He’d forgotten what that felt like. To be so enthusiastic about something or someone that you temporarily lost yourself and just… lived in the moment. Just thinking about kissing Debbie again, experiencing her energy and enthusiasm again, had his dick twitching.
It certainly didn’t help that he’d already seen the beautiful body beneath her clothing. Visions of her back at the motel—dropping her towel and offering him sex—suddenly consumed his thoughts.
“Are you going to kiss me again?” Debbie whispered, gazing up at him unabashedly. Eyes shining expectantly, cheeks flushed innocently.
He stared down at her, marveling at the way she could hide nothing, not one single thing she was thinking or feeling, while also feeling a bit dumbfounded by his reaction to her.
“How old are you?” he asked quietly.
“Seventeen,” she said quickly, averting her eyes.
He snorted softly. “Lie.”
Her eyes found his again, dark brown and full of frustration.
“It isn’t,” she insisted. “I’ll be seventeen soon. My birthday’s in a few weeks… I think.” She glanced down at her hands, her fingers ticking a silent countdown.
He stared at her.
Sixteen. Six-fucking-teen. He supposed it could be worse. But still… sixteen.
Preacher hadn’t been with a woman since he’d left New York City and hadn’t given them all that much thought. Yet here he was, suddenly giving all sorts of thoughts to a thieving teenager. How fitting, he thought, rolling his eyes. It was just his fucking luck, that the woman to drag him out of his dry spell… wasn’t even a woman yet.
And it wasn’t just her age that bothered him. He had only to look at her to know that the last thing this girl needed was his hands on her. She needed a warm bed to sleep in, three square meals a day. Someone to look after her.
Preacher gave his head a small shake and started pouring whiskey down his throat.
Yep. It was definitely going to be a long night.
• • •
It was the headache that woke her.
Head pounding, mouth uncomfortably dry, Debbie cracked one eye open. A pile of embers glowed a brilliant orange several feet away, still hot enough that she could feel the heat warming her arms and legs. There were noises—crackling embers, muffled sounds of movement, the low hum of a radio, someone snoring.
Opening both eyes, she peered into the semidarkness, scanning the bodies lying around the fire pit. There was a weight on her back—comforting confirmation that her backpack was still exactly where it was supposed to be. Beneath her cheek was something firm. She blinked several times, finally registering the outstretched leg in front of her, and then stiffened as she realized she was sleeping on someone. Alarmed, she shot upright, wincing as a spot above her left eye began to throb. Grimacing, she clutched her head.
It all came back to her in a confused and cluttered rush. The fair. The Ferris wheel. Preacher. The Road Warriors. The Kiss. Angel. But when had she’d fallen asleep? She couldn’t remember anything else.
“Here. This’ll help.”
Scrambling to her knees, Debbie whirled around. Finding Preacher, she blew out a relieved breath and sank down on her heels.
Eyebrows arched, Preacher shook the whiskey bottle in his hand, and the remaining liquid sloshed back and forth. “For the headache. Hair of the dog.”
As she took the bottle, Debbie was startled to realize that Preacher hadn’t left her alone with the Road Warriors. He’d remained by her side, watching over her while she’d slept.
“Th-thanks,” she whispered and sipped. The liquor burned a hot path down her dry throat, waking her further. She took a second swallow, and a third, and eventually the sharp pain in her forehead was no more than a dull ache.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep…” Catching sight of movement in the distance, Debbie’s words fell away.
A short ways off in the grass, her pale skin glowing white in the moonlight, Angel was straddling Rocky, who was mostly hidden by grass and shadows. Debbie could make out his hands, his tanned skin stark against Angel’s light, repeatedly brushing up and down the length of her.
Angel suddenly threw her head back, her long mane of hair like a sheet of black silk swaying across her back. Mouth open, lips parted in a soundless moan, her hips began a frantic, furious pace.
