Through the Fire (Daughter of Fire, #1)(19)

Dad gave Clay a thoughtful look. “I’m not inviting you to come with us.”

Before I’d even opened my mouth to argue, he stopped me with a glare.

“But I can’t stop you from following us either, can I?”

“No, sir.”

“I guess it’s probably better if I keep you where I can see you.” He lifted the gun to demonstrate his point.

“Yes, sir.”

“We leave in an hour.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The moment my bedroom door clicked shut, I blew out the breath I’d been holding in while I waited for Dad’s response. With my exhale, I released my stress over Clay’s safety that had been a palpable lump in the back of my throat.

“You don’t know how close you were to having to spend the rest of the day picking shot out of your body.” I laughed.

“I’m glad you find it funny!” he said in response, with a playful growl as he reached his hand around my waist to tickle me. I collapsed against the arm around my back in an attempt to get away from his roaming fingers, but he shifted and allowed me to fall onto the bed instead.

With his hands free, he assaulted my sides relentlessly until I squealed with the delicate balance of pleasure and pain. Just as I was becoming breathless from the constant giggling, he stopped and, with a contemplative look on his face, shifted his body over mine and claimed my mouth roughly. His body settled between my legs and the sensation sent me to the same pleasurable place his fingers had so often lately. Hooking my legs around his waist, I arched my hips to create the most wondrous friction between us. I tugged at his hair and pulled his lips closer to mine to stop myself from moaning out in pleasure.

“As much as I’d love to keep doing this all day, and I really would,” he said in a breathless murmur. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your dad dragged you from here in exactly an hour whether I was ready to go with you or not.”

I laughed because it was true. “In fact, he might be happier with not.”

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to win him over with my charm, the same way I did with you.”

Chuckling at the things he’d done to win me over, I said, “It would be interesting to watch his reaction to the dates you arranged for me.”

“You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

I grinned at him. “Always.”

He pulled out of my embrace, leaving me bereft on the edge of my bed. “I’m going to go gather what I have at the warehouse before your Dad makes good on his promise and leaves here with you in tow.”

“You didn’t bring it with you?” I asked, confused that he wasn’t ready to go. If I’d gone to him in the same circumstances, I would have had my travelling bag waiting somewhere just outside the window.

“I didn’t think it through,” he said, before his hand reached for his neck in a now very familiar action. “I didn’t really think further ahead than apologizing.”

“Is there anything important there?” I asked. “We can always get more clothes when we stop again.” I didn’t think Dad would mind helping Clay out with a few outfits if it came down to it.

I could almost see his mind racing. His jaw ticked with the pressure he exerted on it while considering my suggestion. “There are some things I’d rather not leave,” he said. His tone had a finality that made me reconsider pushing him to abandon his things.

My gilt frame came to mind, the one link I had to my mother, and I considered how devastated I would be if I ever lost it. It reminded me that a certain degree of sentimentality was understandable, especially when leaving everything important behind.

“I’ll drive you,” I said. I didn’t want him to have to carry whatever stuff he was bringing with him back to our house, but I also had another reason for wanting to drive him to the warehouse. One I wouldn’t admit out loud.

“But you need to pack your stuff.”

“Pack what exactly?” I asked, sitting up and waving to indicate the practically empty room. “You forget. I’m used to this life. I don’t unpack. Everything I wear is washed and repacked every day.”

“What about this?” he asked, moving to the dresser and picking up the photo of Mom and Dad. His fingers brushed the now completely wilted magnolias as he reached for it and a wistful look crossed his features.

I longed to be able to know what he was thinking in that moment—was it memories of me or his mother that made that dreamlike gaze cross his features? I walked up behind him and took the frame from his hands. “It’s always the last thing I put away,” I said. “It’s a reminder that once upon a time, we didn’t have to run all the time. I want that again one day.”

“I want that for you too.” He wrapped his arm around my waist, and I put my head on his shoulder, leaning against him as the weight of the memory anchored me to the spot.

“I’ll just be half an hour,” he said. “I’ll be back before you leave.”

“How? It’s a fifteen-minute drive on the highway. It’d take you at over an hour to walk there. There’s no way you’d make it back in time.”

“I have my ways, Evie.”

“I want to drive you.”

“I don’t think your Dad will like it if I take you away right now.”