Goodnight Kisses by Wilhelmina Stolen

brow with the back of his hand. Was he sweating? “In the
old days it was a way for a man to claim his woman. It’s
all through history.”
    She could see her truck as they rounded the curve.
Damn. The quick trip was wasted.
    “Well, chalk one up for the modern
age. People have casual sex all the time and men don’t,” she made
quotation marks with her fingers, claim
their women.”
    “Sure we do.” He guided the truck off the road and
braked a few feet away from hers. “And not all men believe sex
should be casual. I don’t.”
    A hard breath could have blown her over. “What?”
    Her shocked reaction drew a smirk to his lips. “You
don’t believe me?”
    Did she? “I-I…It’s just,” her words fell short of a
sentence. “What about all the women you’ve dated?”
    “All the women I’ve dated?” His question was made
with a slight shake of his head. “There aren’t that many,
regardless of the rumors.” The vein at his temple doubled in size
when he paused to drape an arm over the steering wheel. His jaw
tightened, then relaxed. “I don’t screw everything with a vagina,
and I am faithful when I’m in a relationship.”
    Faithful? Did he really just use that word? “But,
from what I hear, you’re with a different woman every night.”
    “Hell, Eleanor this town doesn’t have that many
women in it. I’d have to drive all the way to Austin or Dallas, to
meet that quota.” He did have a point. Santa Camino had a slim
supply of women in it- eligible or not. “That’s just small town
gossip. I used to think it was funny.” He shoved the truck into
park and got out, pausing at the door. “Now, it just pisses me
off.”
    The hard slam made her bolt from
her seat and sent her racing to the back of the truck in
pursuit of answers. “How many relationships have you
had?”
    After he loosened the bungee
strap around the gas can, he lifted it and walked around her
without answering the question. He unscrewed the gas cap, inserted
the nozzle into the tank, and lifted the can until it made a
guzzling sound. When the can was empty, he twisted the cap in place
and closed the lid, then walked to the hood to find the release.
The latch gave way with a pop and a chirr , allowing him to lean
in.
    She raised on tiptoes and joined him inside the
foreign land of grease and oil. “Ouch!” The rusty, sunbaked body
was hot against her fingers. “Why are we under the hood? I thought
it was out of gas.”
    He stepped back to the work truck for an empty water
bottle, took out his pocket knife, and unfolded the blade. A thumb
to the side of the bottle kept the blade steady as he pulled it
around the top. “Older trucks have to be primed.”
    It didn’t matter to her. She was just grateful the
hunk of junk was giving her more time with McCrea. “Oh.”
    All the men on the ranch carried a pocket knife, but
none of them used it the way he did. She loved watching his hands.
There was just something about them that intrigued her. Long, lean
and tanned is the way she would describe them. Calloused, but soft.
Strong, but gentle. Sweet lord she wanted them to touch her. She
wanted to experience all the pleasures they could give, and know
firsthand the love they were capable of. She was more than ready
for that to happen. Years of wishing and dreaming of him was
getting her nowhere, and being this close to him was torture. A
delectable, tangible ache that was getting worse.
    Damn. Damn. Damn. Her hand fetish
had her on the verge of squirming. Boots. Boots are safe. She
forced her eyes
to focus on his dirty brown footwear. But
boots are attached to calves, and calves to thighs. Firm thighs.
With muscles and a dusting of dark hair. She cleared her throat and let her curiosity lead the way. Up. Up. Up to the rise
beneath his zipper. Oh, yeah. This was a mistake.
    “Get in and wait for me to tell you
when to start it.” The sound of his soft order snapped her
attention back to the truck.
    “Yeah, sure.” She yanked the