I gave Cohen a nod, knowing that what he was offering me wasn’t really an option at all. Whatever he gave me, I’d be paying back times ten. And whatever it was, it would be a far more fitting punishment than sitting in a jail cell.
“Good,” Cohen said. “As soon as the doctor says it’s okay, I’ll give you a job.”
Dread seeped in, and it was more painful than all the wounds on my body.
“Hey, man!”
I jerked my eyes open at the gas station attendant’s hesitant greeting through the door. I shoved my self-pity to the back of my conscience along with the unwanted memory.
“You there?”
“I’m here!” I called back.
He eased the door open a crack. “You…dressed?”
“Completely.”
He stepped into the washroom with my handcuff keys in his hand, and eyed my aching arm. “Your girlfriend does have some strange predilections.”
I was too worn out to even crack a smile at his use of a four-syllable word. “What did she ask you to do?”
He shrugged. “Just to wait an hour or so and then come and unlock you. Gotta admit, man, I was a little curious, but she told me if I waited the full sixty minutes, you’d pay me another hundred.”
“Of course she did,” I muttered. “Did she happen to mention where she was headed?”
The guy shook his head. “I figured it was a part of your game, or whatever.”
I sighed. “It probably is. Did she say anything else?”
“Not really. Just asked to borrow the phone, then called her mom.”
“Her mom? Are you sure?”
“That’s what it sounded like,” the cashier confirmed. “She wasn’t on there long, but she was talking extra cheerful and saying she’d be home soon. It’s the exact way I talk to my mom when I probably won’t be home soon, but don’t want her to worry.”
The boyfriend.
I sighed. “Buddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you unlock me now, please?”
“Oh. Sure.”
He scrambled to fit the key into the lock. When my arm finally dropped to my side, pain shot through my shoulder, down to my elbow, and into my fingers.
“Jesus that hurts,” I swore.
I rubbed the sorest parts, willing the blood to start flowing.
“We sell pain meds,” the cashier offered.
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have gas to pump or something?”
“Nah, man. To be honest, you guys are my first customers in three days. Aside from the buses that come in from the depot thirty clicks from here, I hardly get anyone in.”
“Bus depot?”
“Yeah. All the drivers gas up here. S’what keeps us open.”
Hmmm.
“Where do the buses go?” I asked.
“I dunno. They come from the bigger cities, but most of them just head out to all the nowheresville towns around here. It’s kind of a substation of a substation.”
“What about the Trent Falls area?”
“Yeah, sure. I mean, probably. That’s about as nowhere as you can get, isn’t it?” he laughed.
“Pretty much,” I agreed. “Can you walk to the bus station from here?”
“Why would you want to? Your sweet-ass Mustang will—oh.” Understanding flashed across his face. “Yeah. If you followed the road, it’d take forever. But if you cut across the stretch of land behind the store, I bet you could do it in four, maybe five hours. Practically desert, though, in some parts.”
I considered what I knew about Polly. She was tough. Cool, calm and collected.
And probably just crazy enough to try it.
I yanked my wallet out of my pocket and handed the clerk two fifties. I hesitated a second, then pulled out a twenty, as well.
“Can you point me in the right direction and keep an eye on my car?”
“Sure, man,” he replied eagerly. “And for what it’s worth, I hope you win whatever game you’re playing. That chick is hot.”
* * *
I started out a brisk walk, and worked my way up to a light jog. As per the guy at the gas station, I headed due east toward the bus station. The air was still cool, and the sky was dim. True dawn would come soon, though. Then it wouldn’t take long for the heat to build.
I figured I had few advantages. I had two bottles of water tucked into a small bag on my back, and I was accustomed to jogging. I’d switched out my dress shoes for my runners, and put on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts. I doubted Polly was as prepared.
It had been fully dark when she’d left, and even if she had flashlight of some kind, she would still be forced to move carefully. The gas station clerk hadn’t sold her any water, and I didn’t think she was the stealing kind. She was wearing a dress. She was wearing heeled shoes. She’d scooped my bag, full of her—Cohen’s—cash from the car.
Her gorgeous legs were lightly muscled, but they weren’t the kind of toned that came from running eight miles a day, five days every week.
Yeah, I would catch up.
I picked up the pace a bit, and actually let myself enjoy the feeling of my feet hitting the rocky terrain. It had been a few days since I moved like this. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I enjoyed that, too.
I kept going until I crested a small hill, then I slowed. My heart pounded solidly in my chest when I reached the top. I took a deep pull of my water and surveyed the horizon. The sun was just barely visible in the sky, and I guessed that I’d been going for near to forty minutes. From my vantage point, the sliver of orange light afforded me a view of the area. It was dry, uneven land, with little to see other than the occasional scrubby-looking bush. Then I spied it—a slow-moving figure in the distance.
Polly.
“Hey!”
My voice echoed, but I was unsure if she’d heard me or not. I yelled again. She whipped around, caught sight of me, and then turned to stare at her feet for an oddly long moment. Hesitantly, she pulled off her shoes, then started to run.
