Tripping on a Halo: A Romantic Comedy

by Alessandra Torre

  He’d described the cabins as small, and it was an apt adjective. I stood in front of the tiny square structure, which didn’t look much bigger than my garden shed. Declan climbed the steps to the skinny porch and twisted the knob, the door opening.

  “Wait,” I called out. “It was unlocked? What if someone’s hiding in there?”

  He grinned at me, the door half open. “It’s a pretty small place. I’ll see him.” He stepped inside and I fretted in place, certain that I was moments away from a blood-curdling scream. He stuck his head out. “You coming?”

  “It’s safe?”

  “Super safe.” He disappeared back inside.

  I gingerly climbed the steps and slowly stepped inside, relaxing when I saw the cozy cabin. It was actually really cute. There was a queen bed set in the middle of the back wall, and a rocking chair in one corner. A sink and toilet took up the other corner. I looked around for more. “Where’s the shower?”

  “There’s an outdoor one around back.” He crouched down next to the toilet and fiddled with something. “There. Water’s on. Do you need to use it?”

  “Uh, no.” I shook my head. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you mind if I…” He nodded toward the toilet, one hand on his belt.

  “Oh! Sure.” I backed toward the door and almost tripped on the transom. Jumping down the steps, I stopped on an open patch of pine needles and tried to block out the incredibly loud sound of Declan Moss peeing. Sound insulation had not been a factor in construction.

  He was a hand washer. I listened as he used the sink. When he stepped through the door, he dried his hands on his shirt as he came down the steps, glimpses of abs showing with each step. My examination in the car had been a test of wills, his skin warm and tense under my hands, our proximity a little too close for professional comfort. Once, I’d felt certain he was about to kiss me, my body leaning into the action, begging for the touch, and I’d catapulted to the other side just to keep from crawling into his lap.

  Ever since that moment, the thought of kissing Declan had been heavy on my mind. I glanced back at the path, hoping that Nate and their client would get here soon.

  He stopped before me and looked down at my feet. “You brought other shoes, right?”

  I nodded. “Should I get them?”

  “Better put them on now. The critters are going to run right past those flip flops.”

  My snake boots, hardly used since I went all Crocodile Dundee on the backyard, were stiff. I sat on the tailgate of the truck and pulled on a pair of thick socks and worked them on, watching Declan carry my bags into the cabin. He shook his head each time he picked up a round of duffel bags, a slow smile stretching over his face as he trooped back and forth, wearing a path in the wet leaves.

  “What?” I demanded, hopping off the truck and grabbing a lantern out of the back.

  “Your propensity to prepare for the worst is entertaining. Think you’ll be disappointed if someone doesn’t get hurt tonight?”

  “That’s morbid.” I followed him into the cabin and looked around to see where I should set down the lantern. The cozy space was suddenly a little tight, my stuff stacked along the wall and eating up any spare floor space. To get to the toilet, I was going to have to use the bed as a steppingstone.

  “Here.” Declan held out a hand and I passed him the heavy lantern, watching as he reached up and hung it from a nail on one of the rafters. “I’ll move it down before you go to bed.”

  There wasn’t enough room for him to pass me, so I stepped back outside, watching as he took the steps and headed to the truck. He glanced my way. “I’m going to open up my cabin now. You coming, or you want to rest here?”

  “Coming.” I opened the passenger door to the truck and got in, glancing back at the cabin. “When is Nate arriving?”

  He glanced at his watch. “He might be at the camp house now. We can swing by there on the way and see.”

  It took four minutes of treacherous driving to make it to the camp house, and I blanched a little at the realization of how far away everything was. Why didn’t they put the cabins closer together? It seemed incredibly antisocial to be so spread out. I voiced my opinion and Declan chuckled. “I think the guys who built this place valued their privacy. And it helps if there are different groups using the land. Sometimes you don’t want to see or interact with anyone.”

  “If no one knows where anyone else is on the land, how do you keep from shooting each other?”

