Eyebrows arched, Preacher shook the whiskey bottle in his hand, and the remaining liquid sloshed back and forth. “For the headache. Hair of the dog.”
As she took the bottle, Debbie was startled to realize that Preacher hadn’t left her alone with the Road Warriors. He’d remained by her side, watching over her while she’d slept.
“Th-thanks,” she whispered and sipped. The liquor burned a hot path down her dry throat, waking her further. She took a second swallow, and a third, and eventually the sharp pain in her forehead was no more than a dull ache.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep…” Catching sight of movement in the distance, Debbie’s words fell away.
A short ways off in the grass, her pale skin glowing white in the moonlight, Angel was straddling Rocky, who was mostly hidden by grass and shadows. Debbie could make out his hands, his tanned skin stark against Angel’s light, repeatedly brushing up and down the length of her.
Angel suddenly threw her head back, her long mane of hair like a sheet of black silk swaying across her back. Mouth open, lips parted in a soundless moan, her hips began a frantic, furious pace.
Breathy pants filled Debbie’s ears. The soft slap of skin on skin. A low groan. A high-pitched whimper that speared through the quiet night.
And Debbie couldn’t seem to look away. She’d never seen anything quite like it. So uninhibited. So beautiful and free. It was nothing like the truck stop hookers and their johns—cold, sometimes callous acts between unfeeling strangers.
It was certainly nothing like she’d ever experienced.
Captivated, barely breathing, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. She wanted to grab her notebook and draw them, capturing forever the intensity, the fervor between them.
“Wheels.”
Debbie’s gaze flicked to Preacher, breath shuddering from her lungs as their eyes met. Spellbound, she recalled their kiss. A hard, hungry kiss. Hungry like the way Angel was fucking Rocky. Hungry like the way Preacher was looking at her now.
Debbie felt her entire body come alive and take notice of this man. The smooth arches of his cheeks. The curve of his mouth. The hard edge of his jaw. The loose strands of hair that had slipped free from his ponytail. The urge to reach out and touch him, run her fingers over his lips, tuck his hair behind his ears, was a commanding presence.
Unused to these feelings, Debbie sucked in a sharp breath, and Preacher’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Reflexively she licked her lips and watched as his eyes flared. In response, everything inside her grew warmer, softer, and she could suddenly feel her heartbeat in places she didn’t realize you could feel a heartbeat.
Preacher suddenly snatched the bottle from her hand and took two consecutive slugs, emptying it. Tossing it aside, he jumped to his feet. The spell holding Debbie captive broke and the warm, butter-soft sensation that had settled low in her belly evaporated instantly.
“You wanna get the hell outta here?” Preacher’s tone was low and biting, matching his expression. All traces of hunger had vanished from his expression, and Debbie wondered if she’d imagined it.
“What?”
“Never did like sleepin’ in the grass. Gonna find a motel.” He shot her a look as hard as his tone. “You promise not to hijack my shit again, you got yourself a bed.”
Then he turned on his heel and started walking—a fast-paced, long-legged stride, leaving Debbie scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him.
Chapter 13
Seated on the edge of the bed, Preacher puffed on a cigarette, staring daggers at the back of Debbie’s head. The curtains covering the motel windows were parted, letting in a thin shaft of moonlight that stretched far across the room, highlighting her sleeping form.
She slept with his jacket on, her backpack and sneakers too—as if she didn’t trust him with her belongings. And if Preacher hadn’t been in such a shit mood, he’d laugh at the irony of it all.
Still glaring, he brought the cigarette to his mouth. It crackled and hissed along with the steady rhythm of Debbie’s heavy breathing and the muted sounds of a television left on in the room next door.
He was so goddamn angry he couldn’t sleep.
Angry because his duffel bag had been shredded, reduced to ribbons by the Road Warriors when they’d stolen his cut. And not all of his belongings had fit into Debbie’s backpack, forcing him to leave a third of his clothing behind.
He took another searing hot drag off his cigarette, feeling his lungs recoil in protest. Coughing, he blew out a breath thick with smoke that billowed and swirled in the moonlight.
The loss of his duffel bag wasn’t his only bone to pick with the Road Warriors. Today’s unplanned meeting had stirred up some shit inside of him, picked a scab that had only just formed. The life he’d been running from? It had just slugged him in the gut tonight.
Preacher stubbed out his cigarette and quickly lit another. Forget the Road Warriors. He was horny—really, irritably horny. Months had gone by with barely a twitch below his belt. One kiss with a teenage pickpocket and he was suddenly flying at full mast.One goddamn kiss.
He’d kissed a lot of women. So many that he’d gotten bored with kissing years ago. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d paid attention to a woman’s mouth other than to direct it to his lap.
And the way Debbie had looked at him after spotting Angel and Rocky off in the grass…
