide my arousal, Aida sprung across the couch and crashed her mouth to mine. Her bare arms coiled around my neck. Straddling my lap, she settled her full, soft ass on my thighs. With tongue, lips, and soft moans, she attacked. A full-frontal assault.  

It’d been too long since I’d kissed a woman. Instinct urged me to back off and slow things down. Protect myself. But with her breasts rubbing against my chest, her warm thighs bracing my hips, and the sweet, cotton candy scent of her skin, I was helpless, mindless, selfish, and I gave in to basic human need. I slid my hands down the silky fabric of her gown and cupped her ass, pulling her closer, tighter against my erection. 

Sweet hell, I’d forgotten what a pair of breasts and soft skin could do to short circuit a man’s dignity. 

I had to stop. Before I couldn’t.

Aida tangled her delicate fingers in my hair and pulled. Fire seared my veins. When I drew in a sharp breath, she yanked my head, forcing it against the back of the couch. Rising on her knees, she crashed her mouth to mine. 

The girl was strong, and she held me tight and still during the attack. It wasn’t a kiss. It was mouth fucking. Dirty. Raw. Painful. And the hottest damn sexual experience of my life. 

I let her have her way with me, on the couch in my sister’s office, until my dick threatened to erupt. Curling my fingers into her hips, I urged her back down into my lap. 

Immediately she began to grind against me. Moaning, kissing, biting. 

Shit. Too many layers of fabric separated us. As if reading my mind, Aida sat back on my thighs and pulled the bodice of her dress down, exposing her full, heavy breasts, and their enticing rose colored buds. I needed a taste. 

First, I needed to slow the bump and grind before something embarrassing happened.

Fuck. I needed to stop touching her.

And I would.

After a taste. One taste. 

I lifted her off my lap and laid her on the couch. She reached for my belt buckle. I swatted her hands away.  

Her eyes darkened, and she reached for me again. I grabbed both of her wrists and pinned them above her head, causing her breasts to wiggle and bounce in an erotic tease.

One taste. Then I’d stop.

Ducking my head, I pulled the taut skin of one nipple between my teeth. She was salty and sweet, tight, and responsive. When I rolled my tongue across the bud, Aida bucked beneath me. I adjusted my position, to gain better access of her exposed skin, planting one foot on the ground and one knee between her legs. 

One more taste. I had to have one more.

I moved to the left breast. When I nibbled on the hard peak, Aida arched and slid her body down the couch, finding purchase on my leg. She wrestled one hand out of my grip and slapped it hard on the back of my head, digging in, pulling me tighter to her bosom. 

I sucked, drawing long, slow pulls of her breast. Aida ground her pussy against my thigh, writhing, riding, getting off. It’d be a lie if I said she wasn’t driving me insane. My dick throbbed, screaming for attention, but the beauty beneath me was once again running the show. Her death grip held me steady physically, her moans held me captive mentally. I toyed with her breast. She worked herself against me. 

My angry erection remained untouched, but that didn’t stifle my oncoming orgasm. I had to end our heavy petting before I made a mess of my new suit, or worse, a fool of myself. I pulled the tip of her pebbled flesh between my teeth and flicked my tongue across the top.

Aida’s head flew back into the cushions, her hips tilted, rocking harder against my leg, and she came with a string of gorgeous, ecstasy-tainted profanities, her thighs clenching tight around my leg, her body twisting, her hands fisting my hair, painful and thrilling, and scrambling my brain. 

Fucking hell. I’d never experienced anything so carnal. Never had I witnessed a woman come undone with such wild abandon.  

I did that.    

#

Aida

 

I had never done that. Holy shit. What just happened? Never had a man made me come just by playing with my breasts. If making out with Tucker was that good, I couldn’t wait to get to the real action. 

Mindless bliss, my drug of choice. I sighed and opened my eyes, eager to continue, beyond excited about my new discovery, my new toy. 

Tucker hovered over me, shit-eating grin on his face, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. His tongue appeared in a slow drag across his bottom lip. “You relaxed now?”

I realized I was still gripping the back of his head and let my arm fall to my side. “I am so fucking relaxed,” I said, wiggling my fingers so he would release my other hand. 

Before letting me go, he dropped a hard kiss on my lips. Then, much to my dismay, he tugged my dress back over my boobs. “It’s a shame we need to cover those up. Prettiest damn things I’ve ever seen.”

