Page 222 of One Wild Wish

“Aren’t you scared?”

He sputtered out a laugh. “Are you serious? I’m fucking terrified.”

“How do we do this?”

“Easy.” He loosened his hold on me, stroked my back. “We take this one second at a time, while I figure out the rest. I don’t want you thinking about anything but each moment, because right now I have a beautiful, naked woman in my arms, but she’s frowning. These are not things that should coexist.”

A small smile escaped me. “One second at a time?” It seemed impossible.

“Make each one count. Leave the rest to me.”

I couldn’t pick up and leave my job. I didn’t want to. He had no clue the life I’d created for myself here, in San Francisco. The years and determination it had taken. Yet the prospect of losing this amazing man in two days—one and a half —had spots clouding my vision. I wasn’t sure I could compartmentalize my emotions, give him what he wanted. All I could do was try.

My rigid posture thawed slightly. I nuzzled my face into his neck. “Every second.”

He wove one hand into my hair and sighed. “Every second, Possum.”

When he thickened against me, I extricated myself from his hold. “But no more bikini posters now.”

“Bikini posters?”

Ainsley’s ridiculous comment about him staring at me like my scantily clad poster had adorned his teenage wall wormed into my mind. I motioned to his gorgeous cock, half-stiff and flushed at the tip. “Sex. No sex right now.”

He squinted. “Bikini posters means sex?”

“Just go with it.”

He mumbled something like “Girls are weird,” but his eyelids lowered and he stroked his length once, roughly. “But there will be bikini posters later, right?”

His searing glance had tingles erupting across my skin. “Definitely later. For now we need to go through my mother’s journal and search for more clues.” I needed to regroup. Find my feet. Reorder my upside-down world by putting on some clothes and creating emotional armor.

* * *

August

After a quick snack of cheese and fruit, Gwen and I relocated to her plaid couch, her mother’s diary and an awkward silence between us. It wasn’t okay. I wasn’t okay. My Monday morning flight meant we only had a day and a bit. The timeline was akin to torture. We hadn’t mentioned my departure date again. We hadn’t said much of anything. The prospect had new lyrics looping through my mind: cruel fate, wicked ways, oceans apart.

I had commitments in Germany and France, unbreakable contracts, weeks and months scheduled on the road. But this wasn’t the beginning of the end. I wouldn’t let it be. I simply had to make a plan and figure things out. Think long-term.

Still, she was freaking out, shutting down in increments.

Which meant beginning with the small stuff, here and now, was important. Making use of all our seconds. “When did you start surfing?” I needed to learn everything I could about Gwen Hamilton.

She glanced up from the worn journal. “Sorry?”

I nodded to the board taking up the opposite wall. “Surfing, I don’t remember you wanting to try it.” Or skydiving. Or mountain biking. Gwen had always been athletic, running track and acing gym class, but she’d never been an adrenaline junkie.

Keeping the journal open, she leaned her shoulder into the couch. “During college, my third summer off, I was bartending at night but needed as much cash as possible. A daytime job renting surfboards came up, and I got bit by the bug. The job allowed me free lessons and equipment use.”

Watching her navigating a wave, water dripping down her toned body, hair slicked back would be quite the sight. “The only time I surfed involved me sucking back buckets of sea water.”

Her attention darted to my mouth. Her pupils flared, as though mention of inhaling the ocean was akin to dirty talk. “Learning is rough.”

“Have you ever taught?”

“I prefer the rush of riding.” Her gaze dropped lower, to my groin. She nibbled her lower lip.

Was she picturing riding me? A shot of lust accompanied that visual. Although making love to her had been unreal, I hadn’t explored the lean lines of her body, kissed my way up her strong thighs. I suppressed my groan. “Maybe you could teach me some time.”