Breathy pants filled Debbie’s ears. The soft slap of skin on skin. A low groan. A high-pitched whimper that speared through the quiet night.
And Debbie couldn’t seem to look away. She’d never seen anything quite like it. So uninhibited. So beautiful and free. It was nothing like the truck stop hookers and their johns—cold, sometimes callous acts between unfeeling strangers.
It was certainly nothing like she’d ever experienced.
Captivated, barely breathing, she bit down hard on her bottom lip. She wanted to grab her notebook and draw them, capturing forever the intensity, the fervor between them.
“Wheels.”
Debbie’s gaze flicked to Preacher, breath shuddering from her lungs as their eyes met. Spellbound, she recalled their kiss. A hard, hungry kiss. Hungry like the way Angel was fucking Rocky. Hungry like the way Preacher was looking at her now.
Debbie felt her entire body come alive and take notice of this man. The smooth arches of his cheeks. The curve of his mouth. The hard edge of his jaw. The loose strands of hair that had slipped free from his ponytail. The urge to reach out and touch him, run her fingers over his lips, tuck his hair behind his ears, was a commanding presence.
Unused to these feelings, Debbie sucked in a sharp breath, and Preacher’s gaze zeroed in on her mouth. Reflexively she licked her lips and watched as his eyes flared. In response, everything inside her grew warmer, softer, and she could suddenly feel her heartbeat in places she didn’t realize you could feel a heartbeat.
Preacher suddenly snatched the bottle from her hand and took two consecutive slugs, emptying it. Tossing it aside, he jumped to his feet. The spell holding Debbie captive broke and the warm, butter-soft sensation that had settled low in her belly evaporated instantly.
“You wanna get the hell outta here?” Preacher’s tone was low and biting, matching his expression. All traces of hunger had vanished from his expression, and Debbie wondered if she’d imagined it.
“What?”
“Never did like sleepin’ in the grass. Gonna find a motel.” He shot her a look as hard as his tone. “You promise not to hijack my shit again, you got yourself a bed.”
Then he turned on his heel and started walking—a fast-paced, long-legged stride, leaving Debbie scrambling to her feet and hurrying after him.
Chapter 13
Seated on the edge of the bed, Preacher puffed on a cigarette, staring daggers at the back of Debbie’s head. The curtains covering the motel windows were parted, letting in a thin shaft of moonlight that stretched far across the room, highlighting her sleeping form.
She slept with his jacket on, her backpack and sneakers too—as if she didn’t trust him with her belongings. And if Preacher hadn’t been in such a shit mood, he’d laugh at the irony of it all.
Still glaring, he brought the cigarette to his mouth. It crackled and hissed along with the steady rhythm of Debbie’s heavy breathing and the muted sounds of a television left on in the room next door.
He was so goddamn angry he couldn’t sleep.
Angry because his duffel bag had been shredded, reduced to ribbons by the Road Warriors when they’d stolen his cut. And not all of his belongings had fit into Debbie’s backpack, forcing him to leave a third of his clothing behind.
He took another searing hot drag off his cigarette, feeling his lungs recoil in protest. Coughing, he blew out a breath thick with smoke that billowed and swirled in the moonlight.
The loss of his duffel bag wasn’t his only bone to pick with the Road Warriors. Today’s unplanned meeting had stirred up some shit inside of him, picked a scab that had only just formed. The life he’d been running fr
om? It had just slugged him in the gut tonight.
Preacher stubbed out his cigarette and quickly lit another. Forget the Road Warriors. He was horny—really, irritably horny. Months had gone by with barely a twitch below his belt. One kiss with a teenage pickpocket and he was suddenly flying at full mast. One goddamn kiss.
He’d kissed a lot of women. So many that he’d gotten bored with kissing years ago. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d paid attention to a woman’s mouth other than to direct it to his lap.
And the way Debbie had looked at him after spotting Angel and Rocky off in the grass…
Preacher’s nostrils flared. I want to be fucked right here, right now, and just like that, had been all but engraved onto her expression.
