Page 18 of Runaway Road (Runaway 1)

Maybe someday I’d come back and see if this street was the same. I’d visit this place in the fall to see the leaves as they changed from green to red, orange and yellow. Maybe I’d see if Brooks Cohen was just as handsome then as he was now.

But I didn’t need to revisit Summers to satisfy that curiosity. Brooks was the type of man who only grew more handsome with age. I was guessing he was in his early thirties. His body was solid and even if it softened some, he’d always be drool-worthy. With a few gray streaks in his blond hair, he’d be irresistible.

I’d always had a thing for older men.

A shrink would probably chalk it up to daddy issues. I think it was because I’d grown up fast—too fast. Men my own age always seemed to lag behind.

Brooks wore his maturity with confidence. He put on no pretense. He was simply . . . himself. He didn’t seem defined by his occupation or his clothes. He was magnetic in a plain white T-shirt and a well-worn pair of jeans.

That thin cotton T-shirt had stuck to Brooks when he’d rescued me on the side of the road. It had molded to his sturdy arms and rugged chest as he’d moved around the Cadillac. The muscles on his back were so well defined, I’d fought the urge to skim my fingertips down his shoulders just to feel the dents and contours under my skin.

A shiver ran down my spine.

He was a fantasy.

I didn’t let myself indulge in fantasies often. Hope was something I kept at a firm distance. Disappointment, on the other hand, was a close companion.

With Brooks, I let the fantasy play out. I was in Summers for a hot minute, not enough time for him to crush the illusion in those strong, firm hands.

God, I wanted those hands on me. My core clenched and my nipples hardened inside my bra. Was he married? I hadn’t seen a ring but maybe he didn’t wear one. Did he have a girlfriend?

I didn’t feel right lusting after another woman’s man, so in my fantasy, he was single unless and until disappointment reared its evil head and smothered this fantasy too.

Brooks had consumed my thoughts all night long. His T-shirt had been the star of my dreams, the way it would stretch as it was dragged up that sticky body. I’d slept with a pillow between my legs just for some friction to calm the ache.

“I need sex,” I muttered to myself.

I needed a good, hard fuck and a long, sweaty night. I needed an orgasm that didn’t come from my own fingers or the showerhead. I needed to have a man’s weight on top of me as he pressed me into a bed.

When was the last time I’d had sex in a bed?

More than a year. Thomas and I hadn’t had a great sex life at home. In the

office, we were great, but not at home. I should have known something was up when he always wanted to fuck me on his desk. Had he been picturing Secretary in my place?

Does it matter?

The truth was, Thomas and I hadn’t been in love. I’d respected him. I’d admired him. I’d adored him. But love? I wasn’t sure. Did I even know how it felt to be in love?

I’d thought so, but I was questioning everything these days. Could a woman who’d grown up without affection or care really know what it was to be in love?

Maybe I’d mistaken attention for love.

I was jonesing for some physical attention. A hookup would not go unappreciated. Maybe Brooks Cohen would do me a favor before I rolled out of town. If he wasn’t attached, he’d be the perfect candidate to break my dry spell.

In a goddamn bed.

My hunch was that Brooks was a considerate lover. A gentleman. He’d called me ma’am and tipped his invisible hat when he’d dropped me off at the motel. I was probably reading too much into it, but I sure would like to be with a man who knew a woman’s pleasure came first.

The street came to an end before I was ready to leave my West Virginian Narnia and I paused at the stop sign, tempted to walk it again. But the temperature was rising and I could use a cold glass of water, so I took a right and carried onward.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been out walking. The phone Brooks had bought me was tucked into the pocket of my jean shorts, but on principle, I hadn’t turned it on.

I didn’t need a phone. I didn’t want a phone. But he’d worn me down.

Just the kind of man I am.

I wasn’t carrying this phone for me. I had it in my pocket for Brooks.