Heard that before. However, until those words fell from his lips, I’d never felt the power they held. The need fueling his gaze, the way he stared into me and not at my breasts, each word pierced me through and through. 

I couldn’t wait to reciprocate. “We’re not done,” I said, reaching for his crotch. “It’s your turn.”

A sad smile cracked his face before he leaned down to kiss my nose. “Nah. I’m good.” 

“What?” He had to be joking. Men didn’t get women off just to get women off. A man got a woman off so he could bury his dick in one of her holes and feel like a king. 

“I said, I’m good.”

“Yeah, right.” I grabbed him anyway. Good Lord, he was hard and huge in my hand. When I squeezed, he jerked back and jumped off the couch like I’d electrocuted him. 

“Time to head home,” he mumbled, avoiding my gaze while offering a hand to help me up.  

“Are you fucking serious?” I swatted him away and propped my arms behind me. “Did I do something wrong? Is it the baby?” I looked down at my stomach. “I knew it. It’s a turn-off. Jesus, men are so shallow—”

“Aida. Shut up,” he half-shouted, half-growled.

“No. No. It’s okay.” I straightened my shoulders and pushed off the couch, bumping the big lug out of my way in the process. “I get it.” I hadn’t had many conversations with Tucker since coming to Whisper Springs, three maybe, in total, but I had watched him, studied him, and early on, had decided that he was the epitome of small town, American good ol’ boy. Man. Whatever. He was too wholesome for the likes of me.

“It’s not you. I mean. It is you.” He scratched the stubble under his chin before squeezing his eyes closed and shaking his head. “You are perfect. And that mouth? Seriously. Didn’t know it was possible to kiss like that.”

“But I’m trouble,” I interjected.  

“What? No.”

“Listen,” I adjusted my breasts, straightened my skirt. “You’re a good guy. I can see that. You need a sweet girl to warm your bed, not a cock-stabbing criminal—”

Tucker attacked, clamping an arm around my waist. He slammed me against his chest, and our mouths collided in a hard, desperate kiss. When he came up for air, I was speechless. 

“Let’s get one thing straight, Aida. I want nothing more than to rip off that ridiculous dress and take you in every corner of this room. But you’re right. I’m a good guy. And that’s exactly why I’m shutting this down before it gets out of hand. I don’t have time in my life for a relationship, romantic or otherwise, and I refuse to lead you on just to get my rocks off.”

Tucker reached around me and pulled the door open, pausing before allowing me through. “And the fact that you’re carrying a baby? Not a turn off. Nothing sexier in this world than a woman with child.”

My lips, hell, the whole area surrounding my mouth, burned from the scratch of his stubble. My insides were on fire, perhaps from the heat of his gaze, or maybe it was his words that torched me. Either way, I wasn’t about to let him know he’d singed me with his rebuff.

A sharp sting bit my backside as I passed him. My insides heated another gazillion degrees. I turned on my heel and shoved a palm into his chest. “Don’t ever slap my ass like that again. And, for the record, I don’t want a relationship, romantic or otherwise, either. Especially with some backwoods hick who doesn’t seem to own a razor.”

I turned and stormed toward the back exit before running my mouth more than necessary, before he could read the disappointment on my face, or hear the anguish behind my words. Rejection fucking sucked. 

When I passed the wall of knives in the kitchen, I yanked one off the magnetic holder and pitched it across the room, landing it with precision into the wall above the prep sink. Damn, that felt good. At least the pregnancy crap hadn’t messed with my aim. 

I pushed through the door and waited for Tucker by his Jeep.

Thankfully, the drive home was less than three minutes, seeing as my new apartment, in the basement of Tango’s new home, was just up the hill from The Truck Stop. 

I shoved the door open before he put the vehicle in park. I hopped to the ground and headed straight for my private entrance around the back of the house before realizing I had left my keys and my handbag at the diner. Great. Now I’d have to go bother Tango. 

“Looking for this?” Tucker dangled a key over my shoulder. 

“Thank you,” I mumbled, snatching it from his hand. His heat warmed my back as I slid the metal teeth into the lock. Not a chance in hell I was going to turn around. The evening had been an epic, embarrassing mess. I was going to keep it, and him, where they belonged, behind me. 

Pushing open the door, I steeled my spine, sucked in a breath, and pushed through the threshold into my empty, lonely, temporary home. 

“See ya, Bambi.” Tucker chuckled, before smacking my ass, hard, and retreating to the safety of his vehicle.