He snorted. “Nice? Do you have any brothers—or sisters?”
She shook her head. “My dad died when I was really little. I was an only child.”
Preacher was reminded of the drawing in Debbie’s notebook—the man with the little girl on his lap.
“My mom… remarried,” she continued, her words clipped and strained. Then her features tightened. “But they… didn’t have any kids.”
He stayed silent a moment, studying her, waiting to see if she was going to elaborate further. When she didn’t, he replied, “Truth.”
Her eyes shifted, their gazes colliding. Those big, beautiful eyes of hers, boring into his, looked darker than usual. He glanced at her mouth again, her seriously sexy mouth, then down her body, to where the thin material of her T-shirt was pulled tight over her breasts, and then further, all the way down her bare legs and back up again.
Another maddening vision of her dropping her towel and offering him sex crept into his thoughts, only this time, instead of turning her down, he tugged her forward and pulled her onto the bed.
His body hardening, Preacher shoved her backpack off the bench and shifted closer.
“Your mouth is so crazy sexy,” he heard himself saying, reaching for Debbie. He ran his thumb up her finely-carved cheekbone, and when she didn’t jerk away, he continued on, stroking a path down to her chin and across her jaw. He paused beneath her full bottom lip and glanced up.
Her expression was changing—her eyes widening, her lips parting. Her breaths were coming quicker—sharp bursts of air in rapid succession that told Preacher she was either scared or eager. Judging by the way she was looking at him, he’d bet his life on the latter.
Debbie wanted to be kissed again.
And fuck him, he was going to kiss her.
Sixteensixteensixteensixteen.
Preacher covered her mouth with his. His tongue jutted past her lips, roughly tangling with hers. She gripped his arms, and he pulled her closer. One hand went into her hair, the other slid down her back.
She was kissing him like she’d kissed him last night, messy and desperate, and it was spurring him on, firing him up, driving him half mad with wanting.
He wanted more. He wanted her closer—on his lap, her legs wrapped around his middle, grinding herself over his—
“I got special brownies!” There was a loud thump and the picnic table bounced. Startled, Debbie released Preacher and jumped halfway down the bench.
Tiny was sitting across from them, a shit-eating grin stretching his chubby cheeks straight across his face, clutching a brightly-colored tin to his chest.
“Snagged these babies off Marcie.” Tiny gave the tin a loving caress. “You remember Marcie, right? Her old man wrecked a few years back. Get this, Preacher, the woman started her own club! Can you believe it? A club full of fuckin’ chicks!”
Debbie got to her feet. “I, uh, I…” she stammered, refusing to look at Preacher. “I’ll be right back.”
Grabbing her backpack, she shot off across the camp like a bat out of hell. And Preacher watched her go, his erection throbbing in his jeans.
“Something I said?” Tiny asked.
Preacher turned to him, deadpan, and wrenched the tin of brownies from his grasp. “Gimme those,” he growled.
Chapter 18
Debbie woke before the sun, a result of frequently sleeping outside. Shoving Preacher’s jean jacket off, she sat up and unzipped the tent’s nylon door flap. Greeted with the same gray sky and chirping birds that always preceded the sunrise, she leaned forward and pressed her hands into the damp grass, peering around the quiet campsite.
She wondered which tent Preacher was in and if he was awake yet.
After wandering around the park last night, exploring and spying on other campers, Debbie had returned to the camp with little fanfare. Only a small group had remained seated around the bonfire, Preacher among them. As if he’d been waiting for her, Preacher’s fire-lit gaze had found her slinking through the dark. Turning in his lawn chair, he’d tracked her as she’d hurried across camp.
She’d slipped inside the tent Ginny has assigned her, half hoping he would follow her. When he hadn’t, she’d set up a makeshift bed using her bag as a pillow and Preacher’s jacket as a blanket and eventually fell asleep.
Had she screwed everything up by running off? Did Preacher now think her an idiot child?
Debbie’s gaze meandered over to the picnic tables. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. He’d kissed her again. And it had been different than the first time. Better, even. Rougher. Frantic.
Your mouth is so crazy sexy.
She’d replayed that declaration in her head at least a million times since he’d said it. His voice had been deeper than normal, gruffer. As if his words had been torn from a place that he rarely exposed.
The statement alone had been enough to make her melt.
Dragging in a slow, dizzying breath, Debbie rolled onto her back and stared up at the arched ceiling. She didn’t just like kissing Preacher. She liked him.
Last night she hadn’t realized exactly what had made her run off like she had. Why she’d felt so flustered. So overwhelmed.
Now she knew.
She never thought she’d feel this way about a boy—a man. Actually, she’d never realized she could feel this way. Debbie hadn’t fit in with the girls she’d gone to school with. She’d never understood their incessant talk of boys, their obsession with them. The last thing she’d wanted to do was go to second base with Roger Campbell beneath the bleachers.
The last thing she’d wanted was anyone touching her.
She supposed that things were different for those who had a say in who got to touch them.
But here, with Preacher, free from the things that had haunted her back home and while alone on the road, Debbie was free to feel… whatever she wanted to feel.
And what she feeling was a lot. Too much, really. Dozens of feelings all at once, none of which she had a name for, let alone knew what to do with.
It was more than just Preacher. Meeting his family, his club, had made her feel even smaller than she was used to feeling. Ginny and Gerald, Sylvia and Joe, even Tiny, they each had such a strong individual presence. But combined?
Debbie pressed a hand to her belly and blew out a breath. Jealousy was a bitter pill to swallow.
What she wouldn’t give for a family just like this one. A loud and joyful, angry and messy… family. Imperfect, yes. But also perfect in their imperfections.
Feeling inspired, Debbie rolled over and rifled through her bag. Pulling out her notebook, she propped herself up, flipped to a clean page, and began to draw.
First she drew the picnic tables, then she began to sketch the people seated around them. She drew Gerald at the head and Ginny beside him. She drew them all as best as she could recall.