Page 78 of The Cowboy and the Stray

I sent another to Ash.

She’s okay. Get ready to roll first thing tomorrow.

“Handled.” I slid the phone back in my pocket then pulled it back out. And texted Sloane again.

You, Eli, and Noah need to go out of town for a few days.

She sank into the bed, finally letting herself relax. “I don’t deserve this,” she said.

“Yes, you do,” I said, and pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her small, shivering frame.

She resisted at first. Then her arms came up, and she clung to me, burying her face in my shirt. I held on, maybe tighter than I needed to, but it was the only thing that made sense.

“I’m tired,” she whispered, not letting go.

“I know,” I said. “You can rest now.”

We sat like that for a long time, the two of us tangled up on the scratchy motel bed, while the world outside kept spinning. Her heartbeat slowed, and the shakes faded.

38. CALDER

I stayed on the bed long after Tess stopped shaking, her body tucked against mine, the nest of motel blankets still warm from where she’d burrowed in. Her breathing slowed, then steadied.

I listened for the subtle changes. The way her pulse dropped, the small snuffling sound when she finally let her head rest heavy on my chest. Even when she slept, she never fully gave in, never uncoiled. But tonight, with her wrapped around me and her head curled in the crook of my arm, I let myself believe she was safe. Just for a few hours.

We lay there a long time, with only the electric hum of the air conditioner and the steady drip from the bathroom sink to keep us company. I ran my knuckles gently over her back. She didn’t flinch when I traced a scar near her left shoulder blade, peeking out from under her shirt. A faded crescent. But when I grazed the puckered mark by her collarbone, she went rigid.

I stopped and gave her a moment, waiting until her eyes opened.

“You never asked about that,” she said, eyes fixed on the smoke-stained ceiling.

“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”

She snorted, soft. “You don’t want to know.”

I thought about it. “Doesn’t matter if I want to. Only if you do.”

Her jaw worked, tense and tight. “He did it. Lance.” She swallowed, then ran a finger over the scar. “Said I talked too much.”

I didn’t reply. I kissed the scar, slowly, then did it again. She shivered, but it wasn’t fear this time, the sweet scent of arousal filled the air. I pressed my lips lower and lingered there until she exhaled, deep and unguarded.

“Why do you do that?” she whispered.

“To remind you that I am here, and he’s not.” I nipped her collarbone, then circled the scar with my tongue, not stopping until she arched into me.

She looked up at me with a half-daring, half-terrified look. “You’re not scared of broken girls?” she asked, the words shaky but clear.

I snorted softly. “Don’t know any other kind.”

I cupped her cheek, brushing sweat-matted hair from her temple. She shut her eyes, and for a minute I thought she’d fall back asleep. Instead, she rolled into me, her knee sliding up between my thighs, her hand landing on my belt. There was nothing tentative about the way she undid the buckle, or the way she yanked at my jeans.

I didn’t stop her. I let her strip me down, first the jeans, then the boxers, then the shirt. She leaned up on one elbow and ran her fingers over my stomach, looking at my cock like it might bite, then looked at me.

“We don’t have to,” I said, barely above a whisper.

She didn’t answer with words. She slid her hand around the shaft, stroking slow, then fast, then slow again. I groaned. She grinned at that, a sharp flash of white teeth. She kept going, her grip strong and sure, until I had to reach down and still her wrist or risk embarrassing myself.

“My turn,” I said, and rolled her over so she was underneath me, sprawled across the thin motel sheets.