I rip my hands away and push past him. “Don’t follow me. Just leave me alone.”
I stalk through the grass back toward home. I can’t help looking back, though. To make sure he’s not following me, I tell myself. But it’s not. Not really.
And when I look back, he’s just standing there, watching me. Fingers against his lips, where our lips met. Rubbing, as if—I don’t even know.
I feel the tingle of the kiss on my lips, and I have to fight the urge to touch my mouth, where his lips touched mine.
I lock myself in my house. Stand at my sink and resist the need to pour a bottle of wine into a mason jar.
After a few minutes, Utah trots past my window, her leash leading back to Lock. Tall and gorgeous, one hand in his hip pocket, the other gripping the leash. Not in any hurry, as if he doesn’t care it’s five-plus miles back to town.
I should give him a ride, but I don’t dare.
The tingle on my lips is still too potent.
The need for more is too potent.
And I don’t know if I have the will to fight that. I don’t even know why I should fight that.
It’d be too easy to just give in, to just let myself have it.
Have him.
Have a few moments not being lonely.
I watch him walk away, admiring his ass as he walks. Man’s got a nice ass.
A nice everything, really.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me?
He kissed me like he meant it, that’s what. He kissed me like it meant something to him. Not like some jack-hole hoping for a quick lay from the lonely widow. As if he was kissing me the way I was kissing him: surprised breathless by the wild intensity and wonder of it.
I want more.
That’s what’s wrong with me.
You make me better than I was before
Five miles, and I barely remember walking them.
I had a hard-on for the first few miles, thinking of Niall’s lips on mine, her hips in my hands, her breasts against my chest.
But then I thought of her ear against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I know she was listening to it, too; I don’t think she’s aware of it, but she was tapping me with her finger in time with the rhythm—taptap—taptap—taptap.
She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know whose heart thumps in my chest. Whose heart that was slamming a mile a minute after she walked away, whose heart sent my pulse thundering in my ears.
To her, this is all chance. A chance meeting turned into potential romance. She doesn’t know I came down here specifically to look for her. It was a chance meeting, though, and that’s what’s crazy to me.
At some point I reach my truck, unlock it, pat the seat so Utah will hop in. Drive to the pet-friendly hotel I’m staying in, give Utah a bowl of water and some food. I collapse on my bed.
I’m dizzy.
Not from the heat, not from the walk.
She kissed me.
She kissed me.
I should leave.
She told me to leave.
Only a complete jackass would stay. It’s courting disaster, and it’s unfair to her. She has no idea who she’s getting tangled up with.
But…I want her.
Fuck, do I want her. I mean, I’m no stranger to desire, and I’m not used to self-restraint. I’m not used to telling myself no. The problem in this situation is that I shouldn’t have her. I shouldn’t give in. I owe it to the previous owner of the heart in my chest to walk away and leave this woman to heal on her own terms, not fuck things up for her any more than I already have.
God, the way she cried, it was goddamned heartbreaking.
I couldn’t help but pull her close, because when a woman cries like that, you comfort her. You have to. That’s not me, either. I’m not the shoulder to cry on sort. I’m the one you hook up with after your heart’s been broken. They say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else? I’m the one you get under.
I’m good at that. I can help you forget for a while, and then when shit has run its course, you go back to your life.
I don’t comfort.
I don’t listen compassionately.
I don’t just hold you, and let you cry.
But that’s what I did.
When she kissed me, then, it was the biggest shock I’ve ever felt, because everything I’ve gotten from her so far has been so back and forth, up and down. Curious, intrigued, but cautious. Get too close, she snaps at me, pushes me away.
I’m a jackass.
I’m not going anywhere.
But I have to tell her. I have to.
* * *
It’s eight o’clock the next night, and I’ve been sitting in the bed of Niall’s truck for an hour and a half, waiting.
I’ve got a plan: I went out and bought an actual picnic basket, filled it with fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, summer sausage, some wine for her and some Perrier for me—I’m hoping she won’t ask about that. I’ve got a blanket. I’ve got a location picked out. I’ve got Utah at a boarding place for pets, so she’ll have someone to look out for her while I’m gone; I don’t dare leave her alone in the hotel room, since she might miss me and tear shit up.
This isn’t about trying to woo Niall. It feels like it, but that’s honestly not my intention. I’m gonna be dropping a hell of a bomb on her, and I want to be able to…set the scene, I guess.
What will I do if she kisses me again?
Kiss her back, of course.
And then tell her.
Here she comes. Small, graceful, with a juicy body not even scrubs can hide. Fuck, she’s hot.
Down, boy.
I kick my feet under the tailgate, hoping I look casual and confident.
I’m not: I’m nervous, shaky, hopeful, fearful. Lots of foreign and difficult emotions for me.
She’s moving slow, wiping her face with one hand, swinging her keys on the MSF lanyard with the other. Green scrubs, white lab coat, still has her stethoscope over her neck. It’s a hot look, and I never thought I’d say that. I’ve known a lot of doctors, and I just never, ever thought I’d find the look as sexy as she makes it.
Goddamn it, Lock, get a grip. Stop thinking about her like that. This isn’t about that. For once, this isn’t about your out-of-control libido.
