Chapter 10

He didn’t hear me.There’s no way he heard me. No way.

I’ve been going back and forth on that all day, from when I woke up and found Savage was gone, to when I spilled coffee over my shirt at the kitchen sink, to now, in the library listening to Irma grumble about unpaid late fees and how the youth of today have no respect.

“You would think,” Irma says, “that they would understand what it means when we say have the book back by a certain date. But nooooo. They just don’t get it.” She taps away on the keys at the computer, using the index fingers of either hand to type. “No, they just cannot fathom what it means to return a book on time. There are other people who want to take out those books.”

“Yuh-huh.” I nod and stare out of the open doors of the library.

It’s a strangely blustery day outside. The clouds rolled in this morning, accompanied by the occasional gust of wind or a roll of thunder. There’s this strange tension in the air, like the world’s holding its breath and waiting for something to happen.

Or maybe that’s my nerves talking. This afternoon, I’m heading out to Savage’s ranch for a one-day self-defense crash course. Thank God June will be there, because I can’t be alone with him after last night.

He didn’t hear you.

But he was right there. Right outside the door.

And I ran into him.

It was late. I was sure he wouldn’t be awake, and I’d woken up from the most erotic dream ever, featuring Savage, of course, and well, a girl has to do what a girl has to do. It wasn’t like I was out there in the living room, flicking the bean, as Marci would call it.

I was in the privacy of my own bedroom, and I was quiet about it.

Wasn’t I?

Oh God, what if I wasn’t quiet enough?

What if he’s currently so revolted about what he heard that he’s avoiding me?

That’s a good thing. That’s what you want. Savage probably heard me and decided to tender his resignation as my bodyguard as a result.

Kill me now.

“—storm rolling in, we can be sure that those books will be late too.”

“Yeah,” I say, patting Irma on the shoulder. “You know what, I’ll print out another notice about late books and stick it up in the library. Will that help?”

Irma sniffs. “Your guess is as good as mine. It’s the least you can do, since you’re abandoning us.”

“That’s six weeks away. And it’s just for a few months,” I say.

“Let’s hope your job is still here when you get back,” Irma replies, waspishly.

Her bark is worse than her bite, and I’m used to it by now. Irma likes verbal jousting, but if you show her that she bothers you, she’ll never let it go. Besides, if you get upset about everything a person says, you’ll never have enough time to look after yourself.

And if Taylor Swift has taught me anything, it’s that karma is my friend.

“Aren’t you leaving?” Irma asks. “You’re done for the day.”

“Yeah,” I say, and then take a step out from behind the counter. I stop, shaking my head, and go back and grab my purse before heading out. This is it. I’m supposed to go home, pack an overnight bag, and drive out to Savage’s ranch. June’s meeting me there after she’s run a few errands, so I’ll be fine. I’ll be totally fine.

He so didn’t hear you orgasm while screaming his name.

At this point, it’s yet another chapter of mortification to add to the book that is my life story. It’s not even a chapter, it’s a tiny scene compared to the litany of embarrassing events that revolve around Carter Savage. Oops, just Savage. Can’t call him Carter, not even in my head, because, you know, he doesn”t like that. We’re not close enough.

I get into my car and drive home, park out front then stop and peer down the side alley of the bakery.

Bagel’s is plenty busy today with a line stretching out the open doors—if Franklin is hiding out behind a dumpster, he won’t take me in front of these people. I like to think the Heatstrokers will step in.

I head upstairs, my heels clanking on the grated steps, and a gust of wind blasts me to the side. I catch myself on the wall. “What the heck?” I look up at the bruising sky.

It’s the middle of summer, but we get thunderstorms in Heatstroke. The kind that blow through town and tear things up before leaving as fast as they came. Great. This means we’ll likely be training indoors.

It’ll be fun. It’ll be great.

I’ll finally learn how to fight, which will be super fun. I don’t want to kick anyone’s ass, but having the capability to do so would be cool.

I think about that instead of Savage’s bare chest, rippling with muscles in the dark, with just the right amount of chest hair, while I pack my bag. And I purposefully don’t pack the lacy pink underwear.

Ten minutes later, I’m on my way, the radio blasting, my window rolled down. One of Cash’s songs is on the radio, and I sing along to it, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. I’m mad at him, but damn, he’s a good songwriter.

