Inevitable Detour (19 page)

He appears concerned, so I make sure to respond in a cheerful, satisfied voice. “Are you kidding? I feel great.”

He chuckles, kisses me lightly, then continues to dote on me. I stretch languorously as he finishes with his gentle ministrations with the washcloth. He eyes my body lustily, and when I look down I see he’s starting to get hard again. It makes me feel good that I can turn him on so quickly after he’s just climaxed.

I pull my knees up, and he places a hand on one. “Want to do it again?” I ask, brow rising.

With a suppressed smile, Farren spreads my legs and climbs in between. “Essalin.” He says. “What have I created?”

While he’s smoothing away hair from my face, I say to him, “You’ve created someone who wants you again, and again, all the time, a lot—”

He silences me with his mouth and gives me what I want—him.

T
he plan is to leave bright and early so we can meet up with Rick and Haven in Albuquerque by noon. But then Farren gets word that there’s been a delay.

“The doctor couldn’t be reached until yesterday evening,” he explains.

We’re in the little café attached to the side of the store across the street from the motel, the one where I bought the tequila.

“He’s seeing Haven today,” Farren continues. “Once we get the all clear for her to travel, Rick will notify us.”

I haven’t spoken to Haven, but I suspect Farren has, so I set down my fork—I’ve barely touched my pancakes anyway—and ask, “Have you talked to Haven?”

He lifts his coffee to his lips and murmurs from behind the ceramic cup, “Yeah, I talked to her briefly, once.”

While Farren sips his cup of joe, I ask if I can talk to her.

“Essa,” he responds with a sigh as he lowers his cup to the table. “Even the burner phones aren’t one hundred percent secure. They can be tapped into and traced. I think it’s best if we wait.” He offers a stunning smile, one surely meant to placate me. “You’ll see her soon enough.”

I’m placated, for now, but I still have another question. “Are we still heading to Albuquerque today to wait for Rick and Haven there?”

“No,” Farren replies, “we’re staying here until I get word that they’re heading up there.”

“I’m fine with staying here,” I say quietly.

I’m speaking more to myself than to Farren. And it’s the truth. I like this little piece of serenity out in the middle of nowhere. I like our tiny motel room, where we laughed and loved last night. I liked how afterward the neon glow from the motel sign kept the night illuminated, even when all the lights were out. Farren’s body was cast in shades of blue as I watched him sleep. He appeared as contented as I felt.

I sigh now, and Farren looks over at me across the table. “What are you thinking about, Essa.” He smiles coyly. He knows.

But I still reply. “I was thinking about last night.”

He reaches out and takes my hand in his. “It was pretty amazing,” he murmurs.

“It was,” I agree.

After our moment has passed, we finish our breakfast and head back across the street to the motel. Much later in the day, we hear from Rick. The doctor, though, we discover has advised Haven not to travel for another day or two. Rick informs Farren that his sister is suffering from a respiratory infection—the result of having been kept locked up in “cold, damp” places.

When I’m told this, by Farren, I shudder at the thought of what Haven must have endured. Cold, damp places? Ugh. Where were Eric and Vincent keeping my friend as they traveled from state to state with her? I ask Farren that exact question but get no answer.

I don’t press, and as we stay on at the Blue Cactus Inn, Farren begins to grow quieter and quieter. He withdraws into himself. I know he has a lot on his mind, so I try to be understanding. And even though he’s not as talkative as usual, I enjoy being around him nonetheless. Farren comforts me in a way no one else ever has, and, as a consequence, I’ve grown quite reliant on his presence.

Best not to dwell on exactly what that might mean.

The afternoon that we hear from Rick that Haven will soon be well enough to travel, Farren says to me, “How do you feel about driving out to the desert today?”

“Aren’t we already in the middle of the desert?” I deadpan as I gesture to the window in our motel room.

Farren, standing near the bathroom door, levels me with a not-amused expression. “What I meant was I think we should drive to someplace more desolate. An area with less people.”

