Terminal 19

by L. R. Olson

  They grow quiet again, and between the downcast glances, I realize it was the wrong thing to ask. Lovely. This party is getting worse by the minute.

  Max takes a drink of his beer. “She died.”

  The words hit me like a punch and I feel guilty as hell bringing it up. “I’m so sorry.”

  He gives me a tight smile and nods. I know that look. Sorry doesn’t cut it. Sorry doesn’t help. And because I know better than to continue, I drop the subject and eat, while they make small talk around me.

  Audrey smiles and teases Max, trying too hard to lighten his dour mood. Christian is quiet beside me and I can’t help but feel that it’s my fault. Didn’t I bring up Christian’s type? Didn’t I ask about Max’s sister? This socializing thing is more complicated than I realized.

  As I take in their faces, these people I’ve come to care about in such a short time, and see the darkness there, lurking within their gazes, I’m reminded again that death doesn’t just affect the dead. It affects the living much, much more. When I’m gone my mom will be devastated, Beth will be lost.

  And Christian….he won’t have to know. He won’t have to mourn because I’m not telling him. In a few days I’m leaving. In a few days this will be just a memory. Sure, he might want my email or number. We’ll text. Write. But I’ll make sure our contact fades off, and he’ll forget all about me once he returns to school. It happened with most of my friends, it will happen with him too. But I’m not angry.

  He’ll forget about me. Move on. Just as it should be. Just as I planned.

  ****

  An hour later I’m in the bathroom brushing my teeth and pinching my cheeks to add some color when I hear Max and Audrey retire to their room. I’m thinking over what Audrey and Max have divulged.

  Christian has a hero complex.

  It’s a thought I don’t want to dwell on. I want him to see me as strong. I want him to see me as…me, not a problem. I pick up the blue bottle of aftershave on his bathroom shelf and pop off the lid. His scent. It’s something Norwegian. Maybe I can buy it online because I’m going to miss that scent.

  I replace the bottle, smooth down my skirt, and head back down the stairs. The house is quiet. Christian is sitting outside alone. I pause for a moment, watching him through the doors. The wind tousles his hair, plasters his shirt to his chest. There’s a quietness about him that pulls to me. He looks at peace here, as if he belongs.

  At the same time, there’s something about him I can’t ignore. A weight that he carries. We all have our demons to battle, my father told me once. What are his demons? He’s a good guy. Charming. Smart. But there’s something else too…something he doesn’t let others see. A pain, a darkness.

  I open the door and step out into the chilly night. He reaches for my hand, and pulls me toward him. There is a connection between us I can’t deny. I settle on his lap, his thighs hard and muscled under my bottom. The light upstairs goes off, and the backyard is thrown into darkness.

  It’s quiet. Finally so quiet. The tourists are gone. The only sound is the wind through the trees and bushes, rattling the leaves. His body is warm, comforting underneath me. Christian tugs at my sweater sleeve until the collar falls down off my shoulder. The cool air whispers against my skin right before he presses his mouth there. I close my eyes on a blissful sigh and sink into him. In this moment I realize I could stay here forever.

  His hand rests on my bare knee, his other arm around my waist. Desperate, I turn my face toward him and find his lips. As he kisses me, slowly, ever so slowly, as his hand moves up my thigh, under my skirt. I gasp against his mouth. He feels good. So damn good. I wrap my arms around his neck, holding him tight, clinging to him, knowing he’ll keep me safe. Secure.

  “Don’t go to Sweden,” he murmurs against my lips. “Stay here.”

  If I stay here, the lie will continue for another week. If I stay here, our connection will deepen. His hand reaches the top of my thigh. I can barely think, let alone form a coherent thought. His finger traces the elastic band of my panties. Oh. Dear. God. I’m going to die.

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Just say yes.” He tilts his head back and meets my gaze, even as his finger traces the outline of my underwear. He’s taunting me. Making me frantic. Seducing me. “You don’t need to see Sweden anyway. You saw it across the water.”

