Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

LILY

W hen we pull out of the car park, I notice a white SUV swinging out behind us. I watch it for a little while, but given there is only one road out of town and everyone else is headed the same way, I’m not overly worried. Before long I’ve lost sight of it behind a stream of other cars all travelling along the highway.

We spend a little time on the harbour in a cute town called Belleton, where we watch an airboat crossing the channel before stopping for a takeout coffee. A couple of people eye Tate as if they’re trying to figure out why he seems familiar, but we don’t linger.

From there we get back into the car and leave the main road, travelling on some little backwater roads, crisscrossing channels of water, skirting swamps and circling the edges of lakes. There’s water everywhere, reflecting the low sun that is starting to sink, and we stop frequently to take pictures before it gets dark. The sun starts to go down at five-thirty and as the light fades the sounds of the frogs and birds seem to intensify as they echo across the water.

When we return to the car for the last time, the sun is almost level with the water on the horizon, lighting up the sky with a rainbow of pinks, oranges and golds, which in turn are reflected on the water. As I turn my head to catch a last glimpse of the sunset, I notice the white SUV turning into the road. The hairs on my arms stand up and I watch it in the wing mirror. We’re on quite a remote lane heading down a dead-end road, with the bayou right next to us.

‘How far from the main road are we?’ I ask.

‘No more than a mile,’ says Tate. ‘As the crow flies, but unfortunately there are no bridges, so in reality it’s a couple of miles because we’d have to double back.’ He points to the satnav screen, which is more blue than white. We’re surrounded by water. The only way to return is to turn around and go back the same way.

‘I think maybe we ought to head back,’ I say, keeping an eye on the white car. There’s no point alarming Tate. I’m weighing up the risk. No one knows we’re here or even headed this way. I try to relax, and outwardly I look like I’ve achieved my goal. Inside, I’m totting up all the possible permutations for this situation to go tits-up. My hand slips into my purse and feels the comforting weight of my gun. This is what I’m trained for, although I wish I was driving. I’m pretty sure Tate has never done an evasive-action driving course.

‘Sure,’ says Tate easily. ‘We’ll get to the end and turn back.’

I could insist we turn right here, but I don’t want to alarm him, and whatever we do we’re going to have to drive past the white car. I pray that I’m being overly cautious, although in this job there’s no such thing and I don’t believe in coincidences.

I nod my agreement and keep a watchful eye on the other car, which is maintaining a discreet distance. The road peters out into little more than a track and there’s barely any space to turn around. In the distance on the other side of the open water, I can see the occasional roof among the trees, but apart from that there’s very little evidence of any human habitation. A quick shiver of foreboding runs down my spine. I don’t like this. It’s too remote and suddenly I’m horribly aware of how very vulnerable we are.

As Tate is halfway through a three-point turn, manoeuvring the car round to head back the way we’ve come, the white car comes down the track straight towards us at speed. Before Tate can complete the manoeuvre, it slows and then stops in the middle of the road. The sun is reflected on the windshield of the tinted window, so I can’t make out who’s in the front.

‘What does he think he’s doing?’ says Tate, taking his foot off the gas, so that our car is now at a right angle to the other car. ‘Where’s he gonna go? How I’m supposed to get past him?’ He moves to open his door.

‘No,’ I snap and lean over him to grab his arm to stop him.

‘What?’ He rolls his eyes and flops back into his seat. ‘Please don’t tell me you think this guy’s a threat. He’s just some redneck waving his dick around.’

The headlights on the other car flick to full beam, dazzling us, and suddenly the car is moving, at speed, straight towards us.

‘Shit, he’s going to h?—’

Our car rocks as the driver rams us, hitting the back passenger door on my side. The rear of the car takes most of the impact, and mercifully none of the windows break, although the airbags deploy. For a moment, it’s a touch of déjà vu, except this time the other car keeps moving, pushing us inexorably towards the water.

‘Fuck,’ shouts Tate. ‘Are you okay?’

