Smolder Road (Scorch Series Romance Thriller Book 6) Page 2

  “I did not. I was hunting.” She gestures to the quail at her waist then glances back at the cabin. “I knew you were sneaking off somewhere. Had no idea it was to play house by yourself in the woods.” Her voice is brittle, the way it goes when her feelings are hurt by something I’ve said or done—not that it puts her off. She just comes back at me another day, another way, and I’m hanging onto resistance by a thread as she reaches me.

  Lucy has a full mouth with a curl to her lips that makes her look like she’s always smiling. At the smell of the tanning, her little nose wrinkles and her pouty lips pooch up. Everything she does is adorable, damn it.

  “Ew. Stinks.” She looks down at the rabbit skin in my hands. “Tanning. I always wondered how you did that.”

  I look over at the jar of brains. I know how to send Little Miss City Girl on her way. “I’ll teach you, if you like. Just about ready for another layer of brains. Want to rub them in?”

  Her big, dark eyes with those thick black Luciano lashes lift to mine. Determination kicks in as she tightens that kissable mouth into a line.

  “Brains. Okay. You got it.” She puts her rifle down, unclips the loop with the bird on it, and steps up to me.

  Oh, God, that strawberry shampoo she always uses. She must have brought a vat of it when she came out here from Philly. The scent teases me, battling the smell of the tanning.

  She scoops a handful of the brains out of the jar and gulps, but rubs them gamely into the skin as I hold it stretched over the post.

  Up, down. Around and around.

  It’s disgusting, but somehow she’s making it sexy, making it about how she’d like to touch me.

  “Enough.” My voice is hoarse. I hand her the smaller scraper, the one I used for the last pass. “I’ll stretch the skin open and tight for you.”

  Everything we say or do seems to be about sex. Thankfully, Lucy keeps her head bent, not speaking, and I get to look at her sweet curves as she works. The motion makes her little round butt push out and her full breasts bounce. The girl’s waist is so small my hands could probably span it. The scent of strawberries mixed with the heat of her exertion makes my nostrils flare.

  She’s right in front of me, mine for the taking.

  My pulse roars. I’m so hard it hurts.

  It’s embarrassing. Maybe she won’t notice. I don’t want to encourage her. I can’t let her know how she affects me.

  And I can’t believe she just scooped the brains out and rubbed them around without complaining.

  Lucy finishes the scraping and keeps her head down. “Do you want to do it—again? More?” Her voice is husky.

  My hands are filthy, I’m sweaty, and all I can think about is how damn close she is and that there’s a bed not far away. “That’s enough. Let’s wash up.”

  I put the lid on the tanning mixture, and walk to the porch to hang the skin beside the others on the drying rack.

  “What are you doing with those skins?” Lucy asks.

  I take a jar of homemade, cedar-scented soap out from under the step and walk back where she’s standing next to the pump.

  “Making something.” I don’t want to tell her it’s a bed covering—don’t want to put the image of those soft furs draped over a mattress in both of our minds. “Get the bucket under the flow, please.”

  Lucy places the nearby tin pail beneath the gush of water that splashes out as I work the pump handle. She looks up at me with heat in her eyes. “I could watch you do that all day, Roan.”

  My name comes out on a breathy sigh. I love the way it sounds when she says it.

  I’m going to bust my breeches. “Here’s the soap.” I hand it to her.

  She unscrews the lid and rubs some on her hands, sniffs. “Smells good. You made this, didn’t you?”

  “I make everything out here.” It’s part of why I love this place. I enjoy being self-sufficient.

  I scoop double handfuls of water from the bucket and splash it onto my torso and arms. Digging some of the soft soap out of the jar, I lather it on myself.

  I don’t look at her, but my movements slow.

  My hands slide up my arms, feeling the heavy muscle. They glide over the hard ridges of my abdominals, the arcs of my chest, and the knots of my nipples. My hips rotate forward…I don’t mean to, but I’m touching myself in front of her, as sexy and slow as I can make it, imagining her hands on me.