  I laugh, a strangled, desperate sound. We need to end this. I should push his hand away, stand up. Leave. I can’t. He slides his finger underneath the elastic band. I bury my face into his shoulder and bite my bottom lip to keep from moaning. When his thumb brushes my clit, I jump, gasping. His arm tightens, holding me safe, captive.

  “Stay with me,” he murmurs, right before he kisses me.

  Our tongues entwine. He tastes of mint. Of him. There are so many things I should say. Things we need to discuss before this goes on. Instead, I focus on his mouth. The feel of his velvet tongue as it rubs against mine. The rough texture of his fingers as he pushes them down…down, through my sleek folds.

  One more time, one more kiss, one more touch, I tell myself. Just one more, and then I’ll pull back from him, mentally, physically, emotionally. The ache low in my belly flares, tightening almost painfully. Once more, and then I’ll end it all. Look for a hotel in Sweden. Plan my escape. I arch my hips, pressing against his palm. One more.

  His mouth is on mine as he slides his finger inside of me. I’m starving for this man. Addicted to him. My body is no longer my own. I have no control and rock my hips, taking him deeper. His finger slides in and out of me while his thumb brushes my clit and his tongue devours my mouth. The heat builds. I feel surrounded by him. His scent. His touch. His very being.

  I realize with a start that I could fall for him. The truth pierces my lust. Suddenly, I’m not sure who I’ll be saving if I leave….him or me. The tightly held control on my emotions is wavering. If the dam bursts, I know I’ll drown in feelings I’m not prepared to handle.

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, even as my hands run under his shirt and I soak up his warmth. “I have to go soon. It won’t end well.”

  His finger is still inside me. “Are you worried you’re getting too attached to me?”

  I release a husky laugh. Whether he’s joking or not, it’s the truth. “Yes.”

  “I could get addicted to you,” he whispers against my lips, not helping the matter. He’s supposed to be rational about this. “Your scent drives me insane. I can smell you on my sheets, my pillows. Do you have any idea how good you smell?”

  His words destroy me, make me weak and vulnerable. I mumble something indecipherable as I run my hands up under his t-shirt and over his muscles. I want to trail kisses down his chest, over his stomach. I want to taste him in my mouth. I start to tug his shirt over his head when the back porch light from the rental cottage next door comes on. My hands freeze against his stomach. Damn it all to hell.

  “Shhh,” he whispers, a flash of white teeth that tell me he’s enjoying this a little too much. “They won’t notice.”

  I’m trembling in his arms. I can’t move, afraid of drawing attention to us. He shifts under me. I slide farther down onto his lap, and his finger goes deeper. I suck in my sharp gasp. It’s dark, but a patch of light shines from their porchlight and lands about five feet from where we sit.

  His thumb presses against that sensitive spot. A shock wave of pleasure bursts through me. I bite into his shoulder to muffle my groan. I shouldn’t move, but I can’t help myself. Don’t care if all of Norway is watching. I rock against him, desperate to ease the tension.

  “Y’all, I can’t believe how expensive food is!” someone says in a southern accent that reminds me all too much of home, when I want to forget. “It’s ridiculous.”

  Christian’s breath is harsh and hot against my neck. He wants me. I can feel it in the tense lines of his body. The bulging erection pressing hard and hot to my ass. I rock against him once more and a low growl rumbles in his chest.

&
nbsp; “And the waiter was so gosh darn rude,” another woman replies.

  “I know!” Someone huffs in exasperation. “Who doesn’t give refills on soda?”

  Christian kisses my neck. A shiver races down my spine. I can hear champagne being opened next door, laughter of the ladies, but it’s like a dream. A hazy dream. Right now, my only reality is Christian and his body, Christian and his touch.

  He slowly pulls his finger from me, and I assume we’re going to finish this in his bedroom. Instead, he slides another finger deep inside me. I bite down hard on my bottom lip. He’s not done. I should push his hand away. I should stumble off his lap and race inside to maintain a bit of modesty. Instead, I hold perfectly still. His tongue darts out and he licks my neck, teasing me. I shiver. It’s too much. He’s too much.

