Breaking the Rules (Pushing the Limits #1.5)(55)

“Just for today. Push me on this, Echo, and I’ll redefine caveman for you. No one f*cks around with you. Got it?”

No one. I once failed the two most important people in my life, and I won’t fail her. Period.

“You’re impossible.”

Which means I won. “Damn straight.”

“Fine, but you have to play nice with Hunter.” Schooled on how to seal a deal, she stretches for a kiss. Echo’s going for a quick peck, but I’ll be damned if that’s all I get. My fingers weave in her hair, and I immediately crush my lips to hers, sweeping my tongue into her mouth, a move that drives her wild.

Echo goes weak as if her knees gave, but she draws enough strength to heighten the kiss. The entire world fades, leaving only her fingers tracing my neck. She presses her body so tightly to mine that I can feel the soft weight of her breasts against my chest. Our lips greedily dance in time, and my exploration of her body begins.

My hand cups the curve of her ass, and flashes of her naked body under mine from last night rip through my brain. Her warmth surrounds me, and a rough sound leaves my throat. I want Echo, and I want Echo now.

“Get a room,” Beth says.

Echo jerks away, and I immediately rest my fingers around the nape of her neck to keep her close and to silently tell Beth to back off.

Beth stands with her arms crossed over her chest near the hood of the car, scowling at the move. “For real. You. Her. Walls.”

“I had a room,” I say. “But someone took it.”

“That’s something you should have considered before you told Isaiah to drag my ass to everybody-loves-nature middle of nowhere.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” As in not here.

“That’s the problem—no, I don’t.”

I scratch my forehead. She’s right. She doesn’t. Not for a week.

Beth looks Echo over like she’s a mannequin in a store. “I need a bathing suit.”

“We’re not the same size,” replies Echo. My girl is taller—by half a foot.

“I’ll stuff the top with tissues if you’re that concerned, but it still doesn’t remove my need of a bathing suit. There’s a hot tub, and I’m going in. Unless you help me out, clothing is becoming optional, and I’m telling hotel management that it was your idea.”

Echo beelines for the hotel entrance. “I’ve got a couple you can try on.”

Beth follows her and heads in, but Echo hesitates. “You’re coming, right?”

I shove my hands in my pockets. Once I walk through that door, regardless of whether or not we’re in Kentucky, with Beth and Isaiah staying with us, Echo and I will be back to our reality.

That’s good and it’s bad, and I’m determined to make it work. “Yeah. I am.”

Echo

Noah scans the outside of the gallery like he’s a Special Forces soldier on the prowl behind enemy lines. We’re in the same quaint little village as I was before with the cobblestone streets and cute Swiss-type buildings, but Noah acts as if we’re dodging hostile fire.

We left Beth and Isaiah at the hotel, her in the possession of one of my bikinis, while Noah and I headed over to Hunter’s gallery. Noah’s shift starts soon, but he’s determined to walk me in like a kindergartener on her first day.

“You said you were fine with this,” I say.

“I am,” he bites out.

“Noah...please no throwing this guy against the wall, okay?”

His jaw ticks. “Let’s get this done.”

Noah opens the door for me and nods for me to enter. This is one of those places where you draw your arms and legs in to make yourself smaller. The paintings are so detailed, so magnificent that they have to be worth more than my life and Noah’s put together. Cherubs are carved into the white molding, and crystal chandeliers hang from above. While I meander through, wide-eyed and reverent, Noah struts in with the grace of a bull in a glass factory.

“Echo! Good to see you!” Hunter calls from the back of the store. He waves his hand for me to follow and disappears behind a wall of beads.

“That would be where he keeps his torture chamber,” Noah mutters. “Do you think he snaps before and after pictures of his prey?”

“Shhhh.”

He does, but shoulders past me to take the lead. Behind the beads, a dimly lit staircase winds up, and Hunter’s footsteps echo from above. With a sigh that almost passes as a groan, Noah starts the climb, and I trail after.

Light beckons us forward. When we reach the top, I crane my neck to glance around Noah and release an excited breath. It’s raw. It’s floorboards. It’s the spikes of roofing nails protruding from the ceiling, and it’s lit by hundreds of tiny Christmas tree lights. Windows run along the back wall, and canvases sit every few feet waiting for their owners to return. Each painting is in various stages, but I can see the genius in each one.

In the corner, Hunter places a blank canvas on an empty easel. “This is yours. Everything you need is right here at your fingertips, and if you can’t find it, tell me and I’ll get it for you.”

Like a magnetic pull, I’m attracted to the canvas. A million butterflies crash within me when I spot the new paints and brushes. Never used. Never opened. All ready for me to crack the seals and explore. This is a holy moment.