Wild Highway: Runaway Series - Book 2 Read online

  “Ever get married?” I asked, for no other reason than I wanted to know.

  Maybe most women would take offense to the blunt question, but not Gemma. She faced me and leaned a hip against the counter. “No. You?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Not presently.” I took a sip of my beer, drinking in the liquid and her gorgeous hazel eyes. “I don’t have time for a girlfriend.”

  “Because you’re so busy with work.”

  “Yeah. As the assistant manager,” I muttered.

  She threw her head back and laughed, the musical sound stirring something in my chest. Making the urge to stand even stronger.

  Gemma set her wine aside to snap some pasta in half and put them in a pot of boiling water. Then she crossed the room, floating with an easy grace, to curl up in the chair beside the couch. “What’s happening with the ranch these days?”

  “Same old. We’re always wishing for rain and good cattle prices. The resort has grown these past few years—Kat gets a lot of credit for that—which adds a level of complexity. More staff, more guests, more problems. But we’re getting into a good groove. Mostly, my headaches come from men with the last name Greer.”

  “Jake and JR.”

  “Yeah.” It wasn’t something I’d confided to anyone but Cash in so many words. But talking with Gemma, despite how she frustrated and baited me, was surprisingly easy. She listened. She wouldn’t play mediator like my family members and try to fix the problem.

  Sometimes, all I really wanted was a person who listened.

  “They don’t want to let go,” I said. “And I wish I could say I didn’t understand, but when a place is your whole life, when you’ve given it everything year after year, I get it. It’s just . . .”

  “It’s your turn.”

  “I want to build upon their legacy. I want to take the ranch and the resort a step further and be able to give that to the next generation. It’s hard when they don’t want to let go. When no one bothers to ask your opinion and when you make a decision, it’s under a microscope.”

  “Makes sense. When I sold my company, the new owners asked me if I’d stay on for a year and act as interim CEO. But I knew I’d hate it. I wasn’t going to answer to someone else’s rules when I’d been making them for so long.”

  “So what would you do if you were me?”

  She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “I don’t think you want my answer.”

  No, I was pretty sure I did. “Tell me.”

  “If this was my home, if this was my family, I’d thank my lucky stars that I had a grandfather and a father who were still trying to give what they have to offer because they’d rather die than see me fail.”

  “Well, fuck.”

  Gemma laughed. “I told you that you didn’t want my answer.”

  “No, you’re right.” I sighed. “You’re completely right and I hate it.” Because I wasn’t going to fail. And if I did, they’d be there to pick me up.

  “I can empathize where you’re coming from,” she said. “And in your shoes, I’d feel the same. But you’re talking to someone whose mother thought the next generation was there to service her boyfriends when they’d grown bored with her.”

  The beer bottle nearly slipped from my fingers. “What?”

  “I don’t know why I said that.” Gemma flew out of the chair and returned to the kitchen.

  She left me speechless while she ran.

  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.

  I didn’t blink. I didn’t breathe. I didn’t move for fear that she’d stop talking.

  “I don’t know when I went numb. I used to feel things.” She looked up and forced a too-bright smile. “Anger or annoyance or excitement. On the
day I was approached about selling Gemma Lane, that idea hadn’t even crossed my mind. I don’t even know why I entertained it, but I was eating lunch with an old colleague and she asked me if I was sick.”

  “Were you?”

  “I don’t get sick.” She shook her head. “It took me a minute to figure out what she was talking about. But then I realized she thought I was tired. And I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I was just . . . empty.”

  “Maybe you were ready for a career change.”

  She shook her head. “A life change. It wasn’t just work. I was dating this guy and he’d asked me to marry him.”

  A flare of jealousy raced through my veins, but I set it aside.

  “Obviously, I said no.” She wiggled the bare fingers on her left hand. “So I had this friend who thought I was sick. A man who wanted to share his life with me, but instead I broke his heart. And it all came together and made me pause. I looked over the past year and realized that I was going day after day and I didn’t feel . . . anything.”