She sees me, stops a few feet away. Takes a deep breath, lets her head fall backward, lets out the breath. Reaches up, snags her stethoscope off her neck. “What do you want, Lock?”
“Hey. Had dinner?” I hop off the tailgate and move closer to her.
I don’t miss the way she tenses, the way she takes a deep preparatory breath. The way her eyes flit over me, searching, seeking. For what, I don’t know.
“No, but—”
I take her keys from her, wrap my hand around her back, and lead her to the passenger side of her truck. Open the door, nudge her in. She complies, but resists, turns to look at me as I close the door after her.
“Lock? What are you doing?” She demands this as I slide behind the wheel, gun the engine.
“Taking you to dinner.”
She plucks at her lab coat. “I’m not dressed for dinner, for one thing. And I’m not going to dinner with you, for another. Not happening.”
“We’re not going to a restaurant. Won’t be anyone but you and me. I promise.”
“I’m not having dinner with you, Lock. Get out and go away.”
I turn the radio up, roll the windows down. “It’ll be fine.”
She laughs. “You can’t just go ‘it’ll be fine—’” she mimics my voice, tries to talk gruff and deep, and it’s cute and makes something flip in my chest, “—over me telling you no.”
But she doesn’t protest any further as I continue to drive until we’re already out of town, heading out into the countryside on a little two-lane road. It’s summer, so it’s not dark yet, but the light is fading, going just past golden. Doesn’t take long and we’re out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but power lines, barbed wire fences a
nd a whole lot of not much. I just drive, letting the silence breathe around us.
“Where are we going?”
I wave a hand at the road. “Just…this way a ways. Nowhere in particular.”
“Lock—Jesus, you’re impossible. I’m tired. It’s been a long day. I skipped lunch and didn’t have much breakfast, and I just—I honestly don’t have the energy to deal with you today.”
Fuck. That kind of hurts. Deal with me?
Some ancient, twangy country song comes on, something heavy on slide guitar and saccharine sentiment. “Jesus, can we please listen to something else?” I snarl.
I don’t even think about it, I just reach out and twist the tuner knob until something from this millennium comes on.
“NO!” The scream from Niall is sharp and sudden and distraught. “I told you! I fucking—I fucking told you, don’t mess with it!”
She twists the knob back, tunes too far back. She’s crazy, desperately twisting and turning the knob, trying to find the station it was on.
“That was his station! It’s never been changed, not once, ever. That’s his music! Don’t you understand? Fuck, I can’t fucking FIND IT!” This last comes out as part scream, part sob.
I pull over, grab her wrist, and pull her hand away from the radio. “All right, all right. I’ll put it back, just take a breath, okay? Just breathe.”
She’s hyperventilating, shaking, scrubbing her face with her palms. I scan the stations, hitting static and talk and static and hip-hop, then the newer country station I’d initially turned it to.
“Whiskey Lullaby” comes on. Brad Paisley and…what’s her name? Alison Krauss. I’ve heard this one before, on the long cruise down here when I had nothing to do but scan the stations.
I’m about to scan past it, but she grabs my hand, stops me. “Wait.”
…Couldn’t ever get drunk enough…
That’s the phrase that stops her.
We sit there on the side of the road, listening. God, what a fucking sad song. Haunting, gutting.
Niall is trembling all over, hands on her knees, head down, hair coming loose from the braid, wisps sticking to her cheek, the corner of her mouth, her forehead.
“It’s so true,” she whispers. “You can’t ever get drunk enough.”
I rub my jaw, realizing I fucked up something sacred to her. “Niall, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“I couldn’t ever bring myself to change it. It’s another one of those things I just couldn’t bear to part with. Another way to try and hold on to him.”
I reach for the knob. “I’ll find his station.”
She grabs my hand, and somehow neither of us end up letting go. “No, don’t. It’s done, now.” She sighs, a long, shuddery breath that speaks of a vicious battle for composure. “Leave it. Just…drive.”
So I drive. Miles and miles. I had a spot in mind, but we passed it. Besides, out here, one spot is as good as another. I don’t even know how far we go. But when we stop it’s full dark. She’s quiet the whole way, staring out the window, wind tousling her hair, blowing more and more strands free. Eventually I spot a little dirt track and pull onto it, trundle and rumble down the rutted path through a stand of trees.
She’s still got my hand in hers, and I’m not about to take it away; my heart is in my throat, because this is all so strange and crazy and I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
The track ends at a gate hinged to a tree on one side and latched to a tree on the other. I park at the gate, kill the lights and the engine.
Niall perks up as if returning to awareness, looks around. It’s dark, nothing but the track on the other side of the gate leading off through the fields, the empty highway behind us, fields to either side, and the starry sky above us.
“Where are we?” Niall asks.
I shrug. “No idea.”
She laughs, another bitter bark. “Wonderful.”
I lever open the door, get out, circle to her side, open the door for her. Extend my hand to her. She sits on the bench, twisting her stethoscope in both hands, staring at me.
“Just come on,” I say.
“What is this, Lock?”