I nod, my body still vibrating from the force of the hit. Then before we can gather our wits, our car is forced relentlessly towards the edge of the road. It teeters momentarily and then with a stomach-plummeting fall, flips over the edge, and we land upside down in the water strapped into our seats. The weight of the engine immediately drags the front end of the car down and we stare at each other with horror-struck faces.

It takes me less than five seconds to assess the situation. We’re bent double, held in by our belts, gravity turning us into pretzels. Tate’s legs are tangled up on the dash and the steering wheel. Blood is rushing to my head.

Tate immediately begins to scrabble with the door handle but it’s no good, we’re already sinking. If he opens it the car will fill even more quickly. I grab his arm.

‘Shit. What do we do?’

‘We need to stay calm,’ I say, which is far easier said than done, especially when you’re upside down and heading to the bottom of the bayou.

I suck a breath as it takes a few seconds for my training to kick in. Stay calm. I slow my breathing and focus on the out breaths for a few seconds. We have a little time in the pocket of air, although the car is sinking fast and water is trickling in from various directions– there’s a full flood running down the windscreen towards the roof below us.

‘Breathe, Tate. Calm, slow. We’re going to get out of here. Trust me.’

‘I don’t think I have a choice,’ he says with a sterling effort at humour. ‘I’m relying on your ninja skills.’

His steady faith gives me a much-needed confidence boost. A training exercise is very different to reality, but I do know what to do.

‘Okay,’ I call over to him above the sound of rushing water and the groaning of metal. ‘We need to carefully undo our seatbelts and get out of our seats to land on our feet to stand up.’

‘Let me go first,’ says Tate manoeuvring his legs and somehow managing to push his seat right back before he undoes his belt. With his superior upper-body strength, he rights himself with impressive ease and then helps me as I follow suit and undo my belt. He eases me down and leaves his hands on my waist as we stand knees bent in the cramped space.

There’s a jolt as the car comes to land on the bottom of the bayou, rocking slightly with the impact and we almost lose our footing, both of us making a grab for the steering wheel.

The water is rising rapidly and it’s already above our knees.

I try to open a window, but the electrics have already failed.

‘Now what?’ he asks. I’m impressed that he’s staying calm, though I can see from the rise and fall of his chest that he’s focusing on deep inhales and exhales.

‘We’re going to get out.’ I kneel down in the cold water, which is rising second-by-second, to tug at the head rest, removing it from the top of the seat. I hand it to Tate, the metal struts facing him.

‘Let’s get that muscle to work. You need to smash the window.’

He gives me a grim smile and takes the headrest. ‘Just like that.’

With what is clearly all his might, he launches it at the window, which is below his knees and beneath the rising water level. I think the glass cracks on first impact, but I can’t be sure. It’s difficult to see through the murky water.

‘Keep going,’ I urge.

With Tate’s second swing of the headrest, a gush of water bursts through. Tate keeps hammering at the window and I can see pieces of glass floating on the surface of the water in the car which is now rising even more rapidly. Now, time is against us.

‘Go,’ I yell above the torrent flooding in. ‘I’ll be right behind you. This is important. Swim as far left as you can towards the swamp cypresses before you surface.’

He gives me an agonised look, takes a deep breath, bends down and thrusts himself through the window, his broad shoulders just making it through. Taking a deep breath, the water up to my neck now, I duck beneath the surface onto my knees, holding my nose and keeping my mouth closed and forcing my eyes open. Through the muddy water, I can see the window beneath me, and I half swim, half push myself towards it grabbing hold of the steering wheel to haul myself forward against the water gushing in through the window. I grab the edges of the window, my hands catching on bits of remaining glass, and heave myself through, fighting against the current forcing its way inside. Wriggling free, I push myself off the side of the car and swim away from the vehicle. With the weighty drag of my clothes, it’s hard work, and with the fear of running out of breath, I have to fight the urge to swim upwards.

At last, I deem it safe to surface, which I do with a gasp and immediately search around for Tate. My nose is full of the smell of brackish water, and I wipe unidentified bits of leaf, slime and weed from around my mouth.

