Page 8 of Her Protector on Route 14 (Love Along Route 14 #6)

Sleeping next to Holly in her car was its own kind of hell.

The soft little sounds she made in her sleep—barely-there moans slipping between steady breaths—wrapped around me like a fever.

I kept my eyes shut, but I was dying to peek, just to see if she was touching herself.

The image alone was enough to have me clenching my fists, practically aching to take the edge off.

And now, the morning isn’t any easier.

I’m driving, trying to focus on the road, but Holly takes a bite of her breakfast sandwich and lets out another quiet moan—this one totally innocent, completely unintentional, and somehow worse .

She must’ve freshened up while I was pumping gas. She changed into a flowy little dress that barely grazes her knees, and every time it shifts, it teases me with just enough skin to wreck my focus.

This drive is heaven and hell in equal measure. I want to reach over. I want another excuse to touch her— any excuse. I want to kiss her until she forgets how to breathe and let her moan against my mouth instead of into her pillow or over a damn sandwich.

But that would cross a line. And I know it.

I’m the one who pulled away. I’m the one who told myself she’s too young, that we barely know each other. That this thing between us is too new. Too risky.

And nothing’s really changed.

Except now I know she’s single. And I still don’t know if I’m ready for a relationship—especially one that could stretch across state lines.

But what I do know? I’ve never wanted anything so badly and told myself I couldn’t have it.

“Oh! There’s a sign!” Holly says excitedly.

I roll the windows further down. Her A/C is dying and weak, making it hot in the car. Or maybe it’s just being around her. Either way, my control is slipping, the tension is so thick I’m tempted to feast on it.

“Fifty miles,” I agree.

“Think we can make it that long?” She asks. “Without the radio and minimal healthy snacks?”

“We can find a way to entertain ourselves,” I say.

Holly meets my eyes and looks away while trying to hide her smirk.

I clear my throat. I’m not sure how to entertain someone else while driving.

I don’t know what she does, or if she can take photos, but I recommend that and tell her about Rustic Junction.

There’s a love hotel, everything has a Wild West theme to it and it’s a unique place with plenty of photo opportunities and things to enjoy.

She asks plenty of questions, asks what my favorite places are, and keeps leaning closer.

I know she’s tired. We only got about four hours of sleep.

Which somehow leads to her falling asleep on my shoulder, her breath rushing across my neck until it takes work to focus on the road because I’d rather focus on her.

Holly makes a soft sound and nuzzles my neck.

I should be strong enough to push her away.

I should ease her back into her own seat or wake her up considering we’re turning into town.

She’ll want to explore, want to point out interesting spots she’d like to see, and really make the most of the options she has for photos and excitement.

At the same time, a part of me is eager to get to the hotel so we can book different rooms and I can take care of myself the way I need.

When I slow to a stop at the single red light in town, she stirs, her lips dragging across my skin, plush and soft.

Her nose wrinkles and she slowly sits up, leaning back in her seat.

“Oh, Tanner. I ... I’m sorry. I didn’t snore, did I?”

“No,” I say softly.

“Oh wow, we’re here! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Because I didn’t want to stop feeling your breath on me. Because having you asleep next to me felt too damn good.

I want to say that. Instead, I just shrug, playing it off like it’s nothing. “You looked comfortable.”

Just like that her bubbly energy returns. She points out the old saloon, the signs that we clearly need to see because they’re a list of things to do, and people with cameras. “This place is already so popular!”

“For ghost hunters,” I reply. “A niche. They say the Rustic Love Hotel is haunted. Plenty say that it was an old brothel.”

“Well if it’s a ‘Love Hotel’ then I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s something else the ghost hunters are hearing,” she teases.

I barely suppress my smirk. “So that’s where your mind went? You’ve got a dirty streak hiding behind that innocent face.”

“I would think that with any hotel honestly. Unless the whole place is empty,” she teases.

“It’s still relatively early. We can check in then go to the saloon. Perhaps we can find a horse for you to ride.”

“I’m not much of a rider,” she whispers.

My eyes flick to hers, and she immediately clears her throat, face flushing. “Oh my God . Now everything I say is going to sound like some kind of innuendo.”

I bite back a grin as she rushes on. “Anyway! I’d totally watch you ride. It’d make a great photo. Especially if you had a hat—you’d pass for a cowboy, no question.”

I’m tempted to ask her if that’s the kind of roleplay she likes, but remind myself again that’s not important because we’re not going to be acting on anything like that.

She won’t play the eager brothel worker and I won’t play the exhausted cowboy that’s been on the road too long to remember how to connect.

“Let’s check in first and head to the saloon for food,” I suggest.

“We’re getting you a hat either way,” she teases.

I roll my eyes, but after we check into two separate rooms, she spots a cowboy hat in the lobby and insists on buying it for me.

When she flashes that big, dimpled smile and says it’ll "accentuate my rugged look," I don’t stand a chance. I put it on.

The way she looks at me—eyes bright, clearly pleased with herself—does something I don’t want to name yet. But I know one thing: there’s no comparison to how it feels knowing I’m the reason she’s smiling like that.

I tip the brim of the hat with a smirk and say, “Much obliged, little lady,” in my best cowboy drawl.

She bursts into laughter, full and unguarded, and lifts her camera to capture the moment.

Today might be a long one, but it’s already better than I expected.