I reach into the bed of the truck, haul out the big basket with the food and the blanket, and then take her hand. “It’s a picnic. Now come on already, I’m hungry.”
She lets me take her hand, lets me lead her out into the middle of the field. I’ve got an electric camp lantern in one hand, supplementing the light of the full moon. She watches while I spread out the blanket, set the basket in the corner. I sit down and start pulling food out of the basket.
Niall just watches. “Really?”
I shrug. “Yeah, really.”
“If you’re hoping for a repeat of the other day, you can think again.” She sits beside me, but not too close. Opens the basket of grapes and tears off a branch, pops grapes into her mouth. “That was a mistake.”
I try to act like that doesn’t sting; that’s not working, so I play dumb instead. “Repeat of what?”
She eyes me, probably trying to figure out my game. “The—when we—” she groans in frustration. “God, you’re impossible. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Why was it a mistake, Niall?” I want to know, because I figured that’d be her response.
“It just was.” She’s fumbling with the block of cheese, trying to get it open.
I take it from her, pull my multi-tool out of my pocket, cut it open, cut off a slice of cheese for her. Hand it to her. Or, that was my intention, but instead of just taking it from me with her hand, she leans in and takes it out of my hand with her mouth. Automatically, as if that was her natural reaction. But then, once the cheese is in her mouth, she realizes what she’s done and freezes. Glances at me, motionless. And then starts chewing again.
“Shut up.” She chews some more, hand covering her mouth. “I don’t know why I did that.”
Me either.
Nor do I know why it made my heart thump like an out of control drum.
It shouldn’t have, but it did.
She leans away from me, goes back to the grapes.
“Why was it a mistake, Niall?” I ask again.
She shrugs. “It just was.” A pause, a glance at me. “Why are we talking about this?”
“You brought it up.”
“You’re the one who brought me out here for a picnic like we’re sixteen and on our first date.”
“Ouch.” I let out a breath. “I was just trying to do something nice.”
She lets her head droop, tosses the stripped, empty slice of grape vine into the basket. “It’s just—I’m tired. I was looking forward to taking a shower and going to bed. A glass of wine, my Kindle, my cat.”
“You mean the way you spend every other night?”
“Yeah, and what’s wrong with that?” Her voice is sharp, angry, defensive.
“Nothing, in and of itself. But you can’t hide away in there your whole life, just working and going home and reading, getting drunk on cheap wine, hanging out with your cat.”
“And you dragging me out on this picnic is supposed to be a remedy or something? Part of your plan to fix poor widow Niall?”
“Yeah, basically.”
She lurches to her feet. “Fuck you.”
I stand up, realizing belatedly that I shouldn’t have said that. “Niall, wait.” I grab her by the shoulders, gently, carefully. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
She whirls in place, fiery. “There’s only that one way to take it, Lock! I don’t want your help. I don’t need your fixing. I was getting along just fine on my own, thank you very much.”
“Were you?” I don’t know why I’m pushing this, but it feels like I’m right.
“Yes!” She stumbles backward, blinking hard. “Yes…” This time she sounds much less sure.
“I’m not trying to fix you, Niall. I just want to—”
“What?” She stabs her finger into my chest. “You want what? �
��Cause I can’t seem to figure it out.”
I sag backward, turn away. “Me neither.” I sit on the blanket; pull the wine bottle out of the basket and the one glass. I twist the cap off, pour the glass full, hand it to her. “Here.”
She sits down beside me, takes the glass, drinks. “Thanks.” A long, long pull, a sigh. “So, if you don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t know what you want from me, then what are we doing?”
“I don’t know that either.” I drink from my bottle of Perrier and try not to think about the wine, and how much I want some. I don’t even like wine, but right now it sounds good.
She notices, of course. “No wine for you?”
I shrug, shake my head, and try to sound casual. “Nah. Not a big wine drinker. I just figured you’d need some.”
“Sure as hell do.”
I lie back on the blanket, stare up at the stars, and try to summon the words I need to tell her…what it is I’m supposed to tell her.
“I used to spend a lot of time looking at the stars,” I say, just for somewhere to start. “Long, long nights awake, alone, on the deck, nothing around for thousands of miles.”
“What do you mean?”
“I lived on a sailboat for—shit, half my life. I’ve circumnavigated the globe twice.”
“Really?” She sounds intrigued.
“Yeah. Name a place, if it has a coast, I’ve been there. And a lot of the rest of the world besides. Except Russia, I’ve never—well, actually, that’s not true. I sailed up past Alaska through the Bering Strait, just to say I’ve done it. I got caught in a gnarly storm and had to take shelter in this little fishing village in Russia. Deserted, frigid, lonely little place.”
“Where else have you been?” She’s sitting beside me, laying waste to the spread I brought.
I tuck my hands behind my head. “Oh man, literally everywhere. India, most of the islands in the South Pacific, Japan, Vietnam, Thailand, South Africa, a few of the ports on the west coast of Africa too. I sailed up through the Bosporus and knocked around the Mediterranean for a while. The Caribbean, Australia, New Zealand, Tasmania.”
“That sounds…amazing. And you sailed to all those places alone?”
Yours: A Standalone Contemporary Romance Page 13
