Forever Wild(33)

I assume that’s a rhetorical question. “I noticed you eying Steve’s truck when they were here.” The contractor who restored the old cabin couldn’t stop raving about his. I shimmy up behind Jonah and wrap my arms around his waist. “And I knew you’d never buy one for yourself.”

“That’s because it’s a fucking expensive truck.”

“So was my Jeep.”

“Yeah, but …” His voice drifts, his eyes drifting to the old Beaver, sitting in pieces. I know what he’s thinking—he’s spending a lot of money on a plane he doesn’t really need, but he’s doing it in a bid to honor my father.

“But nothing. Phil’s old truck is unreliable, and you need a vehicle of your own. One that doesn’t fly. You can keep this for the next twenty-five years if you want.”

“They don’t make trucks to last that long anymore.” With a groan, he turns and collects me in his arms. “This is way too much. But thank you.”

“I disagree. And you’re welcome.” I stretch onto my tiptoes and let my lips linger on his in a tender kiss. “I can’t believe you didn’t guess. I dropped enough hints.”

“That you’re crazy? Yeah, I knew that.”

I pinch his side. “Did you check out the inside yet?”

“Honestly, I’m afraid to.”

I laugh and grab his hands, tugging him toward the driver’s side. The key is sitting in the console where Toby said he left it. “It was so much fun, picking everything out.” I hit the ignition button and the truck roars to life. The sound of church bells and children’s voices singing a Christmas carol blasts over the radio. “And look how much room there is in here!”

Jonah peers around the cab. “Bj?rn won’t have much to complain about on his ride back to the airport. Lemme in.”

I clamber over the console to the passenger seat.

He climbs in, shutting the door behind him. Finally, I see the glimmer of delight in his eyes. “This is nice, Calla.” He steps on the gas pedal and revs the engine. “Really nice.”

“I know. I almost gave it to you early, because I couldn’t wait any longer.” I peel off my gloves and hit buttons to get the heat going. The initial gust of cold air blows through the vents, but it’ll grow warm in a few minutes.

His hands smooth over the steering wheel. He pauses in thought. “I guess I should give you your present now, then?”

“It’s here?” I peer out the window to search the hangar. Jonah’s been tight-lipped. I have no idea what’s in store for me, but I’m bracing myself for at least one gag gift.

“It’s right here.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small, letter-sized envelope. With a crooked smile, he hands it to me.

I tear open the seal and fish out the papers. And squeal. “Are you serious?”

He chuckles. “It was supposed to be just a winter getaway, but I guess it’ll be a honeymoon now.”

I scan through the details of the seven-day, all-inclusive trip to Hawaii for two in mid-January. I’ve been bugging him for months to fly somewhere warm this winter, but he never seemed keen on the idea of a resort, claiming he’d be bored, lying around a beach all day. As usual though, he’s been scheming behind my back.

“Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you!” I throw myself at him, seizing his face and dropping hard, feverish kiss after kiss against his lips.

I finally relent, only to be pulled back, his hand firmly gripping my nape. The kiss he treats me to is not feverish or quick, but long and slow and deep, his tongue coaxing my lips apart.

My hands wander of their own accord, over that sexy, sharp jut of his throat, over the ridges of his broad chest, along his powerful thighs and up, in between, to where he has grown hard. Warmth instantly floods my core, the anticipation of his touch making my pulse soar. I stretch my body across the console in my bid to get closer to him.

“That’s a big extended cab back there,” he murmurs against my mouth.

I feel the insinuation deep inside. “You should probably test it out.” My voice is breathless as I blindly paw at the truck’s dash, searching for the heat controls.

He inhales sharply, his intense gaze boring into mine. “Good idea. We should.”

I shed my coat, kick off my boots, and scramble to the back seat. By the time Jonah has shucked his coat, exited the driver’s side, and is opening the back passenger-side door to climb in, I’ve already shed my outer clothes and got my pajama pants tugged down to my ankles, my bare skin impervious to the cold.





“I seem to recall having one in this shade a few years ago.” Simon holds up the robin’s egg sweater vest for all to see. “It mysteriously disappeared.”

There was nothing “mysterious” about it. My mother takes it upon herself to purge his wardrobe of anything she deems “ratty.” I used to think she was overstepping when it came to managing her husband’s attire, but half of Jonah’s closet consists of things I’ve ordered, and I’m constantly filtering through his drawers, tossing threadbare socks and shirts.

“And now you have a new one!” my mom exclaims, inhaling her bottle of perfume and humming with delight, as if it’s the first time she’s ever smelled it. Simon buys her a new one every year. That’s what their gift exchange consists of—sweater vests and a year’s supply of perfume.