Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1) Read online

  “Jesus. Jesus, Rita. Why did you have to be such a sweet little fit?” His pumping deviated from the pattern he’d set, starting new, erratic drives that were as uneven as his breathing where it warmed her neck. And each one of those thrusts jolted Rita on the swing, the momentum slamming her back down, rattling her teeth. “I can’t…I can’t pump as hard as you need it,” Jasper groaned. “Need you held down and still.”

  Rita opened her mouth to tell Jasper that he could do whatever he thought best, although in far less articulate terms, when he yanked her off the swing and batted the hanging object out of the way. She couldn’t see where he was walking them after that because his mouth distracted her, moving over hers like a dirty promise, low growls emanating from his throat, clashing with her out-of-control whimpers. They dipped after a moment and then Rita’s back met the soft grass she’d spied upon exiting the house. After that, nothing existed to her but the man driving himself like a bull between her legs. The sky turned into a blurry vortex above his advancing and retreating shoulders.

  His hands shoved Rita’s knees open as far as they would go, down into the grass, his body roiling like a storming ocean. Peaking and breaking, dropping back down, before coming back twice as hard. “This is what you wanted. This is what you love.” Her wrists were pinioned above her head, forcing her back to arch on a cry of his name. “You can’t walk away from how good I fuck you, Rita. You could go anywhere and never feel this again. I need you to acknowledge that. God knows I’m acknowledging the reverse.”

  “Yes.” Her arms strained, fingers flexing underneath his uncompromising grip. “I know, I know, I know. Don’t stop. It feels so good. Hurts. Feels good.”

  “I know all about it, beautiful,” he grated, head tilting back so she could see the sweat pouring down the sides of his face. “I know all about the hurt. I know all about the good. You give me both, too.” The muscles in his neck and shoulders bunched, shifted. “This pussy is all fucking good, though. Every scarce inch. Every sweet stroke of it.”

  Rita’s climax almost stripped her vocal chords of their function. They locked down, only allowing a strangled scream to emerge as she arched off the ground in what would have been a full backbend if Jasper’s weight wasn’t crushing her down, forcing her to sail straight into the eye of the orgasm, experiencing its possession of her entire body. Her legs were jerked up to his shoulders, his hips never ceasing their drives, masculine groans branding her shoulder, her throat.

  “Oh fuck, fuck, I’m giving it to you right now. All of it.” Jasper went rigid, his arm muscles tightening beneath Rita’s raised legs, teeth bared in the near darkness.

  Jasper having an orgasm might have been the single most remarkable event Rita had ever witnessed in her entire life. He choked on the intensity of it, but still attempted to repeat her name again and again, the word coming out sounding like an expletive rubbed raw. His every muscle stood out beneath sunbaked skin, glistening with perspiration. And his eyes—God, his eyes—they were twin anchors keeping Rita stationary on the ground as she watched this incredible man take his pleasure. Let it wrack his body. The sight was so amazing and arousing that it only took Rita reaching down and sliding a finger over her clit to get her off again.

  When Rita regained consciousness, her arms were limp, thrown out in the grass as if she’d passed out in the process of making a snow angel. Jasper still moved on top of her, sliding their slick bodies together, murmuring things into her hair that ranged from filthy to adoring. “So beautiful lying there all rosy and dewed up. I could turn you over and bang you again just for looking so damn delicious. Would you take it for me, Rita? Yeah, you would. You’d rest your cheek on the grass and let me beat that pussy.”

  Whoosh. There went what little breath she’d managed to catch. “I think you still have me beat in the sexy-talk department,” she managed through parched lips, followed by a sigh. “Always a bridesmaid.”

  On top of Rita, Jasper’s big body shook with laughter and she sucked in the moment, because nothing had ever felt better in her life. Being laughed on by someone who knew how to make her laugh back. “I’ll let you borrow my gold medal, long as I can lie here a few more minutes.” He reached down and used a fist to drag himself from her body with a throaty groan, removing the condom and setting it aside. Then he granted Rita another long slide of their bodies, his muscled, hair-covered thighs making her feel even more light-headed. “There. I can feel all of you now.”

