Page 45 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

But this time, Boston wasn’t an option. And in a cabin of this size, there just wasn’t far for her to go.

Was this her coping mechanism? She shut down and shut people out. She shoved them away. Was that why she’d left eleven years ago? Because I’d made her feel? Because here, she’d have a family who wouldn’t have let her brush the past under a rug. Had she been hiding in her work ever since?

I set my bottle aside and walked to the kitchen as she furiously stirred the simmering sauce. “Gemma.”

“Please forget I said that.”

I crowded in close and tucked that lock of hair behind her ear. “Can’t do that, darlin’.”

She set the spoon down and looked at me with pleading eyes. “I don’t like to talk about my mother or that part of my life. I spent years in therapy, and on my last session, I swore I didn’t need to talk about it again. I really don’t know why that slipped out.”

“We don’t have to talk about it.” My hand fit perfectly around the nape of her neck. “But I’m here if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” The tension eased from her shoulders as I skimmed my thumb over the skin beneath her ear.

I’d only meant to touch her for a second. To show her I was here and nothing more. But there was no such thing as a touch when it came to this woman. A zing raced beneath my skin. Electricity crackled between us and that pull, the gravity that surrounded her, sucked me right in. My hand trailed down her spine and her lips were so close that all I had to do was take them.

Gemma shivered, leaning in to my touch, as her gaze dropped to my mouth. Her tongue darted out and wet her bottom lip.

Then the pot of noodles boiled over. The hiss of the water hitting the burner broke us apart.

I dropped my hand and took a step back as Gemma fumbled for the dial to shut off the gas.

“This is probably about ready,” she said.

“I’ll set the table.” And take a minute to get my head on straight.

Christ, I should have stayed on the couch.

The plates weren’t in the same cupboard where Grandma had always kept them, and the silverware was in a different drawer. Admitting that Gemma’s layout of the kitchen was more functional would only confirm out loud that she was fitting in, making this place her home, so I kept it to myself.

I heaped a pile of noodles onto my plate and smothered them in sauce and dug in. “This is great.”

“It’s actually your mother’s recipe.”

“Sauce from a jar with some embellishments? She tried to teach me but I never get the embellishments right and end up with just sauce from the jar.”

Gemma smiled, twirling a string of noodles around her fork. “When I was here before, your mom was covering for the cook one day. There was this nasty cold running around, so there weren’t many of us to feed. Londyn, Katherine and I were healthy—I always thought the junkyard gave us immune systems of steel—so we went to the kitchen to help her.”

I leaned back in my chair, taking her in as she spoke because she captivated that kind of attention.

You set your silverware down for a woman like Gemma Lane.

“She taught us how to make her spaghetti,” she said. “It was the first time anyone had ever taught me to cook.”

“It’s delicious. As good as hers. Do you cook often?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I worked. And it’s sort of depressing to cook for one person every night.”

“I can relate.” I went back to my meal, the two of us eating without much conversation.

When my plate was clear, I leaned deeper into my chair, making no move to leave. There wasn’t anywhere else I wanted to be at the moment. The only thing waiting for me at home was the television and a massive pile of laundry. And Gemma’s company was addictive.

“Want to know the real reason I left Boston?” she asked.

She’d told me it was because she’d sold her company and had wanted a change of scenery, but I’d wondered lately if that was only a half-truth. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t feel anything about my life.” She lifted a shoulder, like she was just as confused as I was why she was telling me these things. Then she dropped her gaze, hiding the emotion in her eyes by toying with the uneaten spaghetti on her plate.