by T. K. Leigh
“But what is this? What’s going on?” He repeats his same line of inquiry from yesterday.
I shake my head. “I have no idea. But I want to find out. On my own.”
Creed peers at me through worried eyes, then eventually relents. “Yes, sir. Safe travels today.”
A part of me wants to ask him what he discovered about Nora, what could have him so concerned. To say I’ve been intrigued about this woman from the moment I laid eyes on her is an understatement. If I know Creed, he put together a thorough background check, leaving no stone unturned. Hell, he could probably even tell Nora a few things about her she doesn’t know.
But I want to feel normal. There’s nothing normal about having a background check run on anyone you hope to have a meaningful relationship with. So, instead of pressing for more information, I say goodbye to Creed, then close the door to the SUV and continue through the parking lot. When I walk into the hotel’s lobby, I offer a smile of thanks to the front desk clerk, raising the tray to let her know I found the coffee shop she’d recommended.
The corridor is silent as I step off the elevator and make my way toward Nora’s room. A thrill of excitement fills me over the prospect of seeing her again. It’s a strange reaction for me, one I didn’t think I’d experience again.
Balancing the tray with one hand, I bring my other up to the door, about to knock, when it flies open. I freeze, as does Nora when she notices me standing there.
As opposed to last night when she was fresh from a shower, her face bare and hair tousled, her appearance this morning is as impeccable and perfect as it was when I first saw her. Makeup covers her face, hiding any mark she deems an imperfection. Her hair no longer sports the messy waves, now straightened and pulled into a tight ponytail at her nape, not a single strand out of place.
She’s stunning. She always is. But I miss the other Nora, the one from last night. I doubt many people get to see that version of her. I doubt she wants people to see that version of her. The messy, wild Nora. The one who doesn’t pretend to have her shit together.
“I thought we were going to meet in the lobby at nine.” Her voice pulls me back to the present.
“I got up early and found somewhere that serves decent coffee.” I remove a cup from the tray, handing it to her. “Wasn’t sure what you preferred, so I took a guess,” I tell her as she takes a sip, appreciation covering her expression.
“Americano. One of my favorites. Lucky guess.”
I shrug. “Perhaps. I like to call it more of an…educated guess.”
“Educated? How so?”
“Based on your personality. You seem the type of woman who prefers her coffee like she prefers her men.” I take the handle of her suitcase from her, rolling it down the hallway and toward the elevator, pressing the call button.
She leans against the wall, folding an arm over her stomach, using her other hand to bring her coffee back to her lips. “And how do you think I prefer my men?”
I erase the distance between us, her delicious scent of lavender and baby powder filtering into my nostrils. The same scent that covered my t-shirt last night when I returned to my room. The same scent that surrounded me as I slept in that t-shirt, refusing to take it off, although I’m usually more comfortable sleeping shirtless.
“Strong and bold.”
The vein in her neck throbs, drawing my attention to it. What I wouldn’t give to flick my tongue against it and find out if her skin tastes as delicious as I imagine it does. If she were anyone else, I would. I’d have my fun, then walk away. But something tells me Nora isn’t the type of girl you throw away. Something about her makes me think she could give me everything she has and it still wouldn’t be enough. I’d still want more. That’s the kind of power this woman holds over me, even after only a few days. Creed was right. This woman is dangerous. Just not in the way he thinks.
“At least that’s how I hope you like your men. I consider myself strong and bold. Don’t you?” I straighten slightly, meeting her eyes with a single brow cocked.
A loud ding rips through the silence, and she pushes against me, walking into the waiting elevator. “I’m not sure I’d use those words.”
“Humor me then. How would you describe me?” I press the button for the lobby and the doors close, the elevator lurching to a start.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
My gaze unwavering, I slowly nod. “I’m on pins and needles, gorgeous.”
“Well then, I’d be more inclined to classify you as…an acquired taste.”
My free hand flies to my heart, feigning pain. “Ouch. You wound me, m’lady.”
A brilliant smile lights up her face, her giggles infiltrating me as the elevator doors open to the lobby.
“Sometimes that’s a good thing,” she comments as she waves a polite goodbye to the front desk clerk before we step outside. “It’s better than being referred to as the chicken of the gene pool. Don’t you think?”
“The chicken of the gene pool?” I repeat.
“Exactly. No one gets excited about chicken. It’s what you make for dinner when you’re not sure what else to eat. It’s the standby. When you go out to eat, do you ever order chicken?” She looks at me as she approaches the passenger side of the Wrangler. I open it for her, helping her in.
“Not unless I’m in the south and it’s fried. I’d argue if you’re in the south and don’t have fried chicken, you’re missing out.” I close the door, then place her suitcase next to mine in the rear compartment before jumping behind the wheel.
“Chicken isn’t an acquired taste. It’s not unusual. There was never a time you didn’t like chicken, right?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Well, how about caviar? Or sushi?” Her eyes become intense, an urgency about her. “Please tell me you like sushi.”
“I love sushi.” Although I’m technically not supposed to eat it.