‘Over here,’ he calls in a low voice. Treading water, I spin round towards his voice. He’s holding on to a log and I swim towards him, realising that we’re hidden in the shadows and shallows of the trees. The bright lights of the white car are shining out over the water trained on the spot where the car went in. Bubbles rising from the stricken car below mark the point of entry and subsequent landing spot, a good couple of metres from where we are. Here, among the trees, we’re out of view. Unless the driver decides to sweep his headlights this way.

Over to the left something surfaces in the water startling us both, but not as much as the crack of gunfire that immediately follows. A bird takes flight with an angry squawk.

‘Fuck,’ says Tate in low quiet voice. ‘They’re shooting at us.’

‘What they think is us,’ I say in a low flat tone, reaching over to touch him.

The car sits there and the quiet is oppressive, although I’m gradually aware of the sounds of the night. The low grunt of a bullfrog. The rustle of things in the trees and the occasional gentle splash of water.

Tate once asked me what I was afraid of. I’m pretty sure at this moment in time it’s alligators. I swallow back my fear.

‘Bastard is waiting to make sure he finishes us off,’ says Tate, his voice rough-edged with fury.

‘Looks like it,’ I say grimly, my hand working its way beneath my trouser cuff to free the knife I keep holstered there. I’m not sure how effective it’s going to be against an alligator but the thought of being able to defend myself is making me feel a lot better.

‘Good call to suggest swimming this way,’ says Tate through chattering teeth, the cause of which could be cold or shock or a combination of both.

‘Yeah, hopefully whoever it is, is going to figure we’ve drowned.’

We wait surrounded by the sounds of the night, the seconds dragging. The cold is permeating my skin now, and I’m gritting my teeth as hard as I can to stop them chattering, too.

After what feels like forever, the lights on the car brighten and I hear the engine fire up. The beam of the highlights swing away and then around as the car turns and drives off.

‘Thank fuck,’ says Tate, his teeth chattering even more furiously.

‘We need to get out of here.’

‘Yes, please.’

I point to the opposite shore and we swim there in silence. Thankfully, my feet hit the bottom of the bayou quite quickly, even though we’re still a little way out. From there we have to splash our way through the shallows, tripping and falling over hidden roots and debris lurking in the thick mud. I pray there are no slumbering alligators in the vicinity that we’re about to disturb. Finally, we clamber out of the water, our clothes covered in muddy sludge. The smell is rank and insects buzz around us as I drag my hair back from my face.

I pat down my pocket and withdraw my phone. Dead of course. Not that I expected otherwise.

It’s dark now and difficult to see our footing as we tread carefully.

‘I think there was a house over that way,’ I say, pointing to where I’d seen a roof what seemed hours ago.

‘There are no lights.’

I stumble and he grabs my hand, hauling me to my feet. ‘Watch your footing if you can, don’t want to tread on a sleeping alligator.’

‘Thanks, Tate. The one thing I wasn’t worrying about.’

He gives my hand a squeeze. ‘They’re more scared of us. With all the noise we’re making, they’ll have skedaddled long ago.’

‘Promise,’ I say in a small needy voice, of which I’m immediately ashamed. I don’t do distressed maiden– ever.

He swings an arm around my shoulder. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

‘I’m going to hold you to that,’ I say, finding a bit of my backbone.

‘Says she, holding a knife. Where the fuck did that come from?’

‘Ankle sheath.’

‘Of course it did. You going to use it to build us a shelter for the night.’

‘Not if I can help it.’ I hope we’ll find some sign of habitation, even if it’s a bird hide or a fisherman’s cabin. I’m desperate to get my wet, very smelly clothes off and I’m wondering what’s lodged down my bra. The fabric feels very gritty.

Every now and then there’s a burst of noise, a rush of wings as we disturb nesting birds or a sudden rustle through the undergrowth.

I trip over a tree root and go flying through a shrub and– glory be!– realise I’ve stumbled onto a track.

‘Tate!’ I say with a little burst of adrenaline-fuelled excitement. ‘It’s a path.’