All of it had been playing on repeat in his head for the last several hours, his dick trapped in this agonizing, semi-hard state that he didn’t quite know what to do with.
The guy he’d been before? That guy would have already enjoyed the hell out of Debbie. He wouldn’t have given a single shit about her age or what would become of her after he was done with her. But this new Preacher, this infuriatingly indecisive half-man, was sitting here thinking about how there were consequences to every action—something he’d learned the hard way. And a meaningless fuck was not worth hurting this girl, especially a girl who had nothing and no one.
Jesus-fucking-Christ. If he wasn’t going to fuck her, what was he still doing with her? He’d already fulfilled and surpassed his good deed quota for the entire year. Whatever the hell he was doing now bordered on philanthropy. Or self-flagellation.
Once the sun came up, he needed to cut her loose. She could resume her trek to New York City and he could get back to wandering.
Except, the longer Preacher stared at Debbie, the less comfortable he felt with that plan.
She was too good for the streets, too good for the shit life she was living. And not nearly hard enough to hold her own in New York City.
He sighed angrily. Why did he care? What was it about this girl?
He liked her—that much was clear. But why?
Was it because she made him laugh, and it had been a very long time since anyone had?
Or was it because he recognized something in her—something that spoke to that empty hole that had taken up residence inside his chest? They were both out on the road, running from their lives, weren’t they? And even though Debbie claimed to be running toward New York City, Preacher knew a lifeline when he saw one. That’s all New York City was: a goal to keep her going, even when the odds were stacked against her.
Rolling his eyes, Preacher shook his head. Maybe she was nothing more than a distraction—a reprieve from the self-doubt he couldn’t seem to shake.
Whatever it was about this girl, it was just one more thing to add to the ever-growing list of things taking up space inside his overcrowded head.
Lying back on the bed, Preacher stared up at the ceiling until his eyes began to close. His last coherent thought before he drifted off to sleep was that, come hell or high water, he would not be spending another day in or around Wayne County.
This place was cursed.
Turning, he cracked an eye at Debbie.
Either the place was cursed… or the girl was.
• • •
Sitting cross-legged in bed, elbows propped on her thighs and chin resting in her hands, Debbie stared across the room. Snoring loudly, Preacher was sprawled across the center of his bed, one arm slung across his face. He was shirtless, and staring back at her was the face of a horned demon—a dark tattoo inked onto his bicep.
He’d been asleep when she’d woken, was still sleeping long after her shower and her not-so-shabby job of turning her torn jeans into cutoff shorts.
It was nearly noon now, and she had debated waking him several times. Only… she wasn’t sure what waking him might mean for her. When it came to Preacher’s generosity, Debbie knew that she’d already overstayed her welcome. That she should thank him and be on her way.
The only thing stopping her was a pesky bit of truth: she didn’t want to leave.
It was weak and she knew it. Allowing the lonely solitude of her lifestyle to overshadow reason and sensibility.
She barely knew Preacher, yet she found herself liking him more than she liked being alone. She trusted him, too. How could she not? He’d proven himself half a dozen times already. It was she who’d been untrustworthy.
Conflicted, Debbie reached across the bed and plucked a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand. As she smoked, she resumed watching Preacher sleep. He continued to snore, the heavy rumbles in perfect sync with the rise and fall of his chest. Her gaze drifted to where his unbuttoned jeans sat low on his waist, exposing the tapered cut of his abdominal muscles and the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the denim.
Recalling their kiss, the demanding way Preacher’s tongue had swept through her mouth, warmth began to spread through her. Curling low in her stomach, it unfurled up and down her body, heating every inch it touched. Breathing in deeply through her nose, Debbie’s bottom lip disappeared beneath her teeth.
