Burning Ache

by Adrienne Giordano

  Fistfuls of scissors.

  Recently sharpened ones.

  And yet, here she was, in her suite, sliding into the only low-heeled rubber-soled boots she’d thrown into her suitcase before heading to Steele Ridge.

  For so long, she’d been determined to control her surroundings. Stick to a routine. Limit new people. All of it an effort to reduce the chances of spontaneous events—good or bad—disrupting her life.

  Maybe she might even enjoy it.

  Outside, the not-so-distant roar of an accelerating engine drew her to the street-facing window. She pushed back the heavy curtain.

  One flight below, Way came to a stop at the curb. For a few seconds, she stood in the window, watching him climb off the bike with that easy confidence she’d noted the first time they’d met.

  All long legs and lean muscle, Way had…something. An innate calmness that drew her to him. He’d become the change that made her behave differently. Her own personal Chaos Theory.

  Not only was she breaking routine by heading out on a motorcycle—deathtrap, anyone?—she’d been canoodling with the target of her investigation.

  Complicated.

  But not enough to keep her from fluffing her hair and grabbing her leather jacket from the wall hook. As soon she opened the door, she heard Mrs. Tasky’s voice.

  “Well, Waylon Kingston, as I live and breathe. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

  Mrs. Tasky had no shortage of clichés.

  “I could say the same about you, ma’am,” Way said, his voice light and playful.

  Lord, Roni liked him.

  She reached the base of the stairs and met Way’s eye, but quickly broke the contact before the eagle-eyed B&B owner got any ideas about churning the Steele Ridge gossip mill. This late-night visit alone would get the town criers going.

  When Way glanced at Roni on the stairs, Mrs. Tasky angled back, eyeing her boots and jeans and jacket.

  “Hello, Miss Roni. Y’all going out?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry we disturbed you.”

  At least tonight Mrs. T hadn’t made it into curlers and a bathrobe yet.

  “Oh, nonsense. I was just watching my shows and doing a little needlepoint before bed. Where are you two off to?”

  Residents of small towns had no shortage of nerve.

  “It’s a nice night. I thought we’d go for a ride.” Way nodded at Mrs. Tasky and swung the front door open. “Shall we?”

  “We shall,” Roni said. “Good night, Mrs. Tasky.”

  “Y’all be careful now.”

  Advice that, in this case, came too late. Being careful would have meant Roni never leaving her suite.

  “We will, ma’am. You be sure to lock this door after us.”

  Waylon Kingston, Steele Ridge born and bred, had managed to end the conversation without being rude.

  Clearly, the man understood people. Whether that came from navigating small-town politics or his time as a Marine—probably both—he was skilled in the art of maneuvering.

  Something she’d be wise to remember.

  Way led her outside, closing the door behind them. Before Roni’s feet left the porch, Way glanced over at her. “You do realize that by eight a.m. the Triple B’ll be buzzing about us.”

  “I was afraid you’d say something like that.”

  He paused on the walkway and smiled at her. “Small towns, babe. Nothing stays private.”

  She peered back at the giant farmhouse where Mrs. Tasky peeped out the front window and held a hand up.

  “Lord,” Roni muttered.

  He laughed. “Eight a.m. Count on it. We can skip this, if you want.”

  “What good will that do? Everyone will still know you were here. If they’re going to gossip about me, I might as well not miss out on the fun of the ride, right?”

  He pursed his lips, and she assumed some smartass sexual innuendo might be in play.

  She smacked his arm. “Don’t say it. Not one word.”

  The two of them broke out laughing and, wow—that little zing of affection felt…good.

  Amazing even.

  For just those few seconds, she’d let it happen, let herself feel the rush of enjoyment without analyzing the ramifications. One light-hearted moment without worrying about giving herself over to a man and losing him.

  Her breath caught. Trapped. Right in her chest. She sucked in her stomach, held it for a moment as she swallowed.

  Put it away.