  He came to a stop at the fork in the road and pointed to the glove box. “Open that up and grab me the yellow map.”

  I did as he asked, and watched as he unfurled the map, pinning it against the steering wheel and pointing to the different landmarks on it. “This is where we came in.” He showed me a dotted line, coming in off the highway. “Here’s your cabin.” There was a blue X helpfully labeled as Cabin 1. I leaned forward, interested. “We’re here now.” He moved his finger a millimeter over, stopping at a place between Cabin 4 and a square labeled Camp.

  “Wait.” I reached out and stopped his hand, my fingers curling around his hand as if I was holding it. I let go before he got any ideas. “That’s all we’ve gone? Just that short way?” I scanned over the entire map, seeing a stream, a lake, and a dozen areas labeled and shaded across the parcel. “This is huge.”

  “Four thousand acres.” He nodded to my boots. “I hope those things are comfortable.”

  I grimaced and he smiled. “Just joking. But yeah, it’s big.” He circled the cabins with his finger and I noticed a checked pattern over the area. “All this is a safety area. No guns or bows. If anyone gets shot in these three hundred acres, then someone is doing something wrong.”

  “But it could happen,” I pointed out.

  “It’s not going to happen,” he assured me. “Not with anyone in our club. And again, chances are that it’s just us using it tonight. Most of the club is from Orlando, and they’re not stepping away from their televisions during football weekends.”

  I relaxed a little at the clear rules that seemed to be in place, the map both reassuring and terrifying in its size. I scanned it again and noticed the area labeled Skeet. “Is that where you are going to shoot today?”

  “Yep.” He passed me the map and grabbed the wheel, taking a right at the fork and continuing down the path. “Assuming Nate gets here quickly. There’s a fair amount of prep we have to do first.”

  “But you told me you aren’t shooting skeet.”

  “Right. Because you don’t want to hurt them.” He shot me a wry smile. “I’m about to change your mind on that.”

  It didn’t matter what he showed me. Skeet could be bloodthirsty bats that eat kittens in their spare time, and I still wasn’t letting him shoot them. We had a deal, and I was here, boots on in the humidity, so he needed to keep his end of the bargain.

  His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of the cupholder and glanced at it. “Looks like Nate is still in Tallahassee, so we’ve got plenty of time.” The truck rounded a turn and stopped by a wide screened-in lean-to, a chimney rising from its back. Before it was a fire pit, surrounded by logs, and a large stack of wood. “Come on.” He put the truck into park and stepped out. “I want to show you something before he gets here.”

  Curious, I followed him, picking my way through some overgrown brush and around to the back of the structure, where a large padlock held two double doors shut. He twisted the combination on the lock, tugged, and then opened it up, revealing a surprisingly neat storage area with a dozen shelves stacked with boxes, containers, bottles, and tools. Everything was labeled, and he pulled out a box under a heading marked ‘clays’. He pried open the lid and pulled out a round clay disk. “Here.” He held it out for me.

  I took it, turning it over in my hand. “What’s this?”

  “A sporting clay. What do you think?”

  What did I think? I studied it, confused. “It’s nice.”

  “Are you emotionally attached to it?”

&nbs
p; I laughed. “No.”

  “Throw it against the wall.” He nodded at the side of the lean-to.

  “What? Why?”

  “Just get your aggression out on it. See if you can get it to break.”

  “What if I damage the wall?”

  “That’s not going to happen. Just fling it with all your might.”

  I stepped back a few paces and cranked back my arm, heaving the small disk forward in my best impression of a pitch. It hit the wooden side and smashed, breaking into a dozen pieces and falling to the ground. I frowned, aware of the mess I had made.

  He laughed. “Good job.”

  “And… what was the purpose of that? To show my brute strength?”

  “To prove you wrong.” He bent down, picking up the shards and collecting them in his palm. I crouched beside him and started to help. “There is no such thing as a skeet.”

  “What?”

  He nodded to the destroyed remains of the disk. “Skeet shooting is shooting clay targets, like the one you just massacred.”

