Page 68 of Hounded

I was engaged—promised, betrothed, wanted,adored—and desperately in love.

We stayed entangled until Indy withdrew. He was wide-eyed, wobbly, and flushed from his neck to hisforehead. He maneuvered his body into my lap, then sagged against my chest. His heart thundered a rapid rhythm, and mine chased after it with a stuttering, unsteady beat.

In the pause, I motioned to the half-eaten meal shoved to the end of the mattress. Breakfast in bed and a bouquet of flowers made for an idyllic morning, but I couldn’t help but comment, “This was surprisingly tame for you.”

Indy sighed while curling a lock of my hair around his finger. “I canceled the flashmob last minute.”

I could picture the swarm of strangers gathered outside and me being dragged into the middle of it. Indy on one knee wearing a sequined bodysuit and belting out Kiss’s “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” while our neighbors emerged from their trailers like groundhogs drawn from hiding.

The thought made me shudder.

Indy pitched back enough to meet my gaze. “But I’m going all out on the wedding. That’smyday.”

I chuckled and smoothed the curls along the side of his head. The band on my finger shone warmly, and I marveled at it. “Whatever you want,” I told him.

Indy’s expression turned wily. “You’ll regret saying that.”

Flashmobs, shiny bodysuits, ‘80s hair metal, I would endure it all. Part of me would love it because it was Indy. Because he was mine. I didn’t need a proposal to tell me that, but it didn’t hurt.

I drew up my knees to tuck him in tight as I whispered in his ear. “I don’t regret anything when it comes to you.”

We spent the rest of the day planning a wedding, but it never happened because Indy waited nine years for his finally, and that was all the time he had.

Moonlight gleamed across the wedding ring as I studied it for what must have been the thousandth time. For himself, Indy would have picked some flashy thing with rows of diamonds, but he knew me better than that. I wanted something simple, like love should be, and as timeless as we were.

Some days, I wanted to wear it again. It was different than Moira’s collar. Another kind of binding contract, but one I would have entered into wholeheartedly. I would have sworn my soul to Indy in an instant, and that frightened me because I’d been equally sure about Jonathan. I was so obsessed with the man that I’d thought his life was worth more than my own. And I’d lived to regret it.

I’d told Indy I didn’t regret him; I couldn’t fathom it. He was my world. My reason to live and, soon, fight. But he’d given me cause to consider if I pledged myself too fully to people who only gave me half of themselves. Jonathan had his wife; Indy had his drugs.

The flicker of headlights across the trailer park lot drew my notice. So late at night, not many residents came or went, which made this an anomaly. I sat up straight and peered into the sideview mirror, tracking the light to its source.

The taillights of Indy’s Firebird flashed red. With my windows down, I heard the Pontiac’s motor rumble alive, then abruptly choke. It died, and the brakes beamed brighter. The coupe started again, then revved. The V8 engine purred for a few seconds, stalled again, and fell quiet before the car ever moved from its space.

If he couldn’t even shift into reverse, I didn’t have high hopes for an impromptu driving lesson, but the fact that he was willing to sneak out and risk stalling the Pontiac in traffic rather than asking me for a ride informed me that I had done something very wrong.

Opening my truck’s driver door, I stepped out onto the gravel. My boots crunched as I walked past parked vehicles toward the struggling Firebird. The taillights glared angrily, and I should have taken it as a warning before the Pontiac lurched backward, kicking up grit and speeding toward me.

I leaped aside, so the rear fender barely clipped me. The impact sent jarring pain through my knee and almost took my legs out from under me. The car stalled, the engine died, and Indy barreled out.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed and trembling. “Are you all right? I-I didn’t know…” Recognition crossed his features, and he started to relax. “Oh, hey, Loren.”

I sidestepped to give the Pontiac a wider berth, then nodded to Indy. “Hey yourself.”

He ran his tongue across his lips, visibly flustered. His curls were tousled like he’d been running his fingers through them on repeat. In fact, he did that now, snagged one hand in the teal coils and pulled.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked at last.

“I live here.”

“In the parking lot?”

He meant it as a joke, but it was truer than he knew.

I tipped my chin toward the Firebird’s open driver door and the lit dash panel inside. “How’s it going?”

Indy turned and gave the car’s roof a pat. “Think I’m getting the hang of it, actually.”

“Really?” My brow arched, and he heaved a sigh.

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