Every Move She Makes. Beverly BartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
and soon burst into soft giggles. “Webb is a hunk, isn’t he?”
Ella hugged her mother. “Yes, he is.”
“What are my two girls giggling about?” Webb stood in the doorway, a wide smile on his face.
“Let’s not tell him,” Carolyn said. “The man’s ego is already the size of Texas.”
“Girl talk,” Ella said. “Nothing that concerns you.”
Ella kissed her mother, retrieved the silver items from atop the coverlet, and placed them on the bedside table. She paused as she approached her father.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her out into the hall. “Good night, princess.”
Ella kissed his cheek. “Is Aunt Cybil all right?”
His smile vanished. “Cybil is her own worst enemy. She’s miserable and she tries to make everyone around her miserable.”
“I think it would be terribly sad to be married to someone who was in love with someone else.”
Webb tapped her affectionately on the nose. “You’re too smart for your own good, young lady. You always were.”
“Mother wants me to marry Dan.”
“And what do you want?”
“I want the kind of love you and Mother have—real love.”
“If you want real love, then don’t marry Dan Gilmore.”
“Do you mean that, Daddy? Even if—”
He laid his index finger over her lips. “You wait for the real thing. For that can’t-wait-to-see-him, can’t-live-without-him, want-to-be-with-him-forever kind of love.”
Ella hugged Webb fiercely. “I love you, Daddy.”
“And I love you, princess.”
Reed Conway was back in Spring Creek. Paroled today. The bad boy had returned and was sure to stir up trouble. Big trouble. He was the type who’d be damned and determined to prove his innocence. That couldn’t happen—not now; not ever. There had to be a way to put him back where he belonged—behind bars—before he asked too many questions. Before he dug too deep. If he didn’t live up to the conditions of his parole, if he committed a crime, even some minor infraction of the law, he could be sent back to Donaldson. Think. Think. How can I see to it that Reed makes a fatal mistake? Something serious enough to revoke his parole. He can’t be allowed to stay in Spring Creek long enough to unearth any long-buried secrets.
Chapter 3
She had told him her name was Ivy Sims. She’d been divorced twice and was presently between boyfriends. Her only kid, a fifteen-year-old boy, lived with her first husband in Mobile. She was too friendly, too chatty, and very obviously interested in more than sharing a drink at Desperado’s. She’d been skimming her red, claw-like fingernails up and down his arm for the past five minutes, and a couple of times she had none too subtly eyed his crotch. He’d had a hard-on since the minute he got a whiff of her cheap perfume—something she’d probably bought at the Dollar Store. If he had his pick of women, Ivy wouldn’t be his number-one choice. She was probably a good ten years older than he was, and every year showed on her darkly tanned face. The deep age lines of a lifetime smoker edged the corners of her mouth and eyes. And although she had nice, big breasts, she had no hips and a flat ass. But right now, Ivy looked damned good. Like a delicious, greasy hamburger would look to a starving man. She wasn’t prime rib, but horse meat would do if a man was hungry enough. And Reed was hungry. Hell, he was famished.
“Briley Joe told me you just got out of the pen. Is that right, honey?” Ivy’s full, red lips widened in a sensual smile.
“That’s right. Just got out today.” Reed lifted his bottle and downed the last drops of his fourth beer.
“You sure do look good for a man who’s been behind bars.” She wrapped her hand around the hard, bulging biceps of his right arm. “You must have spent a lot of time in the prison gym.”
“I take it that you don’t care that I’ve been in Donaldson for the past fifteen years, convicted of murder.”
“Who’d you kill? Or are you one of those guys who was innocent and did time for a crime you didn’t commit?” She chuckled teasingly.
“Yeah, that’s me, all right, an innocent man. They sent me away because a jury said I slit my stepfather’s throat.”
“I had a stepfather,” she said. “Mean son of a bitch. I thought about slitting his throat a time or two, but my old lady divorced him before I ever worked up the courage.”
“Want another drink?” he asked.
“I think I’ve had enough for now. Want to dance?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” He eased off the bar stool, then helped her to her feet and slid his arm around her waist.
When they reached the crowded dance floor, she turned into his embrace and plastered her body against his. His sex tightened painfully. Ivy’s little outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her short skirt showed off a pair of long, skinny legs, and her cropped top hugged her boobs and exposed her midriff. She was pressed so snugly against him that he could barely breath. They moved awkwardly together, their bodies’ rhythms slower than the shit-kicking music the live band played.
Ivy nuzzled the side of his neck, then whispered in his ear, “Just how horny are you, honey? Your prick feels like it’s made out of iron.”
“Horny enough to fuck you for a week and still be hard as a rock,” he admitted.
She laughed, the sound grating oddly on his nerves. It was a throaty, rough laugh—a vulgar laugh coming from a vulgar woman. Ivy Sims was exactly what he needed tonight. He slid his hand between them and covered one breast. Her nipple jutted into his palm. He kneaded the round, soft flesh covered by nothing but her stretchy black top.
“My apartment isn’t far from here,” she told him. “We can be there in ten minutes.”
“What are we waiting for?”
She grabbed his hand and led him off the dance floor and through the horde of hell-raisers and fun-seekers that frequented Desperado’s. Reed caught a glimpse of Briley Joe sitting at a table with a cute little brunette. His cousin grinned and nodded. In high school, he and Briley Joe had shared the details of their sexual escapades, each always trying to out-boast the other.
The warm, humid night air hit him the minute they went outside. He took a deep, sobering breath. He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t completely sober either. He hadn’t had a beer in fifteen years, and four in a row had given him a slight buzz. Reed draped his arm around Ivy’s hips, then lowered his hand to clutch the right cheek of her butt. She giggled again. By the way she reacted to his pawing, he figured she was almost as eager to get laid as he was.
“Here’s my car.” She rummaged inside the tiny shoulder bag she carried and pulled out a key chain. “You want to drive?”
“Naw, you drive.” He caressed her butt. “I’d rather concentrate on other things.”
She unlocked the car, pulled out of his arms, and shoved him inside and onto the front seat. She raced around the hood and got in on the driver’s side. “You keep your hands to yourself while I’m driving,” she told him. “We don’t want to wind up in a ditch instead of my big old comfortable bed, now do we?”
“I’ll keep my hands off you, but it won’t be easy.” He needed a woman so badly right now that he would gladly screw a three-toed sloth as long as it had tits and a cunt. And Ivy was certainly a few notches above rock bottom.
By the time they reached her apartment, a brick duplex on a tree-lined street on the south side of Spring Creek, Reed had decided that Ivy was downright gorgeous. Hell, he’d