Thoughts of my mom made a shiver pass over my heart. She’d operated under the assumption Kentucky was safe when she ran away. I knew the truth, but felt better prepared. I’d fight the Moktar if they found me and would not die like my mama. I refused.
Lucinda and Poppy’s calls went straight to their voice mail accounts. I left the same message for both of them, telling them I had to go home for a few days and asking them not to say anything to Michael because goodbyes were so hard. That much was the truth, and I was satisfied they’d buy it.
I thought about going to the consulate immediately, but Patrick and Margaret waited for me outside. Gathering together the materials needed for my paper, I set off, knowing I’d have to bide my time and leave early in morning while the Travellers slept.
That afternoon a strange calm descended on me. I finished my paper in record time, emailed to my professor, and had a nice dinner with my grandparents. Michael tried to talk to me, but I brushed him off without saying a word. He thought I was still mad at him, which was true, but I also didn’t want him around in case he said or did something to make me change my mind.
That night, when the men went out to hunt, the ladies had their last lesson. I desperately tried to think of everything possible to help them. Judging by what they told me, the only person grabbed by a Moktar who’d lived to tell the tale was yours truly. I wanted to teach them what I knew, and they were grateful. They were also fast learners. The progress they’d made in only a few short days was impressive.
After the lesson finished, I pulled out my copy of The Art of War and read key points to them. The most important thing I emphasized was in chapter three, “The Plan of Attack.”
Looking each of them in the eye, I spoke softly, but they hung on every word. “It doesn’t matter if the Moktar are bigger than you, or stronger or faster. Sun Tzu said from unity comes strength, and you have to stick together. Even if I’m not with you, you have the skills you need. If you work together, you’ll survive together.”
I excused myself, knowing full well staying any longer would mean blubbering like a baby, which didn’t often happen when one read The Art of War. Sun Tzu would have punished me for my weakness, and he would have been right. My feelings weren’t important here. The survival of my friends was all that mattered.
When I got back to my grandparents’ caravan, a rather snarky little message from Brooke showed up on my phone. She planned on going out with Leo the next day, and was under the impression I wanted him for myself. The thought made me ill. I tried to explain to her via text exactly what had happened, but she wouldn’t respond. She wouldn’t take my calls either. Our animosity had gone on so much longer than our attempts at friendship. She thought she couldn’t trust me.
I set down my phone, deciding this was a Dweller versus Dweller issue, even if Leo seemed unstable and dangerous. I’d done my best to warn her, and there was nothing else to do. I decided to tell myself that over and over again, until I actually believed it. Or at least until the sick and uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach disappeared.
The night seemed never ending. I barely slept. When the guys came home from the hunt, I listened to the sounds of their hushed voices and soft footsteps, and then waited a few more hours. When the sky just began to lighten, it was time to go. Packing everything I needed into my backpack proved challenging, but it would be impractical to haul a suitcase around and might slow me down. I kept the silver dove necklace around my neck and Michael’s ring on my finger, but left my beautiful white dress because I didn’t want to crush the delicate fabric by shoving it into my backpack. The book Michael had given me was safely tucked inside, though. I needed little Self Reliance at the moment.
I wrote a long note to my grandparents, and cried the entire time. I put it on my pillow, wanting them to find it, but not too soon. Hopefully, they’d think I’d slept in, and wouldn’t see it until late afternoon.
I’d written a long note to Michael, too, trying not to sound angry or bitter. He needed to understand I loved him, but he’d left me no choice. I wouldn’t live as a prisoner, or as someone’s possession. It was hard to write, and would be even harder to read. I decided to leave it in his caravan. If not, someone else might discover it first, and I didn’t want that to happen.
Walking through the compound, it was completely silent and still. I smelled the smoke from the dying campfires and the dew on the grass made my tennis shoes wet. Michael’s caravan was dark, his door unlocked, when I slipped inside. He had to be fast asleep by now.
