Pam Godwin - Deliver

The drive to Waco was filled with his parents’ gossip about church, accolades for the community’s support after his disappearance, and updates on the farm’s crop losses. Josh assured them everything would resume to normal soon, and her doubts about where she fit in sat heavy in her chest.

As Mr. Carter brought Josh up to speed on the business side of the farm, Josh caressed the skin above her thigh-high boots. Sliding toward the hem of her skirt, his fingers slipped between her legs and traced the edge of her panties. She held her breath and stared at his profile. Why was he doing this?

His attention seemed fully absorbed in the conversation with his dad as he eased beneath the crotch of her panties, found her wet, and pressed his index finger in to the knuckle.

She released a soundless breath and gripped his wrist, her body flooding with warmth. Still, he didn’t look at her.

“You fired the contractor, right?” he asked his dad, curling his finger inside her.

Her head dropped against the seat back, her thighs parting. Nerve endings tingled along her inner thighs. She realized he was telling her without words that nothing would change between them. The church talk, his parents, his previous life wouldn’t sever their connection.

She relaxed around his grinding hand, her lap shrouded in darkness. Her breaths quickened. Her mouth moistened.

He stroked her until she couldn’t contain her panting. His hand pulled away, and he drew his finger into his mouth, watching her with a smile playing at the corners. “Liv will be sleeping in my room.”

“That’s fine, honey,” Emily said. “I’ll make up the couch for you.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes, his arm resting over her lap. “No, Mom. She’ll be sleeping in my room with me.”

That was not how she’d envisioned him exposing their relationship. She slipped down in the seat, wishing she could disappear.

Tense silence pulsed through the car. He squeezed her thigh, and his eyes remained closed.

“Son.” His dad shifted, his gaze on the rear view mirror. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, and we’ll work through that. But the rules haven’t changed. You ain’t gonna be hitched and not churched. Not under my roof.”

Josh sat forward, slowly, his eyes narrowed on the mirror. “Your rules haven’t changed, but mine—”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.” Fuck, she didn’t want to cause this family anymore pain. She turned toward him and cupped his face, shifting his attention to her. “Please, Josh? I want to sleep on the couch.” He’d hear the lie, but she trusted he’d understand her intention.

He reclined against her, shoulder to shoulder, and traced the skin between her fingers. For a stubborn pain in the ass, he let the subject drop too easily. Which meant he was probably going to do whatever the hell he wanted.

Emily shifted the conversation back to church crap, promising that the ministers held all the answers to helping him heal. Forty minutes later, they shuffled into the Carter’s small, single-story home. The front half was split between a sparsely decorated sitting room and a galley kitchen. A short hall led to two bedrooms and a bathroom in the back.

He stopped her at the bathroom door. “Take a shower if you want. My room’s right there.” He pointed at the door across the hall. Following her in, he set the bag of clothes on the counter and dug through the jeans, cotton dresses, and t-shirts.

A comfortable warmth tingled through her chest. She owed Camila for so damned much.

He pulled out a camisole and sleep shorts. “Can you sleep in this?”

She nodded. “What happened back there with Camila?”

“She said something to me. The crowd was loud. I don’t know. I read her lips.” He scraped a hand through his hair. “I swear she said, Watch your back.”

What? Her spine tingled. “Why would she say that?” Their enemies were dead.

He unfolded the camisole, and a piece of paper drifted to the floor. Handwritten scribble bled through the thin folded stationary. Her shoulders tightened as they stared at it.

He picked it up, his eyebrows pulling together, and handed it to her.

Her heart raced as she unfolded the note. “Camila has no way to contact me.” Why would she need to? She gripped his arm and held it up so they could read it together.

We’re so happy for you! When you’re ready, our home is your home.

A couple lingering concerns…

The kitchen was clean when we arrived. The job was gone. No cars in the garage. Were you able to take care of this on your own?

Traquero and his wife are dead. Found two days ago. We’re not sure who did it, but the how was passionate. Definitely personal.

