ball cap. You wear big shirts to hide your curves. You talk the talk and walk the walk, but honey, you are all woman under there. You still like your perfume, thong underwear, and pink bras. What would your trucker buddies say if they knew?"
"Forget it, Tucker. This is the real me. I'm stubborn, independent, loud-mouthed when I get drunk and I wish I could pee standing up."
A roar of laughter bounced off the walls of her truck. The irritation racing through her, increased.
The laughter went on for a moment, but she really couldn't find the humor in the situation.
"Do you know what else?"
"No, but I'm sure you're going to tell me."
"You also have very sensitive lips."
She clamped her thighs together to stop the sudden streak of heat settling between them.
"You'd like my tongue…everywhere. I love your breasts. They fill my hands just right."
Damn the man! "Okay. Let's get something straight here. Business only until we reach Vegas. Got it?"
"If you insist, but you have it and I want it." Before she knew what he was doing, he reached across the cab to slide a finger over her nipple. "We still have a bet to work out the details on."
The torture of his touch rerouted the signals of arousal in her brain. "Bet?"
"The handcuffs." The teasing smile returned as desire pooled in her belly.
Right. The handcuffs. Mmm.
"You didn't forget did you?"
"Uh, no. I'm actually looking forward to having my way with your body," she said. Forward is good with him, she decided. I have to stay on my toes or he'll have me upside down before I know what hits me. She tapped her finger to her lips. "You know on second thought, you can keep the peeing standing up. If I have to give up multiple orgasms to be able to pee without squatting, I'll keep the multiple orgasms."
His mouth opened and closed several times. She couldn't help the smirk she knew lingered on her lips. He must have decided to let her remark lie, because he turned around in his seat to stare back out the windshield.
The radio came on with a twist of her fingers and she plugged in her IPod. "I hope you like country and old rock. It's all I have on mine unless you have one. I can plug in any kind to play over the radio. I have Garth Brooks, Luke Bryan, Bryan Adams, Clay Walker, Sugarland and several others on there."
"We can play yours for a while and then we'll play mine. Work for you?" he asked, glancing at her from his side of the cab.
"Yep."
Song after song played in a wide variety of music. She found herself singing along to some and tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. The penetrating look from her traveling partner sent chills along her arms. All she would have to say is one word—yes—and her forced abstinence would be over in a heartbeat.
Comfortable silence surrounded them. Big daddy had been right. It had always been her policy to never allow anyone inside the cab of her truck, much less a man, but here sat the one guy who had invaded her life like a tornado. Everything he touched molded to his specifications, including her. She wasn't sure she liked it. Independent was her middle name or should have been. A lesson in stubbornness directed toward Tucker would teach him something about women.
Her parents had hated her job from day one. The day she’d told them she quit college to get her trucker's license, she thought for sure her mother would stroke out.
"You want to do what? You can't be serious, Jacie," her mother said, her hand to her throat in shock. Dorothy Harlin Hawkins, born and raised Southern Belle, stood wide-eyed behind her father's desk, her hand on his shoulder. Her mother came from old money. She could trace her roots to the Mayflower and her great-great-great grandfather fought in the Civil War as a decorated major for the Confederacy. Lucky for her mother's family, they socked their money into Federal funds knowing the Civil War wouldn't be kind to the states who succeeded, enabling them to hang onto their home.
"I quit college