by R. E. Hunter
Love in Motion
R.E. Hunter
Contents
Love in Motion
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Bonus Chapter
Also by R.E. Hunter
About the Author
Love in Motion
A Disclosure Series Short Story
R.E. HUNTER
Copyright © 2015 Rose Hunter
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means including electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written consent of the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents and places depicted are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.
Editor: Lisa Christman
Cover design: Kari March
(http://karimarch.com/)
Created with Vellum
This story belongs to my amazing readers, who have embraced this series and loved these characters, and who never miss the opportunity to remind me they’d like just a little bit more. You’ll never know how much it truly means to me! Love you hard!
1
I push through the hoards of people, past the ringing bells of the Salvation Army Santas, and make my way into Penn Station, Brett following closely behind.
"Babe, wait up," he calls, dragging our bags along. His cheeks are flushed from the biting cold, and he stops, rubbing his hands together to warm up. I want nothing more than to fall into his arms, to let him warm and comfort me, but I’m too pissed off at him right now.
"I wouldn't be rushing if you hadn't talked me into this crazy trip." My tone is harsher than I mean it to be, but my life is the definition of stress right now.
"Come on,” he says, his tone appeasing. He saunters up beside me and wraps his arm around my shoulders. I thaw slightly at his nearness. "What's more romantic than a cross-country train ride?" Warm fuzzies gone.
He drops a kiss on the side of my head and smiles that crooked smile, and I want to slap it off his face. That stupid, beautiful, manipulative fucking smile is why I'm fighting through a sea of cranky New Yorkers during prime tourist season trying to find our train five days before our wedding.
“Remind me again why you wanted to take a cross-country train to our wedding.” And remind me why I said yes.
“It’s my one thing.”
“Right.” His one thing. I pull away and start walking again, searching for the information board.
When Brett and I got engaged, my older brother, Preston, gave him some genius advice. The wedding is for your girl. Let her have it. Pick one thing that means something to you, something that you really want, and fight for it. But the rest—to keep her happy and to keep you sane—just give her what she wants.
I’m a big fan of this advice. Huge. Who doesn’t like getting what they want? Brett and I planned a beautiful winter wedding at my family’s cabin on Lake Tahoe in California with little to no disagreement since he was pretty much on board for whatever I decided. So when my amazing, sweet, sexy-as-all-hell fiancé told me his one thing—and it wasn’t an extra hour of open bar at the wedding, or a hall pass for his bachelor party—but it was to travel from sea-to-fucking-shining-sea by train, what was I supposed to do? When he sat me down and trained those deep, soulful brown eyes on me, smiled his gorgeous gets-me-every-time smile, and told me that ever since he was a little boy, he’d wanted to make this trip because his grandparents had done it for their wedding and it was somewhat of a family tradition, and he couldn’t think of a more perfect time to do that than with me on the way to our wedding, how could I say no?
Well, I did. I tried like hell to talk him out of it. I went through all five stages of grief—I might still be struggling with acceptance—and lingered a bit too long on bargaining. I’m not entirely proud of myself. I might have frightened him with a few of my offers, but who wants to be crammed on a train with a bunch of crazy strangers for three days and two nights right before their wedding?
So much mystery and intrigue, he said. You never know who you're gonna meet.
Yeah. You never know. And you don’t want to know. Which is why my ass would rather be parked in first class, enjoying a nice relaxing flight to California, where I can order small bottles of forgetfulness if I don't want to deal with the stranger seated next to me. But on a train you're ... stuck.
I find the waiting area and crane my neck at the digital board hanging from the ceiling.
“See? No platform yet. We’ve got plenty of time,” Brett observes, rolling the luggage up next to me.
Thank you, Captain Obvious. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and blow out a breath instead. God, why am I so bitchy right now? I love him, I really do. There is not a single person in the world that could be more perfect for me than Brett Parker. Honestly. I agreed to this trip because I love him, and because it’ll make him happy. And more than anything, he deserves that—and I want to give it to him—always. But that was before reality set in. Before I realized that we’re getting married in less than a week, and we’ll be spending three of the next five days before our wedding stuck on a train with no Wi-Fi and bad cell service.
He tugs on my sweater, turning me to face him, and pulls me into his chest. “Stop worrying, babe.” His sturdy arms surround me and I relax against him. “It’s gonna be great, I promise.”
I glance up at him, biting my cheek and holding back the snark. “You think I haven’t read Murder on the Orient Express? I know all about what happens on trains.”
He chuckles and the deep sound vibrates through me, kicking my heart rate up a notch.
"Come on, those are mysteries. We're writing our own story.” He drops his head, and his lips brush the cuff of my ear as he whispers, “We can join the Mile High Club.”
I bury my face in his chest and start to giggle. At least he's pretty. "Brett, we'll be on the ground the entire time."
