God. Please, God.
He leaped onto the tracks. They thrummed beneath the soles of his shoes as he raced toward Erin, his focus on the bright blue of her sweatshirt. Panic and fear pinballed inside him, devastating everything in their paths, demolishing all his defenses, creating jagged splinters that slashed great tears in his easy-come, easy-go, what’s-to-get-riled-about approach to life.
The train’s whistle screamed, or maybe that was him.
His eyes burned, his lungs burned. They weren’t going to make it.
They had to make it.
With a desperate leap, he flung himself toward Erin, throwing his arms around her body, and using his momentum to propel them both over the side of the trestle. They landed with a thump, a fall of maybe five feet, and they lay there, plastered together, as the land-eel sped past.
Euphoria chased the adrenaline rushing through him as Knox, shaking, pressed his face to Erin’s hair and breathed in its scent in ragged gulps. They were okay. She was fine.
They were okay, he repeated to himself. She was fine.
But those thoughts faded away as she turned in his arms and he looked into her beautiful face.
She could have been killed.
Her cheeks flushed, Erin stared at him with wide eyes. “Scary.”
Unwilling to trust he still had a voice, he nodded, tightening his arms around her slender frame.
Her hand reached up to touch his cheek. “Are you all right?”
No. Now that the initial relief had passed, he knew something huge had happened to him. I almost lost Erin.
Terror moved through him again, rearranging critical pieces of himself in ways he could never describe. His chest ached, his temples throbbed, nausea filled his twisted gut. His bones rattled under his skin.
Oh, God. I almost lost Erin.
Anguish wrapped a fist around his heart and squeezed until it bled.
Nothing had ever hurt like this before.
Perhaps the train had hit him after all and this was hell.
“I was never so scared in my life, Deanne.” Erin held her phone to her ear with one hand and towel-dried her hair with the other. “I thought we were going to die.”
“And you could have,” her friend said, scolding. “That’s a terrible place to cross.”
Erin nodded, even though the other woman couldn’t see the movement. “My hands were still shaking when I started my next class.”
“You won’t forget that experience.”
For more than one reason. “The thing is…” Erin hesitated. “Um…”
“What?”
“I also never felt so alive.”
“What?” Deanne squawked. “When you almost became train-kill?”
“No,” Erin said, thinking back. It was the time spent with Knox, being around his vitality, his charm, his smoldering sexuality. Though his fire had been banked during their picnic, she’d sensed his heat beneath the surface. “It’s him. Knox. He makes me…fully alert. Aware of everything.” Her heartbeat. The tang of the salty air on her tongue. The way his palms lit every nerve as he drew them down her bare arms.
She tossed her towel into the hamper and picked up a comb. “The girl-meets-train near miss was just some danger frosting on the cake.”
Deanne groaned. “Maybe Rissa and I should have kept quiet on your birthday. We created a monster. A monster hungry for danger-frosted cake named Knox. Didn’t you say you needed tame?”
Somehow, though, the want of him had subdued her misgivings. “Come on, Deanne. You think he’s nice. The husbands liked him.”
“Yeah,” the other woman said, “but he’s passing through. He told you that. He told all of us that.”
Erin stared at her reflection in the mirror over her dresser. Her eyes appeared brighter with her face flushed from a hot shower. Beneath her thin terry robe, her skin twitched, her flesh so sensitive that the soft fabric seemed to chafe. It’s time to put yourself out there. Open up. Loosen up.
“Did you hear me, Erin? He’ll be gone soon.”
She pulled in a deep breath and cast a glance toward the windows. Darkness had settled over her house, but inside her something new glowed, brightening what she saw now had become a dull, too-mundane life. “Maybe that means I don’t have any time to waste.”
Things to do.
At Deanne’s surprised gasp, Erin ended the call.
She dried her hair. Donned her best underwear, then pulled on an oversized flannel shirt and leggings. As she struggled into a pair of knee-high sheepskin boots, she frowned. They’d be as difficult to strip off as they were to get on, right?
