And now, poker face still on, she sat in the middle of the block of folding chairs set up in front of the stage beneath the statue of Vulcan, watching the run-through of the concert. The way her hair was pulled into a sophisticated ponytail down her back, it looked more brown than blond or pink. She wore the emerald necklace with a low-cut green dress. Her hemline was so short that he thought she might give everyone a peep show when she uncrossed and recrossed her legs.
He was very glad when they finished the rehearsal and she climbed the stairs to the stage. The TV people were trying to tell the band something about where the cameras would be. Quentin turned his back on all of them and held out a hand to Sarah.
Ignoring him, she called, “Remember, the FCC will be watching the broadcast, Erin, so no nipple.”
Erin started to holler some very creative girl-obscenities at Sarah, but Owen covered her mouth and Martin tugged her away by the hand. Placidly, with the poker face, Sarah watched the scene she’d caused. Quentin’s three bandmates piled into Owen’s truck and roared out of the parking lot, honking the horn three times, a message: Rule Three.
After they’d driven off, Sarah turned to Quentin. “Did you know I’ve never heard the whole band sing in person before?”
“You listened to us finish the album that night after you got stung.”
“I’ve never heard you sing in person while I was awake,” she clarified. “And Quentin, you are terrific. You all sound terrific together. I thought so from hearing your albums, but there’s no comparison to hearing you live. I’ve never worked with an act this talented. I feel privileged to have helped the Cheatin’ Hearts stay together. It would be an absolute shame if something happened to break you up.”
He put a hand on her soft elbow.
“Don’t.” She pulled away. “I don’t want any. That’s not what I meant. I honestly just wanted to let you know how talented I think you are. Musically.”
“Sarah,” he said reproachfully. “You’re at my rehearsal. Dressed like that. Don’t tell me you don’t want some.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” she said. Then her poker face broke into a wistful grin. “Well, maybe I do. I may want you to eat your heart out.”
“You want some,” he insisted. “I happen to have some that I can give you.”
“Or loan to me,” she snapped.
He sighed and ran his hands back through his hair. “Look, I really do have something in the big-ass truck that I need to give you. Besides that,” he added at her expression. “Come on.”
They walked across the parking lot to his truck. He closed the door behind her, rounded the truck, and slid into the driver’s seat. It had been a good ploy to get her into the truck, but he didn’t want to give her the bag just yet. That would definitely ruin any chance he had of getting her clothes off.
Apparently she had the same goal in mind, because she’d forgotten all about the ploy. “We really shouldn’t,” she said. “There are stagehands around.”
He looked past her out the windows of the truck. “They’re all gone for the night.”
“There’s a security guard around somewhere,” she said. “One would hope.”
“Down by the entrance,” Quentin assured her. “Anyway, isn’t the chance of being caught part of the thrill of doing it in a pickup?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Me, neither. So let’s go back and get something we both missed out on in high school.”
He wasn’t going to reach out and grab her. He was afraid she’d bail out of the truck and drive away in her BMW, and he’d never see her again. Instead, he waited.
“Do you happen to have any cheap cologne in the glove compartment, like boys wore in high school?” she asked. “Left from the former owner of the truck? Or planted for effect?”
“Cologne triggers my asthma,” he told her.
“Pity.” She rushed into him, kissing the corner of his mouth hungrily.
He turned his head to give her better access to his neck while he fumbled with one hand in the glove compartment for a condom. Then he laid her down on the seat, and quickly found that this was inconvenient. “Where the hell do you put your right elbow?” he complained.
“I don’t know.” She laughed.
“I reckon kids in high school are a lot skinnier.” He pushed off her and fished for the lever to let down the seat back. In the process, he leaned on the horn and startled both of them.
“Sit up,” she suggested. “Let me ride you.”
Quentin didn’t need any convincing. He sat up in the middle of the long seat and unfastened his shorts. Then he pushed her panties aside and pulled her onto his cock. Oh, he’d been afraid he wouldn’t get any more from her, ever. This was too good to be true.
She slid up and down him for a few moments, but he wasn’t getting everything he needed. He put his hands on her back and pressed her tightness down onto him. She gasped and worked herself up and down, like she enjoyed this as much as he did.
He pulled the sleeves of her green dress off her shoulders and nipped at her br**sts, then suckled her as he pulsed into her.
“Que’n,” she gasped in that half-gone Fairhope accent. Her fingernails dug into his forearm.
He was going to have to do this again. Somehow he was going to figure out a way to do this with her again. And again.
She shuddered on his cock. He gave it to her harder and faster. Her hands, her lips, were everywhere on him, frenzied. With a final groan, he emptied himself into her.
He held her tight and still for a few minutes, with his c**k inside her. The mountain breeze was cool on his skin, and the frogs were loud in the trees outside the open truck windows. He traced his fingers through the baby blond strands that had come loose from her ponytail and framed her face. He set his forehead against hers.
Finally he joked quietly against her cheek, “Now is when you cry and say you wish we hadn’t done it.”
“Wrong.” She kissed his jaw and made the hair on his arms stand up. “Now is when I say that felt fantastic, and I thank my lucky stars I’m such a loose woman.”
She sounded like she was done for the night. He was not. He slipped a hand under the hiked-up skirt of her dress, onto her flat belly.
She jerked out from under him and moved away, across the seat, pulling up the sleeves and neckline of her dress to cover her br**sts. “Don’t do that,” she said.