“And that was Soaring Hearts by Cash Taylor, Heatstroke’s very own. Gotta love him, right Jill?”

“Right you are, Jack,” Jill says, in her best radio presenter voice. “Folks, this is Radio Heat, bringing you the hottest hits as we get ’em. It’s right about that time for the five-o-clock news update, and boy, do we have a doozy of a report today.”

Radio Heat’s “serious” news jingle plays, and Jack takes over. “This is the five-o-clock update, with Jack Barnes. Residents of Wait County have been encouraged to batten down the hatches and prepare for what climatologists are calling, ‘The Storm of the Century’.” Earlier today, we caught up with Davey Prink, Channel Nine’s meteorologist, and he had this to say.”

“Folks, y’all are going to want to lock up tight and stay indoors. We’re talking a Severe Thunderstorm Warning and a Flood Advisory. At this time, we are not expecting those winds to sweep in from farther up the coast, but be on the lookout for updates. The weather service will issue them as they come in, and here at Channel Nine, we’ll do our best to keep you updated on developments as they happen. This means you’re likely going to see a lot of rain that might take out roads in and around our county. So, as of six this evening, stay off the roads and stay indoors. Keep your devices charged, and ensure you have enough fresh drinking water and food for the next couple of days.”

A weather warning? Gosh, I’ve been so far up my own behind today, I didn’t check the weather. And I haven’t been listening to Irma most of the day.

“You heard it, folks,” Jack continues. “You stay safe out there. In other news, Sheriff Oakes has issued a?—”

I turn the radio down as I turn onto the dirt road that leads toward Savage’s ranch. It’s on the opposite side of town to Cash’s place, and the road is overgrown, trees hanging over on either side, their leaves and branches scratching the top of the car. I bump along, gritting my teeth, and slowing the car to a crawl.

This is not good. A weather warning?

I should turn back, go to the apartment while I still can, but a quick glance at the clock on my dash shows me that it’s ten minutes until six.

I lean forward and peer up at the sky. A lightning bolt splits it, almost as if on cue, and rain pelts down on the windshield.

“Crap!” I hurriedly close my windows.

I slow down even more and switch on my windshield wipers, watching as they sluice the water across the glass. This is bad. This is so bad.

I direct the car down the long road. I’ve never been out to Savage’s ranch, but Cash sent me directions that I scribbled down on a piece of paper. I keep the engine running but stop the car, grappling the directions out of my purse.

I smooth the paper and read them.

Drive straight until you see the sign for Lost Hope Ranch then take a right.

Seems pretty straightforward. I start driving again, squinting through the rain and hunched over the steering wheel. It’s twenty minutes before I see the sign on my right, and I let out a breath and take the turn off, praying that June’s already here.

I wouldn’t want her driving in this. It’s crazy! But knowing my brother, he made sure she got here right on time so she’d be safe.

The road that leads up to the ranch is a little more smooth, but it winds around a bend, between trees, and it’s only after another five minutes that the lights of the ranch house, blurred by the downpour, come into view.

I park the car in front of it, my heart pounding in my chest, partly because of the storm and also because I’m here. It’s getting dark fast, and the rain pelts down on the car’s roof, drumming furiously.

“You can do this. This is fine. It’s fine.” I scramble my purse off the passenger seat, then turn and try to grab my bag. My seatbelt jerks me back into place. “That’s fine. That’s just fine—” I unclip it and turn, then yelp.

A dark figure stands next to my door. Knuckles rap on the window.

Savage.

I unlock the car doors, and Savage jerks the back door open and grabs my bag. I get out into the mud and rain, and cold water slides down the back of my shirt.

“I’ve got it,” I say, shutting my door, and holding out a hand for the bag.

Savage takes me by the elbow. “Let’s go, Prin—” Thunder cuts out the last of his sentence, and I don’t get a chance to ask what he said, because we’re sprinting toward the front of his house.

I slip in the mud, and he catches me and helps me up.

We barrel up the front steps of the porch together and into the warmth of the house. Savage shuts the door and locks it, and the roar of the rain dims.

“Thanks,” I say, “but I was fine.”

He grunts, and I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing, and how wet his shirt is. So wet, it clings to every inch of his chest, outlining what I felt last night in the dark. He runs a hand over his neck, and shakes out his hair, and I’m mesmerized.