Chock full of feelings she didn’t know what to do with and jittery with unspent energy, Debbie rolled out of bed. Leaving her cigarette burning in the ashtray, she rifled through her backpack. Notebook and pencil in hand, she settled back onto the bed and flipped to a clean page.
She drew Angel and Rocky first, using her imagination to fill in what the night sky had kept hidden. When she was satisfied with her sketch, she turned the page. Head tilted, pencil poised, Debbie began to draw all those hard lines and smooth planes she’d been ogling for the last two hours.
Eyes flicking from Preacher to her notebook, she drew him as he was—half naked and sleeping. She smoked cigarette after cigarette while she sketched, her pencil strokes as quick and precise as her breathing had become.
Lost in concentration, Debbie didn’t notice when Preacher stopped snoring.
It was only when his leg twitched that she cast a glance to his face and found him wide awake and watching her.
Heat exploded in her cheeks and she quickly slapped her notebook closed, covering it with her hand. “Hi,” she said lamely, hoping she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt.
“What’s that?” Preacher gestured to her notebook.
She shrugged. “I draw sometimes.”
“You any good?”
Another shrug.
“Can I see?”
“No.” Debbie tightened her grip on the notebook.
“No?” Preacher quirked an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Because I just sketched you half naked and sleeping.
“Because.”
“Because? That’s it? That’s all I’m gonna get?” His eyes were light; a teasing smile tugged on his lips. “After all we’ve been through together?”
Debbie started to smile—a smile she quickly squelched as Preacher sat up and swung his legs out of bed, a maneuver that dragged his jeans further down his hips. He reached for his cigarettes while Debbie struggled to keep her gaze above his waist, away from the evident bulge in his pants that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Did you smoke all my cigarettes?” Frowning, Preacher shook the empty pack.
“Shit,” she muttered, scrambling out of bed to hand him the half-smoked cigarette in her hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Goddamn, Wheels, you are an expensive date.” He flashed her a wry look. “Least I still got my wallet.”
Debbie looked down at her lap, her bottom lip disappearing beneath her teeth. She deserved the jab, yet it still stung.
“Jesus,” Preacher groaned. “’Bout to lose another day of riding.”
Debbie’s gaze shot to Preacher and found him scowling at the table clock. Angrily he stubbed his cigarette into the ashtray.
Realizing he would be leaving soon, the candy bar she’d eaten earlier turned to stone in her gut. There would be no more motel rooms, no more hot showers. She would be
alone again with nothing but the road to keep her company.
Weak, weak, weak, she thought bitterly. After all she’d been through, all she’d survived? She shouldn’t be this weak anymore.
But she could already sense all those unwanted feelings rising to the surface. And even as she attempted to steel her emotions, ready to battle them back down to where they belonged, she knew it was pointless.
She’d only spent a few strange moments with Preacher, but those moments had been enough. He’d given her beautiful glimpses of things she’d long gone without: protection, companionship, and conversation.
It was Sunshine all over again—a stranger unexpectedly dropping into her life, filling all those secret holes inside of her, the ones that had been carved from loneliness and starved for companionship… only to end up leaving her.
Preacher climbed out of bed and Debbie’s gaze lifted. Arm muscles shifted and rolled as he stretched, reaching for the water-stained ceiling. The movement caused his jeans to slide another half inch down his hips. Visually tracing the long lines of his body, Debbie’s mouth went dry
The urge to touch him, to run her hands over his suntanned skin, to tug his jeans down just a little farther, was so palpable that her fingers began to twitch.
“You still headed to the city?”
Debbie jerked her eyes away from Preacher’s gaping waistband and hurried to school her expression, hoping he couldn’t read her and wouldn’t know what she’d been thinking about.
Her hope died a quick death when she found him staring at her, his features tight, his eyes burning. Her breathing hitched. Her grip on her notebook turned crushing. A hundred butterflies fluttered inside her.
It took her several seconds to recall he’d asked her a question, and several more to answer as she made a concerted effort to keep her gaze away from his sagging jeans.