Inevitable Detour (11 page)

Farren is behind me, hands on either side of my waist, keeping me moving. He’s also keeping me from tumbling backward since my heels are quite high.

When we reach the top, I come to a halt. “There’s a door in our way,” I so eloquently observe, nodding to what appears to be a very heavy steel door.

Farren leans into me and, while trying to contain his laugher, whispers, “Why don’t you just open it, Essa.”

I rock back into his solid chest, shivering in the best way possible. He breathes out heavily, like our closeness affects him, too. Warm breaths caress my neck, sending tendrils of my upswept do into a wispy dance. Slowly, Farren reaches around me, his arm almost brushing my breast. He grasps the handle and swings open the heavy steel door with ease.

And there before us lies sparkling downtown St. Louis in full nighttime glory.

“Oh, this is beautiful, Farren,” I gush, enraptured.

I like leaning back against Farren, but the cityscape is calling to me, urging me to step out onto the expansive rooftop and take in all the twinkling downtown lights. It’s a lovely summer-like evening, and a warm breeze blows as I walk across the rooftop, stopping at the edge. I’m not great with heights, but thankfully there’s a high, sturdy railing to hold on to. Placing my hands on cool metal, I turn my head, expecting to see Farren right there beside me, enjoying the magnificent view.

But he’s not anywhere nearby.

“Farren…?”

I glance back to the stairwell. He’s still standing by the door. He’s not alone. He’s speaking to the waitress he flagged down before we started up to the roof. She’s nodding and handing Farren a just-uncorked bottle of red, along with two wineglasses. When he catches me watching the exchange, he shoos the waitress away and strides over to me.

Along the inside perimeter of the rooftop, there’s a brick ledge. I sit down carefully, straighten my classy black dress, and cross my legs.

Farren stops and stands in front of me. Glancing up at his handsome face, I whisper, “Hey.”

“Hey back at you,” he says, just as softly.

As he balances the two glasses from the waitress in one hand, he uses his free hand to pour a bit of wine into each glass. When both glasses are half full, he hands me one.

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the glass.

He touches his glass to mine, and I ask, “What are you doing?”

He stills, his wineglass pressed to mine. “I’m in the process of proposing a toast, Essalin.”

Laughing, I say, “I figured that part out. But what are we toasting to?”

Emerald eyes, dark in the low light, meet mine. “How about we toast to making wishes come true?”

Before I can ask what that means, he clinks his glass to mine. He takes a drink, as do I. Suddenly, as if on cue, soft music begins to play in the background. When I look up at Farren, he’s smiling.

“I wanted to dance,” I murmur, amazed that he set something up like this so quickly after hearing how I wished to spend the rest of our night.

“And it’s just you and me,” he says. “As you requested.”

He takes the glass from my hand and, along with his, sets it on the ledge. For the third time in one night, Farren offers me his hand. “Would you like to dance, Essalin?”

“I would,” I reply.

My heart is racing. I can’t stop smiling. Smiling, smiling, I feel such happiness right now. They say people in dire circumstances grow close quickly. Maybe that is what’s been happening between me and Farren. I feel a powerful connection with him. And I can’t say it’s entirely surprising. Our love for Haven provided us with an immediate reason to bond. And then spending time together, retracing her steps, trying to save her, has only strengthened that connection. Farren and I have a shared goal—we both want Haven back.

But there’s no denying there’s something more intense developing between us.

The careful way in which Farren holds me as we begin to dance to a slow song—like I’m fragile and he’s the only one equipped to care for me—strengthens my suspicion that he’s falling for me too, in some way.

I relax into him, trusting him. Our bodies sway to melodic lyrics that speak of the beauty of having someone to lean on when times get tough. How fitting. As the song continues, I feel Farren’s gaze on me. Glancing up, I find his emerald eyes burning with strong desire and need, assuring me that I am not the only one feeling this heady attraction.

The side of Farren’s mouth curves up slightly when he sees his emotions reflected in my eyes. Quietly, he implores, “Essa, what are you doing to me?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

I lower my chin and lean forward to place my cheek against his solid shoulder. Farren’s fingers wind through my hair, loosening the strands. Pins fall to the ground haphazardly, but I don’t care. When my hair tumbles to my shoulders, I lean back, my gaze questioning.