At first, I couldn’t see in the dim light of the caravan, but soon my eyes adjusted. Michael had been studying. His chemistry books lay on the table, and an open notebook on his desk was filled with chemical equations jotted down in his neat and precise handwriting. Seeing that just about broke my heart in two, and strengthened my resolve. He still studied, even after he’d dropped out of school, simply because he loved it so much. I was doing him a favor by getting out of his life.
Pulling out my copy of The Art of War from my backpack, with its wrinkled cover and notes in the margins of just about every single page, a wave of sadness came over me. This book had gotten me through some tough times, but Michael needed it more than me. He was the leader of a real army with an actual war to wage. Soon I’d be nothing more than an ordinary college student, with a former beauty title and a completely broken heart.
As I placed it next to my note on his kitchen table, I noticed a box I hadn’t seen before. It looked like the sort of box a person might put important documents and other things in, like warranty information and stolen passports. Definitely worth a look, even if it meant riffling through Michael’s personal belongings. Since no noise came from his bedroom, I gathered my courage and decided to be a little nosey.
My heart skipped a beat as I slowly opened it, surprised to find the box filled with photos. I sank to the couch, using my phone as a light. Photo after photo showed Michael as a young boy. There were shots of Michael with his brothers, and old and faded ones of his mother and father. But sitting on the very top, carefully tied up with a cream colored satin ribbon, was a pile that looked newer than the rest.
It took me a second to recognize the ribbon as the one used to tie back my hair the first time I’d worked up the courage to speak to Michael. It had blown away in the alley, and, evidently, Michael had found it and kept it. A little mud stained, it had been carefully cleaned and pressed, and now held together a stack of photos. They were all of me, and looking at them shook me to my core.
Michael must have been taking pictures of me long before we’d ever spoken. Some photos depicted me eating lunch with Poppy and Lucinda and laughing. Others showed me engrossed in a book, sitting in the teashop, and walking through The Shambles. And there was one of us dancing at my birthday party. We were staring into each other’s eyes and smiling. I thought about taking that one home to Kentucky with me, even if it would be stealing.
I was about to shove it into my backpack when a light turned on. I blinked, startled. Michael stood in the doorway to his bedroom wearing nothing but a towel, his skin damp from the shower. My breath hitched at the sight of his body, all sinewy strength, sculpted abs, and rippling muscles. Glorious. The tattoos dancing on his skin only enhanced his beauty, as did the silver piercings. He was a god, a furious god at that. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the doorjamb.
“Going somewhere?” His eyes took in my coat and the backpack by my feet. He acted way too calm. He saw the letter and book I’d left on his kitchen table and sauntered over. “May I?”
He flipped through the book, noticing all the highlighting and notes scribbled in the margins. He raised a dark eyebrow. “An interesting choice. A little light reading, perhaps?”
He didn’t wait for my answer. He reached for the envelope and ripped it open. His eyes scanned the page, and he grew angrier with every word. The color rushed into his cheeks and a muscle began working in his jaw. When he finished, his eyes blazed blue,
full of fury.
“You’re doing this for me?”
He walked toward me like a panther moving in for the kill. A predator, and I was an easy lunch, but I couldn’t even move. I just watched and waited.
“I…I…thought it for the best. You could go back to school.”
My voice sounded breathless and strange, and it may have had something to do with a nearly naked Michael only inches away from me. I felt the heat of his body, smelled the warm scent of his skin, and saw drops of water still drying on his shoulders, making me want to lean forward and lick one. I wanted to taste him on my tongue. He was mad at me, but I was more completely aroused than I’d ever been in my life. All I could think about were his hands on my body, and his mouth on mine. Nothing in my life had prepared me for this, and he hadn’t even touched me. I was way out of my league.
He grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me slowly into his dark bedroom. I didn’t protest. I wanted to be there. His eyes never left mine as he took off my coat, letting it fall to the floor behind me with a soft thud. Quickly my blouse, jeans, undies, and bra joined it. I must have slipped out of my shoes and socks at some point, but had no memory of it. I was in the thrall of Michael Nightingale.
