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“Are you related to him, by any chance?”
Walking briskly away and beckoning for her to follow him, he said, “Yeah. His cousin.” As they reached a small, dusty camper, its white color now spotted with primer and rust, he pointed. “That’s Damon’s.” With a wink, he spun around and walked away.
She eyed the camper doubtfully. It was hard to believe a man as big and vibrant as Damon lived in such a place, even if only while on the road. It certainly hammered home the reality of what she was doing…chasing after a poor traveling carny who claimed he had a woman in every town. That was his anger talking. She knew that and wanted him to admit it.
Beyond that, though, what could she hope to gain by trying to work things out with him, other than a few nights of incredible sex? Hmm. Incredible sex. That sounded like enough.
But even if it wasn’t—if the crazy emotions she’d been experiencing about the man signaled that she felt more for him than just lust—well, his modest lifestyle didn’t matter. She was no snob. She lived in a tiny apartment herself and would never judge anyone by their salary or the home in which they lived.
Decision made, she proceeded with her admittedly rather lame plan. Mentally calling herself a chicken for not knocking on the door and dealing with Damon face-to-face, she forced herself to remember how it had felt to lie on that stage, legs spread, lips parted, hair wild around her face…and be turned down.
The note idea sounded better all the time.
The camper was lit from within, meaning Damon was probably inside. She had to be quick, or else risk being caught and having to admit she really was stalking him. A sizable sliver of light was visible along the edge of the door, and there was more than enough space to slide the note through it. So she did.
Then, feeling like the kid who’d once liked to sneak out and play knock-and-dash on neighbors’ doors, she tapped once. And then she dashed. Over the dunes and toward the beach.
It wasn’t until she reached the sandy shore, panting for breath and laughing at herself for being such an idiot, that she realized something. Something that made her wonder if she’d just done something a whole lot more dangerous than silly.
She’d been followed. A man stood watching her from the shadows of the dunes, a few yards behind her…and he wasn’t Damon.
AS DAMON MADE his way back to his home-on-the road after a visit to Bella to get some aspirin for his headache, he ran into his cousin. Paulie was finishing up his nightly rounds and heading to his own camper. When he saw Damon, he gave him a curious look. “Didn’t think I’d see you until morning.” He wagged his brows. “Unless you, uh, had to bum some protection?”
“What?”
“Don’t play innocent. I saw your cutie with my own eyes.”
Immediately glancing toward the line of quiet, darkened campers, he asked, “You mean Allie Cavanaugh?”
“She the one from Pennsylvania, had you all tied up in knots for the past few weeks?”
Yeah. That’d be the one. He nodded.
“I led her to your door not ten minutes ago.”
She was at his camper, waiting for him? Which meant…what, exactly? That she’d come to tell him off, to finish what they’d started? He had no idea. He only knew he was tired of fighting the attraction he’d been feeling for her since they’d met. Maybe it was time they stop fighting or making out and just do some talking about what they really wanted and what was happening between them.
“I wasn’t there, I was visiting your wife.” Noting Paulie’s deep frown, he added, “For some aspirin.”
Looking a little mollified, his cousin peered toward Damon’s camper. “I don’t see her outside. You still locking the place?”
“After the biker-chick-from-hell incident in Jersey? Yeah.”
“Maybe she gave up.”
Damn. Maybe she had. He took a step toward it, half hoping he’d forgotten to lock the door and that Allie was waiting for him inside. Naked would be good. Better than armed, considering how he’d walked out on her a half hour ago. But he stopped abruptly when he heard an unexpected sound. “Did you hear that?”
His cousin cocked his head. “Yeah. What was it?”
They both fell silent, listening.
Then the sound came again, from the direction of the beach. It was faint, almost indiscernible. The high-pitched keening might have been written off as a product of the wind. But Damon knew by the way every muscle in his body tensed with adrenaline that it wasn’t. It was a scream.
“Someone’s in trouble,” he snapped, racing through the darkness toward the beach, Paulie keeping up with him step for step, despite his shorter stature.
They tore through the sea grass and across the wind-battered crossover, pounding down the steps to the sand on the other side. The last of the carnival lights hadn’t gone off yet and the beach was awash with the reds, greens and golds of the Ferris wheel, plus the starry sky above. He could easily make out the waves, and scanned them, looking for the flailing arm of someone who might have gotten into trouble while taking a late-night swim.
Then he heard Paulie mutter a foul word, and swung his head around, seeing a couple a few yards down the beach.