Hey, we’re in almost desolation here at the Blue Cactus Inn, but it’s true there are still people around. Not many, but enough.

I don’t know what Farren has planned, but since we’ve remained local up to this point, I nod once and say, “Sure, sounds good to me.” I’m on the bed, lying on my stomach and casually flipping through a magazine I found in a drawer.

I rise to a seated position and ask, “What exactly are we going to do out in the middle of the desert, Farren?”

He steps over to the bed and sits on the edge. He reaches out and trails a finger along my jaw. “It’s a surprise, sweetheart,” is all he says.

Farren’s surprises have, thus far, proven to be rather amazing, so I’m eager to leave.

“Let’s go, then,” I say as I toss the magazine aside and stand.

Farren turns to grab the car keys from the dresser, and I take a moment to straighten my shorts. I also make a quick adjustment to the bra I’m wearing under a tank top. My bra is black, but my tank is vibrant blue.

When Farren and I step outside the room, he says, “Your shirt matches the sky, Essa.”

“It does,” I reply, laughing as I glance up, down, and then back up. With my eyes still on the clear sky, I add, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how pretty it is here in New Mexico. Does it ever rain?”

“It does,” he tells me, “but not much.”

As we stroll to the car, Farren takes my hand.

Minutes later, we are driving down the road—fast—with hot wind whipping through my hair. On a whim, I ask Farren, “Can I drive on the way back from wherever it is we’re going?”

Farren’s car is beyond sweet, and though he let me drive it the day we picked it up at the warehouse near the state line, I’ve not been behind the wheel since.

“Maybe,” Farren replies, a ghost of a smile curving his lips. “I’ll have to think about it.”

He’s totally giving me a hard time. I know I’ll get to drive the car back to the motel.

“You’re so mean,” I playfully retort. “First, you won’t tell me where we’re going, and now you have to ‘think’ about whether or not I can drive. It’s just cruel, I tell you.”

He laughs and places his hand on my knee. Giving it a light squeeze, he says, “I see your point. I’ll be sure to make it up to you later. How’s that sound?”

His low voice and now-wandering fingers hold promise, leading me to breathe out, “Mmm, that works for me.”

I like that after the past couple of days of sullenness, my flirtatious, fun Farren is reemerging. I tilt my head back and enjoy Farren’s hand on the inside of my thigh, caressing softly as the blazing sun warms me further. And it’s in that exact second I finally admit to myself what I’ve known for a while—
I’m starting to fall in love with Farren Shaw.

There’s no point in denying it any longer. Admitting it silently, to my own self only, doesn’t mean I’m ready to share the news with the object of my affection. Farren doesn’t strike me as a man with time for relationships and love. Hell, he already told me he doesn’t come with promises.

I cover his hand with mine, halting any further progression up my leg. That motion earns me a sidelong glance.

“Everything okay?” Farren wants to know.

“Yep, everything is great,” I say. I don’t add what I’m thinking:
for now
.

We travel a dozen dusty desert roads, making turn after turn. Finally, we slow to an almost-stop and drive—very slowly—off onto a large, flat area of sand and sparse desert vegetation. We stop a few hundred yards in, at a wide clearing where several tall saguaro cacti are lined up in a perfectly straight row. It looks as if someone planted them that way on purpose. But I doubt that was the case. Nature often has a way of giving order to the most random of things.

When I’m out of the car, I take note that many of the cacti are riddled with bullet holes.

“Aha,” I say to Farren, who is leaning into the storage space behind the seats. “We’re here to shoot stuff, aren’t we?”

I’ve been bugging Farren to teach me how to shoot, and it seems a shooting lesson is, indeed, what’s in store for today.

When Farren straightens, there’s a gun in his hand. He’s loading it. “That’s exactly why we’re here,” he replies.

Pointing over at a badly shot-up cactus, I say, “We’re not going to shoot at that poor thing, are we?”

“One, among many,” Farren quips.

“Oh,” I reply.

He glances over at me from where he’s loading a cartridge into another gun—a .45. “Trust me, Essa, they won’t feel a thing.”