  Finally, I scoop water and splash it on myself to rinse, hoping it will cool me down. But when I sneak a glance at Lucy from under my lashes, she’s staring at me, mouth ajar, eyes glassy—and it makes me even hotter.

  “I’ll do your back,” she whispers.

  “Only if I can do yours.”

  I almost bite my tongue off as she grabs the edge of her tee, tugs it out of her jeans, and whips it off over her head, tossing it into the grass.

  Full breasts strain the black lace bra binding them. The flare of her hips makes my hands twitch with the need to grab her. I love everything about her extreme curves, and have since the first day I saw her. And she knows it.

  Lucy stares at me defiantly, her cheeks red. “You first.”

  I turn very slowly, and she pours water over my back. It trickles down my spine and into my breeches. Goosebumps erupt everywhere that her small hands, slippery with soap, slide over my skin.

  She’s moving slow: up and down. Back and forth. Around and around.

  Lucy rinses me, one handful of water at a time, as I stand like a statue: a painful, throbbing statue. Thank God, I’m turned away from her because there’s no way she could miss the erection straining the front of my pants.

  “There. Done. Now me.” Her voice is husky.

  I turn, and her eyes drop to take in the obvious. “I’m only human. You don’t really want me to do…this.”

  I must keep her away—but every atom in me is straining toward her, iron to a magnet.

  “Roan.” The pleading in her voice twists my heart like wringing out a washcloth. “Please.”

  I reach out and touch the base of her throat with two fingers, resting them lightly in the hollow above her breasts. Her heart pounds like the fluttering of a small and terrified animal whose life is about to be taken.

  “Are you afraid of me?” My voice drops to a whisper.

  “I’m afraid you don’t want me. I’m afraid you don’t feel the same.”

  To hell with the consequences.

  To hell with JT and her other brothers. To hell with the fact that she can do so much better. Doesn’t matter. For whatever reason, this girl has chosen me—and she is mine.

  I take a step to stand so close that her face is level with my chest. She’s so much shorter, a little woman I can tuck into my bed and cherish in a hundred ways. But so strong! Tougher than her brothers, any day, and so full of passion.

  I lift Lucy’s damp hand in one of mine and scoop out some of the soap. I rub our hands and interlaced fingers together, sliding, touching, working up a slight, slippery foam. Our hands rise parallel to our bodies, interlaced as we play with each other’s fingers. Her warm brown eyes hold mine, bemused, and she sways toward me, her breathing hypnotic.

  I stretch our clasped, soapy hands wide and give a tug. She falls forward and lands flush with my body. Lucy gives a little gasp, and I lean down into that small sound to take her mouth.

  She couldn’t possibly have been eating strawberries, but that’s what she tastes like as I fall into her, consume her… This moment is everything I need, all that I want, all that she’s promised me in a thousand tiny ways over the last months—and as she melts against me, her knees sagging, I know this is all she’s craved too.

  “Lucy,” I breathe into her mouth. “I want to touch you. But this soap…”

  “Touch me,” she says. “Dirty me up with it, and wash me down after.”

  “If your brothers…”

  “Screw my brothers,” she snarls, and wraps herself around me. God, she’s fierce, a tigress, and I can’t stop from taking all she�
��s giving, and giving it back in return.

  We’re both soaked and a writhing, yearning mess of soap and water when a yap from Shadow on the porch brings me around like a slap in the face.

  I’ve got Lucy in my arms, her center against my crotch, her butt resting on the precarious bar of the hitching post, her legs wrapped around me. Her hands are tangled in my hair and I’m holding her by that butt while my mouth is on the cherry of her nipple through her bra—but Shadow’s warning reminds me that we’re out in the open, where anyone can see us.

  And we’re vulnerable. Outside the protective walls of the Haven, anyone could find us, making out and distracted. With the Scorch Flu ravaging the country, even remote spots are places human wolves hunt.

  And I remember who we are.

  Lucy’s the beloved, coddled baby sister of the Luciano family.

  And I’m a half-breed with a record, and nothing to offer but a few rabbit skins.

  I kiss her luscious mouth one more time, before sliding her to the ground. “You need to go home, Lucy.”

