My stomach flips. I don’t correct him. Mercer, with his big hands and bulging biceps, muscles the trunk open enough to slide my things out. He hands the bag to me. “Dead body in there?” he jokes while continuing to hold my cart.
“Nope. Just the head,” I reply, sliding the handles on my shoulder. “Can you close it now?”
“Awful demanding, aren’t you?”
I shake my head. He closes it the same way he opened it, with brute strength. Mercer looks at me, chest heaving with exertion after it’s sealed shut. Abs accentuated by the way the light is hitting him “I just wanted to watch you do it,” I admit.
Mercer bites his lip and then says, “Just a superhero doing his job. You ready to go? The tow truck is almost here. Not sure what your plan is for when it gets to the hunting camp, but I can’t wait to find out.”
I nod, and without looking back at the steaming pile that is my car. To Bentley, I say, “To the huntin’ camp to do man stuff!”
Mercer opens the door for me and puts my muddy dress and cart in the back of the truck while I slide in. My heart skips a beat when he climbs in after me. “Are you sure she didn’t hit her head? The mayor is going to put a hit out on us if something happens to her. Shouldn’t we take her to Greenton General just to make sure her noggin is on the up and up?”
“And risk being front-page news tomorrow?” I hiss. “I’m handling this, Bent. Just get us out of here.”
Mercer and his beautiful bare chest is almost more of a distraction than I can take. It controls my thoughts. “You heard the muddy lady,” Mercer says, setting a hand on my bare thigh. Every skin cell on my body prickles in response. “To the hunting camp.” Mercer throws a fist out the open window, a carefree, wild sense to his whole being. I want that. I need it.
“This is the first night of the rest of my life,” I say, clutching his hand. “I’m ready. I’m ready.” After this, I won’t have a choice. This sign just sent my whole world into a tailspin. Literally and figuratively.
Bentley pulls onto the road and heads toward the camp. The wind whips through the cabin. As we barrel down the road, I think about the second I saw Mercer Ballentine at the airport. I knew right then things would never be the same. I’m not sure how, but I don’t care. He’s my sign.
Chapter Four
___________________________________
Clover
“ANOTHER SHOT!”Iyell out, slamming the tiny glass down on the peeling Formica countertop. The shot glass has a sombrero on one side, and the words South of the Border on the other. The B has been worn to a P and I find it hilarious. “South of the Porder,” I shout, raising it in the air, laughing until my stomach aches. The hunting camp isn’t unlike any other hunting camp. It smells a little weird, but after the third shot, I stopped smelling it, and pretty much everything else that has a scent. I never act out like this. Letting loose isn’t something I’m well versed in and it must show from the glares sliding my way.
“We’re cutting you off, sugar,” Bentley drawls, winking. “If you throw up in here, Jimmy will have my head on a stake.” Mercer and Bentley take another shot of tequila without me. I shrug off the slight and dance my way into the living room a few steps away. The walls are covered with buck antlers and dead animal busts. The nineties style stereo is pulsing music throughout the two-bedroom cabin, vibrating the taxidermy.
There’s a raccoon in the corner staring at me with beady, unblinking eyes. I use the remote to change it to a new song and lower the volume. “That’s a fine piece of taxidermy,” I call out, hearing the slur in my voice. “It looks like it wants to tear out my eyeballs. Maybe if I compliment it, I’ll gain some favor.” I back up a step because it’s creeping me out. “And then it will stop staring at me, too.”
I take another step away, and I’m halted by Mercer’s bare chest. “It’s staring at you because it can’t help it.” His hands fall on my waist, on top of his shirt that I’m still wearing. I showered and put it back on after. Jimmy’s closet only had jackets that smelled like musky animals and dirt. Mercer leans over and buries his face in my neck. I gave up trying to keep my desires at bay when I finished the bottle of white wine on my own. “You’re so beautiful.” Mercer sways with me to the music, his shoulders forcing me to follow his lead—his warm body commanding my full attention.
Laughing, I lean my head back on his chest, tilting my head up. “Beautiful, huh? I’d almost believe it if it didn’t smell like tequila.”
He spins me, keeping me tight against his body. Meeting his gaze, I hold my breath. He makes me feel things I’ve never experienced before. I can tear down the walls and show him the real me. I’m not scared or apprehensive, either. “Tequila doesn’t have anything to do with my compliment,” Mercer drawls, tilting his head as his eyes trail down my chest, to the open buttons, where my cleavage is exposed, still warm from my shower.
“Tell me I’m beautiful tomorrow,” I say. “If you remember.”
He takes my face in his hands, a firm grip that tells me his intentions are thinly controlled. I want to push him to the brink; I want him to give me more. “How could I forget when I’ve had the knowledge of your beauty my entire life?”
I pull away and his hands drop. I can’t help where my eyes wander. Down his chest, his rippling arms, to the jeans slung low on his hips. My mouth goes dry. “South of the Porder?” I ask, saying anything to distract myself from what he’s making me feel. Is it because I’ve never been this intimate with a man who is nearly naked? No. That’s not it. I’ve drunk too much? Nope. Haven’t had enough. With a purpose only a woman has, I march back into the kitchen and pour myself another full shot into my little sombrero glass and down it. The fire screams down my throat and I can feel the flush rise to my face and neck.
Bentley looks like he’s going to say something, but I wave my glass at him. “Don’t say it, Bent. Mercer is over there complimenting me and I’m not nearly drunk enough to stay away from him,” I hiss out. “This is so strong.” Shaking my head, I playback my previous sentence and realize how backward it came out.
“Don’t you mean you’re not drunk enough to bewithme?” Mercer says, voice cutting through the music, testosterone-fueled presence entering my bloodstream.
I spin, confused. I hear the hurt laced in his tone. “No. Why would you think that?”
He casts his eyes down. “No reason. I’m heading outside to grab some fresh air. It’s a little stale in here.”
Bentley makes an annoyed noise. “Oh, come on! The camp’s been shuttered up for months don’t be a little bitch. It doesn’t stink, you’re just trying to escape because she’s ruining man time!” He follows Mercer outside, talking so fast not even I can hear the words behind this thick Southern accent. I pour another shot when the screen door slams. I take it over to the raccoon and sit down on a busted sofa covered in dark brown flowers. It matches the valance hanging across the window in the kitchen. I take the shot and the room spins. Perfect. “He’s right,” I tell the raccoon. “I don’t know how to interact with a man like Mercer Ballentine.” I only know how to handle men who I’m not attracted to. It’s more of a business deal with those interactions. They want me for reasons other than my heart, and I’m supposed to want them for the same. My parents didn’t prepare me to desire, to fall in love, or any of the romantic things. They groomed me to broker fair trade marriage deals. There isn’t much that perturbs me, but the fact I don’t know how to do this specifically, is eating me alive.
The music lulls between songs and I hang my head between my knees, wrapping my arms around my middle. “I wanted to be a different person and I’m over here offending the only person who wants to help me get what I want.”
I stand up and trip over an area rug corner. “Shut up, raccoon. I’m going to apologize now. What do you think I am? A complete barbarian? I’m a farm trucking lady!” I look down at my hands and see my mangled manicure. “Maybe I am uncivilized. I take that back.” I shrug and sigh.