“But they look so wounded already,” I protest.

Farren chuckles amusedly. “Babe, we’re a little limited on targets out here. Do you have a better suggestion?”

I shield my eyes from the blazing sun with my hand and scan the area. There’s nothing but cacti and rocks. “Nope, I guess they’ll have to do,” I conclude.

Farren hands me the .45 and says, “Let’s go see what kind of damage you can do, Essa.”

Minutes later, Farren is behind me, his hard body pressed to mine as he steadies my grip on the gun. “Pick out a spot,” he says softly into my ear. “Then squeeze the trigger gently.”

It’s a little hard to concentrate with Farren so close. It makes me think of the many times over the past few days when we’ve been this close. Closer even, and gloriously naked, joined as one. A delightful shiver runs through me at my recollection.

I smile and lean back into Farren. I know he’s smiling, too. He’s probably thinking the same thing as me.

Still, ever focused on my lesson, he urges me to pay attention. “Concentrate, Essalin,” he says.

“I am,” I reply, and then I pull the trigger.

I hit my target—a tall saguaro—dead center, at the exact point I was aiming for. “Wow,” I mouth.

“Shit,” Farren mutters under his breath. “I think you may be a natural.”

I nestle back into him and close my eyes. He feels so good. “I did okay, then?”

His mouth at my ear, he whispers, “You did better than okay, sweetheart.”

His low, sexy voice and his masculine scent distract me. I lower the gun and turn to him. “Can I tell you something, Farren?”

He nods once.

“It’s kind of bad,” I warn as I lower my chin and look up at him through my lashes.

“All the more reason to tell me,” he replies huskily.

In a husky voice of my own, I say, “I am so turned on right now I can barely concentrate.”

He sighs, lowers his lips to mine, and kisses me gently. When he pulls back, he says softly, “Later, Essa.” I groan, but he holds resolute. Turning my body so I’m once again facing the target, he says in a serious voice, “Right now, I need for you to learn how to protect yourself. I don’t know what we may encounter before this is all over. I want you to be ready for anything.”

Now, I’m
certain
things aren’t going as smoothly as planned. There must be some kind of trouble with Rick and Haven. That is why Farren has been so quiet the past few days.

I take the rest of my shooting lesson seriously, listening to and putting into action every single thing he suggests. And, like with my first shot, I remain surprisingly accurate.

“Maybe I am a natural,” I say to Farren when the shooting lesson is over and we’re packing up the car. “I think you were right.”

“I usually am,” he replies lightly.

I roll my eyes and mutter, “You are so cocky.”

With a chuckle, he finishes placing the guns in the car.

When he hands me the keys, I say, “Are you sure? I was only teasing earlier. I don’t have to drive.”

“But you want to, right?”

“I do,” I admit.

“Then it’s settled,” he says.

As we drive back in the direction of the Blue Cactus Inn, I pay no heed to any posted speed limits. I’m too busy enjoying Farren’s amazing car.

Farren says, “Turn here,” when we’re a few miles from the motel.

“We’re not going directly back?” I question.

“Nah,” he says lightly, “let’s play a little; see what this thing can do.”

With that decided, we have a blast with the Ferrari. Each of us takes a turn opening it up on various empty stretches of pavement. By the time we pull into the motel parking lot, Farren and I are exhausted from our fun in the sun.

It’s twilight, and as Farren and I walk to our room—hands touching—under a muted blue-and-orange-streaked sky, it feels as if we’re the only two souls on earth. We’re sort of in a Farren-Essa zone, but the minute we step into the room, Farren’s burner phone rings.

Farren takes the phone into the bathroom for more privacy, and I flop down on the bed. Through the closed door, I hear enough to discern he is speaking with Rick.

When the call ends, Farren remains in the bathroom. The water starts up, and I hear him stepping into the shower. I could use a shower myself—I’m sweaty and dusty from our time in the desert—but I hold off on joining him. I know if I’m in the shower with Farren, we’ll get distracted.