He shrugs. “Mile Long Club, then,” he says, smiling down at me conspiratorially. I seriously love this man. There are much worse things I can think of than being stuck with him for three days in a private room with no interruptions. Maybe it won’t be so bad.
Famous last words…
2
I kick my feet up in the private waiting lounge, happy not to be stuck in a crowd full of ornery people jockeying for a better boarding position. Since Brett got us a room in the sleeper car, we get a snazzy waiting area complete with coffee, snacks, and Wi-Fi. Priority boarding, too.
He went to check our bags and left me to guard my dress and go over my to do list. On top of everything left to do, Aunt Maureen decided she wanted nothing to do with Uncle Bob, and now the seating chart needs to be revised. I fish my phone from my purse and call my best friend, in need of a last minute pep talk.
“Hello?” a raspy Southern voice comes through the phone.
“Hey, Peaches,” I greet her fiancé, Luke. Embry and I got engaged within a few months of each other. Her to her law professor—my bestie sure knows how to ignite a scandal—and me to my college boyfriend. After spending nearly every day together in law school, her move to Georgia has been hard on us both. But planning our weddings together keeps us close and has given us plenty of reasons to see each othe
r. And it gives me the opportunity to torment Luke on a regular basis. “How’s your fine Southern ass doing today?”
“Hi, Morgan.” I can practically hear his smirk through the phone. I couldn’t have picked a better match for my best friend. “My fine ass is great. How are you, sweetheart?”
“Good.” I look across the room and stick my tongue out at Brett as he heads back toward me. “You know, just getting ready to pioneer the rails with the future husband.”
Luke’s throaty chuckle echoes through the phone. “I still can’t believe he talked you into it. Bree and I took bets.”
“Traitors.” I can’t help but laugh. “Who won?”
“Who do you think?”
“That bitch! She bet against me, didn’t she?”
“Mmmhmm. She knew you’d fold.”
“Well, I appreciate you believing in my unending ability to be a selfish brat.” I smile into the phone. “Cost you a pretty penny?”
“Not exactly,” he says, smugness thick in his tone.
I roll my eyes. “Do you two ever bet anything other than sexual favors, dirty birds?”
He laughs and clams up. Always the Southern gentleman.
“Where’s the wifey, anyway?” If I could have dragged Embry on this trip, I would have. Brett’s my rock, my everything. But Embry’s my better judgment, the other half of my brain.
“She’s out for a run. I’ll have her call you.”
I let out a frustrated huff. “Tell my maid of absence I need her on twenty-four hour standby.”
“Oh, will do. I’m sure she’ll love her new title,” he shoots back.
Brett plops down next to me and inclines his head toward the phone. “Who’s that?”
“Peaches.”
“Oh, let me talk to him!”
“Brett wants to say hi,” I say and hand the phone over.
“Hey, bro!”
I leave them to their bromance and get up in search of coffee. As I finish filling my cup, the loudspeaker crackles to life.
“Lake Shore Limited to Chicago Union Station, boarding on track thirty-three in fifteen minutes.”
Here we go.
* * *
Train travel is not luxurious. I know this—knew it before I boarded the train. As soon as I realized no amount of seductive bargaining was going to get me out of this trip, Google became my best friend and worst enemy. I knew there’d be no pillow-top mattresses or appointments at the spa, and no tiny TVs in the bathroom mirrors. But still, I was nowhere near prepared for this. I chew on my bottom lip and twist my engagement ring nervously around my finger as we walk shuffle down a claustrophobia-inducing hallway to find our room. Our “room.”
“Here it is,” Brett says, opening the door with a big, toothy grin.
I stand in the doorway, eyes darting around the cabin as I try to make sense of the layout. I can’t figure exactly how a bed is going to appear in here, and I’m almost positive you can shower while sitting on the toilet. Can’t wait to try that out. There’s definitely no way my six foot four inch fiancé can lie down at any angle in here and actually stretch his legs. That’s how small it is.
“Uh … um … so, where’s the rest of it?” I ask, shifting uncomfortably as Brett inspects the room.
He turns toward me, a sheepish smile on his face. “This is it.”
My chest tightens and my breathing picks up as I realize that this is our space for the next nineteen hours, and that’s just the beginning. We switch trains in Chicago and have another forty-three hours from there. My face drops as reality sets in. I can’t do this.
“Whoa, hey.” Brett approaches, eyebrows knitting together. “Come here.”
I force a small smile and let him lead me into the room. He gently sets my dress aside before sliding the door shut and pulling me onto his lap.
I straddle him and bury my face against his chest, breathing him in. He smells like citrus and warm wood … and home.
Strong arms surround me, holding me tight and offering comfort. “You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” he asks, quietly.