  Her eyes turned glassy, but she held tight, not letting a tear fall.

  I stretched my hand across the table and covered hers. “Gem.”

  “I don’t want to live like that.” She flipped her hand over so our palms were pressed together and stared at them, my wide hand nearly covering her long fingers.

  “And since you got here? Feel anything?”

  Her eyes flashed to mine. “Some days.”

  “Besides frustration with me?”

  A smile spread across her stunning face. “Maybe.”

  “Good.” A surge of pride swelled in my chest because I’d done that. Me. I’d put that smile there and it was mine. “Glad I could piss you off.”

  “Among other things.” She laughed and slipped her hand free, then collected our plates and took them to the sink.

  “Want some help washing up?”

  “I’ve got it. Want another beer?”

  “Better not.”

  If I stayed, I wouldn’t leave. We’d put the fighting aside tonight, and we both knew this was heading toward dangerous territory. She was in a strange emotional place and I knew nothing would change.

  Gemma would stay until Christmas, mostly because I’d dared her. Partly because she wanted to. Then she’d head to California, leaving me behind.

  I’d spend another eleven years wondering what had become of Gemma.

  I stood from the table. “Thanks for dinner.”

  “Thanks for staying. And for the firewood.”

  “See ya.” I went to the door to tug on my boots. Then I opened the door before I decided kissing her was worth another eleven-year wait.

  Chapter Nine

  Gemma

  The moment he opened the door, I chased after him. “Easton, wait.”

  “Yeah?”

  I crossed the room, not caring that the cold night air was chasing away the fire’s warmth and stepped into his space.

  Standing before him in my bare feet, his tall, strong body shrouded mine. He made me feel small—safe and protected. He made me feel free to be myself.

  Easton made me feel. Period.

  I wasn’t ready for him to go and take the feeling with him. Not yet. Not when I’d been numb for so long and with him here, I was alive.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His forehead furrowed. “For what?”

  “For leaving like I did. After that night, I shouldn’t have snuck away without a goodbye.”

  “It’s fine.” His gaze was unreadable. “We were young. It was just a hookup.”

  Except it hadn’t been a hookup.

  Easton had been my first.

  Not that I’d been a virgin, but he’d been the one I’d chosen. Me.

  When I was fourteen and still living at home, I’d lost my virginity to a guy who’d worked as a clerk at the gas station close to my neighborhood. I’d ridden my bike over to get away from my mother for a few hours. I’d gone in to use the bathroom and he’d stopped me on the way out. He’d asked if I wanted a case of beer, offering to sell it to me even though he’d known I hadn’t been twenty-one.

  I’d picked wine instead because my mother served her boyfriends beer. And they were trash. I was going to be classy and that meant drinking wine—or it had to my fourteen-year-old brain. The boy had sold it to me, and I’d stayed at the gas station drinking while he’d finished his Saturday shift.

  Then, in a dark alley that had smelled like garbage, I’d let him take my virginity in the backseat of his car.

  That boy hadn’t been my choice. Yes, I’d picked him, but not because I’d been attracted to him or liked him or could remember his name. I’d picked him simply so I could give my virginity, not have it taken. I’d been terrified that eventually one of the men Mom had brought around would take me against my will.

  I knew that eventually, one of them wouldn’t be satisfied when she made me watch or when she made me touch.

  But Easton, he’d been mine.

  He’d been the first man I’d desired.

  There’d been countless nights since when I’d remember the feel of being in his arms and how he’d held me. How he’d kissed me with tenderness and how he’d cherished my body.

  The morning I’d left his bed, before the sun had risen, my footsteps had never been heavier.

  Easton had been so good to me. He’d set the standard for future men in my life and not one had measured up.

  No, it hadn’t been a hookup.

  That night had been my everything.

  “Hookup or not, thank you.” I placed a hand over his heart. “That night meant a lot to me.”

  Easton studied me, trying to figure out where this was coming from. Maybe he’d eventually figure me out, as it seemed like he was trying.