Van’s death replayed through Liv’s head in slow motion. The gunfire. The river of blood on the floor. His final words. He killed your mother…Needed your help…He’ll avenge me. Leading her surge of emotions was the overwhelming relief that Traquero’s depravity had met a bloody end.

Josh closed the bathroom door, his complexion a sheet of white. “You shot him in the shoulder.” He rubbed the back of his neck, studying her. “It’s possible he survived that.”

She opened the toilet lid, flushed the note, and tried to keep her argumentative voice to a whisper. “He bled out.”

“Or passed out.” He shoved his hands through his hair and dropped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Ugh, so stupid.” He shut his eyes. “We didn’t check his pulse.”

Her mouth went dry. She closed the toilet lid and collapsed on top of it. Her chest felt hard and cold inside. “We left him there to die.”

He crouched before her and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Except he didn’t die. And when he came to the house last night, he’d already killed Traquero.”

She blinked, the movement irritating her gritty, tired eyes. “He must’ve flown to the Keys to help Mom.” She nodded to herself, swallowing past a tight throat. “He could’ve killed Traquero on his way back. But how did he know how to find him?” A horrible thought clenched her stomach. “What if he knows about Camila and the others?”

His hand wrapped around her neck, his thumb stroking the skin below her ear. “Think about why he killed Traquero.”

The only things predictable about Van were his jealousy and his hypocrisy. “Traquero hurt me.” Van had no qualms raising a hand to her, but Traquero had overstepped, recklessly. Van probably killed the wife in front of him just to make him suffer. “I think he packed up and left with the intention of protecting Mom and disappearing. When he failed, maybe he came back to avenge Mom’s death.” Would he do that? For her? The ache in her chest said, Yes.

“I despise Van.” He tilted his head. “But his behavior in the kitchen when you shot him…” A line formed between his dark eyebrows. “I got the sense that he was done. With Mr. E. With the whole operation.”

She sifted through her memories of the prior night when he was bleeding all over the floor. She couldn’t pick out a single word, expression, or action that suggested ill-intent. “If he knew about Camila and the others, he’d have no reason to harm them.” Her shoulders loosened. “He’s not a threat.”

He pulled her to the edge of the toilet seat, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his forehead on her belly. “You’re not leaving my sight.”

Her hands went to his hair, raking through the messy black strands. “I can work with that.” She lowered her lips to his head and filled her nose with his warm, comforting scent.

A fist knocked on the door. “Joshua?” Emily called. “Are you in there?”

His moan rumbled through her. He raised his head and kissed her lips. “I’ll be right outside that door.”

Twenty minutes later, Liv was showered, dressed in the pajama set Camila gave her, and wrapped in blankets on the couch. The kitchen light trickled into the sitting room, accompanied by low murmurs. Josh and his parents were still awake, gathered at the kitchen table around the corner. She’d declined the biscuits Emily made, too exhausted to eat. It must’ve been around seven in the morning before sleep finally took her.

Not long after, she woke, cradled in his arms, her body pressed against his chest as he carried her through the brightening house. Stubborn man was breaking his parents’ rules.

“Aren’t your parents due to get up?” she whispered.

“We’ve already done all the morning chores. They just passed out.”

She grinned, hooked her arms around his neck, and found his mouth.

His tongue met hers eagerly, his lips wet and inviting. In his unlit room, he closed the door with a quiet click and dropped her on a mattress. The shades blacked out the daylight, drenching the room in darkness. She hadn’t been in there yet, and when she scooted back to make space for him, she quickly learned how damned small his bed was. Her head thumped against the wall. She cringed, hoping she hadn’t awakened his parents. “How the hell do you fit in this?” she whispered.

Clothes rustled, his breaths deepening, growing closer. “You’re about to see how both of us fit.”

The mattress dipped and hands grabbed her top, stripping it over her head. Her sleep shorts went next. Then he was on her, spreading her thighs, his naked body sliding over hers, his cock prodding between her legs, coaxing a delicious spark of fire.

His teeth caught her nipple, tugging and stretching. Her hands fisted in the sheets. His fingers swept along her sides, his weight wonderfully heavy, his hips grinding against hers.