“Are you kidding me?” I muttered.
I shoved my water back into my bag and sprinted after her. The gap between us closed quickly, but she kept going anyway. Where did she think she was running? I would catch up to her in a few hundred feet. Still, the pace made my blood move through my body at double time and in seconds, I was drenched with sweat.
“Polly!” I hollered.
My voice came out in a harsh-as-hell rasp. She finally paused. I was almost close enough to reach her.
Why had she stopped so abruptly?
By the time I figured out the answer, it was too late. We had reached the top of another slanting hill, and I had no time to put on the brakes. I skidded through the rocks, kicking up a cloud of cough-inducing dust.
Polly’s hand shot out to grab my elbow. Rather than stopping me, however, it gave her no choice but to follow me down the hill.
Ass over tea kettle.
The phrase, borrowed from my grandmother, tumbled to the front of my mind as we bumped along and finally landed at the bottom in a heap of dirty arms and legs. We stayed that way for a few moments, completely still except for our breathing. I opened my eyes to find her blue gaze inches from my face.
“Barefoot running,” she gasped. “Gets me every time.”
“Where were you going?” I asked softly.
“Home.”
“Home,” I repeated. “Over miles of desert, in the dark, with no plan to keep yourself safe.”
She reached up and pulled on a piece of my dirt-caked hair.
“You’re filthy,” she stated, and I sensed an evasion in her words.
I brought my own hand up to grip her wrist. “Polly, why are you in such a hurry to get back?”
“My life is there.”
“So pay Cohen whatever you owe him. Then go back to your life. Don’t endanger yourself like this. I’m just going to chase you down again.”
“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve run from him?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Me neither.” There was a quiet desperation in her voice. “The first few times I didn’t get far. A few blocks. Then the next city. He kept coming after me,” she explained.
“Why?”
Polly shrugged. “When I actually got more than a hundred miles away, I thought maybe he’d stop following me. But he just sent someone else to do it for him instead of coming himself.”
She guided my hand to her face, and my breath caught in my throat as she opened my palm for me and rested her cheek against it.
“So stop running,” I suggested.
“I can’t. Stop chasing me instead.”
“I can’t.”
“Any man with any kind of decency would let a woman escape across the desert in peace.”
I couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “Any man with any kind of decency would save a woman from her crazy-ass desert run.”
“So now you’re not only calling yourself decent…you’re also saying you’re my saviour?”
“I wish I knew what I was to you,” I admitted candidly as I moved my fingers to her lips, parting them gently, then stroking them lightly. “And I wish I knew what you have that he wants.”
I could feel her wavering, wanting to tell me. I could sense it in the slight shift of her body and the clearness in her eyes. In the dawn light, with her body pressed against mine, it would be almost too easy to forget she was my prisoner. I wished I could forget it. I wished I liked her a little less.
I seemed to be doing an awful lot of wishing, and very little following through.
I pulled my hand away with more reluctance than I wanted to cop to and waited for her answer.
“Me and Cohen…it’s complicated,” Polly said.
“So un-complicate it.”
“Six years,” she replied.
“What?”
“That’s how long I got away for this time. I felt safe. I felt happy. It made me sloppy.”
“Feelings are always sloppy,” I agreed.
“How would you know what feelings do or don’t do?” Polly asked defensively.
For some reason, her question genuinely offended me. “Do I really seem all that heartless to you?”
“You’re not exactly soft.”
“You think this is easy for me, Polly?”
“It’s clearly easier for you than it is for me.”
“That’s bullshit. You’re used to running, used to hiding.”
“So?”
“So…I’m not used chasing women.”
“Why? Because they’re always chasing you?” she snapped.
“Jealous?”
“Why the hell would I be jealous?”
“Why the hell would you be?” I agreed. “Feelings are just a game to you, after all.”
Colour rose in her cheeks. “What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. Every time you want something, you ramp up the charm,” I told her. “I can’t do that. I don’t just turn my emotions off and on at the drop of a twenty.”
“Fuck you.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“Tell me it’s not true,” I challenged angrily. “Tell me that ninety percent of what you’ve said or done to me hasn’t been manipulation. Tell me that night in the hotel wasn’t just par for the course with you.”
“I’m not that girl,” she said vehemently.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’ve never gone home with someone from the bar,” she told me quietly. “For all six years that I’ve been on the run, I’ve been true to the only guy I’ve ever loved.”
I had to hear her say it. “Until?”
“Until I met you.” Her voice was soft and laced with emotion. “And I started breaking every rule I have.”
“Do you regret it now?”
I braced myself for the worst, but she just shook her head slowly, those big, blue eyes never leaving my face.
“Not in the slightest.”
“And before you ran?”
She swallowed. “There was only one other. It ended badly.”
My eyes sought hers and locked on the sincerity in her gaze. She wasn’t lying. What did that mean?
Cohen, of course.
The answer leaped from my mind, unwelcome and unwanted.
“How old were you then?” I could barely keep the fury from my voice.
“Just over eighteen.”
