Wanderlust

“What about the way I fight for us,” I whispered, “even though you’re trying to push me away?”

In a rush, he grasped me to him, sucking in lungfuls of air as if he’d been underwater, his face buried in my hair. “Yes, that. God, Evie. Jesus Fucking Christ, Evie.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that,” I teased, but then he was kissing me, consuming me, and I was falling, drowning, battered and bruised by the rapids, never wanting to surface. His hands were everywhere, fluid on my thighs, my breasts—but not stopping there, never resting, just moving over me as if making sure I was all there, as if taking inventory, possession and never letting go.

A rap on the window wrenched us apart. Outside, a police officer stood, implacable and severe.

Hunter rolled down the window.

“Everything all right in here?” The cop directed the question to me.

Hunter tensed beneath my thighs, as if I might say no, actually, I’m being held against my will and then hand him the signed confession.

“I’m fine.”

One eyebrow raised. “You sure, ma’am?”

I blushed as my vulnerable position, splayed over Hunter’s lap, came to me. I must look ridiculous to him, helpless to him, and I was.

“Well, I am a bit embarrassed.”

The cop hid a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Just making sure.”

He headed back into the station.

I watched him go as a rush of exhilaration pumped through my veins. But when I turned back to Hunter, the air rushed from the space. His eyes were rimmed with red. His lips trembled.

“You honor me,” he said.

I swallowed. It wasn’t my fault if he went to prison, wasn’t my fault if someone there hurt him. But the truth was, it wasn’t mercy that kept me mute or stayed my hand.

I’d found in Hunter a kindred, broken soul. We didn’t fit in with the rest of society and never really would—but neither did we deserve to be locked away or abused for our issues. We hadn’t asked to be this way. All we wanted now was to live in peace.

In his own fucked up way, he’d honored me that day at the motel. He’d picked me instead of anyone, he’d plucked me out of my nothingness.

I rested my forehead against his.

“Let’s go,” I murmured.

His body released its tension, reveling and accepting. “Where to?”

“I have something to show you.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Niagara Falls Ontario Canada is known as the Honeymoon Capital of the world.

Hunter found us a hotel that had an overflow lot for his truck, and we went back to Niagara Falls the next day. We covered the same ground, the same tours, the same boat ride, and I found it all the more exciting with Hunter’s sardonic presence.

As we disembarked from the Maiden, I asked the lady at the desk whether she knew of Sarah who worked there.

“She’d be new,” I explained. “Just hired.”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t think so. But I don’t run orientation, so I wouldn’t really know.”

I hoped Sarah had taken the car and gone home. The falls were beautiful, but I knew that any place could be a cage if you felt trapped.

Hunter surprised me by stepping forward. “Excuse me, do you have any trail maps for hiking in the national park?”