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“You’re making me hard as fuck, keep going.”
I chuckle, loving the feel of his mouth and wishing we weren’t in the open so I could beg for his tongue to be in other places. “I would if we were alone.”
“And what would happen if we were?” He sucks at my skin harder, a low moan working up my throat.
“Maybe we can do that thing…with your tongue—oh, my God, can we not talk about this with Bishop right here?”
“Right where?”
I open my eyes, but when I turn around to look at Bishop, he’s not there. Nor is the outside. “How did you…?”
“You just needed a little distraction. I gave it to you.”
It suddenly feels like just yesterday, I was standing in line, my heart beating heavily inside my chest at the mysterious man behind me. And now, as I stare at Logan, on the inside of a darn airplane, I know that even though I may pass out and possibly vomit, this is where I am meant to be. “I know, don’t think too much about it, right?” I throw back his line.
“Oh no, you should be thinking a lot about it. Because we have a long flight, and I have a long list of priorities that require your undivided attention.” My brows perk upward. “Let’s just say you’re in store for an Oscar-worthy performance starring my tongue.”
And that’s a wrap, folks.
He carries me to the back of the plane. No phobia is going to stop me from enjoying the award-winning performance.
One year later…
I can’t stop pacing. I look at the time. It’s been less than a minute since the last time I checked. I pull back the shade, peeking out the window again. “Stupid, mailman. Where are you!” I grunt, making my way back to the kitchen to pour myself a tall glass of water. Drinking the whole thing will take me maybe three minutes. Then I’ll go back. He’s always here by mid-morning.
I only make it halfway through before I scurry back over to check the door for packages. “Oh, come on! I could have walked to get it myself, it’s taking so long!” My eyes scan the time. Only two minutes have passed.
The urge to pee interferes with my mailman stalking. I forgo another round of looking out the window and use the bathroom. The second I sit down, the bell rings. “I knew it! Gosh dang it!” I pull my underwear back up, thankful I’m in a thin summer dress and throw myself out of the bathroom. My hands shoot forward and I almost trip over my own two feet as I race to the door. Throwing it open, I startle the poor mailman. “Hey, Rico! Anything?”
“Aloha, Addy. It came in this morning.”
I snatch it out of his hands, my own hands buzzing as I feel the package under my fingertips. “Thank you so much!” I throw myself in his arms, and he stumbles backwards. I give him a big kiss on his cheek. “I have to find Logan! Mahalo!”
I race down our walkway, and through the gardens barefoot. When you live on a small island in Hawaii, shoes are never required. Just as Logan promised one year ago, he scooped me in his arms and whisked me away to a hidden nook in the world, one we’ve made ours—a place where we don’t have to hide from the bad guys, and we can just be us. Addy and Logan. Two people who met not by chance, but by fate. He showed me how to be a warrior, and he says I helped him learn how to breathe. I laugh every time he claims to be the gentle giant because there’s nothing gentle about him. He’s fierce and moody and all man.
I have my hideaway spot, as promised, for when his grumpiness gets the best of me. It’s called our bedroom because he doesn’t believe in me walking away. He wants me to fight it out with him. For the record, fighting is just his version of make-up sex. I won’t complain, though. We both end up winners in so many ways.
The only thing I miss about home is my parents. I’ve video chatted with them a few times over the last year, and it’s broken my heart. My mom seems sad, but my dad is more along the lines of angry. He argues they should have never sent me to Chicago. Logan says they’ll come around one day, and I have to believe him. It will be a year next week that we’ve been in seclusion. We got the news just yesterday from Agent Bishop that the trial is wrapping up and we may be able to come home. My mood plummeted after hearing it. I thought I would be happy to go home and see my parents and get back some of my life—our life. But if I’m honest, I’m happy here. I love our nook. And if it were up to me, I’d never leave. Logan, though…he’s tight-lipped. He didn’t share his thoughts and spent the evening preparing the boat for a deep-sea fishing trip in the morning. What if he wants to go home?
