The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

I pull out the cards and expertly shuffle the deck, rolling them over my fingers in a flashy way. Holden’s eyebrow raises and a curious grin tugs at his lips.

I spread them across the small table and look him in the eye, “Challenge accepted.”

An hour later, he’s beaten me three times in War. I may have quick hands, but he’s had hours of boredom to perfect his card-playing skills.

I toss the cards on the table in defeat. “What else do you do in here to pass the time?”

I look around the small shack. We’re sitting at a tiny table with two chairs. There’s a counter with a coffeemaker and sink. A huge first aid kit hangs on the wall. On the opposite side of the small space is a stool next to the window that slides open to greet visitors at the gate. A small shelf juts from the sill of the window, giving a place for maps and a clipboard. Only one car drove up while we were playing cards—the driver looking exhausted from a long day of travel. Holden greeted him cheerfully, handing him a map and directing him to the lodge nestled in the middle of the park. Occasionally, the walkie-talkie crackles, and another ranger’s voice carries over the speaker. They alert one another about bear sightings, a lost hiker who is found a few minutes later, and a car broken down on the side of the road.

“Not much.” He stands and opens a cabinet against the back wall. It’s filled with paperbacks, puzzle books, and magazines. “I think I’ve read ninety percent of those. Twice.”

“No phones?”

“Service is spotty out here.”

Holden stands and raises his arms over his head, stretching in the small space. There isn’t much room, and his hands touch the ceiling. My eyes fixate on the sliver of skin showing where his shirt rises up, on the scattering of hair that trails beneath his belly button. He’s wearing loose-fitting hiking shorts with a belt strapped to hold them up. Tiny flutters fill my stomach. It’s like being with Adrian the night before awakened a dormant fire deep inside. The nag of consciousness that should make me want to stay away from another man is nowhere to be found. Just the lick of desire traveling up my spine.

We look at one another and the room is too small to hide the fact my ears are burning from my dirty thoughts or the twitch of his fingers as he coils them into a balled fist.

“Oh shit,” he says, looking out the window.

“What is it?” I ask, drawing my eyes from his body.

He looks over at me, slightly panicked. “My boss, Brent. I’m not supposed to have anyone in here with me.”

“What? You said it was okay!”

“I didn’t want you to leave,” he says, sheepishly. In the tiny space, he manages to move in a series of directions, trying to figure out what to do with me. An idea flickers in his eyes. “Over there. Hide beneath the shelf, against the wall.”

He points to the ledge that hangs from the window sill.

“Seriously?”

“Please. It will just be for a minute. I’m sorry.”

I move quickly, ducking low and crawling on my knees until I’m under the flat surface. I press my back against the wall. Holden steps in front of me, hips at eye level, and I hear the slide of the window.

“Hey, man, everything okay?”

“Just doing a check before I head home. I went out to check on the group with the broken-down car. They just needed a jump.”

Holden’s hips rest just below the ledge, level with my eyes. I’m feeling mischievous, ridiculous, hiding down here like this. I reach out and graze his ankles with a light touch of my finger-tips.

“You got the car working?” Holden asks, shifting his feet, but I continue, skimming up his legs, knowing his boss can’t see me.

“I did, but I told them I’d get them the name of that garage that will bring in a new battery and hook it up.” There’s a pause. “Would you happen to have that information in here?”

“Uh, sure,” Holden replies. “I think all of that is in this book.” I hear a thud overhead and the shuffle of papers. The flicker of troublemaking compels me to continue messing with him and I allow my hands to travel upward, running up his thighs. A hand drops beneath the ledge, swatting at me. I grab his fingers and hold them, kissing each tip, sparking a fire between us. His voice wobbles when he says to Brent, “I’m sure it’s in here…”

His hand vanishes, and I focus back on his legs. They’re tan and strong, his calves muscular. I feel like I’ve lost my mind, but I explore each knee. On a whim, I pucker my lips and kiss each kneecap, one at a time. Feeling bold, I move upward, pushing my fingertips up the hem of his shorts, spreading them over his inner thigh.

His legs wobble and I straighten, eyes landing on the taut fabric on the front of his shorts. That bulge, the one I’d felt earlier, is back. The tickle in my belly returns, and I can’t help but think about waking from our nap earlier that day—the way his body felt under mine. The hard, swollen arousal. The gentle way he’d kissed my forehead.

“Here,” Holden says with a cough, “I think this is it.”

“Let me see,” Brent replies, oblivious to what’s going on inches away. I hear the slide of whatever book they’re perusing cross overhead. “No, that one doesn’t do the delivery.”

Holden exhales in frustration. I smile, knowing I’ve got more time to torture him.