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Guess it’s time to plan a road trip.
With a heavy sigh, I grab the bandages and some antibiotic ointment and head out to face the tiny tornado, wondering howI’m going to make it through a road trip without fucking her stupid. It could be fun, but the complication and hassle won’t be worth it.
Who am I kidding? I’m sure it would be worth it.
Padding down the hall, I head straight to the kitchen to tell Blyth the news, only to find her missing. The remains of her half-eaten sandwich are still on the table, along with a still-sealed bottle of water.
“Hey, Trouble, where did you go?” I shout, worry sinking in my gut. Though I hope she’s found her way to the half bathroom, my intuition already knows where I’ll find her.
“In here,” she calls, not even trying to hide the fact that she’s broken into my art studio. Fury builds inside me, overruling all the protective feelings that surfaced after she almost passed out trying to keep up with me on the trail.
“You need to stop opening closed doors,” I growl, stomping into my sanctuary. The walls are littered with canvases—big, small, and everything in between—while the rest of the room houses various stacks of supplies. Art soothes my soul, but I haven’t been able to choose a single medium that I prefer. Sometimes I need to paint; sometimes I need to break shit and make a mosaic, and other times woodworking strikes my fancy. I even tried throwing pottery—though that was a disaster and, for some reason, every damn thing ended up shaped like a pussy.
My teeth grind together painfully when I see her holding one of my carvings to her chest. From this distance, I can’t tell which one for certain, but I think it’s one of the chipmunks I made, and my fingers twitch, wanting to grab it from her clutches.
But all the anger flees my body as her eyes find mine. They are luminous and filled with awe while she continues to trace the lines of my carving.
Fine, I guess she can keep it.
“I was looking for the bathroom.” She shrugs. “Did you make all of this? It’s beautiful. I’m not even sure what’s better. The carving or painting.”
The light catches her face, and I notice tear tracks that seem to glisten from her eyes down to her chin. My heart clenches painfully. This woman has me all kinds of twisted up—unable to figure out if I want to throttle or comfort her.
Instead of trying to figure it out, I hold out the bandages and antiseptic in my hands.
“Let’s head to the couch and get you all cleaned up.” The command in my tone brokers no argument, and for once, she just listens, popping from her seat and walking right out into the main part of the house. She’s still carrying my carving, and an unexpected warmth fills my chest.
“So, we’re heading to Lustre Lake?” she pips, flopping down on my couch.
“How the hell did you know that already?”
“It’s called a cell phone, Gramps. Tilly texted me, asking if I need someone to come grab us at the airport.”
I sink to my knees, grabbing one of her dainty feet and lifting it to get a better look at the damage. She hisses out a breath but makes no other protests. Her skin is warm beneath my palm, and my stomach does a slow summersault at the way she feels beneath me. I want to touch every part of her, run my hands up her silky legs and under her clothes, but right now, that’s not what she needs.
“This might sting a bit,” I explain, and she grunts in acknowledgment, holding the carving tight between her breasts.Lucky chipmunk.Taking that as acceptance, I begin doctoring her feet, noticing the pretty polish and what looks like a random assortment of letters painted on them. “And I won’t be flying to the wedding. But I’ll take my truck and meet you there.”
The drive to Lustre Lake isn’t all that long. I could make it in a day with no trouble or do a single night in a hotel if I want to take it easy. No big deal and I would still get there in plenty of time.
“You keep mentioning that. Any reason you don’t want to fly?” I knew the question was coming, but my throat still clogs. Swallowing hard against the sudden dry lump, I keep it simple, not wanting to delve into my history.
“During our military service, I was shot down while Drew and I were on duty. Now, I prefer not to travel in planes.” I purposely leave out the panic attacks and blackouts that happen when I feel out of control. Our time together is nearly over, and she doesn’t need to know.
Bandages cover all her blisters, and we are so close that her breath fans my face. Electricity charges between us, the need and pull almost impossible to resist. Blyth’s pupils dilate, darkening as her mouth opens in little pants. Her nipples poke against the thin material of her t-shirt, and desire swirls, lighting up all my nerve endings.
“No worries. We can drive,” she whispers breathlessly, licking her lips. Blyth leans forward until our noses are almost touching. Our breath mingles together and my cock swells, straining against my pants.
Fuck.
I know I shouldn’t take what she’s offering, but it’s been so long since I’ve been attracted to someone. Her fire, determination, and silly sense of humor just do it for me. I’m not sure what this is between us, but I’m a weak man, and right now, all I want is to see her come screaming on my cock.
I should push her away. Make her go sleep out in her tent and drive to the airport in the morning. Solitude has always served me well—but that’s not what comes out at all.
“You want to sleep here tonight?”
“With you or on the couch?”
“Lady’s choice…”