  Rita ran the arches of her feet up and down his calves, massaging his lower back with kneading thumbs. “Are you planning on doing this until you’re ready to go again?”

  “Should only be another minute or so.” His teeth flashed in a smile, but it faded in degrees. “I’ve never done this after part. I’ve never wanted to.”

  Rita’s hands stilled on his back before resuming their exploration of his muscles. “I’ve never done it, either.”

  “Good. So you can’t tell if I’m doing it wrong.”

  When his lips skated up Rita’s throat, she gasped, pinpricks traveling up her spine. “If what you’re doing is wrong…”

  His head lifted when she didn’t continue. “You don’t want to be right?”

  “Yes, sorry. I drifted off.”

  Jasper’s body vibrated on top of hers again and Rita didn’t think, she simply threw her arms out once again—and made a snow angel. In the grass. With a sexual dynamo pressing her into the earth. And she laughed.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jasper leaned back against his kitchen counter, listening to the sounds of Rita taking a shower in his bathroom. Using his soap, his water, his towels. If he didn’t think she needed a second alone, he might have asked to watch. Although that scenario would have led to them remaining upstairs for the remainder of the night, and he wasn’t ready to turn out the light just yet. There would be plenty of time for sleeping when she left.

  I’m in love with you, Rita. Would she hear him in the shower if he yelled it at the top of his lungs? With the head of steam he had built up? Damn straight. Probably best to keep the words ringing in his head instead.

  What the hell kind of cruel fate was in play here? He finds the woman of a lifetime on the side of the road, gets just enough time with her to hand over his soul—and then she gets snatched away.

  No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it? She was leaving of her own accord. Not being snatched away by some evil, unseen force. Before bringing Rita into his home, he’d been determined to be unselfish. Determined to understand that Rita needed to walk along the path of her own choosing. Yeah, he was still clear-headed enough to believe that. In his mind. The life-giving organ in his chest, however, had landed on another conclusion. If Rita was intent on leaving, hell, he would make it as hard as possible for her. Didn’t he have that right? When a man loves a woman, didn’t he fight tooth and nail to keep her?

  Christ, yes. Yes. She’d crossed the threshold of his home and now everything would be laid at her feet like an offering, whether she liked it or not. He couldn’t live with the stark prospect of never having her there again. Waking up in two days’ time without the possibility of finding Rita beside him, downstairs, or in the backyard? Jasper would fight against fate to keep from having to live that nightmare.

  And it was just possible he might be worthy of the dream, instead. The dream being Rita. Rita being the one who’d convinced him his presence meant something. It mattered. She was here now, wasn’t she? In his house, being with him—happy with him—even though they’d gotten physical, even though he’d fucked up, made her angry. Still here. But not for long? Can’t let it happen.

  Hearing Rita exit the bathroom, Jasper reached into the cabinet and added a belt of whiskey to his coffee. He had less than twenty-four hours to convince a woman he’d known for three days to cancel every plan she’d made for her future—and stay in Hurley. For him. A man who’d never been on a second date. Not even with Rita yet. So he needed all the help he could get.

  Rita walked in
to the kitchen wearing one of his flannel shirts; his coffee mug froze in midair. The sleeves went so far past her hands that she’d rolled them up in giant bunches at her elbows, the hem dangling somewhere below her knees. Jesus. How could anyone ask him to withstand the sight of watching her drive away after she’d worn his clothes?

  “Find everything okay?” Shit, it sounded as if he’d eaten a porcupine.

  She nodded, twirling her damp hair into a bun at the top of her head, keeping it there with a rubber band. “You have a lot of flannel.”

  Jasper poured her a cup of coffee, hoping the task would lower his pulse so he could concentrate. “I’ll have to pick a different get-up now. You look a damn sight better in it than me.”

  “That T-shirt-and-jeans look is working pretty well. Might want to go with that.”

  The husky tone of her voice, the golden-brown eyes checking him out, made Jasper’s tongue feel thick. Among other things. He gave his worn-in, gray T-shirt a cursory glance before handing Rita her coffee. “Keep looking me over like that, beautiful, and you’re going to see what’s underneath real fast.”