  Well, I felt stupid. I picked up a broken piece and recalled my declaration of love for skeet and loud insistence they be kept alive at all costs. My cheeks warmed, and my knees bumped against his as I settled back on my heels. “Oh.”

  His hand reached out, cupping my cheek and pulling my chin up to meet his gaze. I expected to see scorn, a cocky smile pulling at his mouth, but he wasn’t smiling. He was studying me, his dark brown eyes kind as his gaze moved across my face, drawing to my lips and staying there. He pulled gently, asking for more, and I wavered, weak in my position, weak in the force of that worshipping look. I shouldn’t, but I wanted to, could still feel the ache of that missed opportunity in the car. He pulled me forward and I let him, our lips meeting.

  It wasn’t a crash. It wasn’t confident. It was a tentative brush, our contact whisper soft and quick. We parted, and his hand moved into my hair, gripping the strands and pulling me back to his mouth. The second kiss was stronger, heavy with need, my mouth opening beneath his, his tongue moving in as my hands found him. I hung on for balance, my nails digging into the shirt on his chest and bicep, needing more. We broke and rejoined, my eyes closing, our kiss deepening, my body coming alive, every spark firing, need flaring, my recklessness growing bolder with every confident swipe of his tongue.

  In that moment, I didn’t want to protect Declan Moss. I wanted him to want me. To take my heart as his own. I wanted to feel, and be unafraid, and to trust in him to protect me.

  31

  Declan kicked at the screen door to the base camp, and it swung open, the familiar smells of burnt wood, citronella candles, and grass hitting his nose. He ignored it, his attention focused on the woman in his arms, their legs tangling as he maneuvered them toward the picnic table in the middle of the room. Their mouths fought over the kiss, the taste of her imprinting on his mind as he gripped her waist and lifted her onto the table, bringing her face almost level to his. Her knees parted and he moved in between them, pulling her ass to the edge of the table as he deepened their kiss.

  She was addicting. Not just her mouth, or the way that her body fit perfectly in his hands and against his body. It was more her reactions. Her smiles. Her lovable comments. The concern she had—for him, for the non-existent skeets, for the random events in life that she thought she controlled. He pulled at the thin straps of her tank top, getting them halfway down her forearms and exposing her bra, tan and practical, the conservative choice as much of a turn-on as her lace one had been. It was a front closure, and he undid the clasp, weakened by the sight of her breasts, falling loose, her nipples red and pert. She groaned, and when he lowered his hands to her breasts, brushing his palms over her nipples, she shuddered into his touch. He tightened his grip, his thumbs moving reverently over the taut tips, and watched her response, the heavy lids of her eyes, the way her legs parted, hips thrusting forward. God, if only she was naked right now. He would take his time, tease her senseless, and coax a half dozen orgasms from those lips. Fuck her money. Fuck her worries. He knelt, dragging his fingers down her shirt and thumbed open the clasp of her shorts. No belt. Easy access. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, and held the contact as he brought himself to standing. “What do you want, Autumn?”

  She panted softly, her breasts heavy and hanging, eyes wild, her hands reaching and making tight fists in the cotton of his shirt. “What do I want?” Her words wobbled on the question.

  “I want to rip off these shorts, spread your knees, and bury myself in you. I want to take you on this table, and then over it, and then on that chair. I have a long list of the ways I want to enjoy every inch of your body, but I need to make sure, before I lose control, that that is what you want to do.” He tried to keep his voice level, but his dick heard every word, swelling to full attention as the ideas clogged his head.

  Her eyes dropped to the crotch of his jeans, and she inhaled sharply. “What I want…” she mumbled.

  He started to speak and she held up a hand and shushed him. “Let me think about this for a minute.”

  His dick scowled, contemplating retreat, and flexed in protest against the seam of his jeans. His hands tightened on her breasts, lifting them to his mouth, and he gently kissed a line across the deep dip of her cleavage, waiting for her to decide. He trailed the kisses up over her collarbone and along her neck, gently nibbling on her cheek before he ended with a soft kiss on her lips.

