Page 56 of Savage Lust

When we didn’t immediately follow, I caught Cam’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Are we going?”

“Nope.” Cam checked his phone, before shoving it into his pocket. “I got something else to do.”

I clung to his waist, more curious than I had been before, but no less excited about the ride.

***

Everything in my life needed a reason, a box to check, a slot to slide into. Everything except this. I leaned against the bar at the small of my back and turned by face to the sun, thankful for the dark shades that kept the wind from my eyes.

The sky was gorgeous, the mountains and rock formations were inviting, their reds and oranges splashed vivid color against the edges of the golden desert. Greenery periodically dotted the horizon, but we’d pass it so quickly I couldn’t tell what dared grow here.

The roar of the Harley Davidson paired with the howl of the wind as we blew down the two-lane highway was freeing. Each time I rode like this with Cam, I lost something I didn’t need and found another piece of myself I hadn’t realized was missing.

Here, everything was thrust at me in full contrast. No questions. Right and wrong didn’t matter. Life justwas.

Cam squeezed my knee, running his palm up my outer thigh. His touch, a thread that seemed to wind through everything. A physical connection to the exhilaration that raced over me. When I left here, this is what I would miss the most.

Through the mirror, I glanced at Cam, the proud set of his jaw, the shape of his lips that made me want to lean around and kiss him. I’d never had those little urges, and I couldn’t silence them, so I dropped my hands to my knees.

He stopped stroking me, reached behind him, took my right arm, and wrapped it around his middle. I couldn’t see his eyes through the aviator shades, but I didn’t need to. He wanted me to hold on. We were cruising now. I didn’t need to—he wanted it.

I wrapped both arms around his waist, sliding my hands beneath the cut to brush against the cotton covering his stomach.

The half grin he shot me through the mirror excited me, aroused me even. I was wilder here, so was he.

I don’t know how long we rode through the desert, but we were so far out that only the occasional gas station or dilapidated truck stop dotted the landscape. And then, after ten or so miles, those buildings came more frequently, followed by little neighborhoods with two of three streets of copy paste houses.

Cam decelerated as a shining silver bullet style diner appeared, swung into the parking lot, and pulled right up front.

“What are we doing?”

He grinned. “The pie here is amazing.”

“That’s a long way for pie.” Dubious, I climbed from the bike, took off the helmet, and laid it on the seat. Thankful for the braid, it kept most of the tangles at bay.

“Best strawberry pie in Nevada.”

Much like earlier, there was a big something I didn’t know. Dylan’s voice was in my head, reminding me that they didn’t tell us anything, ever.

He held the door for me and a tired waitress waved for us to seat ourselves. Cam led me to a tight booth by the wall of windows. The seats were cracked and the tables were scratched and scuffed glass covering old Hayes County advertisements. The place was so packed, I didn’t expect the server to make it to us anytime soon. But she surprised me, stopping by to take our order before I’d so much as settled onto the seat.

“Two coffees, two pieces of strawberry pie.” Cam didn’t even give her a chance to get menus.

When I gave him a look, he smiled in that cat like way he did to distract women. It still made me tingle, but I’d caught on to what he was doing. “We won’t be here long, darlin, just a pit stop.”

The coffee and pie came just as quickly. After my first bite, I realized Cam wasn’t wrong. The crust was perfection, the chunks of strawberry fresh, and sweet filling not too sticky. I had to remind myself not to eat it all in two bites.

Cam, however, ate his slowly, more interested in the parking lot than the flaky crust. I watched too, as a steady stream of people filtered in and out.

“I’d hate to see this place during the dinner rush.” I mused.

Distracted, Cam didn’t hear me. Instead, he looked past me, toward the door, and gave a stiff smile before standing.

Two Hispanic men approached, both in khaki shorts and a light colored polo shirts like they’d just stepped off the golf course. The taller of the two’s back was straight, his dark eyes flickered from one end of the diner to the other.

The other man moved like a cat, with the ease of concealed violence. His dark hair was cut short and glistened in the fluorescent light. He hung sunglasses through the buttonhole onhis collar, and I was privy to sleepy eyes hooded with a thick curtain of dark lashes.

His toothy smile was almost predatory and he pulled Cam into a hug as I watched.

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