‘Great.’

‘Paths lead to places. People.’

‘Which way?’

I look up, there’s no light pollution at all and the sky is full of stars.

Tate follows my gaze. ‘Looking for the Pole Star or something?’ he asks. ‘Are you going to navigate us back to civilisation?’

‘Not today. We need to make a fifty-fifty decision. We could toss a coin.’

He lets out a mirthless laugh. ‘I’m too cold to be digging through my wallet, which is probably full of leeches and other stuff. Let’s keep moving.’

‘This way, then,’ I suggest and point to the right. ‘A path must come from somewhere and go somewhere, so by rights there should be something at either end.’

We fall into step, our feet trudging in unison, flicking through the long grass and squelching in the sodden ground. After walking for no more than twenty minutes, a shadow looms up out of the trees. A cabin.

‘Hallelujah,’ says Tate, our steps quickening as we approach the quiet building. In the dark it’s difficult to assess what sort of state it’s in. It could be a holiday home, a hide or a smugglers shack.

When we get nearer we peer into the shadows to see a shiplap-clad cabin perched on wooden stilts. A set of steps lead up to the wraparound veranda. We mount the stairs in silence.

‘If anyone’s home, we’re gonna scare the shit out of them,’ says Tate.

‘No, we’re going to play the famous ball player card like never before,’ I say. ‘About time it paid off.’

‘You say the sweetest things.’

‘I know.’

The house is in darkness, although would it even have electricity out here in the middle of the swamp? Tate knocks on the door. ‘Hello, anyone home?’

There’s no reply.

‘Let’s take a look around,’ he says and starts to walk along the veranda. The cold is starting to bite.

I run my hand around the door frame and around the doorstep in case someone’s left a handy key. Unfortunately, no such luck.

I tap at a pane of glass with my knife before exerting more force and smashing it in.

‘Lily!’ Tate hisses from a few yards away. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Breaking in.’

‘But—’

‘Tate. We’re cold and wet, and I’m not saying we might die of hypothermia, but we need to get warm and dry ASAP, especially if you’re going to play the game of your life in just over a week. Think how proud the owner of this place will be, saving The Don’s life.’

‘Good point,’ says Tate. ‘You’re really catching onto this fame thing.’

During this conversation, I’ve slipped my hand through the broken glass and turned the latch to let us in.

‘Hello. Anyone home,’ I call. ‘Can you help us?’ I don’t want anyone coming out brandishing a shotgun. ‘We had an accident in the bayou,’ I call.

Nothing. I think it’s fair to assume the place is empty.

Tate flips a switch and light floods into the large front room. It’s neat and uncluttered and there’s no sign of current occupation. Our eyes meet and we give each other a horrified stare.

‘Shit,’ says Tate. ‘I’m guessing I look as bad as you.’

‘Right back at you.’ I say between chattering teeth. ‘Let’s find a bathroom.’

‘Copy that.’

Off to the left there’s a small kitchen, which given our remote location is pretty modern. At the back of the living room there’s one large bedroom and an en suite bathroom. We barely glance at the bedroom, although I’d have to be blind not to notice the big king size bed with plump pillows and a crisp white quilt.

I let out a little sigh at the sight of the big shower, the high-end toiletries and the pile of white fluffy towels. This place is definitely a rental or an Airbnb.

Tate turns on the water straight away and holds a hand under the spray. ‘Glory be, it’s warm. Sorry, Lily. Fuck modesty. I need to get warmed up. Both of us do.’

I am not about to disagree.

He begins to strip off his clothes, shucking his soaked and filthy jeans down his legs. A piece of slimy greenweed is wrapped around one calf, and tiny specks of dirt freckle his skin. He’s right. Neither of us are in any state to worry. I follow suit because I can’t bear to be in my clothes a moment longer. My skin itches and my scalp prickles at the thought of the small insects and beasties we’ve waded through.