Farren just smiles and shrugs lightly. “I like it better this way,” he says.

I nod once, and our eyes remain locked as Farren continues to comb through my hair with his fingers. He uses one hand at first, then both. His ministrations are gentle. I like it. I like the possessiveness in his touch. I like the familiarity. And I like that Farren seems to intuitively know how to touch me.

It makes me want him more than ever.

I lower my gaze to his lips, full and moist from the wine. With a confidence I never felt before, I stand on my tiptoes and lean closer to him. I tilt my head slightly in what I hope is viewed as an invitation.

Farren responds immediately. His grasp in my hair tightens and he urges my head back. Lowering his lips to my neck, his tongue darts out to taste my skin. “Delicious,” he says.

I shudder in the best kind of way and murmur, “Farren.”

With his hands remaining in my hair and my head still tilted back, he kisses me everywhere…down my neck, across my shoulder blade, back up to my jaw. “Oh,” I gasp.

His lips are everywhere but where I want them most—on mine.

I slide my hands up his solid and wide back. I caress the softness at the nape of his neck. And then my hands are in his hair. So silky and soft, just how I imagined it would be. When I pull at the ends of his hair gingerly, Farren groans huskily.

His lips capture mine, at last, and he kisses me
hard
. This is heaven, a dance of lips and tongues. Farren tastes like red wine and man, and I become drunk of him.

He presses his body into mine when I moan, and I am made fully aware that his kisses aren’t the only thing that’s hard. As his arousal continues to deliciously press into my abdomen, I kiss him like crazy.

Soon, we’re practically bruising one another as our hands and mouths express all of this pent-up want and need.

I let out a light moan, and, between kisses, Farren says, “Tell me what you want. Say it to me.”

“I want,” I breathe out a stuttered breath. “I want…”

I don’t know what I want, not exactly. My body wants Farren, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, but my inexperienced self urges me to slow down.

“Essalin?” Farren pulls back slightly, his eyes boring into mine, searching for a go-ahead or a denial.

What will it be?

“I’ll do anything you want,” I blurt out. “I don’t know how great I’ll be, but I want to be with you. I’ll try to please you.”

I sound like what I am—a mostly inexperienced young woman who doesn’t know what she’s getting into. Understanding dawns in Farren’s eyes. His hold on my hair loosens, and though one hand remains wrapped loosely in the long tresses, his other hand skims down to the small of my back.

“Essa…” He exhales loudly. “Look, we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

“But I am ready,” I insist. “I want to be with you.”

Farren eyes me skeptically. “You really think you’re ready for what this is leading to? You really think you’re ready for
me
?”

Holy hell, I don’t know.
What I do know is that the starry-eyed girl part of me wants to believe if we become intimate it will lead to something more. But the practical woman side of me knows this might only be about sex. Mind-blowing, amazing sex I’d surely never forget, but sex for sex’s sake, nonetheless.

And the problem with that is that I want more. I don’t want a sex-only thing with Farren. Even so, I’m torn. I don’t know how to proceed.

I try to look away, but Farren’s hand goes to my cheek. I have no choice but to meet his gaze when he urges me to.

Quietly, I say, “I’m just not all that experienced, Farren.”

His brows shoot up, and I quickly amend, “I don’t mean I’m a virgin…if that’s what you’re thinking.”

The look on his face tells me that’s precisely what he’s thinking.

I want to be forthcoming, so I admit, “I’ve only had sex one time, though.”

“Essa…” Farren says on a sigh.

I close my eyes and say, “I guess I’m just confused. I don’t really know how this is supposed to work.”
Oh, what am I babbling about
?

Farren says nothing.

When I dare to take a peek up at him, he arches one brow questioningly. “How this is supposed to work?”

“Like,” I begin my explanation, taking a step back, “if we were to sleep together. I don’t know—”

“Shh…” He touches my mouth tenderly, cutting me off. “You don’t have to explain anything, sweetheart.” Gently, he urges me back into his arms, and I nestle into his strong hold.

“No sex tonight, then,” I joke, my cheek pressed against his smooth-textured suit jacket.

Farren chuckles lightly and says, “No sex tonight, Essa.”