  She imagined holding a shovel, filling a hole, packing her sadness and anger away and stomping on the dirt to make sure the ache never came free. Stomp, stomp, stomp.

  But, ohmygod, he made her want to ditch the shovel. To stop isolating herself and chasing away good people in a twisted attempt to self-protect.

  When her eyes filled with tears—oh, just terrific—she blinked. Then blinked again. How much humiliation did she have to take?

  He tilted his head. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m so sor—”

  “No. Do not apologize for how you feel. Ever.”

  “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Tasky asked from the now open door.

  Humiliation complete.

  Way squeezed Roni’s arm and faced Mrs. Tasky. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Roni had to…uh…sneeze.”

  Sneeze?

  Now, that was ridiculous. Ridiculous enough that the tickle in Roni’s throat crawled all the way up and somehow turned into a laugh. A good solid one that had her slapping a hand over her mouth.

  Way looked at her, a bright smile lighting his face.

  “Are y’all drunk?” Mrs. Tasky asked, her voice heavy with disapproval.

  “No, ma’am. I can promise you that. We’re just…” He looked down at Roni. “Well, ma’am. I think we’re having some fun here.”

  Wouldn’t that make the busybodies euphoric?

  Well, screw it.

  She’d dealt with a lot of nonsense in her lifetime. Somehow, people gossiping about her seemed…okay. Better than okay. At least, in an odd way, it made her part of something. Something bigger than her isolated world.

  She peered back at Mrs. Tasky, who stood one hand on the door, more than ready to close it and get on the phone with her friends.

  “Eight a.m.,” Way muttered, reminding Roni that by morning the whole town would know about them.

  She moved closer to him and bit her lip. “As the song says, let’s give them something to talk about.”

  She went up on tiptoes—how she loved a tall man—wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, and dragged him to her. Their lips met. Unlike the last time they’d kissed, this one was…soft. Slow, even brushes of skin against skin that made Roni’s heart pump and swell and—God—when had she felt that before? Never. This was everything. Passion and safety and…calm.

  Zero chaos in this kiss.

  Setting her free hand on his chest, she patted the soft leather of his jacket. “You have a problem, Way Kingston.”

  “Honey, I have more than one.”

  She snorted. “True. But now you have another.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I think I’m crazy and I really like kissing you.”

  His lips twisted as he leaned in, resting his forehead on hers. “First of all, I like crazy. It’s never boring. And the kissing? If that’s what you consider a problem, it’s one I’d like a whole lot more of.” Then he smacked her on the ass. “Now, get on this bike before the phone lines combust.”

  * * *

  In Way’s mind, this was what rides should be. A nice night, the churn of heat raging in his body, an insanely sexy woman snug up against him while they enjoyed fresh air.

  He came to a stop sign and dropped one hand, setting it on her calf and giving her a pat. He loved touching her. Putting his hands against the soft curves of her body. And the places he’d yet to explore? Those haunted him. Kept him up at night.

  He checked both directions, then hit the throttle, his mind firmly on Roni. He’d take h
is time with her. Let it last. Because one thing was for sure, Roni Fenwick had no plans on staying. Based on the file Micki had put together, Roni was a runner.

  Her style of running differed from his. He disappeared when his family decided to get up in his business. With Roni it was deeper. Probably because the people she was supposed to be able to depend on had disappointed her.

  Abandoned her.

  He couldn’t blame her father for getting sick. Shitty luck. But her mother? What the fuck? Who walks out on their kid and doesn’t come back when she becomes orphaned?

  Best he could tell, opening up to people, allowing them to connect, wasn’t Roni’s thing. Too risky. He couldn’t blame her. With all the losses she’d suffered, why should she trust that people wouldn’t hurt her?

  Behind him, she shifted, tucking her thighs flush against him and tightening her hold on his waist. “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she responded via the Bluetooth system in the helmet. “Just getting comfortable.”

