Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(63)

“I left,” he said, still keeping his eyes away from her. “All at once, I was in a different world with my uncle…Easton was the only real trace of home. But the thing was, just like me, he was trying to find some kind of divide…some escape…”

He turned to face her, his eyes rushed over her visage. “Harley,” he said in that slow, deep, southern tone that always seemed to reach deep inside of her, “it didn’t matter what I did or where I went. Each night, each morning, you were the first and last thought, image, in my mind.”

Harley reached for him, but he stepped back, his eyes glazed over.

“At first you never left my mind. Then I tried to move past us, and when I did, when I was with someone else…all that did was make me think of you more because I felt so guilty. It always made me feel so sick, miserable, and the more miserable I felt, the more shit I got myself into…”

Harley looked down, feeling the inside of her shattering. She knew how he felt; she’d endured it as well.

“It wasn’t worth it,” he said with a rasp. “I stopped trying to move on. I decided to just live. Live with it. And when I did, I finished school, I worked this farm, I joined the fire department, I hung out with my friends, and I just—lived.”

His eyes met hers, fell deep within the pools of blue and green. “I lived the life that we used to dream about as I held you under these stars…and right when I figured out that I had slipped into another life, a life that was altered enough that I didn’t face your memory with every turn—an alarm goes off. Just a call, just like all the times before.”

He stepped closer. His fingertips grazed her cheekbone, the trace of the burn from the airbag. “It wasn’t just a call, though. It was a moment that gave me the second chance that I had asked for a million times over.”

His fingertips slowly moved down her face, down her neck. He noticed how all the tension in her body drifted away, how her eyes slowly closed, the long, deep breaths that were causing her chest to rise and fall.

“The sight of you brought it all back, past and present colliding with a magnitude that is so great…that I have no choice but to stop and realize that the only thing holding us back this go ‘round is us.”

He reached his arm around her waist and pulled her body against his, causing her eyes to fly open, those breaths to come even faster. “And Harley, I’m going to fight like hell for you. And as soon as I make you mine again, I will die before I ever let anyone take you from me.” His hand rose to her face, his thumb grazed her flesh, his eyes dipped to her lips, then met her gaze once more. “You’re the only woman I have ever loved. That I ever will love.”

All at once, they both moved forward, their lips connecting as if they were molded from one source, a well-practiced dance of flesh, the perfect rhythm, teasing brushes of tongues that knew just when to fall into a deeper kiss, a kiss that was so devouring that all thought, all reason vanished. The impulse of the heart, that deep passion that lies dormant within erupted to a euphoria that made it impossible to fathom life outside of that very instant.

Harley dropped her phone, her hands moved up his chest, pressing into him but pulling him at the same time. She felt the power of his hands rushing over her body, grasping, savoring.

Her hands moved under his shirt, her arms hooked under his shoulders, wanting to pull him down, not caring that there wasn’t a blanket waiting on them.

Wyatt leaned forward, but only to reach for her legs, to let his hands move against her flesh. “Not here…we don’t have to hide anymore,” he said as he lifted her around him.

Harley didn’t understand what he said or meant. Even though she felt him moving, walking with her wrapped around him, her lips caught his, her hands fisted through his hair, she moved against him, feeling the grasp of his hands on her thighs. A few seconds later, she felt off balance and their lips were ripped apart as he reached to hold her tight and sat down. She gasped, taking inventory of where she was—on a four-wheeler.

He pulled her hips against his, reached his arms around her, and cranked the four-wheeler to life. One arm fell around her, holding her waist as the other steered them away. She let out a squealing laugh and clung to him with her arms and legs, burrowing her face in his neck, embracing him as her lips moved across his skin.

When he stopped, he reached both his hands for her face, capturing her lips, giving more power to his kiss, making it even deeper as he leaned forward. Harley was arched back, her legs around him, feeling the heat of his body hover over her as his hands glided across her body far slower than the rush of the kiss, the different rhythms; it was head spinning. Her hand reached up, landed on the center of his chest, feeling his heart roaring under her touch.

There was so much more power in every touch of his, there was no hesitation, no question—it was a claiming.

All at once, he picked her up again, holding her kiss.

Steps later, he sat her down. He slowed the kiss, but it was Harley that broke away, glanced around as she heard the click of a light switch.

Wyatt’s head was humming. He had managed to say what he meant to say, and that kiss—pure heaven, a wash of relief bringing him back to life. He felt her pull him down, like she had in the past. He knew where they would end up. It took all he had, but he walked her to that four-wheeler. They didn’t have to lie on this creek bed and listen for distant sounds, cling to every second of life like it would be the last, not anymore. That’s what he was trying to tell her with his words, what he was trying to show her with his actions as he took her home.