Chapter Seven

Tucker’s breath practically stopped in his chest as her gaze fixed on his lips. His lips. And not in a you-have-something-stuck-in-your-teeth kinda way but with…interest. With heavy eyes and a parted mouth.

If it was still raining, Tucker couldn’t hear it.

“I…haven’t had any complaints.”

Which was not what he should have said. He should be shutting this down. He should not be here with Della like this, talking about kissing.

But it was dark and warm and private with the windows fogged and the rain a steady drumbeat. Every fiber in his body pulled taut in anticipation, and this thing that he’d been trying to ignore for so long stirred. The way she stared at his mouth told him that maybe something was stirring in her, too.

That should have been enough to pull him out by the roots of the hair, because Della was not a woman he should be making out with in a car, but her arm was brushing his and she smelled like cupcakes and hell if he didn’t want to anyway.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Her voice was low and husky, but he heard the hitch. Yeah, he heard that right down to his toes. Hell, he heard it deep inside his balls. His aching balls.

Tucker’s throat was dry as dirt, and he dragged his eyes off Della to stare blindly out the windshield. His heart was pumping hard, like he’d just chopped a bunch of wood instead of sitting on his ass in a car next to a woman who was looking at his mouth like she wanted to take it for a test drive.

“The rain’s easing up,” he said.

It was still coming down, but he could actually hear himself think now, which was a bonus. Maybe he’d start using his big head instead of letting his little one call the shots.

“Tucker?”

“We should be able to go soon,” he continued, refusing to look in her direction. Hell, if he’d been in the driver’s seat, he’d have just started the engine and hightailed it out of here already. “Don’t want Arlo to get antsy and come looking for us.”

He wouldn’t put it past Della’s brother, and the last thing Tucker wanted was Arlo in a cop uniform shining his flashlight into this fogged-up cab.

“Tucker. Look at me.”

No fucking way. He groped for his phone, remembering he’d been checking out the radar, and consulted it again with a feeling akin to desperation, clutching at straws for something to do, something to look at other than Della. “Another ten minutes.”

“Tuck.”

It was the soft reproach that did it. He shouldn’t be able to hear something not much more than a whisper over the rain, but his body was utterly attuned to the pitch of her voice.

Against his better judgment, he turned his head.