  Good. He liked her close like this. His body liked it, too. He pictured her, butt-naked and stretched across his bed, that unbelievable body of hers right there for him to feast on. An erection started to stir. Lord, if he didn’t do something with that tonight, he’d go fucking insane.

  “It’s fun being out here with you,” she said.

  “I had a feeling you’d like the bike.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s a solitary thing. I sense you like being alone sometimes.”

  “I do. Being alone is easy. I’m used to it.”

  Of all the things she might have said, that one hit him right in the gut. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her alone anymore. No matter where this thing with them went, he intended to share his pain in the ass family with her.

  “Well”—he let out a soft laugh—“welcome to Steele Ridge, where no one ever leaves you alone.”

  He made a left.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Figured I’d take you up the mountain. There’s a spot up there I like to stop at. You can see the town. It’s cool at night.”

  He hit the first curve, accelerating through it as Roni leaned with him, instinctively knowing not to knock them off balance as he navigated a series of switchbacks. As usual, the rush of roaring through the mountain’s curves brought a sense of euphoria, an absolute high he’d never get tired of.

  In short, he loved this. Loved it even more with Roni along for the ride.

  Headlights suddenly reflected in his mirror. Which, yeah, kinda pissed him off. Not that he owned the road, but he didn’t want to deal with people while having fun with Roni.

  The headlights flashed again, drawing his eye to the mirror. The car picked up speed, bearing down on them as he entered the next switchback.

  “Hang on,” he said to Roni via the Bluetooth. “I’m gonna put some distance between us and that idiot.”

  God help him if the asshole was drunk. With all these damned switchbacks, he’d run them all clear off the mountain.

  The dark mountain road closed in. He inhaled, then slowly released the air, focusing his mind. He’d ridden these roads hundreds, if not thousands, of times in the dark. Trees on his right dipped into a steep wooded drop-off that, if they went over, would kill them.

  No going over.

  That was for sure.

  On his left, a sheet of rock face climbed high into the air, the road literally wrapping around it for miles. Any escape would be straight on this road or roughly a mile and a half ahead, where a small patch of graveled shoulder served as an emergency area. If he could get there, he’d slide right in and let the asshole blow on by.

  Behind them, the asshole came out of the S curve they’d just maneuvered through and hit the gas. The sound of his engine gunning bounced off the rock face on the quiet mountain road.

  The front grill of the car reflected in Way’s mirror. Holy shit. This guy was nuts getting that close on these roads.

  Had to be drunk. Wasted or sober, he was too damned close.

  Way hit the throttle and the bike came alive, easily leaping forward, handling the curves like a champ. He shot through the next turn, the bike leaning far to the left, and Roni let out a gasp.

  “We’re good,” he said. “Stay with me.”

  Headlights reflected again as the car, unable to react as fast to the tricky road, came around the turn. He pushed the bike harder, increasing speed again.

  Way envisioned the next switchback. Hard left and a straightaway for maybe five hundred yards. And then, the emergency cutoff.

  He navigated the sharp turn with Roni glued to him. Once clear, he hit the throttle, shooting through the darkness and putting enough distance between them and the car to give him time to pull off.

  There it was. The sign for the emergency area.

  “I’m pulling over up here. We’ll let him go by.”

  “Thank God. He’s freaking me out.”

  “Yeah. Too dangerous on these roads. I can’t believe he hasn’t gone off the side.”

  The car’s headlights flashed as the guy came around the curve, but Way cruised into the cutoff, coming to a stop next to the six feet of guardrail at the edge of the cliff.

  He spun back, looking over Roni’s shoulder as the sedan barreled straight for them.

  Jesus. “Run!” he shouted into the Bluetooth.

  “What?”

  “Move it. Now!”

  They made a mess of tangling legs as they hopped off the bike. Roni’s foot caught on the seat, sending her stumbling, and Way’s pulse exploded. Panic surged. Shit, shit, shit. They had to move.