He still wore his towel, but I now stood in front of him, completely naked and panting like I’d run a race. He reached out a hand and cupped my cheek, gently stroking my face with his thumb. Closing my eyes and leaning into his palm, I knew I was lost.
“Emerson.”
His voice, husky and low, sent shivers over my bare skin. He began kissing my forehead, my eyebrows, and the corners of my eyes. He rained soft gentle kisses across my cheeks and down my jawline. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, his lips touched mine.
It felt like a lightning bolt had gone directly through my body. He must have felt it, too, because he groaned and pulled me closer. Suddenly, what had been heart stopping and slow became wild and hot. My arms went around his waist and I clung to him, wanting to touch all of him at once. My hands ran frantically over his body, caressing his back and arms and the strong muscles of his shoulders. I made funny little sounds in the back of my throat because I was on fire, and wanted Michael with an almost frightening intensity.
He seemed to feel the same way. His hands, rough and warm, stroked me and caressed me, making me even more insane with need. He held me so tightly against him it was no longer clear where I ended and he began. The feeling of his bare skin against mine was the most perfect and beautiful thing I’d ever experienced, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to be closer still.
My hands slid down his back until they found the towel still wrapped snugly around his waist. I yanked and pulled until it fell to the floor in a heap. Michael leaned back and stared at me, his eyes glowing in the faint light of early morning.
“Are you sure?”
I couldn’t speak, but knew exactly what I wanted. I nodded, raising myself on to my tiptoes and kissing him with all that was inside me. In seconds, Michael used his exceptionally good Traveller reflexes to have me on the bed, pinned beneath his delicious body. He rested on his forearms, so as not to crush me, but I welcomed his weight. I wanted everything, every part of him.
I wiggled and squirmed until he rested in the cradle of my thighs, his erection hot and throbbing against my core. When he hesitated, I took control. Little virginal Emerson Jane from Bowling Green. I shifted my body and lifted my pelvis until the tip of him was finally inside me. Michael moaned. It wasn’t just me. We were both lost.
He eased into me slowly, his breath warm on my ear. “Emerson, I don’t want to hurt you…”
I answered with a sigh. “Don’t stop, Michael. Please don’t stop.”
A brief spasm of pain made me gasp and grab his shoulders, but I forgot about it completely when I looked at his face.
“I love you, Emerson,” he said, kissing me so gently and sweetly tears welled in my eyes. He froze when he saw them. “Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head. “I love you, too.”
His eyes scanned my face to make sure it was the truth, and then he began to move slowly inside me. It felt strange at first, like I’d always imagined it would, but somehow different. I began to move with him, instinctively answering him thrust for thrust, like we danced to secret music that only the two of us heard.
Something strange and wonderful began to build inside me. It started at the tips of my toes and then grew and grew until I exploded with a series of gasping little noises. As soon as Michael heard me, he made a strange, strangled sound and he exploded, too.
Afterwards, he rolled to his side, took off the condom, and tossed it into the garbage can, pulling me into his arms. I said a little prayer of thanks to the saint who protected stupid virgins everywhere that he’d had the sense to use one. I hadn’t even noticed he’d put it on, and had been too far gone to stop him if he hadn’t.
“I guess I’m not a virgin anymore.”
Michael kissed the top of my head. “No, you aren’t.”
“I do believe I just had my first orgasm as well.”
He chuckled, a sound of pure masculine pride. “I’m fairly certain you did.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
He lifted his head and looked down at me in surprise. “Are you thanking me for deflowering you?”
“No. I’m thanking you for doing it so well. You really are a genius.”
He gave me a grin. “We aim to please, ma’am.”
I sighed. “I have so much to learn.” Turning on my side, I ran a finger down his arm. He watched me, fascinated by the sight of my hands on his skin. Suddenly, I wanted to play, and Michael was my brand new toy. I pushed him onto his back. “This is lesson number two, I guess.”