Smart. Careful. Motherfucker.
I didn’t realize my fingers had closed into a fist until Polly’s hand gripped mine and pulled them loose.
“I don’t regret that, either,” she told me. “I was an adult long before I turned eighteen. I’m running from the past because I have to. That doesn’t mean I’m dwelling on it.”
“I wish I could say the same.”
“You have a lot of regret?”
“More than enough for this lifetime,” I admitted. “And probably the next one, too.”
“Because of Cohen?”
“Because of me,” I corrected.
Her fingers threaded through mine. Warmth spread between them and up my palms, and then settled in my wrists.
“Just so you know, Polly…I’m not that guy, either.”
“Which guy?”
“The one who picks up a girl in a bar, sleeps with her, then forgets about her.”
“No?”
“No. Polly, you’re the only woman I’ve even looked at in as long as I can remember. And I can promise you this—I couldn’t forget you if I tried.”
Her palm was still wrapped over the back of my hand.
“Goddamned Cohen Blue,” she breathed bitterly.
“What the hell does he want from you?” I asked again.
“What do you want from him?” she countered.
“I want him to leave me the hell alone.”
“Me, too.”
“Finally. Something we agree on.”
“So if we want the same thing, why are we fighting it?”
I wondered if she sensed the change in the air at the same moment I did. Somehow, her question had become a loaded one. It was no longer just about her and Cohen or about Cohen and me. It was about the here and now. I tried to shift it back, angry at myself for the way I was letting her get to me at every turn.
My chest compressed and my next breath was a ragged one. My body stiffened, too, and the arm that had been draped across her withdrew automatically to my side. Polly wasn’t letting me go that easily. She wriggled closer, thrusting her curves against me. I tried to slide away, but my back hit a large rock, and she pinned me there, her hand pressed to my stomach. Her fingers climbed the length of my chest, then wound around my neck. She traced the sensitive spot along my hairline. She stroked the short strands there, and I shivered involuntarily. Her hand worked up farther. She twined her fingers through my hair, formed a fist, and pulled my head back.
It was painful. And exquisite.
I waited for her to stop, but she kept going, growing more amorous by the second.
Her lips found first my chin, then my neck. Her hands released my hair to rove along my back, kneading the muscles there, drawing attention to each ache before moving on to the next. Then her none-too-gentle attention moved downward, stroking my thighs.
“Sweetheart,” I said in a thick voice, unsure where the endearment came from, but immediately wanting to say it again. “Sweetheart.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured.
I tipped her face up. Her cheeks were flushed, and my resolve was crumbling quickly.
“Look at me.” I needed her to see the sincerity in my eyes. “If you start this…if you really start it…I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop it.”
In reply, she bit down on one of my earlobes.
I groaned and brought my arms around her waist, crushing her to my chest. I used my hands to protect her from the hard ground and rolled her to her back. I traced the side of her neck with my mouth.
Why was I holding back?
I
couldn’t remember.
“So beautiful,” I said against her throat.
Did she know that she deserved so much more than Cohen could ever have given her? Did what she had at home compare to this moment, right now? I wanted to show her what she was worth.
When she arched underneath me, I brought my lips to hers. My kiss was fervent, and full of relieved worship. Polly responded with equal enthusiasm. I kept one hand under her head while slipping the other under her dress.
My fingers closed over the edge of her underwear. I drew in a rough breath as I recalled how they looked when she danced across the stage. For a second I was torn. I wanted to see the way they outlined the perfect swell of her rear end again almost as much as I wanted to tear them off.
Polly took the choice away from me. Swiftly, she lifted her hips and dragged the underwear off. Her palms found my hips, then paused at the bottom of my T-shirt. I tensed involuntarily as her fingertips grazed my lower abdomen.
Am I going to let her keep going?
She drew back slightly and met my gaze with a look in her eyes that told me she was wondering the same thing.
“You don’t have to take it off,” she murmured.
“I know.”
I was tempted, though. I reached to draw it up and at the last second, she slid her hands away from my stomach and smoothed down my shirt tenderly.
Polly opened her mouth, and I waited for a pity-filled question to come out. Instead, she smiled.
“Next time,” she whispered.
My heart thickened in my chest at the promise. I cupped her face with my hands and placed a gentle kiss on her mouth.
“Thank you,” I stated, my voice rough with desire.
“For what?”
“For breaking your rules,”
I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I leaned away and began to undo her dress slowly, deliberately. After each button opened, I dragged my lips across the newly exposed skin. With each kiss, Polly shivered. Four buttons in and I realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.
Oh, God.
I pushed aside the fabric of her dress and her breasts sprung free, taut and inviting in the humid air. My fingers continued their work on the dress, but my mouth was suddenly preoccupied elsewhere.
Using my tongue, I traced a pattern around first one nipple, then the other. She gasped under the attention, spurring me on. I drew one pink point into my mouth as I worked the rest of her dress free. When I had undone it the whole way, my hand slipped between her legs. Her thighs fell apart with no effort at all.
Pinups and Possibilities Page 8