“Only a little bit,” I lie. Anxiety knots in my stomach, and it’s not just this trip or the miniscule room. It’s everything all at once. Part of me wants to run off this train and never look back. But then Brett tunnels his fingers through my hair and lifts my face to his, concern bleeding out of him, and my insides turn liquid. He’s the reason I’m here. And I may want to kill him for it, but he’s put up with so much from me, I can handle one crazy train trip. I hope.
He just looks at me, as if he knows I need time to get my thoughts together, to straighten myself out.
I stare back, taking solace in his soulful eyes.
“Good?” he asks.
“Good.” I drag my teeth nervously across my bottom lip. “It’s just really small.”
He lets out a belly laugh, and I roll my eyes at him, scowling.
“Only a little bit,” he tosses my words back at me.
“No. A lotta bit. It’s a lotta bit small.”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Not too small to start our cross-country bucket list, though, is it?”
“Cross-country bucket list?” Oh, God.
“Mmmhmm.” His eyes flicker with mischief as his hands lazily explore my curves. “We have an exclusive club to join. And I have a list of ways I want to fuck you across the country.”
His words send a shiver of desire up my spine, and before I can respond, his mouth is on mine, hungry and demanding. Every worry I have melts into oblivion as his tongue pushes past my lips. My future husband can be very persuasive when he wants. Especially with his mouth.
I give myself over to him, our tongues tangling and dancing together as his hands grip my thighs.
“Number one,” he whispers against my lips as his fingers find the top of my jeans. “Make you come before we leave the station.”
My insides clench in anticipation as he pops the top button and reclaims my lips. I groan into his mouth, forgetting why this train trip was a bad idea. It was an amazing idea. The best.
A flick of his fingers and the next button opens, and then the next.
Oh, my God. I’m coming apart at the seams and he’s barely touched me. I suck in a breath as he slides his hand into my panties and gently bites down on my bottom lip. Our tiny train compartment melts away, and we’re back home in our bed, the soft down of our comforter gripped in my fists as he pushes me toward the edge.
I sigh as his fingers keep up a steady rhythm, taking me closer and closer.
“Babe…”
I’m almost there, but he starts to slow and I grind against him, urging him on.
“Babe.” Brett’s voice is firmer this time. “Shh, babe. One sec.”
Brett pulls away abruptly, and I faceplant onto his shoulder.
“I—ouch!” I blink back to the small room as Brett tosses me onto the sofa beside him, adjusting himself.
“Hello?” says a muffled voice from the hallway.
A few light knocks sound on the door as it begins to slide open.
I tug my sweater down to cover my open jeans as a small, plump face appears in the doorway.
“Oh, hey, y’all! I’m sorry if I interrupted.” The smirk on his face says otherwise. “I just wanted to introduce myself. My name is Edmond, I’ll be your car attendant.”
“Hey, man,” Brett says, his good-natured tone making me roll my eyes. “Thanks a lot.”
I poke my head forward and offer a sour smile and a wave at the little man.
“You have complimentary bottles of water in here. Dinner starts at five thirty in the dining car unless you want to eat in your room, and I’ll be by later tonight to turn down your beds. If you need anything,” he pushes further into the room and points to a small switch on the wall, “Just hit that button and I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”
“Got it, thanks again,” Brett offers with a nod.
“Thanks. Bye now,” I say in a sing-song voice, hoping he tak
es the hint.
Edmond the orgasm-thieving steward is gone with a jaunty salute and I fall back against the sofa. Fuck this trip.
Brett flicks the lock on the door and eyes me thoughtfully.
Leaning in, he grazes his lips up my neck and across my jawline. “That wasn’t exactly how I envisioned it,” he apologizes softly.
I nod silently and let out a long sigh.
As if sensing my change in mood, he pulls me into his arms and drops a kiss on top of my head. “I expect a do-over later, wife.” His husky voice is filled with promise.
“Not yet I’m not,” I taunt.
“You’ve been mine from the moment I laid eyes on you, Morgan Maxwell.” He brings my hand to his mouth, lips brushing against the diamond on my left ring finger. “The rest is just details.”
3
“Blowjob is not a word!” I send the Scrabble dictionary flying at Brett.
“Not until you gave it meaning, sweet lips.” He winks and smiles that infuriating smile, and I scan the room for something I can use to strangle him.
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. “Look in the dictionary. You cannot play ‘blowjob’ in Scrabble.”
He shrugs. “You’re the dirtiest girl I know. I just assumed we were playing the naughty version.”
I narrow my eyes at him and he throws his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay.” He pulls his tiles off the board and begins to rearrange them. “I’ll try something else.”
“Boobies, Brett? Really? Are we five?”
“If loving boobies makes me a five-year-old, then I don’t ever wanna grow up.”
I press my lips together, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “You’re crazy, you know that?”
“Crazy for you,” he croons, leaning in to steal a kiss.