The overhead shower is plenty big enough for both of us and I step in behind Tate. Instant bliss. Hot water streams down over my head, warm rivulets chasing their way down my body. I’m trying not to stare at Tate’s muscular back and that insanely hot ass. Instead, I focus on looking down at the water in the white shower tray, which is swirling with mud, twigs and other tiny bits of leaf mulch.

‘Oh God, this is heaven,’ I groan, closing my eyes and revelling in the temperature of the water and the feeling of my body warming up. Now I can admit to myself just how wet and miserable I was. And how close we came to not making it. Fuck it. We could have died. I am done fighting this. I press my body into Tate’s. My legs start to shake. Post-adrenaline shock. I know the science, but my body doesn’t seem to be getting the message.

Me and Tate. Together. My eyes are closed, squeezed shut against the image of what could have happened if we hadn’t got out of the car.

‘Lily?’ Tate puts a hand on my shoulder. I’m shaking.

I open my eyes and his deep blue eyes are focused on me.

My heart turns over, a long slow tumble. And I feel the fall. Emotion rushes at me from every side. Love as bright and furious as a starburst explodes inside me. Tate could have died. I lay a hand on his broad chest. I never stopped loving him. I’d buried it deep and then piled life on top so I didn’t have to examine it too hard.

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close to his warm, wet, naked body. My body melts into the landscape of his, like it’s supposed to be part of him. We stand together absorbing the feel of each other, chest, thighs, arms, belly and I sigh against his skin, water coursing across my face. Home. I lift my face and kiss the underside of his chin, my lips dragging on the slight roughness of his bristles. I taste him lightly with my tongue, tightening my hold on him because I’m scared to let go but it’s okay because I feel the flex of his arms banded around me. He’s not letting go.

He leans behind himself and switches off the shower before ducking his head and his mouth captures mine in a slow kiss that deepens the second my tongue touches his. For a few seconds we’re taking our time, balancing out the fear and easing our way towards each other. But then there’s too much space between us and our mouths press harder together. Suddenly, it’s too much and I can’t get enough of Tate, the span of him, the width of him, I can’t get close enough. I thrust my hands into his hair and hold his head, his hands are hugging my ass to him. I want to climb inside him and as he clings to me with the desperation of hanging onto life, I know he feels the same.

Every nerve ending is alight, my skin tingles and inside I’m hot to the core.

My hands move to his hips, my thumbs skating inwards across the smooth skin down towards his groin. I’m in too much of a hurry, driven by the aching need that’s been dormant for far too long. I slip my hand to cup his hard, smooth cock. Silken and strong.

His guttural groan makes my clit sing.

‘Fuck, Lily.’

I stroke him a couple of times, revelling in the burn of heat between my legs, before he slaps his hand over mine. ‘Slow down,’ he murmurs, easing back and pressing a kiss on my throat. When he cups my breasts, his large hands dwarf them, his thumbs rolling over the nipples. I’ve always been way too sensitive there and the quick friction almost sends me tumbling. His grin is wolfish because he knows.

‘Some things never change,’ he says, his eyes intense as he takes my hands and holds them above my head, clasping them in one hand, while the other comes around my waist to support me. He stares down at me, his expression full of intent. I catch my lip between my teeth. My body knows this song. I’m quivering with anticipation. He ducks his head to take one nipple in his mouth. There’s no gentleness here and I don’t want it. I need the strong pulls of his mouth against my tender flesh, and as he sucks and teases, tormenting me, I gasp, unable to distinguish between the pleasure and pain. The sharp tugs are echoed between my legs. The more I call out, the harder he sucks.

My knees are weak. I cry his name out.

When I can take no more, I finally say, ‘Stop. Please. Stop.’

He lifts his head and gives my nipple a quick kiss, cupping the other breast with his free hand and rolling his thumb over the neglected nipple giving me a satisfied smile. ‘I haven’t finished yet.’

I swallow, my nipple throbbing, radiating desire throughout my body.