She exchanged them for ankle-skimming leather booties with short side zippers. Her heart bobbed in her chest as she inspected her outfit in the mirror. When was the last time she’d dressed for a man?
The act made her feel young and vulnerable…and so excited that her hands started to tremble again. Shaking them out, she headed for the makeup drawer in the bathroom where she hoped her heavy duty mascara hadn’t dried up from lack of use.
She hoped she hadn’t dried up from lack of use.
Features enhanced by her meager supply of cosmetics, she now gathered her purse and a jacket. Keys next. When she and Knox had made it back to the yoga studio that afternoon, some early students had been waiting, precluding a chance for private conversation. They’d not made any future plans.
But she knew the way to where he was staying. Finding his room should be a snap.
Armed with a cold six-pack of craft beer, she stepped from her car onto the cracked surface of the parking lot of the Rest Ezy Motel. She glanced around, taking in the two stucco stories, with spaces for vehicles aligned in front of the first-floor doors. The aroma of pizza drifted through the air.
Maybe she and Knox could order one to be delivered. After.
Her gaze settled on her dad’s old VW, parked in front of room 104, and she swallowed hard. Knox, her chance to walk on that wild side he’d promised, was just a few footsteps away.
Take a little walk with the rebel inside me.
It was those glimpses of the interior of him that intrigued her as much as the appealing outside package. There was a rebel there, she saw that, but he was also a canny businessman, a caring friend, and a son grappling with a fresh loss.
But she wasn’t here to plumb the depths of his soul, she reminded herself, taking a firmer grip on the beer carton. She didn’t have time for that. It wasn’t the purpose of their association. Tonight she simply wanted to end a six-year stretch of celibacy with a man who could make her burn with a single glance.
Room 104.
Blackout curtains covered the double-wide windows, though a slim line of yellow light leaked at their center. No sound reached her ears, but she thought the light and the van were evidence that Knox was within.
She stood in front of the door and trained her gaze on the beady eye of the peephole. Then, squaring her shoulders, she knocked.
The night’s normal sounds disappeared. The rush of tires along the bordering road, the tick-tick-tick of an engine cooling nearby, the hum of the Rest Ezy’s neon sign—V CANCY—now overridden by the loud thump of her heart in her ears. As the seconds stretched on, Erin placed her free hand against her chest and tried massaging the undisciplined organ inside.
Yet the door still remained closed.
She glanced around, wondering if he’d gone for a walk or out for food or if he stood under the spray of the shower, naked and wet, his big hand spreading soap lather over his pecs so that bubbles arrowed in twin trails to his groin.
Swallowing a moan, she knocked louder.
He’d hear that, wouldn’t he? Then turn off the water, sling a notoriously skimpy motel towel around his hips. It would take him eleven seconds to cross the rug and put his eye to the peephole.
He’d open the door in three…two…one.
Nothing happened.
Okay. He’s out walking then. She spun around, searching the area, then spun back. Or may
be not Room 104, she thought, lifting her gaze. 204?
There were concrete stairs at the end of the building. Her heels clattered against their surface, and she steadied herself by grasping the wrought-iron railing, pitted with rust. With a scowl of distaste, she wiped her gritty palm on the long tail of her shirt. If she’d had his cell number she would have called and invited him to her place.
Room 204 turned out to be another bust. No light peeped between the curtain edges. The door went unanswered.
Dejected, Erin descended the steps to the first level. She considered returning to her house, alone. Then she recalled the sensation of Knox’s strong arms around her. Not giving up yet.
Her gaze wandered to the motel’s tiny office. With her dad living and working just down the street, she didn’t feel like advertising to the clerk she was seeking a single male guest. In a small community such as this one, word could get back to Cass.
She looked at the van Knox had been driving again. Okay. Not Room 104. Not 204. But what about 105 or 106 or…?