  Chapter Four

  Lucy

  I follow Roan as he moves away, sliding off the railing, my feet landing back onto the grass, reaching for him like the sucker I am even as he pushes me away with a hand at my waist.

  I open my eyes. His face is shuttered, all hard angles and straight lines. His silver-gray eyes are hidden by long black lashes as he stares at the space between our bodies. The heat between us shimmers so hot that I can almost see it.

  For one brief moment, we were in agreement. But it’s over. He’s returned to that silent place, wherever it is that he goes.

  “I want this. You want this.” My voice comes out a rasp. “We’re both adults here.”

  “Go home, Lucy.” Roan’s hand drops away, and he turns towards the cabin.

  “Seriously?” After all this time, he finally kisses me—and then tells me “go home.” Like I’m a kid, not a woman who knows her own mind and heart! “Are you kidding?”

  Roan just stands there, and I can feel him humming with tension. God, he’s gorgeous. I stare at the strong line of his jaw, his high cheekbones and elegant nose. His sculpted mouth is pulled tight with strain, the only expression in his face. But I can feel his need for me, a powerful musk in the air. And I need him.

  Roan takes another step and turns fully away so that I’m staring at his back. His skin glistens in the sun, tan and strong, every muscle defined as his hands tighten into fists. His black, glossy hair has tumbled free from the leather thong that held it in place and brushes the middle of his hard, ripped shoulders. The deep vee of his back flows in a sweet line into the tight rounds of his butt.

  I could be with him all day and into next week and never want to get out of bed!

  My hands tingle from stroking those muscles, my thighs tremble from being wrapped around his lean hips. My core pulses with hunger for him. I couldn’t want him more, but finally his words sink in—and anger blasts through me.

  “You know what?” My voice wavers, barely controlled rage and hurt underlying each word. Tears burn my eyes but I’m not going to let him see me cry. “I’ll leave you alone. If that’s what you want. I’ll leave you alone forever.”

  I pick up my shirt and yank it on, grab the rifle and the dead quail. I spin and stomp toward the forest but give one last glance at the cabin—a pretty structure, with a wide porch and a single chair. It would look better with two rocking chairs and little Lucy and Roan babies running around it.

  But that will never happen.

  Pinocchio dashes away from where he’s playing with Shadow to join me as I plunge out of the sun and into the darkness of the tree cover. Crashing through Roan’s path, marking it, trashing it, kicking and lashing out with the rifle at the trees and bushes, I leave the man I love behind. I know it’s childish but I can’t stop myself. The pain of his rejection is a thousand bees, stinging me, driving me away.

  He tried to keep that cabin a secret from me, from everyone at the Haven? Well, he can stay out here and rot for all I care.

  My chest is tight and painful with the sobs I’m holding back.

  We belong together. How could he deny it after that freakin’ amazing kiss? Better than I ever imagined! His lips on mine—rough and yet gentle, taking what he wanted and giving me what I needed. So perfect.

  Such crazy pleasure and something so much more! How could he just throw me away like this?

  Go home? I’m home in his arms, and he is home in mine, the big dumb idiot!

  Pinocchio touches his nose to my hip and I brush him away, on the edge of bursting into full-on sobs.

  I’ve cried so damn much in the last few months. There has been so much to mourn, so much grief and loss. And now the reality that Roan is never going to love me back crashes over me. He’s too messed up and cowardly to try.

  I thought he was brave! I thought he was strong!

  All my instincts told me Roan felt the same as I did…but I was a fool. A sigh of frustration escapes through gritted teeth. I’m usually really good at reading people.

  The dead quail hits my leg with every stride, annoying me. I undo the hook, release the bird and drop it. The broken and bloody creature lands at my feet.

  I almost throw the hook into the trees.

  But just because I’m giving up Roan doesn’t mean I’m giving up hunting. I reattach the hook to my waist and turn to the dog.

  Pinocchio flattens his ears and sits. JT needs Pinocchio to bring in the goats, and I can’t handle having even a dog try to comfort me. “JT needs you. Go home.” I point in the direction of the Haven. “I’m going to head back there, too. I just need to be alone for a little while.” Tears press on the backs of my eyeballs, eager to escape.