  And then his thigh starts moving, his fingers surging in and out of me, as his thumb works its magic on that perfect spot. It’s all consuming. The sensations overwhelm me. My entire body is trembling as I try to hold back. In some ways this feels even more confusing, scarier than the first time we were intimate. I’m trusting him to take care of me. Trusting him that we won’t get caught.

  “Come for me,” he demands in a breathless whisper near my ear. “Now.”

  Just when I think I’ll go insane from the ache, I come. I bite into his shirt and muffle my cries as I pulse around him. He’s just made me come outside, in public, where the neighbors could look over the hedges and see us. Where someone from that skyscraper on the hill in the back could notice. I don’t care.

  Slowly, I float back into my heavy, sated body, aware of his scent clinging to me. Aware of his throbbing erection still demanding attention against my bottom. I smile a slow, seductive smile and imagine what I’d like to do to him in return. There’s no time for modesty.

  “Oh, hello there,” a woman calls out.

  I stiffen. We’ve been spotted. My face heats even as I tell myself I look like I’m merely sitting on his lap for a cuddle. They have no idea his finger is still inside me. No idea that his hands have worked their magic…again.

  Christian grins. He’s amused by this. Bastard. “Hello,” he calls back. “Enjoying your visit?”

  Fortunately, my back is to her, she can’t see my heated face, hear my harsh breath. “Yes, very lovely. We’ll make sure to keep it down.”

  “No worries.” Christian slides his finger out of me, a slow and delightfully torturous moment where I have to swallow my groan. He stands, helping me to my feet. He’s got a raging erection that’s pressing to his jeans but my skirts cover it.

  I get my first look at the woman spying over the fence. She’s all eagerness and watchful eyes. The kind of neighbor who bakes you a dish, just to get the latest gossip she can share. We had one of those when I first became ill. Mrs. Fought would bring over food, listen sympathetically to my mom, tell her it was in God’s hands, and she would pray for us, then hurry to the other neighbors to give the latest gossip on that poor Reynolds family.

  Christian takes my hand. “We were just going inside.”

  I smile sheepishly at them. “Have a good evening.”

  His grip is tight, his pace quick, so fast I can barely keep up. He’s desperate, I realize. He needs the same release I experienced moments ago. That low ache returns, my desire flares. I know exactly what we’ll do when we reach his room. I’ve become a sex fiend.

  “What a sweet boy, and cute too, did you see him?” I hear the woman ask her friend. “And the girl…”

  “You,” I hiss when he closes the French doors. My body is still humming from his touch. I can feel the imprint of his hands on me, his fingers inside me. “Are unbelievable.”

  Slowly, he turns toward me. “But you enjoyed it.”

  There’s a heat in his gaze that makes me shiver, makes me nervous and excited all at once. That area between my thighs still tender, and throbs to life. He starts toward me, his steps determined, his gaze piercing.

  My heart hammers madly and I stumble back. “Maybe. It was…nice.”

  “Nice?” He tugs his shirt over his head, dropping it to the couch. “Nice? Did you think we were done?”

  I can’t help but drop my gaze to his chest, to his pecs, and biceps that flex as he moves. To the six pack that ripples as he walks. My hands curl. I want him. Already, I want him again. He’s still stalking toward me when I spin around, racing up the stairs, knowing he follows.

  Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I’ll decide what to do.

  Chapter 12

  Go to a European Dance Club

  Be Accosted in a European Dance Club

  The sound of the shower turning off wakes me. I don’t move, merely remain curled in the warm, soft bed, too comfortable to leave. The bathroom door creaks open and through my lashes I watch as Christian walks toward me, his hair slicked back, a towel around his waist. My hands curl into the soft, down comforter. I want to tear that towel from his waist.

  With a grin, I snuggle even farther into the bed. The scent of clean male assaults me. It’s everywhere in this room and I breathe it in greedily. I’d worn one of his t-shirts to bed. Unable to help myself, I’d thrown it on last night just because it smelled like him. He didn’t protest, merely smiled as if pleased. I might have to steal it when I leave.

  His muscles flex as he lowers to sit beside me. The bed dips and I curl on my side, nestling up to his hip. How amazing it would be to wake up to him every morning. I squash the thought as soon as it enters, annoyed with myself.

  “Morning,” he says softly.