“Phew.” She brushes a hand over her brow. “Otherwise, I’d have to find some other schmuck to cart my ass across the country.” She winks as I crank the ignition and put the Wrangler into first, steering toward the main road. “Sushi is an acquired taste. Not something you like as a child. It grows on you. At first, you don’t think you’ll ever enjoy it. That on its surface it doesn’t appeal to you.”
“I’m not sure I like where this is heading. Are you trying to tell me that on the surface, you don’t find me appealing?”
She squints, her brows wrinkling in contemplation as she chews on her bottom lip. “I guess what I’m trying to say is the last thing I wanted was to meet someone new. All I wanted was to have some time to myself. To take this journey on my own.” On a long inhale, she tilts her eyes toward mine. “But the more time I spend with you, the more you grow on me.”
Heat radiates through me, a wide smile covering my expression.
“But don’t gloat or let that go to your head,” she snaps. “It was either I suffer driving with you or be stuck in St. Louis.” She shrugs dismissively. “It was a no-brainer.”
“Oh, come on.” I drape my arm around her shoulders, brushing my fingers along her exposed skin. A visible shiver rolls through her, her face becoming flushed. She lowers her sunglasses over her eyes to hide her reaction, but she can’t hide from me. “You’re glad I’m here.”
“Maybe.”
When I remove my arm from her to shift into fourth, I notice her expression fall slightly.
“I’ll take maybe. Who knows? By the time we reach California, I might be able to turn that maybe into a yes.”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” she snips playfully.
I flash her a devious grin. “Is that a challenge?”
“And if it is?”
I lean toward her as we come to a stop at a red light. “Then I should warn you.” My eyes skate over her face, settling on her plump lips, my tone becoming more sensual. “I love a challenge.”
Chapter Fifteen
Nora
“Where are
we?”
Grabbing the Route 66 guidebook out of my bag, I flip through it, trying to figure out what landmark this could be. I glance out my window, looking for something I’d recognize. Instead, all I see is a chain-link fence with a “No Trespassing” sign on it.
“Thought we could use a little break.” With a wink, Anderson jumps out of the Jeep, hurrying around to open my door.
“Break? We’re in the middle of nowhere.” I take his hand, allowing him to help me out.
“Only if you don’t think there’s anything worthwhile around.”
“What’s worthwhile about this spot? Don’t you see the ‘No Trespassing’ sign? Or did they not teach you how to read at that hoity-toity London prep school of yours?”
“They taught me how to read…” He levels his gaze on me as he cracks open the rear half-door of the Jeep, retrieving a black backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. “And a few other things, too.” He slams the door shut, then heads toward the fence, grabbing onto it and scaling it.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout, looking around, worried we’re about to get caught.
“What does it look like? I’m jumping the fence.”
“Why? To check out an empty field? I’m sure we can find plenty of other empty fields that don’t have ‘No Trespassing’ signs posted. Getting shot is not on my list.”
“You won’t get shot,” he assures me, then stops short. “At least I don’t think you will.” He winks before hoisting himself over the top of the fence and jumping to the ground. Dusting off his shorts, he turns around to face me. “Okay. Your turn.”
I gesture to my sundress. “Sorry. I didn’t exactly wear fence-scaling clothes.”
“I know.” He waggles his brows mischievously.
“Is that why you’re doing this? Are you so desperate to catch a glimpse of women’s panties you have to come up with some elaborate scheme to do so?”
He steps toward the fence, his blue orbs darkening, raw hunger dripping from every inch of him. His powerful stare makes my knees weaken, goosebumps prickling my skin.
“Trust me, gorgeous. I’ve seen more than my fair share of women’s knickers. Some crotchless.”
My eyes bulge, but I shouldn’t be surprised at how shameless he is. He’s proven he can be quite the flirt at times. At others, he seems as lost and tormented as me. I never know which version of Anderson North I’ll get. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. I find each one endearing.
“I’m sorry to report I don’t own any crotchless panties… Or knickers, as you call them,” I imitate in a horrific British accent. “You’ll have to settle for my granny panties.”
He leans down, his mouth practically even with mine through the links in the fence. “I don’t believe for a second you’re wearing granny panties.”
“What makes you say that? I didn’t come on this trip with an eye toward getting laid.”
Hooking my fingers into the links, I carefully scale the fence to the best of my ability. At least I’d traded the flip-flops I almost wore for my Egyptian sandals that lace up my calves, mainly to draw Anderson’s attention to my legs. Now I’m drawing his attention to a lot more than my legs.
“Because I know for a fact that’s not the case.” He steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. It takes everything I have to focus on what I’m doing, not the way his muscles stretch the fabric of his t-shirt.
“Care to explain how?” I ask, approaching the top.
“Because…” He smirks. “You left your suitcase open last night.”
I freeze, gripping the chain link with so much force my knuckles turn white. All I can think about is the gift my friends got me for my road trip — the Mercedes Benz of all vibrators.
“Don’t worry. I’m not about to ask about the vibrator, although I’m certainly intrigued.”