  Pinocchio looks up at me with mournful eyes. I point and stamp my foot. “Go to JT. Go!”

  He starts slowly toward the Haven, glancing over his shoulder at me. I point again, making my face stern. Pinocchio finally trots off through the dappled light of the forest. I drop the rifle and collapse onto a nearby stump, sobbing.

  I wrap my arms around myself, holding tight. Not as tight as Roan held me—that would be impossible. He’s so much stronger than me.

  And weaker! He’s afraid of what we could have!

  He’s a coward and he doesn’t deserve me.

  But I’m crying so hard because it’s just not true. None of that is really true.

  I love him, and he loves me, too. I just know it.

  Roan isn’t just drop-dead sexy and gorgeous, he’s self-sacrificing. Honorable. Everything I’ve seen of him all these months has shown me that. He’s a hard worker who never flinches from anything, a loyal friend to JT, skilled and capable, kind to animals and humans—and he’s a man apart. Full of secrets, damn him, secrets that I can tell are the reason he won’t accept the love being offered him.

  He stopped kissing me because he thinks he’s not good enough for me.

  And that part hurts even more.

  My heart shatters. After my brother Nando’s death, our journey here from Philadelphia, and all the losses of the last eight months… I’ve held onto myself, managed to keep my head up. But I can’t anymore.

  The sun moves and the shadows shift and I cry deep heaving sobs, just letting the pain wash over me.

  Eventually the storm passes, and I’m sitting on the stump, hiccupping and snuffling. I pull up my shirt and wipe at my swollen face.

  Standing on unsteady legs, I turn and stumble toward the Haven.

  I can’t smell, my nose is totally blocked, and I can hardly see for the tears blurring my vision. My breath is coming in pathetic little whimpers.

  I look horrible, and Mama will ask what happened. I won’t tell her. How can I tell anybody? It’s too humiliating. Not that it matters, now that I’m officially broken.

  Chapter Five

  Elizabeth

  Holding a clipboard with the patient’s vitals, I smile at the woman sitting on the exam table. Playing doctor is chal
lenging for an introvert like me, but if I don’t cover for doctors Avital and Nani, both out on maternity, North Fork will be left with no medical care. “Hi, Mrs. Sproat. Melody tells me your temperature and blood pressure are normal. What can I help you with today?”

  The woman’s eyes are dark and empty, her clothing unkempt, and her hair greasy and snarled. A child of ten or so, her daughter, answers. “I’m Cassie. Mom isn’t feeling well. She doesn’t want to get out of bed or eat.”

  I nod, forcing a smile. “I see. Let me check your heart and lungs.” I put the stethoscope on the woman’s thin breast and lean in to listen. Mrs. Sproat smells of musty body odor edged with the sour tang of hopelessness.

  I don’t need to be a doctor to know what’s wrong with the woman: deep, grief-induced depression. Some survivors don’t want to live after all they’ve lost, even when they have reasons like this sweet little girl, anxiously rubbing her mother’s arm.

  I long to return to my quiet lab, deep in the Haven, where a new vaccine made from my sister-in-law Jolene’s blood is only a few weeks away from completion. Nani, one of my other sisters-in-law, is a virology expert with an MD and she’s been supervising my work. She can’t physically help me due to her pregnancy—any risk of exposure is too high with Scorch Flu—but we are in the home stretch. I press the woman’s tongue down and peer into her throat, lighting up the back of it with a penlight. “Say ahh.”

  “Ahh,” the woman breathes. The stink of unbrushed teeth blows over my face and my stomach muscles clench as I fight a draft of anger.

  This woman has a child who needs her. So many good people are gone, and she is wallowing in her depression, using the girl as her caregiver.

  I smile at the child. “Cassie, can you go out into the lobby and visit with Melody for a few minutes?”

  Cassie strokes her mother’s arm again. “I’ll be right outside, Mom.”

  The woman stares straight ahead, unresponsive. Anger flares again as Cassie presses a kiss to her mother’s cheek and leaves.