He swallowed hard. “Already?”
I grinned. “I want to learn about your body because I didn’t really have a chance before. You were being so shy. I almost had to pry that towel off of you.”
Michael lay back and folded his arms behind his head. “I am very shy,” he said with a grin, his entire beautiful body naked and on display for my viewing pleasure.
I touched my chin with one finger. “Now let me see. Where shall I begin?” My gaze started at his head and trailed down his body until it reached the juncture of his thighs. As soon as my eyes rested there, he started to become erect again.
“Holy guacamole. That didn’t take much.” Michael reached for me, but I shook my head. “Can I touch it?”
He nodded, and I studied it carefully. It was huge.
“How on earth did that fit inside me?”
Michael almost beamed with pride. Reaching out a tentative hand, and not sure what to expect, I touched him. The reality was far different from my imagination.
“It feels like velvet.” I smiled at him in wonder. “Velvet with steel inside.”
I gave it a gentle little squeeze and he gasped. I ran my fingers up and down the sides and he moaned. When I touched the tip, a little bead of moisture pearled against my finger, and I grinned at him in delight. I’d never felt so sensual or powerful in my life.
Michael reached up, grabbed me by the waist, and tossed me onto my back. “My turn,” he growled, and then the sweet torture began. He kissed and licked and touched and explored every single inch of my body until I begged and pleaded for him to be inside me once again. He complied, and, if possible, the second time was even better than the first.
Afterwards, we were both exhausted and curled up in each other’s arms. Michael pulled me close, half asleep already, and whispered words into my ear that nearly broke my heart.
“Stay with me, Emerson. Please don’t leave.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
That made him crazier than a sprayed roach.
~Grandma Sugar
I fell asleep in heaven, and woke up in hell. I still lay in Michael’s caravan, naked and curled up on his bed. The only problem was my grandparents, and his father, stood right outside, banging on the front door.
“Michael. Y
ou must wake. Emerson has run away.”
Sampson sounded ready to barge in. I sat up with a start, but Michael, still fast asleep, didn’t react at all. I nudged his shoulder frantically.
“Wake up,” I hissed.
He turned and gave me a very knowing, very cat ate the cream sort of smile. That disappeared as soon as he heard his father’s voice. He jumped up and pulled on his jeans, hopping to the front door as he buttoned them.
“Da, it’s fine. She’s here.”
Michael went outside and shut the door behind him. I heard some angry murmurs from Anselina and Matthew, and I cringed and covered my face with my hands. My grandparents knew I’d been doing the horizontal mambo with Michael. Absolutely horrifying.
Michael didn’t seem at all upset. In fact, he seemed rather pleased with himself. He walked back into the bedroom, and gave me a slow, sexy smile that turned my insides to mush. I threw a pillow at him.
“Don’t you be doing that, Mr. Nightingale. That is exactly what got us into this predicament in the first place.”
Michael put his hand on his chest. “I got us into this predicament?”
I frowned. “I guess it wasn’t all your fault.”
Michael flopped down on the bottom of the bed. I was still naked, holding the blankets tightly against my chest as I hugged my knees close to my body. Michael just stared at me.
“I love you, Emerson.”
I glared at him. “I love you, too.”
He grinned. “You really aren’t a morning person.”
He was right, but it made me scowl. “Well, not when I’m woken up like that, with my grandparents outside and me naked as a jay bird in some man’s bed.”
He crawled toward me like a lion. “Some man’s bed? Do you often wake up in some man’s bed?”
I fell back onto the pillows. He climbed up my body, straddling me on his hands and knees. I bit my lip. I wanted him again. I’d turned into a nymphomaniac.
“Not usually.” I slid my hands up his body, and then gently pulled on his nipple rings. He groaned, pressing his pelvis against mine. I answered with a thrust of my own. “Not ever, actually.”
Traveller Page 18