I close my eyes, wishing a freak storm would roll in, causing lightning to strike me dead right now.
“But that’s how I know you’re not wearing granny panties. My guess is you chose the pale pink knickers today. Girly and feminine. Like that dress.” His gaze dances with amusement as it skates over me before his expression turns serious once more.
“Now, here’s where it gets tricky. You’ll need to hoist yourself up over the top, then push off.” He holds out his arms. “I’ll break your fall.”
I follow his instructions, although I’m surprised to learn I don’t need them. Granted, it’s been years since my brothers taught me to scale a fence when I was a teenager, but it’s like riding a bike. You never forget. Muscle memory kicking in, I angle away from Anderson and push off the fence, dismounting with ease, just to prove a point.
“Like that?”
He stares at me, dumfounded. “Exactly like that.”
I start to brush past him, but pause, leaning into him. “And you’re wrong,” I murmur seductively, my lips skimming his neck. “They’re yellow today.”
Every muscle in his body hardens, his breathing growing ragged and uneven. I linger near him, drawing it out until he’s on the verge of breaking. Then I retreat, swaying my hips. I can feel the greed in his stare from several yards away.
“So, care to tell me what we’re doing here?” I ask when he manages to catch up to me after taking a moment to compose himself.
“Doing something different.” He grabs my hand, pulling me deeper into the field.
When a large, tattered, white screen comes into view, the remnants of what was once a drive-in movie theater, he drops his hold on me, setting his backpack on the ground. He kneels and unzips it, revealing what appears to be a professional camera. At least it looks much more professional than any camera I’ve ever used.
I watch in awe as he pulls out a lens and twists it onto the body of the camera. After fiddling with it, he brings it up to his eye, making a few adjustments before the sound of the shutter echoes around us.
“So you like photography,” I state.
He looks up from the camera, contemplating a response. “Used to. I kind of got away from it for a while.”
“What made you pick it up again?”
He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. “Regret.” His answer hangs heavy in the air between us until he returns his attention to the camera.
I turn from him, taking this opportunity to meander through the tall grass and weeds. Rays of sun shine between the clouds, illuminating patches of the overgrown field. Butterflies flit by in the distance, birds swooping from tree to tree.
I can almost picture what this place was like back in the day. Back before the interstate cut off Route 66. Weary travelers stopped here for a break from reality for a few hours after driving all day. Now, the only vestiges of the past are the ripped and battered screen, the projection house covered in graffiti, and a few of the old speakers customers had to hang inside their car to have sound.
“How old do you think this place is?” I ask.
“My guess is fairly old.”
I glance over my shoulder, my breath hitching when I notice Anderson’s attention no longer focused on his camera, but is on me instead. There’s something in his gaze that leaves me breathless. It’s not the carnal want that covered his expression minutes ago. It’s different. Respect. Veneration. Longing.
The air crackles with intensity as I fully face him, a gravitational pull beckoning me closer.
“Stop,” he orders in a gruff voice.
I halt abruptly. Then he raises the camera and snaps a picture.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking your photo.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re beautiful, Nora. Especially now that you’re starting to relax around me and let me see the real you.” He takes a few more photos, checking them before clicking several more.
“You’ve always seen the real me,” I insist, although my voice lacks conviction.
His mouth curves into a smile. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Why? You barely know me.”
<
br /> “True, but I know me.”
I swallow hard. “And?”
“And you and I are a lot alike. We’ve both been hurt. We’ve both done everything to piece our lives back together. We’ve put up a wall so no one can see how fucked up we really are. We’ve become masters at fooling everyone around us. I’d even go so far as to say we’ve even fooled ourselves.”
I blink away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes, wondering how this man, this stranger, can see through me with such clarity. We’ve known each other less than forty-eight hours. Yet he seems to know me on a deeper level than anyone else.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe we are alike. Maybe that was why I felt this strange camaraderie toward him before I even knew his name.
“But you make me want to stop lying to myself. Make me want to be real again.” He furrows his brow, as if his words surprise him. “You make me want to know the real you, too.”
I lift my gaze to his, losing myself in him as he stands a breath away. “I don’t even know who that is anymore,” I whisper.
“Then let me help you find her.”
When he reaches for me, I tilt my head back, every torturously long second causing the thundering in my heart to increase. The way he focuses on my lips, I expect him to grip my cheeks and pull me toward him, sealing his mouth over mine. And despite my reservations yesterday, I won’t stop him.
Instead, he tugs on the band securing my ponytail in place, freeing my hair from its binding.
“We’ll start with this.”
“My…hair?”
“Yes. You need to let your hair down. Literally. Life is messy. Your hair should reflect that.” He burrows his fingers into my locks, tousling them, then steps back to admire his work.
A wind blows through, whipping my hair in front of my face. I attempt to smooth it behind my ears, but Anderson’s voice stops me.
“Don’t. Don’t move.”
His demanding tone hits me deep in my core and I drop my hands, barely breathing as he raises his camera, feverishly snapping my photo from a variety of angles.