He stares down at me, lifts an eyebrow and waits. He knows I can’t say no. I close my eyes and suck in a sharp breath when he takes my other nipple into his mouth. He takes his time, leisurely licking, sucking, swirling his tongue. It’s torment. I want it hard and fast, and he knows it. He’s breaking me down and I love it.

Eventually I have to give in. ‘Please, Tate.’

‘Please Tate, what?’

I hold back the words. Not wanting to capitulate, wanting him to work for it.

His mouth lets go of my nipple with the pop of a cork, the loss of his warm, wet tongue makes me whimper.

‘Tell me what you want, Lily.’

‘Suck me. Hard.’

I’m relieved I don’t have to beg.

‘You have such responsive tits,’ he murmurs and ducks his head again. I squirm against him trying to free my hands, although its half-hearted. Much as I want to touch him, the pleasure he’s giving me makes me submit. I close my eyes, lost in sensation, only conscious of my laboured breaths and his hot mouth pulling pleasure from my tender flesh.

The tension in my core spirals, but it’s still not enough.

‘Tate,’ I cry. My voice is stretched thin and high and I’m hanging on, but only just. I try and pull free from the hold he has on my hands. I’m greedy for more, want to touch him, stroke him. Hurry him along.

He moves to my lips with an open, hot-mouthed kiss but doesn’t release me. I groan into his mouth, my breasts burning and tingling like they’re on fire, fiery bursts of pleasure licking at me.

Tate’s dick is butted up against my stomach, granite hard. I push against him trying to take charge.

‘Nuh-huh,’ he teases, pulling back. ‘Only good girls get what they want.’

He pushes me back against the tiles and changes his hold on my arms, forcing them higher above my head.

‘Are you going to be a good girl?’

I glare at him, and he smiles when I try to shake his grip.

He grins. ‘Oh Lily, you’re going to be so good.’ His voice is gravelly, and damn it, my heart expands. He’s in control, just the way I like it. And, God help me, I’ve always liked it. Being under him, giving him what he wants. It gives me an extra thrill, even though in all areas of my life I’m assertive and in charge. With us, it’s always been like this. Him dominating me, overpowering me with his masculinity. My guilty secret.

I still don’t say anything because I don’t like to make it too easy but I’m pretty sure my breathless moans are all the answer he needs.

He slides his free hand between my thighs, pushing me so that I have to take a step to part them. Without more ado, I feel the pad of one of his fingers at my entrance.

‘So wet,’ he whispers into my ear and slides his finger in with slow, insistent pressure.

A garbled moan escapes me as I tip my head onto his chest. I think I’m losing my mind. Lightning heat is burning through my core, the pressure building. I rock onto his finger.

‘No, no,’ he whispers and withdraws. I protest. He raises his hand to lift my chin and stares into my eyes. ‘I want to watch you come.’

My eyes plead with him. This is too intimate. Too much. But I’m desperate to feel him. For him to make the emptiness go away.

This time he slides two fingers in, stretching me, with a firm slow pump. My legs are shaking. The need rising and rising. I hold his gaze with desperation because I can feel it coming. Feel that I’m going to be vulnerable to him. Something I swore I’d never be again. This is capitulation but… the orgasm bursts. Sparks of sensation burst through my body like a meteorite shower, hot bright and incandescent. I let go as I’m swamped by the flood of feeling, my eyes never leaving his face.

He lowers my arms and wraps his around my waist pulling me to him, his lips nuzzling at my neck. I cling on like a shipwrecked sailor to a rock. Limp and spent. My heart is still pounding and I’m totally spaced out. I close my eyes and let my breathing settle. I have no words and I’m grateful he has none either. How do you talk after that? Although I’m conscious that he’s still fully erect. I smile to myself. Tate’s iron control. He’s always taken care of me first.

I’m a little too hazy to function yet, even though there’s the niggling thought that I haven’t taken care of him. I stiffen slightly and start to pull away, my hands moving downwards.

As if he reads my mind, he kisses my neck, holds me closer as if he’s never going to let me go and murmurs in my ear. ‘There’s all the time in the world.’

I close my eyes again and let myself enjoy the embrace.