  “What do I want…” she repeated when he pulled away, her eyes half shut.

  He carefully re-clasped her bra and pulled up her tank top, covering her beautiful cleavage and positioning the straps over her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss a freckle he spotted on her collarbone. “Let’s go open up my cabin.”

  “Wait.” She grabbed his shirt, pulling to keep him in place. “I haven’t decided what I want.”

  It didn’t matter. Uncertainty was a no in his book. He shook his head. “Maybe it’s better for us to take a step back.”

  She blinked, focusing on him. “A step back? Sure. Yeah. Good.” She pinned her knees together and pushed off the table, coming to her feet. “Excellent idea.”

  Excellent idea? No. It was a fucking awful idea. She was supposed to argue with him, and certainly didn’t have to be so cheery about it. He frowned, watching as she wandered the room, exclaiming over the wood stove, the double fridges, and the full bath, as if she’d never seen modern plumbing before. She lingered in the living room section, trailing her hand over the wicker couch, then finally completed her tour of the space. Adjusting himself in his jeans, he swung open the door and waited for her to step out.

  “It’s fancy,” she said, stepping through the door. “There’s a bookcase with board games and movies. I haven’t seen a VHS in years.”

  “Super fancy,” he intoned.

  “Maybe we could play Pictionary tonight. I’m awesome at it. You could be on my team.” She walked ahead of him, swinging her arms as she went, her back rigid, voice high. “I once won a pecan pie in a Pictionary game, which is funny, since I don’t even like pecan pie. Want to know the word I won on?” She swung to face him, and almost tripped over the root of a pine tree.

  “Careful.” He steadied her, taking her around to her side of the truck and opening the door.

  “Water Buffalo.” At his quizzical look, she continued. “That’s what the word was. Have you ever tried to draw a water buffalo?”

  He struggled to keep from smiling. “Can’t say I have.”

  “It’s pretty impossible.” She twisted into place on the seat, reaching for her belt.

  “Congratulations.” He made sure her feet were inside, then carefully shut the truck door.

  Rounding the front of the truck, he fought back a smile at the paradox of the woman inside. Incredibly passionate, yet guarded. An open book, but also a complete mystery. Any other woman he’d pursued would have been on her back right now, yet she fought to keep her distance. It should have driven him crazy, but instead, he couldn’t g
et enough. His phone rang and he paused by his truck door, fishing in his pocket and pulling out his cell. Seeing Nate’s name, he answered the call.

  “Bad news.”

  “What?” Declan watched Autumn through the front windshield. She had the yellow medical book back in hand and was flipping through the pages.

  “I can’t make it. Something came up with Benta.”

  “Something?” He frowned.

  Nate let out a low laugh, his voice dropping. “You know how it is.”

  Yeah, right now, looking at Autumn, he knew exactly how it was. And he couldn’t say that he was disappointed to hear he’d be alone with Autumn. Nate, while entertaining, had a habit of dominating the room with his charisma. It’d be nice to have some one-on-one time with her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I feel bad, given that it’s your birthday.”

  “No need for that.” He could hear the smile in Nate’s voice and winced at the thought of all it could mean.

  “Are we still going to have a job come Monday?”

  Nate scoffed. “Give me some credit.”

  “Just … don’t piss her off.” He hung up the phone and pulled at the handle of the door.

  Assuming this news didn’t cause Autumn to want to go home, it’d be just the two of them out here. Which sounded pretty fucking perfect to him.

  32

  Declan’s cabin was a twin to mine, with plaid sheets instead of blue. His backpack took up considerably less space than mine had, and I started to rethink everything I’d packed. Surprisingly enough, there were fire extinguishers mounted on the walls and first aid kits visible, proof that someone with two brain cells had had input in the outfitting. He pulled a bag out from under the bed and then a variety of camo-colored garments. “I’m going to head out to the range and work through a box or two.”

  “I’ll come.” I shifted my weight on the light brown linoleum. “If you don’t mind.”