  He leans over and presses his mouth to mine. It was supposed to be a quick kiss, but I wrap my arms around his neck and urge him closer. With a growl, he covers me, his heavy body delicious and comforting. His towel slides loose and I can’t help but run my hands over his tight ass. Death has made me bold, daring. Or maybe Christian has.

  “Come back to bed?” I murmur. “Pretty please?”

  He smiles against my lips. “I wish. I’m supposed to go hiking with Max and our friend, Rafe. You up for a hike?”

  I pull back, looking at him as if he’s insane. “Like…up mountains?”

  Norway isn’t exactly flat country.

  He laughs, a deep rumble, those gorgeous eyes crinkling at the corners. “Something like that.”

  “Uh, no.” Please, I’d pass out from exhaustion. Besides, I’ve been wondering how I was going to sneak away to visit the clinic and have my blood drawn, and now I don’t have to worry about an explanation. “No way.”

  He’s grinning when he kisses me again. “Alright. You don’t mind if I go, do you? It’s something that was planned—”

  “No.” I smooth my hands up his back, kneading the tight muscles. “Not at all.”

  He kisses me again. This time his tongue sweeps into my mouth, rubbing against mine. I’m lost. My fingernails dig into his back and my thighs spread underneath him in open invitation. He growls, a low growl that rumbles through me. We’ve never had morning sex…

  I’m not surprised when he pushes his hard erection against me. That pulse between my legs flares to life. We have four days left. Four days. Just the thought makes my chest feel tight with an emotion I don’t want to dwell upon. I want him. Want him inside me. As often as possible these next four days.

  He growls low and pulls away, pressing his lips to my cheek, lower to my neck. “Perhaps I can text him and tell him something came up.”

  I grin. “Something is definitely up.”

  “Dirty girl,” he murmurs against my collarbone.

  Only the blanket is between us, but I can feel his steel cock straining against the duvet. He travels back up my body and finds my lips. I bring my knees up, digging my toes into the bed and arch my hips into him.

  “I’m definitely canceling,” he murmurs.

  I laugh, shoving my hands against his chest. The room has become way too hot. That fiery ache is waking, burning low in my belly. If we don’t stop now, we never will. “No. It’s okay. I was going
to go shopping anyway.”

  With a groan, he rolls off me and sits on the edge of the bed. “Right. Just…don’t touch me. I need a moment.”

  A wicked grin spreads across my lips, and I’m glad his back is to me so he doesn’t see my smirk. He’s breathing deeply, as if trying to regain control. I do this to him. I make him breathless. Make his body rock-hard. Make him lose all sense of time, place. After a few moments he finally stands, tightening the towel around his waist, and I admit I’m disappointed.

  “You are going to be the death of me.

  “Hand me my phone?” I ask, still grinning. I like the power I hold over him. Yep, that’s me…a sexy seductress, in my oversized t-shirt and all. “I need to text my mom so she doesn’t think I’ve been murdered.”

  He kneels to go through my bag. “No murdering here, although by the sounds you were making last night, I kept waiting for the neighbors to call the police…”

  I lift my pillow and throw it at him.

  He ducks, laughing. I fall back into the bed. The tight warmth I feel in my chest is something I haven’t felt in a long, long time. Pure happiness. I love his room. It’s warm and comfortable and clean. Adore this town, with its history and modernization all at once. This trip, full of adventure and new experiences.

  I close my eyes, realizing I don’t want to leave. Ever. I don’t want to go back home and become the sick girl. The girl waiting to die. I roll onto my side and curl into a ball. Ugh, this is his fault. Why did he have to be so perfect? Why did he make me believe impossible things?

  “What’s this?”

  I open my eyes. Christian is holding a piece of paper that looks vaguely familiar. Realization hits like an iron skillet to the head. “Shit.”

  Frantic, I dive across the bed, but I’m too late. He jumps to his feet, the list in hand as I lay prone across the mattress. Forget my lust, I suddenly want to strangle him. I’m not a fan of this teasing Christian.

  “A bucket list?” He quirks a brow. “Don’t die. Well, that’s just morbid. Travel abroad. Check.”