With renewed resolve, she marched up to 105. Definitely occupied, because she could hear the TV from the other side of the door. Hauling in a deep breath—and telling herself that the third time was the charm—she rapped on the painted surface.
After a moment, it swung open releasing bright light, the sound of Monday Night Football, and a man she hadn’t seen in six years.
Erin gaped. “Wiley?”
His lean body was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt advertising an Austin rodeo. He was in stocking feet, but she could see his scuffed cowboy boots, tumbled behind him in the middle of the floor.
His gaze ran over her, and he scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Uh…”
Humiliation warred with fury. He didn’t remember her!
“Beer delivery?” he asked in a hopeful tone.
“No.” She backed away. “Not a beer delivery, but a big blunder.”
Just then his hand snaked out, and he caught her arm. “Wait, wait. Erin?” His eyes narrowed. “Erin Cassidy? Is it you?”
“Yes,” she hissed, tugging to free herself from his hold.
“Wow.” His grip didn’t loosen. “You’re even more beautiful now. I’ve been in the area a couple weeks—helping my aunt clean out her place now that she’s widowed—and I never thought you might still be around.”
“You might recall I’m from here,” she said, through gritted teeth. “And I came back here after you left me hundreds of miles north without gas or cash.” Only with the ridiculous “engagement ring” he’d fashioned out of the foil he’d peeled off a bottle of beer. Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she added. “I hope your aunt’s doing okay.”
Dropping his hand from Erin’s arm, he nodded. “Gettin’ better.” Then he rubbed his chin again. “About that gas and cash…”
“Never mind,” she said stiffly. “Just forget about it.”
He reached for her again, this time taking her hand in one of his. “Sweetheart,” he said, with a little smile that she remembered him wearing while they two-stepped around the dance floor at the country bar where they’d met. His thumb stroked the back of her hand. “Maybe I can make it up to you.”
Make up for abandoning her and crushing her hopeful, hapless heart? She didn’t think so.
Her voice rose. “Not going to happen. Now, if you’d return my hand?”
“I remember the way it felt on my skin those days and nights we had together.”
Those days and nights during which she thought they were planning to be “together” forever. She wanted to slap his handsome face and then stomp on his stocking-covered toes. “Let me go, Wiley.”
“Erin?”
Her head whipped around to see Knox strolling down the walkway, the door to Room 103 open behind him.
103. She nearly slapped her palm to her forehead.
Then he was standing beside her. His gaze traveled from Wiley to where the other man’s hand joined with Erin’s.
She attempted a discreet tug. He didn’t release her.
“Who’s this?” Knox asked, his expression cool.
“An old friend, Wiley Jones,” Wiley answered for her. “And we’re about to get reacquainted. My lucky night.”
“We’re not getting reacquainted.”
Knox’s brows rose. “You brought him beer.”
“I knocked on the wrong door.”
Those dark arches rose higher. “Is that right?”
“Like I said, my lucky night,” Wiley put in. “We knew each other…what? Five? Six years ago?”
This time she yanked so hard to repossess her hand that when he let go, she fell back a step. Knox caught her, bringing her against his body to nuzzle her temple.
“Darlin’,” he murmured in greeting.
He smelled of soap and his hair was damp, and she realized he’d had a recent shower, just like she’d fantasized.
“Give me your number,” Wiley said, gaze on her.
Knox’s answer was instant. “I don’t think so.”
Wiley’s eyes shifted, and his expression betrayed annoyance. “I’m not talking to you.”
“Well, I’m talking to you,” Knox said, drawing her closer with an arm around her waist. “And Erin’s not giving you her number.”
She glanced over her shoulder at him, eyes wide. That sounded distinctly…possessive, and he didn’t strike her as a possessive kind of man.
“Shouldn’t that be her decision?” Wiley challenged.
Knox’s set face didn’t flicker. “No.”
