Lachlan doesn’t say anything for a moment. Far in the background, there’s drunken laughter, but then it disappears. The night grows still again.
“That’s commendable,” he finally says. “You’re a good daughter, Kayla, and she knows that. But I’m sure your mother would want what’s best for you. What makes you happy.”
I feel the question burning on my lips and I do everything I can to hold it back.
But he can sense the change in my body. He cranes his head to look down at me. “What?”
“Nothing,” I say.
“You can ask me,” he coaxes.
I swallow. “Did you know your mother?” I ask softly, holding my breath, thinking he might blow up at me.
He stares at me, deep into my eyes, and I gaze further into his, barely visible in the dim. He slowly licks his lips, gives a single nod. “My mother gave me up when I was five. She was all I had. I like to believe that she wanted what was best for me. I don’t think she realized what it would do to me. What I would become.”
What I would become.
The words echo in my head, sharp and potent in the dark, in this isolation.
Who had he become?
Who is this man, this beast, I am holding onto?
More than anything in this world, I want to find out.
I stare up at him, craving so much more than he’s given me. He looks away, frowning, almost if he’s in pain, head hanging down.
“You know, I’ve never told anyone that much about what happened,” he says gruffly, the depth of his voice making the skin on my arms prickle.
I press my fingers into his skin, relishing the feel of him against me. “Thank you for telling me. I won’t tell a soul.”
He slowly turns his head to look at me. His eyes are deep, intense pools that pull me in. They welcome me to drown in them, tell me I might even enjoy it.
I’m such a fucking goner.
I was from day one.
“I know you won’t,” he murmurs. “You’re not like the rest of them. I don’t think you’re like anyone I’ve ever met.”
I raise my brows. “You mean you don’t have a slutty, immature, loud friend back at home?”
It’s a joke but he doesn’t smile.
He puts his hand on my chin, tilting my head up further. “That’s not you. That’s not what I see.”
I want to tell him that it is, that it’s all anyone ever sees of me.
But for once in my life, I keep quiet.
He runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.
Oh Jesus, is this happening? I’m not going to survive this.
“Please tell me you’re not joking,” I whisper.
His fingers grip my chin tighter and he lowers those gorgeous lips toward mine, his expression still caught in that frown, as if he can’t quite believe it himself.
“I’ve never been more serious,” he says.
Coming from a man like him, I know that’s saying a lot.
I close my eyes and there’s a delicious, aching second before his lips meet mine. Soft, unbearably soft, and I’m sinking into them, falling down, down, down into a rabbit hole.
The kiss is sweet, slow, gentle. The kiss is like lingering in satin sheets with sun streaming on your skin. The kiss is soothing but it does nothing to soothe me.
It only stirs up those butterflies. It lets loose the birds from the cage. It makes my mouth open against his, suddenly insatiable, hungry, desperate for everything he can possibly give me.
He responds in kind. He groans into my mouth which shoots fire down my spine, incinerating my nerves. His lips are wet and wanting, enveloping mine with softness, with wildness, with desire that I can taste.
His hands bury themselves in my hair, holding me, his body twisting against mine to get closer. I grab him tighter, pulling him toward me, then let my hands roam up and down his sides, feeling the taut muscle underneath. I slip my fingers underneath his shirt, his skin soft and warm beneath my caress.
The tip of his tongue touches mine and I am lost to him. Whatever armor I had over my black, bitter heart is being chipped away with each passionate kiss, each deep, slow pull of my mouth to his.
I feel like I’m being kissed for the first time. This kiss is erasing every single man that has ever crossed my path. It’s a restart button being pushed.
It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.
And it doesn’t seem fair that the finest lips to ever grace mine are leaving in a week.
He pulls away¸ just briefly, his lips sliding away from my open mouth and slowly moving down my jawbone, nipping, sucking, tasting. His rough beard tickles my skin, inflaming my desire. His grip around my head tightens, containing me, and his mouth is hot against my neck as he lets out a ragged breath.
I moan, unable to help myself, pressing against him, wanting him to devour me. There is so much heat, so much built up tension between us, I don’t know how I can ever extract myself from him. I’ve wanted him so badly and now that his lips are kissing my neck and he’s holding me, so tight, and I can feel his own lust for me, I’m not sure if I can ever stop.
A rustle sounds from the bushes beside us, bringing me back to a hazy reality.
Lachlan pulls away, breathing hard with my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. He slowly turns his head and looks to the side of us. I suck in my breath, my lips still throbbing from his kiss, and follow his gaze.
Eyes stare at us from the bushes. I freeze up but Lachlan whispers in a raspy voice, “Shh, shhh, it’s okay.” He slowly moves into a crouch and I shuffle over to give him room. He turns and faces the eyes in the bushes—which I hope are the dogs—and takes something out of his pocket.
“Did you like that?” he asks them gently. “Here.”
He tosses something into the bushes.
The eyes come closer, the wet snap of jowls, eating whatever it was.
“Do you just carry dog food with you everywhere?” I whisper, but he doesn’t answer me.
He coos at the dogs, tosses them something again, and slowly moves toward them, keeping his hulking frame as low as possible.
I squint, trying to watch him in the dark. I’m a bit worried that the dogs might attack him. At the same time, I’m cursing them for being cockblockers.
“Easy now,” he says, taking off his belt. “Easy.”
Is he going to use his belt as a leash? What kind of dog superhero is this guy?
A bunch of shuffling follows, then more hushed, calming words from Lachlan until finally he stands up slowly.
“Okay,” he says to me. “I’ve got one of them.”
I get to my feet, dusting off the dirt from my ass, and peer at him. At his side is the shadow of a dog, his belt looped around its neck. Though the dog is tense, straining slightly at the makeshift leash, it amazes me that he’s not fighting, not trying to run.
“How did you do that?” I ask in awe.
“Used my belt. It’s a little too big for me anyway.”
“No,” I say, “I mean the whole thing. How did you lure them here?”
He gently taps his cargo pants pocket and the dog looks there. It’s then that I notice the other stray slowly coming forward, also drawn by the noise.
Lachlan reaches in and pulls out what looks like beef jerky. “I always carry some sort of food on me, just in case.”