  Her cheeks turned a pink hue, eyes lighting up. “You mean that, don’t you? I’m making you hot.”

  Jasper watched her over the rim of his coffee cup as he sipped, then set the mug down on the marble island with a resounding clack. “Come over here.”

  Rita took her time sauntering around the island to stand in front of Jasper. But he let her stall, enjoying the sound of her bare feet on his floor, the way she teased him without the visible reservations from before. She leaned back against the island and quirked an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

  She’s cute on top of everything. God help me. Jasper framed her face in his hands, careful not to let their bodies make contact. The plan was to spend at least some part of the evening not fucking the stuffing out of her, and Jasper was determined to see it through. “If you made me any hotter, Rita, you’d singe off my damn eyebrows. I’d have to draw them on with a Sharpie or something. Not even Rosemary would be seen with me in public.”

  Her warm chuckle made his chest ache. “No, I wouldn’t blame her.”

  “So you just keep those eyes above my neck until I tell you otherwise.” He pressed his thumb against her full bottom lip. “I don’t know who led you to believe you aren’t white-goddamn-hot, but I’d like to have a conversation with them.”

  “A conversation?”

  “I’d like to break their nose.” He nodded. “Twice for good measure.”

  “Better.” She shook her head, her fingers toying with the buttons of the flannel shirt. “It was no single person. So much of my time was spent in the kitchen, everything outside of it felt awkward. Unnatural. I just…” A frown worked its way between her eyebrows. “I just didn’t think there was any point in trying. Wouldn’t I let them down eventually?”

  “No.” Rita jumped at his tone, so he grabbed her arms to steady her, squeezing them in apology. “No, you wouldn’t have. But I’m a selfish man, so I’m glad you didn’t date someone smart enough to make an effort. They would have tried to hold on to you at all costs.” Realizing he was revealing too much, Jasper cleared his throat. “And then I’d have to break more than their noses.”

  A heavy moment passed as she studied him, her lips spreading into a smile. “I want to cook something.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes.” She sounded surprised, her gaze darting around his kitchen. “Now.”

  Oh, God, there was no chance of getting his pulse to simmer down now. Had something he’d done brought on this sudden urge to face her fear? Damn, he prayed that was the case. Prayed like hell. “I don’t have too much here, but…” He dropped a kiss onto Rita’s forehead and turned to open the fridge. “Eggs, milk, butter, cheese…I think Rosemary stuffed some spices into the back of the pantry.”

  “A cheese soufflé,” Rita murmured, opening his cabinets to remove bowls, utensils from the drawer. “You have everything to make my least favorite dish.”

  “Sounds like a good time waiting to happen.”

  She took the carton of eggs he handed her. “The eating part will be the good time.” There was a slight hesitation in her movements now. “If I don’t screw it up.”

  Jasper was still new at comforting a woman. Anyone, really, since his only living family member was perpetually positive and happy. The two times he’d tried to reach into Rita’s head and repair things, he’d gone and fucked up good. So he was betting the inclination to bear-hug her into being brave wasn’t the soundest course of action. Although touching her did have incredible appeal. Still, he needed to do better this time.

  “You might screw it up,” Jasper started, rubbing the back of his neck, because his words sounded all wrong. Resist the bear hug. “I might screw up tomorrow at the restaurant opening, too. It could be a total disaster. Everyone in town—they all want me to go back to being the Jasper they could laugh about. I don’t reckon they want me to succeed at all. Until you gave the place a name, I wasn’t even sure I’d ever open the doors.” He couldn’t gauge her thoughts, but he barreled on through his own. “You gave me that…lift. You’re going to help me through tomorrow, so let me help you through the soufflé. That way, if it turns out like shit, it’s on both of our heads.”

  Okay, that might have come out sounding ridiculous, but what he’d meant was Trust me, take my help, let me be your other half. Please. He’d just said it in a way that wouldn’t put the fear of God into her.

