Page 52 of Wild Highway (Runaway 2)

“I need to buy one. I was supposed to be in California in October, not Montana.”

He stomped into the garage and hit the button to close the door behind us. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought we’d better talk about last night.”

“Why?”

Why? Seriously? “Because I thought you might have an opinion about what happened and you’re the one who said he wished other people would consider his opinions. But hey, if I’m wrong and you just want to forget it ever happened and go back to treating me like shit beneath your boot, I’ll stay out of your way until Christmas.”

I wanted to turn and march to my car, but he’d trapped me inside. The only way out of the garage was through the button at his back, so I crossed my arms and shot him my best glare.

He ran a hand through that thick hair, then stalked my way.

I’d worn a scarf over the only coat I’d packed—a black leather jacket. Easton unwrapped the scarf from my neck. “Sorry.”

“I’m not here to fight with you.”

Easton tossed the scarf on the cement floor. It was as clean as the floor in the cabin. His hands skimmed my arms, sliding over the buttery Italian leather, until they came to my face. “I don’t want to fight either.”

His mouth dropped to mine, erasing the trace of irritation and replacing it with a burning lust that had me pushing the hem of his shirt above his ribs.

“Inside,” I panted against his lips, tugging his belt buckle free. I wanted him in a bed and the chance to do this all night long.

Easton shook his head and walked me to the workbench that ran the length of the garage. I opened my mouth to protest, but then I was lost in an oblivion of Easton’s mouth and hands and body. When I walked out of the garage an hour later on wobbly legs, I had a smile on my face, his scent on my skin and his taste on my tongue.

I was sated. For the first time in years, I didn’t feel the urge to move on to the next thing. I didn’t have work or a task to tackle. I could just enjoy the moment.

And I did, for the first five minutes of my drive home. Then I replayed the night. And last night.

Easton and I had fucked twice. Hard. Both times, he’d screwed me on the closest available surface. Maybe he’d been as desperate for me as I’d been for him.

Or maybe my mother had been right from the start.

Maybe I would always be just another cheap thrill.

Chapter Ten

Gemma

Avoiding a man who worked and lived in the same place you did wasn’t an easy feat, but somehow, I’d managed to dodge Easton for three days.

Or maybe he’d been dodging me.

Other than a glimpse of him riding Jigsaw away from the stables yesterday, I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him since the night I’d driven away from his house. He’d looked incredible on that horse. His breath had billowed in a cloud around him—so had Jigsaw’s—and he’d been wearing a heavy canvas coat, cowboy hat with the brim tipped low and leather chaps laced up his long legs.

Easton had perfected sexy, mysterious cowboy. The man belonged on the cover of a romance novel—shirtless, of course.

His mouthwatering appeal was the reason avoidance had become necessary.

When he was around, I couldn’t think clearly and I was in need of some unmuddied thinking.

Either I could lean into this, soak him up until it was time to move on, or I ended it now.

My brain was lobbying for option two. It would be easy to retreat to the robot I’d been in Boston. But my heart was struggling to get on board. Because damn it, here I was, living, breathing and feeling for the first time in a long time, and it was a rush.

Then again, a numb heart didn’t hurt when it was broken.

It was Friday and the Greers were expecting me for family dinner, but the idea of sitting beside Easton, pretending that I hadn’t had him inside me twice this week . . . well, that wasn’t an option.