Page 41 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

I still wanted to get to California, didn’t I? Yes. But not with the same desperation I’d had a week ago. I was embracing my days here, holding nothing back.

A flat tire and Brooks Cohen had thwarted my plans. His long, wet kisses and the slow strokes of his tongue had taken priority over my road trip.

The dull throb in my center pulsed. This anticipation was torture. Delicious, excruciating torture. Would tonight be the night? Would either of us be able to stop at a kiss? My fingers fidgeted on my stomach. My feet tapped on the bench.

I sat up and slid on my flip-flops, hoping the walk back to the motel under the shade of the serene trees would settle some of this anxiety.

It didn’t. I was still flustered, brimming with sexual tension, when my temporary home came into view.

The parking lot of the motel was busier than it had been earlier. Inside the office, most of the chairs were taken, the local crew enjoying their midmorning coffee and gossip.

The warm and humid morning air filled my lungs. I’d be begging for the air conditioning later in the day, but no matter how hot and muggy it got by dinner, I wasn’t missing time on that rock with Brooks.

It hadn’t been bad the past few nights, but I was considerably stickier than I had been other mornings this week. Meggie had mentioned something about a heat wave coming. If it was too hot, maybe Brooks would invite me into his house tonight. Or I could invite him into my room for a motel picnic.

Thinking about the two of us kissing on a bed wasn’t helping the tightening ache in my core.

“Londyn.”

That voice was an ice bucket dumped over my head. I turned slowly on the sidewalk and came face-to-face with my ex-husband.

Goddamn it. I should have known he wouldn’t let our last phone call be the end.

Thomas strode over from a black sedan with tinted windows. His dark hair didn’t move as he walked. It was trimmed short except for the stylish swoop on top. Only when he was close could I make out the grays threaded through his temples.

“What are you doing here?” I fisted my hands on my hips. “And how did you find me?”

He frowned, looking me up and down. I was in a pair of boyfriend jeans, the holes at the knees bigger than a baseball. “I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

I was more than all right. Or I had been before he’d shown up. “Answer me. How did you find me, and what are you doing here?”

Thomas narrowed his boring, betraying brown eyes. “When you didn’t return my calls, I reached out to Gemma.”

“I heard.”

Thomas’s mouth thinned into an annoying line. “You found the time to call her but couldn’t let me know you were alive.”

“She’s my friend. You are not.” What the hell did he expect? We were divorced. And there was no way I was keeping in touch to see if junior was a boy or a girl.

“She mentioned you didn’t take your phone.”

“Nope.”

He cringed. Thomas hated the word nope. He hated the word yep. When we’d been married, I’d used yes or no in place of their more casual counterparts so as not to irritate him.

“Londyn, be reasonable.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We need to be able to get in touch with you.”

“For what? And you still haven’t answered my question. How did you find me?” Even Gemma didn’t know I was in West Virginia.

“You left me no choice.”

Ah, yes. This was my fault. “Uh-huh.”

“I hired a private investigator.”

My body went rigid and I stood taller. Thomas was tall, standing just over six feet. He had inches on me and a lot of bulk. He’d always kept in shape by running and lifting weights at our home gym. But as I straightened, he went back on his heels.

“That is a gross invasion of my privacy, Thomas.” I poked a finger into his chest.