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“Get your stubborn ass in the car, baby,” Crow called, and it took a lot of self-control not to grin at that.
“I said I didn’t need help,” I insisted even as he climbed out of the SUV.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes at me as he popped the trunk open, then reached to pull the wagon handle out of my hand and draw it closer to his side. “So crying on the side of the road is just your kink then?” he asked, carefully loading my boxes into the back. “This is a lot of shit,” he said, nodding at the boxes and bags when he was done.
“I, ah, I make pottery. You know, for a living. I recently ramped up production,” I told him as he struggled to figure out how to collapse the wagon.
I didn’t tell him that I’d needed to ramp up production because my perfect, serene, lovely little life had been plagued with incessant, unavoidable thoughts about him. And that getting lost in my work was the only thing that quieted my mind.
Though, did my stupid, traitorous mind occasionally wander when I was at my wheel to a certain scene in Ghost where I subbed out Patrick Swayze for Crow?
Fine. Damnit. I’ll admit it. Yes. Yes, it did.
But, for the most part, aside from the collection of crow earrings and one mug that happened to have a crow painted on it, those were the only peaceful parts of my day when thoughts of him didn’t run rampant.
I couldn’t even weed my damn gardens without thinking about him moving in behind me, hiking up my skirt, and taking me from behind.
I was like a freaking animal in heat.
It was bizarre.
And more than a little frustrating.
It was the kind of frustrating that had me wondering if maybe there was a certain adult-themed store in the town where my pottery studio was, where I could find something that vibrated and got the job done faster. Since the job needed to be done multiple times a day just to allow me to concentrate on literally anything else.
That was out now that Crow was insisting on taking me. I was just going to have to keep going old-school.
“Morgaine?” Crow asked, snapping me out of my thoughts, making me realize he was staring down at me.
“Yeah?” I said.
“Asked if you were ready,” he told me.
To be stuck with him for at least the next hour or so? No. I was pretty sure I would never be ready for that.
“Yep,” I agreed, turning and making my way to the passenger side of the car, trying to keep myself from moaning when the cool air hit my overheated skin.
“Here,” he said, reaching in the cupholder and handing me a bottle of water that was cold enough to be sweating even in the cool car. “What?” he asked, making me realize I was staring at him.
“Do you have younger siblings?” I asked as I took the bottle, being careful not to touch his fingers.
“No. Why?”
“Just the whole… caretaking thing, I guess,” I said as I twisted the top off the bottle.
“Which way are we headed?” he asked me as he put the car into drive.
“Over to Holly Canyon,” I told him, getting a nod as he headed back into town.
“I’m an only child,” he told me a moment later, his gaze focused out the windshield.
“Me too,” I agreed, unable to keep myself from studying his perfect profile. “Or, at least, I figure I am,” I added. “I ran away from home when I was seventeen.”
Why the hell was I telling him that?
I didn’t tell anyone that.
Literally.
Never.
“Home life that bad?” he asked, turning down the air by one degree so it didn’t feel like we were talking over the fans.
“It had its moments,” I admitted. “My mom… she was what you might call a serial dater.”
“Apple fell way the fuck far away from that tree, huh?” he asked, shooting me a smirk to lighten the dark mood in the car.
“Yeah, well, I loved my mom. You know… who she was when she was alone. But when she was with a guy, she suddenly became a different person. Meek. Subservient.”
It was like watching a lightbulb go out.
That was the only way I could think to describe it.
My mom was like the sun when she got over the shambles of her last relationship and got to be herself again. She was always full of smiles and life. We spent all our time going to the beach or hiking or just hanging out by the lake near our house.
She was full of stories then. Of adventures she wanted us to go on.
“Just the two of us,” she would insist. “We don’t need any stinky boys.”
The problem was, for whatever reason, she always did. Need them. With a sort of bone-deep desperation that made her fall for literally anyone.