  He latched on to her arm, kept her from hitting the ground. She scrambled, her feet slipping against the loose gravel as Way damn near pulled her arm from the socket.

  He glanced around, his head swiveling, searching for shelter.

  The guardrail wouldn’t help. Nothing but a drop-off on the other side.

  A clump of trees behind where he’d pulled in.

  Only option.

  “Go!” he shouted. “To those trees!”

  The car’s gunning engine drew closer, the lights ricocheting off the guardrail. Fuck. This guy was about to take them all over the edge.

  “Jump!”

  Chest heaving, Way went airborne, dragging Roni through the air with him as he twisted around, hoping to take the brunt of the fall and cushion her.

  A bush clawed his face and something warm—blood—oozed down his left cheek. He landed on his side, the impact whipping his neck as Roni landed half on top of him.

  Ugh. Pain tore at his ribs, sending paralyzing shocks in all directions. Damn, that hurt.

  At least he’d taken the majority of the hit.

  He peered back at the road. The oncoming car.

  His bike.

  “No!”

  The driver slammed his brakes, ramming into Way’s bike, the one he’d rebuilt—tip-to tail—

  himself.

  No.

  Momentum carried it forward, pushing it toward the end of the guardrail. The horrendous screech of metal against metal echoed as the bike scraped against the guardrail.

  And then—gone. The bike tipped over the edge and, from the sound of crunching steel, crashed against rock, tumbling to the base of the mountain.

  Way leaped to his feet and sprinted straight for the car. The driver, submerged in the dark interior, stomped the gas and shot backward.

  Before Way reached the road, the driver stopped and the clunk of shifting gears sounded again.

  Tires spun, searching for traction and Way sprinted toward the car, catching up and grabbing hold of the door handle.

  Locked.

  Goddamnit. He banged his fist against the glass, trying to peer inside. Hat. The driver wore a black hat or something.

  The tires finally caught and the car lurched forward. Way pumped his feet.

  He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t run fast enough, and hanging on wasn’t worth the injuries he’d suf
fer.

  He let go, tripped and stumbled two, maybe three, feet.

  Going down.

  No doubt. Protecting his already banged-up ribs, he twisted his body, landing hard on his elbow.

  “Ach! Goddamnit!”

  A shock of pain lanced straight up his arm, smothering his shoulder and neck. He’d be lucky if he didn’t dislocate something.

  “Way?”

  Taillights rounded the descending curve and disappeared.

  Son of a bitch.

  Way sat up, found Roni charging toward him.

  “I’m okay,” he called. “Are you alright?”

  She halted in front of him and squatted. “You’re sure? Oh my God! That guy was crazy.”

  She reached for him. “Ow. Easy on the arm. My elbow is screaming. Fucker could have killed us. You sure you’re all right?”

  “I’m okay. I’ll be sore tomorrow, but okay.” She stood and held his good arm. “You should get up before another car comes around.”

  She helped him to his feet and dug into her jacket pocket, holding up her phone. “I’ll call for help.”

  “You didn’t happen to get the plate number did you?”

  “I sure did. I looked when he first pulled up behind us. He’s toast.”

  17

  “Way!”

  Ah, shit. The last voice he wanted to hear right now was that of his overbearing sister. He shot a look at Blaine—Deputy Do-Right, as Reid called him.

  “I didn’t call her,” Do-Right said. “Probably heard it on the scanner.”

  “Uh-oh,” Roni said. “She won’t be happy.”

  Way let out a sigh, then turned and found his sister, backlit by the spotlight the road crew had set up, in full-on charging bull mode. She wore workout tights and an oversized T-shirt he suspected was Jayson’s. Her hair was clipped back, the ponytail bobbing as she approached. Given her early morning workouts, she may have rolled out of bed for this event.

  Before she got close enough to blast him, he held up a hand. “Don’t freak. We’re fine.”

  Maggie, being Maggie, kept on walking, hurdling straight for him. This would not be fun.