Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 118(@200wpm)___ 94(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
When I reach into my clutch to grab my credit card, Garrett puts his hand on mine to stop me. “Your credit card can be tracked. You can’t use it.”
“Oh.” Guilt creeps in. “I don’t want you to have to take care of me like I’m helpless.”
His hand came to my face, gripping my chin with two fingers and turning my face to his. “Sienna, I want to buy you these clothes, okay? I like taking care of you.”
His eyes rake over me as he says this, and my cheeks heat. It’s like I can almost feel his gaze, especially when it hesitates on my chest. I shiver in delight. “Oh. Um. Okay, Garrett. Thank you.”
After Target, we return to the truck once more. The swampy marshes surrounding New Orleans are long gone, and things get drier and drier the farther west we go. Soon the greenery switches to dusty plains and rocky hills.
Garrett tells me about the places he’s been, the odd sights he’s seen on the road. I hang on to every word, grateful for the distraction and the way he makes me feel like the world is bigger than the box my family has always kept me in. I find myself laughing at his dry humor, surprised by how easy it is to relax around him.
The worst part is showering at the truck stop gas stations, but Garrett hovers outside my stall, never leaving. He’s insistent that I’m fully dressed before I emerge—no quick towel runs to the truck.
At night, when he pulls over at rest stops or quiet parking lots, I curl up in the sleeper cab. Garrett always stays up front, reclining his seat to sleep, a spare throw blanket tossed over his big body.
I tell myself it’s better this way, but every time I look at the empty space beside me, I feel an ache I can’t explain. Like maybe we’d both be more comfortable if he slept next to me.
I catch myself staring at him more often than I should—at the way his hands grip the wheel, strong and capable; at the line of his jaw covered by the dark beard. The visceral pull I felt when we first met hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s grown stronger, more insistent. Something is happening between us, and we both know it.
We’ve crossed into New Mexico, and it’s around 8 p.m. when the sun starts to sink below the horizon. The sunsets here are unlike anything I’ve ever seen—fiery orange and deep purple, the colors melting like watercolors.
Garrett catches me staring out the window and chuckles. “Never been out west before, huh?”
“I’ve flown over it before.”
He laughs but doesn’t say anything else. Before I know it, the truck rumbles to a stop at the side of the road, and I look over at Garrett in confusion.
“Stay here, princess.”
I watch as he climbs out, disappearing behind the truck. A moment later, the door on my side swings open. He’s standing there, holding a worn waterproof blanket, his broad shoulders framed by the glow of the setting sun.
“Come on.”
With butterflies in my stomach, I take his hand, letting him help me down from the cab. He stops at the edge of a small hill and spreads the blanket out on the ground. “Thought you might want to see this properly,” he says, motioning to the setting sun. “There’s nothing quite like a sunset out here.”
I sit down gingerly, tucking my legs beneath me. Garrett is close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from him. His arm goes around my shoulder, and he pulls me against him.
We sit in silence. The sky is breathtaking. The colors shift and change as the sun dips closer to the horizon, painting the landscape in hues that seem almost too vivid to be real.
“I’ve seen a lot of sunsets out here,” Garrett says after a while, “but they never get old.”
“It’s beautiful.”
He turns to look at me, the intensity in his gaze makes my breath hitch.
“Sienna,” he says my name like he’s in some exquisite sort of pain. I know exactly how he feels.
I don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s me. All I know is that one moment, we’re sitting there, a small space of air between us, and the next, his lips are on mine. The kiss is slow, tentative, as if he’s giving me time to pull away. But I don’t. I want this so, so much.
His hand comes up to cup my cheek, his palm calloused and warm. The world around us fades, the colors of the sunset blurring into nothing as my senses narrow to the feel of his lips, the rough graze of his beard, the faint scent of cedar and pine that clings to him.
I grab handfuls of his white t-shirt when his tongue prods at the seam of my lips, and I open to allow him access. His tongue sweeps in, sliding against mine, and a small noise of pleasure slips out of me. My head is spinning, my nipples hardening, an empty ache forming between my legs.