  Maybe if he did, he could clue me in because I was as fucked up now as I’d been at sixteen.

  My hand rose and fell with the rise of his chest. My fingers looked tiny compared to the breadth of his shoulders. Through the cotton of his shirt, his heart pulsed in steady beats and the heat of his skin warmed mine. I let the spark between us sink deep into my veins.

  Easton covered my hand with one of his, trapping me to him. “What do you want, Gem?”

  A place.

  A safe place. A forever place.

  Maybe that place didn’t exist for women like me, so I stood on my toes, threw my free arm around his shoulders and brushed my lips against his before I gave him my second choice. “You.”

  He didn’t hesitate. Easton crushed his lips to mine, letting my hand go so both arms could snake around me. The heat from his body spread like fire, racing through my body and stealing my breath.

  I gasped as he lifted me off my toes and took one long stride into the cabin, kicking the door closed behind us with his boot.

  His tongue swept inside my mouth, twisting and tangling with mine, as a rush of desire pooled in my core. The erection beneath his jeans dug into my hip and his hard length only increased the frenzy.

  I was needy. Aching. Melting into his strong body. I latched on to his bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth as my arms clung to him.

  “Stop.” He broke his mouth away, panting. “Are you sure?”

  “If you walk out that door without fucking me, I’ll never speak to you again.”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “Promise?”

  I laughed and leaned in to take his earlobe between my teeth. “Easton. Fuck me.”

  “Whatever you say, darlin’.” His mouth latched on to the skin of my neck and he spun us toward the living room but stopped after two steps. “Wait. Damn it. I don’t have a condom.”

  I pointed over his shoulder to the coat rack. “Purse.”

  Easton spun us again, growling against my skin as he walked. His hands dropped to my ass, palming it with those large hands before setting me down so I could yank my purse off the hook and dig.

  His chest hit my back and his lips found the sensitive spot beneath my ear. The caress of his breath
and the wet warmth of his tongue dizzied my brain and I swayed on my feet. His arms banded around me, and one hand cupped my breast as the other went for the button on my jeans.

  “Hustle up,” he commanded.

  I was struggling to keep a grip on my purse, let alone search through it in the hopes that I’d find the condom I carried for emergency purposes.

  When I couldn’t feel it in the interior pocket, I started throwing things onto the floor. Lip glosses. Pens. A packet of gum. I ripped items out in a flurry, just wanting to find my goddamn wallet as Easton tortured me with his lips and hands.

  My nipples were pebbled inside my bra and when he slipped a hand underneath my sweater, raking those calloused fingers up my ribs, I began to quiver.

  “Gemma. Condom.”

  I snapped back to reality, clinging to the last thread of my focus to search for my wallet. When I had it in my hand, I threw my twelve-thousand-dollar handbag on the floor and ripped open the flap of the matching wallet.

  My finger hit the foil packet at the exact moment Easton’s slid into my panties and found my clit.

  “Oh my God.” I sagged against him, letting him hold me up as my eyes fell closed. “East, I . . .” My ability to speak and form coherent sentences disappeared as he toyed with me, playing me with those expert fingers.

  “Come.” His gravelly voice tickled my skin as two of his fingers slid inside. “Come on my fingers.”

  I managed a nod before a surge of heat spread through my limbs. Ecstasy consumed every nerve ending until I bucked against his hand and detonated. My orgasm was hard and fast and so fucking satisfying. I was still riding the high when he slid both his hands free and spun me around, catching me before I could topple to the floor.

  Easton shuffled me backward until my back hit the wall. He took my chin in a hand and tipped it up, holding me exactly where he wanted me as his mouth crashed onto mine.

  My palm flattened against his zipper, rubbing his arousal through the denim. He groaned down my throat, pressing deeper into my touch. Then his hand released my jaw so he could use both hands to strip the jeans off my hips.

  I kicked them off as he took a fistful of my lace panties and shredded them off my body.