Leaving Amarillo(48)

Before I can find my voice, rain begins to pelt the roof and the windshield with a hellacious vengeance.

“Shit, I can’t see a thing.”

I’d make a joke about him peeking but the noise from the downpour would just drown it out. “If you really can’t see, you should pull over.”

I lean over the seat to grab my bag from the front and he hits the brakes suddenly to avoid hitting bright red taillights that have only become visible that instant. My head hits something solid—the window maybe—and the back tires spin angrily in an attempt to find some traction. We skid to a stop and a horn honks loud and long behind us.

“Fuck!” Gavin bites out before pulling over into the emergency lane. “You okay?”

I rub my hand soothingly across the bump on my head and fall back into the backseat, no longer caring about my lack of clothing. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Gavin eases us beneath the safety of an overpass and I can see the car in front of us doing the same while a few brave souls soldier on despite the monsoon.

He shuts the engine off and turns to me with worry deepening each line in his face. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t see them. Christ. That could’ve been so bad.”

I witness the exact moment he starts to lose it. Something terrifying flashing like lightning in his eyes and his gaze goes somewhere far away from me and from this car.

“If anything had happened to you, if you’d been hurt . . . if I’d hit them, you would’ve went through the goddamn windshield.” He’s shaking. “I could’ve killed you,” he whispers and the words wrap my heart and squeeze. He never once says anything about my brother or what my brother would do to him. Because he’s not worried about him. He’s worried about me. Only me.

Before I can think of any other way to comfort him, I’m over the seat and straddling his lap.

“Look at me,” I say, locking my fingers behind his neck and staring down into his eyes. “I’m fine. It’s fine. You stopped in plenty of time. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

So slowly I wonder if I’m imagining the sensation, his warm hands slide up the outside of my bare thighs. As if he can’t believe it himself, he watches his fingers move across my skin.

“You’re okay? You’re sure? What about your head?”

“I’m tougher than I look,” I say quietly. I want him to understand this. Badly. Our one night together is not going to break me.

“You have no idea what it would do to me if something happened to you, if I hurt you.” He squeezes my thighs hard and my body rocks involuntarily against him. “I never want to hurt you. Do you get that? Why I never touch you? I’ll only hurt you.”

I shake my head, because, God, he does not get it. At all.

“Sometimes . . . sometimes pain is a good thing, Gavin.” His eyes widen and I lower myself onto him, relieved that he’s as turned on as I am right now. “Sometimes it’s the only way to make sure that you’re still alive.”

When Gavin lifts his hands to my waist and yanks me against him, I am alive. When he crushes his mouth to mine, I am having an out-of-body near-death experience.

For a moment I hover above us, seeing myself half naked and pressed against him in a car beneath a steadily cascading force of nature. He drags me slowly back down to earth, kissing my mouth as if he plans to devour me. My tongue slides against his and he licks it gently before sucking my bottom lip hard enough to bruise.

There was this piano piece I played once, one of the first ones Nana taught me. It was a classical piece by a famous composer whose name I can’t recall this very second. But I remember learning it and feeling like my fingers were battling for control of the keys. That is us right this minute, each of us desperate to be closer, deeper. Fighting for more. I want more so bad I can taste it, can touch it like a tangible thing.

Hearing the sound of my own whimpers and breathy pleas makes me realize we’ve steamed up the inside of the car. Rain or no, Gavin could take me any way he wanted right here, right now. I’m about to tell him so, writhing against him as his hands roam everywhere at once, across my back, down into the waistband of my panties, gripping my hips, when he stops suddenly.

“Damn it, Dixie. What are you doing to me?” His question startles me and my body begins to retreat, but his hands hold me firmly in place. “I used to have all this control. All these years I’ve done so well. Now . . . I got nothing.”

Leaning forward, I let my lips brush gently against his, pulling in his air with my breath. “You’ve got me,” I say quietly into the stillness.

He leans his head back against the seat and I take advantage of the opportunity to lick a path up his neck. A low groan escapes the back of his throat and vibrates against my tongue. I suck at the sensitive skin beneath his ear, savoring his warm male flavor. He even tastes like rain.

“You tryin’ to mark me, Bluebird?”

I smile, letting my bared teeth graze against his throat. “Mmm. Now that you mention it . . .” I suck harder and he struggles beneath me, pulling me backward with both hands.

“And how would I explain that?”

“Not my problem.” I attack his neck again and his warm chuckle fills me with so much happiness I feel as if I could burst. “I love when you laugh.”

We both go statue still. The L-word. I forgot that he doesn’t want to hear it. The damn thing just slipped out on me.