He places my bag on the floor next to an end table. “You want to shower?”

“Yes, please,” I squeak. “I mean, yeah, uh, yeah.” Which is, of course, way better than “yes, please” in a mouse voice.

Savage looks as if he wants to smile. “This way.” He leads me down the hall, and I can’t help peeking around at everything I pass by. This is my only glimpse into Savage’s psyche, since he barely talks to me, and when he does talk to me, the sound of his voice and the way his lips move tends to distract me. Apparently, I’m a horny teenager.

The house is small. Much smaller than I expected, but not in a bad way. It’s cozy, and there’s an open plan living room with a fireplace. We’re past the entrance to the kitchen too quickly for me to take much stock of what’s in it.

“This is the bedroom,” Savage says. “There’s an en suite bathroom. You can shower and get changed in there.”

“The bedroom,” I say. “Wait, the bedroom?”

“That’s right.”

“There’s only one bedroom? You don’t have a guest bedroom?”

“I don’t like to entertain,” he says.

“You’re kidding,” I reply. “You? You’re the regular life of the party.”

His lips twitch.

Does Savage think I’m funny? “But, sorry, give me a second here. How are we, June and I, going to stay over for the night if there’s no guest bedroom?”

“You’ll be staying in my bed. I’ll be on the couch.”

“The couch,” I say. “Aren’t there like—Uh, you’re running a camp, right?”

“I’m going to. Once the bungalows are finished being built.”

“They’re not done now?”

“No.”

I press my lips together, mulling this particular development over. I thought coming out here meant June and I would have our own cute little camp spot or bungalow to ourselves, and we’d see Savage during “training” or whatever. But this is not that.

This is me, trapped in a cabin with my crush during a storm.

“More questions?” Savage asks.

“Where’s June?”

“Not here.” And then he turns and walks off.

“What do you mean, not here?” I call after him. “Where is she?”

No answer.

Great. Well, that is just friggin’ perfect. June isn’t here yet. She isn’t here, and she’s either going to be late or not arrive. This is a nightmare.

“You’re dripping on the floor,” Savage says.

“Oh, now he has a voice,” I mutter, and enter his bedroom.

I stop after a few feet, swallowing nerves.

His bed is huge. King-sized, with white sheets and pillows, and a deep navy throw rug in front of it, a rustic wooden chest that’s probably full of “man stuff”. The bedside table on the right is empty except for a stack of books and a bedside lamp, and there are no pictures on the wall. Not a single one. But there are huge windows on either side of the bed that provide a view of the trees outside, the rain pouring down already flooding the backyard. It’s beautiful.

I am in Carter Savage’s bedroom. I’ve fantasized about being here more times than I remember, in the most pathetic ways, and now that I’m here, I’m woozy. It smells like him, that special brand of smoke and cedar and man.

I walk over to the bedside table and stare down at it. The book he borrowed from the library, the man chest romance, is on the top of the pile, a bookmark poking out from inside.

My curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift it off the table and open it.

“Please, I can’t take it any more, Georgio, I need you now. I must have you.”

“Anything for you, Kitten. I will fulfill your greatest desires.” He ran his hands over her bosoms, licking his lips and?—

“Trouble finding the bathroom?” Savage’s breath is hot on my neck.

I jump and drop the book on the table. The bookmark flutters down to the ground, and I bend to grab it, my ass brushing against Savage.

Oh. Oh, no. What am I doing?

I spin around and hold up my hands and the bookmark. “I am so sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to rub, uh, to brush. No. Not those words. I didn’t mean to do that.” I swallow.

He’s still soaked through, and he stares down at me, those dark eyes eating up the distance between us, which is not much. Savage’s body heat is a lot. I bite down on the corner of my lip.

“The bathroom is through there.” He points to the left. “I’m going to need to use it once you’re done.”

“Yeah, of course. Sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Sorry. I mean, yeah. Ha. I’m so wet right now, so I should probably—” I clamp my lips together.

“Just. Shower.”

“Shower.”

His voice is a low, hot rumble. “Stop. Talking. Shower. Now.” And then he turns and walks off, and I’m left clutching the soggy bookmark and what’s left of my dignity. Which is like a shred of it, at this point.