Then he turned Erin and guided her back down the walkway toward Room 103.
“Erin, sweetheart, you know where to find me!” Wiley called after them.
Knox pushed her through his door and shut it with a very final slam. She supposed that was a good enough last word.
But it left her facing a stone-faced man who looked nothing like the smooth charmer she’d become accustomed to. Unsure what to do, Erin crossed to the dresser and deposited the carton of beer on its surface.
“I didn’t like him touching you,” Knox suddenly said.
She glanced over her shoulder, to see his expression had turned perplexed. “I didn’t like it at all,” he added darkly.
“I didn’t want him to,” she offered. “He’s…he’s an old mistake.”
“Good,” Knox said, with a return of his usual male smugness. Then his gaze went to the beer. “Are we drinking together?”
“I came over so we could go to bed together,” Erin admitted. Why not?
Knox stilled and the air went electric.
In response, her nerves rioted. “But,” she hastened to add as he began prowling forward, “that run-in with Wiley has killed the mood.”
“Really?” Knox’s gaze shifted from her eyes to her mouth.
“Really.” She realized now that the top button of his jeans was unfastened and that he must have hastily thrown on his shirt, because the pale blue chambray fabric wasn’t buttoned at all. The sides fluttered as he advanced, giving her distracting glimpses of tanned skin and taut muscle. Erin pressed her spine to the dresser, the beer bottles clinking against each other like warning chimes.
Still, he got close enough that she could feel his body heat, and her breaths drew in the clean scent of him. One blunt male fingertip reached out and traced the curve of her cheek. Her heart jumped, and goose bumps raced down her neck to fan out beneath her clothes.
Her nipples tightened.
“Killed the mood…” he mused, stroking her face again. “You know, that’s an almost irresistible challenge...”
Chapter 7
Knox didn’t know what was happening to him. Staring down at Erin, he noted her unsteady breaths and the flush across her cheekbones. Signals that turned his cock to iron and his willpower to mush.
After the incident with the train, he’d decided against getting further involved with her. Not only did she too easily worm her way beneath his boundaries, but those moments of fear for
her had thoroughly unsettled him.
Fucked him up.
But then tonight he’d heard her voice beyond his door, a clear note of distress in it, and he’d rushed from his room…
To see another man’s hand on her.
Red had filmed over his vision, and he’d barely resisted throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her back to his bed like a caveman with a prize.
Hell. He’d always been smoother than that. More laid-back.
Now he touched one of her downy eyebrows, following its curve, and realized, in some wonder, that his hand was trembling.
“Yes,” he whispered. “I think I’m going to have to put you in the mood again.”
Like an otter, she squirmed away from the cage of his body. Standing in the middle of the room she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “I’ve had enough arrogant male attitude for one night.”
Not enough to send her skedaddling to her car. But Knox decided against pointing that out, and instead plucked two of the beers from the carton. He popped the tops, then offered a bottle to her.
Her eyes wary, she came close enough to snatch one away, then retreated again. “What should we drink to?” he asked, considering. “Chance meetings with old mistakes?”
“Never.” She pushed out her bottom lip. “That man owes me one-thousand five-hundred and twenty-six dollars, seven gallons of gas, and my self-respect.”
“Poor Erin,” he murmured, trying to sound calm when all he wanted to do was go back to that other room and take every stolen cent out of that asshole’s hide. But he was smart enough to know that would do nothing for the missing self-respect. Or the seduction he had in mind.
Crossing to a chair in the corner, he dropped into it and crossed his legs. “What happened? You staked him in a poker game? Bought his story about a close relative needing a critical operation? Gave him tuition money for stupid school?”
Even that didn’t cause a smile. “I agreed to marry him.”
“Oh.” Knox blinked, then brought his beer to his mouth for a deep drink.
“Yeah,” Erin said, the single syllable full of self-disgust. She tipped her bottle back for her own long swallow.
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