some peace and quiet, and I’d take you back to their place in the morning on my way to work.”
“Lord. What is Mary Ellen going to think?”
“I have no idea. All I know is that Bill told me if I didn’t do right by you he’d have to beat the tar out of me.”
“Do right by me? What’s that supposed to mean? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“I think we can leave it up to our own interpretation.” He tugged at the towel until it fell to the floor. “And my interpretation involves a steamy shower and lots of slippery skin.” His mouth grazed her lips and then trailed to her ear where he whispered in great detail what he planned to do with said slippery skin.
“I like how you think.”
Chapter Eight
Nadya didn’t exactly tiptoe into Mary Ellen’s house, but she didn’t announce her presence either. J.T. had to be at the police station by seven, so there weren’t a lot of people out and about to witness her slipping out of his truck in tailored pants, ruined heels and his gray police academy T-shirt.
Any hope of sneaking into her room and changing into something more presentable died as Mary Ellen met her in the stairway.
“Well, don’t you look satisfied,” she said with a smug smile. “I have coffee made and cinnamon buns in the oven. I’ll give you five minutes to change before I haul you back down and beat every last detail out of you.”
Nadya stifled a laugh, trying not to wake the boys. “I’ll fill you in—just let me clean up.”
“Five minutes. I’m not kidding,” she warned as she headed to the kitchen.
Nadya felt as satisfied as Mary Ellen had accused her of being. She was a little sore, but it was well worth it. Her muscles felt loose and liquid and every time she thought about last night, her stomach did a funny little flip.
She threw on shorts and a halter top and bound her hair up in a sloppy bun on top of her head. It was a frizzy mess of curls from drying naturally after her shower with J.T. She couldn’t regret it though. That shower had been epic. He’d done things with soap and water that would make her look at Ivory in a different light for the rest of her life.
When she joined Mary Ellen in the kitchen, the smells of coffee and cinnamon made her stomach growl. She’d had a piece of toast and a cup of ridiculously strong coffee at the cabin, but this smelled heavenly.
“We’ve got about ten minutes before the boys wake up. Give me the highlights now, and you can fill in the details when they go down for a nap.”
“Do you want to hear the father part or the J.T. part first?”
“Hmm. What a dilemma, old sex or new sex? Tell me about your father. I don’t want to rush the good sex part.”
“My sperm donor was a man named Haywood Masterson. He owned a horse farm outside of Canton. My mama’s family went to work there and he ’fell in love’ with her.” She made air quotes with her fingers.
“I’ve heard of Woody Masterson. He doesn’t just own a horse farm—he owns the horse farm. There was talk of him even running for the senate at one point in time. His wife is old Southern—you know, mint juleps and white gloves and all that. He hired my daddy way back before I was born to lead hunting trips, but then he stopped coming to his cabin—” She stopped dead.
“Because he gave the use of his hunting cabin to my mama in exchange for not putting his name on my birth certificate.”
“Holy cow.” Mary Ellen went silent for longer than Nadya had ever believed her capable of being.
“My mama was sixteen. Her family shunned her because she lost her virginity to an Outsider and ruined the marriage her father had arranged for her. But you know, he’s sorry.”
“Bastard.”
“No, that would be me.”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. So what else did he have to say in his letter?” Mary Ellen handed her a cinnamon bun the size of a softball with icing melting off the sides.
“Only that he never regretted falling in love with my
“Lord. What is Mary Ellen going to think?”
“I have no idea. All I know is that Bill told me if I didn’t do right by you he’d have to beat the tar out of me.”
“Do right by me? What’s that supposed to mean? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“I think we can leave it up to our own interpretation.” He tugged at the towel until it fell to the floor. “And my interpretation involves a steamy shower and lots of slippery skin.” His mouth grazed her lips and then trailed to her ear where he whispered in great detail what he planned to do with said slippery skin.
“I like how you think.”
Chapter Eight
Nadya didn’t exactly tiptoe into Mary Ellen’s house, but she didn’t announce her presence either. J.T. had to be at the police station by seven, so there weren’t a lot of people out and about to witness her slipping out of his truck in tailored pants, ruined heels and his gray police academy T-shirt.
Any hope of sneaking into her room and changing into something more presentable died as Mary Ellen met her in the stairway.
“Well, don’t you look satisfied,” she said with a smug smile. “I have coffee made and cinnamon buns in the oven. I’ll give you five minutes to change before I haul you back down and beat every last detail out of you.”
Nadya stifled a laugh, trying not to wake the boys. “I’ll fill you in—just let me clean up.”
“Five minutes. I’m not kidding,” she warned as she headed to the kitchen.
Nadya felt as satisfied as Mary Ellen had accused her of being. She was a little sore, but it was well worth it. Her muscles felt loose and liquid and every time she thought about last night, her stomach did a funny little flip.
She threw on shorts and a halter top and bound her hair up in a sloppy bun on top of her head. It was a frizzy mess of curls from drying naturally after her shower with J.T. She couldn’t regret it though. That shower had been epic. He’d done things with soap and water that would make her look at Ivory in a different light for the rest of her life.
When she joined Mary Ellen in the kitchen, the smells of coffee and cinnamon made her stomach growl. She’d had a piece of toast and a cup of ridiculously strong coffee at the cabin, but this smelled heavenly.
“We’ve got about ten minutes before the boys wake up. Give me the highlights now, and you can fill in the details when they go down for a nap.”
“Do you want to hear the father part or the J.T. part first?”
“Hmm. What a dilemma, old sex or new sex? Tell me about your father. I don’t want to rush the good sex part.”
“My sperm donor was a man named Haywood Masterson. He owned a horse farm outside of Canton. My mama’s family went to work there and he ’fell in love’ with her.” She made air quotes with her fingers.
“I’ve heard of Woody Masterson. He doesn’t just own a horse farm—he owns the horse farm. There was talk of him even running for the senate at one point in time. His wife is old Southern—you know, mint juleps and white gloves and all that. He hired my daddy way back before I was born to lead hunting trips, but then he stopped coming to his cabin—” She stopped dead.
“Because he gave the use of his hunting cabin to my mama in exchange for not putting his name on my birth certificate.”
“Holy cow.” Mary Ellen went silent for longer than Nadya had ever believed her capable of being.
“My mama was sixteen. Her family shunned her because she lost her virginity to an Outsider and ruined the marriage her father had arranged for her. But you know, he’s sorry.”
“Bastard.”
“No, that would be me.”
“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean. So what else did he have to say in his letter?” Mary Ellen handed her a cinnamon bun the size of a softball with icing melting off the sides.
“Only that he never regretted falling in love with my
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