Music is still playing in the background, and he starts to move my body with his. “Will you still dance with me, though?” he asks.

I sway with him as I say, “I can do that.”

“Good. I like dancing with you,” he murmurs into my hair.

“I like dancing with you, too,” I whisper back.

All the hard ridges of his body are pressed to my soft parts. He feels so good. As we move together, I relax into him, let him lead. For as much as I want Farren—and, God, I do want him at some point—sleeping together this quickly wouldn’t be a good idea. I like him entirely too much, and I don’t want to end up crushed.

But if things go in the direction I hope for, I sense a man like Farren would be careful with my heart.

I sigh and hope that someday Farren Shaw might actually want my heart.

T
he next day, after we check out of the Union Station Hotel, Farren and I head straight to the parking garage. There’s an ease between us as we walk in relative silence. Farren appears lost in thought, but I’m okay with that. I’m busy scanning the area, trying to recall where we parked the white sedan when we returned last night. I swear it was on the second level, third row from the ramp, but I don’t see it anywhere.

“Oh my God, Farren,” I exclaim, stopping and pivoting left and right. “I think someone stole our car.”

Farren doesn’t say a thing, and when I glance over at him, he’s trying not to crack up.

“What?” I say. “What’s so funny?”

“Our car wasn’t stolen,” he replies as he composes himself.

He motions for me to follow him as he walks to a parking space a few yards away. Stopping in front of a black luxury SUV, he says, “We’re switching to this.”

My eyes slide from Farren—dressed today in black jeans and a snug black tee that accentuates his muscular build—to the sleek vehicle he’s referring to.

“Oh, wow, nice,” I say, nodding approvingly. “This is definitely a step up.”

“Better than the family sedan?” he asks lightly, his tone jovial and teasing.

“Much.”

Farren grins flirtatiously, making my heart skip a beat. But then he turns away to pop open the back lift gate. He lifts up the cover to the cargo space inside, and I get a good view.

“Holy crap,” I blurt out. “That’s a lot of weapons you have in there.”

The cargo space is filled with automatic rifles, handguns, and other weaponry I’ve never seen before. I assume the vehicle switch is compliments of Farren’s friend Rick, but I also now have a strong suspicion that the arsenal has been with us from the start. No wonder Farren was always making sure he was the one placing our suitcases in the trunk. He’s been hiding this cache of weapons all along. Well, I guess we passed some point of no return last night. Farren must trust me now, enough to let me in on his former secret.

“Now you know why we’ve been driving and not flying,” he says, closing the back of the SUV.

“Makes total sense to me now,” I concur, nodding.

I guess he’s surprised by my easy acceptance. He laughs and motions for me to get in the vehicle. “Come on, Essa. Let’s get rolling.”

Truthfully, I’m relieved we’re armed to the teeth. Not that I have a clue on how to handle any of the firearms. But with his extensive military background, I’m sure Farren does.

We grab a quick breakfast before we leave St. Louis. And then, for the first hour or so on the road, I doze. When I wake from my impromptu nap, I realize I have no idea where we are heading. I never bothered to ask.

“Hey,” I say, stretching and yawning, “where are we going?”

Farren glances over at me, his gaze lowering briefly to my snowy-white lace crop top. The bottom hem is curled up higher than it should be, thus exposing a fair amount of skin between the bottom of the shirt and the top of my low-cut jeans.

I straighten my clothes, and Farren turns his focus back to the highway. “New Mexico,” he answers at last. “But first we’re stopping in Oklahoma City.”

“Oh, okay.” I pause and then tentatively ask, “Did Rick have news on Haven? Is she in Oklahoma? Or is she in New Mexico?”

After dancing half the night away on the restaurant rooftop, Farren and I returned to the hotel. We were both exhausted, and following a chaste kiss on my cheek, we bid each other goodnights and went to our rooms. I never had the chance to ask him what new things Rick has uncovered.

But I find out now.

“Yeah, Rick had intel,” Farren says, frowning. Since I suspect it was not good news, I place my hand on his squared shoulder.

Sighing, he continues, “Haven’s car was found abandoned in Oklahoma City.”

I gasp, but Farren ignores me and keeps talking, almost like he has to or he may lose it.