Stolen Moments

by Bowie, Emily

  She nods, biting on her thumb, with her other arm crossed under her elbow.

  Looking at her, I get this gut reaction that I need to take her into my arms and kiss her. I try to push it down, telling myself it’s the freedom talking. But deep down, I know that isn’t the case.

  “Your radiator fluid is leaking.”

  “Shit!” Her swear comes out hoarse, making me chuckle.

  I’m about to ask her if she needs me to call anyone for her, only to remind myself I don’t have a cell phone yet.

  “Can I drop you off somewhere?” She stands there looking from her car to me, uncertainty once again showcased in her features.

  *

  Sloan

  “Can I drop you off somewhere?” Is that code for I’ve lost my puppy; will you help me find it? Shouldn’t everyone’s first response be to ask if I need to call someone? Well, that’s not true. Most people’s first response is to keep driving by. That happened with the first two vehicles that passed me.

  “Can I use your phone?” I ask, although I have no idea who I would call. I have no family that I care to inform of my whereabouts. My last living relative who I kept in touch with just died. Bless Granny’s heart. She was the only one to ever look out for me and love me the way I should be.

  His hand goes to the back of his neck, his bicep stretching the fabric while lifting the shirt up just enough to see a glimpse of his lower abs as he looks back at his truck then to me. “I forgot it at home,” he tells me. The answer seems forced, making me think he doesn’t want me to use it.

  “So you’ll give me a ride, but not let me use your phone.” I take a step toward him, popping my hip, ready for a fight. He towers over me, looking taller than six feet, while his stormy eyes pierce as they study me. The adrenaline from my week is coursing through me, and I forget that I probably shouldn’t be talking to strangers, never mind ones who have a thug edge to them. The urge to yell at him is stronger than all of the reasons why I should run away. Making this more therapeutic than anything, allowing all the stress I’m keeping locked in to come pouring out.

  His hands immediately push up. “Whoa. If you don’t want a ride, let me know who I should send back to you,” he says, clearly not up to the challenge.

  I try to block out how good he smells, his pine scent hitting me as he moves in protest of my temperament. Taking a step back for both of our own good, I try to relax before I do something stupid. He’s sexy enough to make my mouth dry up, with his chiseled hard jaw, dark, short hair, and eyes that seem to miss nothing.

  Now I feel like shit for taking out my day on this nice guy. He looks like my typical “type.” I hate that I have one of those, and for that reason alone he is clearly off limits, with a big red sign blinking over his head. He’s solid, looks in shape, tall, and rough around the edges. He holds himself with a dominance that could be dangerous. If he had tattoos, I would be sure this is a test, to see if I would fall back into my old habits. There is something about his deep gray eyes that tell my gut I should be able to trust him. My nipples pucker against my bra, liking my evaluation of him.

  Finally, I speak. “Sorry. It’s been a bad day.” I can’t offer much more of an excuse. “I would love if you could drive me into Three Rivers to a mechanic shop.”

  Even as the words come out, I know a mechanic shop would be useless. There is no way I could pay for the work that needs to be done.

  This man seems to have every nerve in my body firing, and each one pricking against my skin spikes my energy with nowhere to place it.

  His hands go into his pockets, and I scurry back into my car. I can’t help looking over my shoulder at him, waiting for my nerves to set in, but it never comes. Instead, seeds of excitement are placed inside me that I can’t explain or want. Double-checking for my pepper spray in my purse, I bring it out of my car, keeping it close, because one can never be too careful.

  He waits no time after I close my car door to head to the passenger side of his truck as I follow behind him. I’m shocked when he opens my door, reminding me that looks can be deceiving. I honestly didn’t think men did that unless they were on dates. In fact, I don’t think most of my dates did that even then.

  “Thank you.” I feel a smile fighting to surface, the first time in weeks I’ve felt that sensation run through me.

  Taking in a deep breath, I wonder how I can get my car back up and running. Leaning my head back, I close my eyes, giving myself a moment of peace. I remind myself to relax and a solution will come to me.

  When I don’t hear his—

  I pause, realizing I don’t know his name. Yup, I’m that girl. I shake my head in small little jerks. Oh well. His door still hasn’t opened, but I have heard his tailgate open and close. My eyes open one at a time, worried about what I might find, to see he’s crouching at the front of my car and the hood is down.

  At this point, I don’t care. Just let it be. Everything seems to be out of my hands anyway. I sit there in the front, my purse in my lap and my hand in my bag, grasping my pepper spray.

  “Sorry that took so long,” I look up to see him hopping into the driver side. “Thought I would tow you to the mechanic.”

  My head swivels toward the back window, and sure enough, it’s chained up behind us.

  “I wasn’t sure if I still had all of my old cables for the job back there, but sure enough, they’re right where I put them.”

  I nod. “Thank you.” My fingers loosen on the spray. I wait for him to elaborate to why he thought they might be gone, but he doesn’t. And all I want to do it get back to the house.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  A huge thank you to all of the bloggers and reads who enthusiastically spread the news about Stolen Moments. I am grateful for all that you do.

  To Sara: Thank you for your friendship, support, and encouragement. It means the world to me that you take time out of your day to read my unedited chapters and give me your insightful notes. One of the hardest things about being an author is taking a step back from my words and evaluating and listening my beta readers. I trust and respect you so much. Thank you for always being honest with me.

  To Jerilyn: I love all of your gifs and responses while you beta read for me. You catch things that I would never notice. Thank you for being my beta reader and friend. You are there for me day in and out, even when I ask you to look for photos for my cover. Thank you for helping me pick out my beautiful pictures for Stolen Moments.

  To Amber: Thank you for all of your notes and support for Stolen Moments. It takes a village to bring a novel to life. You helped bring valuable insight into this novel, and for that, I am so appreciative.

  To Megan: Girl you are a rock star. I don’t even want to imagine a world without your input. Thank you.

  At last, but certainly not least, thank you to my readers. You are the reason why I am here. I would love to hear your thoughts on Stolen Moments. Please leave a review, and be sure to email me your thoughts too! I love hearing from you. I can be reached at emilybowie82@gmail.com.

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  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Emily Bowie is from a small town in Western Canada. She has been making characters come to life through her writing since she was old enough to put her thoughts on paper. She loves her white wine cold, her heels red, and her books spicy.

  She married her
high school sweetheart and they have two amazing children.

  When she is not writing she can be found reading a good book, making digital scrapbooks and being physically active—whether it is at the gym, going for a walk, or playing/keep up with her children.

  OTHER BOOKS BY EMILY BOWIE

  Bennett Brothers Series

  Recklessly Mine (book #1)

  Recklessly Forbidden (book #2)

  Recklessly Devoted (book #3)

  Steele Family Series

  Stolen Moments (book 1, Shay Steele’s story)

  Moonlight Moments (book 2, Kellen Steele’s story) Coming May 15, 2019