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“I should take you.”
“I’ll be fine. I insist.”
He hesitates, and after what he’s told me about his past, it has to be hard for him not to be overprotective. I squeeze his arm. “Carter,” I murmur, “I promise you, I’ll be fine.”
“Call me when you get home.”
“The minute I’m there,” I say.
He pats the top of my car then backs up.
I reverse out of my parking spot, making the turn and I head off down the dirt road. It’s too damp to kick up dust, but I keep glancing in my rearview mirror.
Savage stands in front of the ranch house, arms folded, watching me until I turn the corner.
Thirty minutes later, I park outside a worse for wear Bagel’s Bakery, my heartbeat wild against the inside of my chest.
When we were trapped out on Carter’s ranch, the sex was like a hazy fantasy, but now that I’m back in Heatstroke, what happened is too real. We had sex. A lot. And he wants me. He actually wants me.
I squeeze my steering wheel out of sheer excitement and let out a giggle. I feel like a schoolgirl again, and even though it’s childish, I love it.
I grab my phone out of the center console and shoot him a quick text.
Here safe. Parked outside Bagel’s Bakery.
SAVAGE
Text me once you’re inside. I’ll be by tonight.
Can’t wait.
Remember the rule. No touching yourself.
You’d better come stop me.
How about I just make you come.
“Oh God,” I mutter.
I’m still sore from the storm, but I don’t care. I want more of him. I want as much as I can have until I leave.
Already, the thought of leaving makes me nervous, and not in the good way it did before.
Don’t be weird, Hannah. You want to go. And he doesn’t want you to stay.
I get out of my car and glance up and down the street. There’s debris from the storm. The striped awning over Bagel’s Bakery is torn on one side, a few of the benches are damaged, and one of the lampposts has been knocked over. It’s bad, but it’s not catastrophic. Across the street, Mrs. Wilson is already opening the doors to the antique store.
“Hannah!” The sound of my best friend’s voice sends a shock through me. “Han!”
I turn toward the glass front door of Bagel’s Bakery and let out a happy squeal. “Belle?”
My bestie, dressed in a black pencil skirt that fits her like a glove, matched with a cream silk blouse and a pair of slingback pumps, marches across the sidewalk. “There you are! I was worried sick about you.”
“About me? Belle, what are you doing here?” I circle the car and run toward her.
We collide and I hug her tight, squeezing so hard she lets out a wheeze. “I missed you,” I whisper.
“I missed you too, Han,” she says, and she pulls back, her brown eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “No offense, but you smell kind of funky.”