  Rita pursed her lips. “Does this mean if the opening doesn’t go well, you’re going to put half the blame on my shoulders?”

  “Sound fair?”

  “I’m in either way.” Seeming to battle a smile, she flipped open the egg carton. “Let’s get this party started.”

  When Jasper came up behind Rita, laying his hands on hers, he realized what a brave face she’d been putting on, because she was shaking. A protective streak about a mile wide mowed down everything in its path, hardening into a bridge he silently begged her to walk over. The air around them buzzed a little, as if it were anticipating something. “When I said let me help you, I meant it. I want to feel where your hands go,” Jasper said, kissing the top of her head and smelling his shampoo. “I want you to talk me through it. If I’m going to be culpable in this soufflé’s potential demise, my guilt needs to be authentic.”

  Her shoulders lowered slowly as she released a breath. “I know this is silly. It’s just a bunch of ingredients being thrown into a bowl, right?”

  “Is that how you feel about it?”

  “No,” she whispered. “No, it’s more important than that. A pinch too much flour or paprika could throw the whole thing off. And then there’s the way you stir it. The tempo and direction. It’s patience. How you place it on the pan. I’m always just guessing, though. It never comes natural like it did for her.”

  “Your mother.” Jasper pressed his face against the side of Rita’s neck, trying to warm her cool skin. “Some people have to work at things, right? Some people have to open a dive bar named for cunnilingus before they get their shit together.”

  Her soft hum of appreciation made his eyes drift shut, but they opened again when she moved their stacked hands to the carton, took out an egg, and cracked it into the bowl. She halted her progress just as suddenly, though. “Wait…I forgot to preheat the oven.” When Jasper remained wrapped around her from behind on their way to the oven, each of their hands lifting to set the temperature, Rita broke out into laughter. And somewhere along the way back to their workstation, she stopped shaking. “You’re taking this very seriously.”

  “Woman, I don’t fuck around with soufflés.”

  “Oh, me, either. I almost stabbed someone over a soufflé once.” Jasper studied her reflection in the kitchen window, saw her expression go from humorous to surprised. “That’s the first time I’ve laughed about it.”

  Jasper watched as she cracked another egg into the bowl, then whisked the eggs with a large
fork. “How did it feel?”

  “Good,” she murmured, transferring their attention to the large saucepan she’d set on the stove, melting a generous amount of butter inside, adding flour when the mixture began to foam. They moved into a side-by-side position, their hips rubbing together as Jasper followed Rita’s quiet but efficient instructions. “Can you grate this cheese?” She watched him perform the task a second before guiding him in an easier way with her own hand. “There,” she breathed, her gaze dipping to his mouth before skating away.

  Jasper tried not to stare at her, but, Jesus, it was hard. She was actually transforming right there in his kitchen. The further they got into the process, the more she glowed, the smoother her actions became, until she was this tiny fairy winging around the space in some complicated ballet Jasper could only marvel over. Where had this brilliant goddamn woman been hiding his entire life?

  Stay with me, stay with me, stay with me.

  He noticed Rita fanning her face, obviously hot from working over the stove. “You want to change into something lighter?” Jasper asked, not surprised at all to find his voice sounding like it was scooping rock-hard ice cream. “A T-shirt of mine, or—”

  “No, I think…” Rita’s attention snagged on the outline of his erection, that fleeting glance making him swell even bigger. But she damn near had Jasper reaching into his jeans to beat off when she pulled her next move. With nimble fingers, she pushed each button of the flannel shirt through its respective hole before letting the garment fall to the floor, leaving her in nothing but a purple-and-white polka-dot thong. “I think I’ll be fine working just like this.”

  And then she went back to adding salt to the mixing bowl. As if she hadn’t just aroused him straight into another time zone. “Damn, beautiful. Just…damn.” He took two handfuls of his hair and pulled, just to feel pain somewhere besides his aching groin. Feeling a gravitational pull toward Rita, he moved—or stumbled, really—toward the mesmerizing sight of her slick little body, the smooth globes of her ass. “How much longer until we put the soufflé in the oven?”