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I should’ve left them alone, but I’d become mesmerized by the energy tensing between them. A push-and-pull dance I couldn’t take my eyes off of.
Ronan moved closer to Shiloh, his huge body looming over her lithe form. She was beautiful in a loose, flowing white skirt and a tight white T-shirt. Metal bracelets slid down her warm brown skin, and hundreds of tiny box braids fell over her slender shoulders. She held her ground, staring back at Ronan defiantly. The heat that burned between them was strong enough that I felt it from outside the Shack.
“We’re doing this now?” Shiloh asked, her voice hardly more than a breathy whisper.
Ronan nodded. His large hands went to her small waist and he hefted her easily, setting her on the edge of the table. Her fingers trailed up his tattooed arms, tracing the muscles, their gazes locked. Ronan pressed her legs apart and moved in. Shiloh welcomed him, her skirt sliding up her skin, ankles locking behind Ronan’s thighs. She tilted her chin and said something I couldn’t hear. A challenge, maybe.
Whatever she said, it was a spark to Ronan’s constantly burning flame. He made a fist in her braids, hauling her mouth to his. Shiloh took his kiss and gave it back with equal fire, her fingernails raking across his broad back as she lay over the table, pulling him down on top of her.
I wrenched myself from the window and stepped back.
“Congratulations. You can add voyeurism to your long list of depravity,” I muttered as I trudged back the way I’d come. But it wasn’t pervy curiosity that’d kept me there. In those moments, no one had existed for Ronan except Shiloh. The world could have exploded, and he would have seen and felt and known only her. And vice versa. The intensity that burned between them was singular. Powerful.
I had that with River, and I wanted it back.
So do something about it.
James was smoking a cigarette, leaning against the side of the car. He raised a brow as I approached. “That was fast.”
“I was concerned about the sturdiness of a certain table, but my friends are testing its durability as we speak.”
He nodded, unfazed. “Home then, sir?”
“No, downtown. The bookstore,” I said, only a vague idea swimming in my head. “To reference your skiing analogy, I’m going to crash one way or another, James. Might as well try to make it a hell of a ride first.”
He smiled. “Very good, sir.”
Downtown, I went back to the bookstore where I’d bought River the book on car restoration. Another book felt a little redundant, but there was so much more to him than anyone knew beneath his football letterman jacket and casual smile. He’d seen me at my worst and stayed. The least I could do was let him know I saw him as he was, too. That he wasn’t alone.
I scanned the fiction shelves and my gaze snagged on a title.
“Perfect.”
I made my purchase and had James drive me back to River’s house where I sat in the backseat, unmoving, the book clutched in my sweaty hands.
“Sir?”
“This is a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Because… What if he’s not home and someone else answers?”
James frowned in the rearview. He started to speak but I cut him off.
“No, you’re right. Fuck that. It’s not a crime against humanity to drop off a book to a friend. Thank you for the pep talk, James.”
“Anytime, sir.”
I walked up the Whitmore’s front walk and knocked on the door. A young girl around fourteen or fifteen, with the same blue eyes and dark hair as River, answered. She gave me a curious glance, taking in my heavy coat despite the warm-ish afternoon.
“Can I help you?”
“Is River here?”
“He’s at our shop. Whitmore Auto Body? He works there most afternoons now. Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of his from school.”
