Page 111

CHAPTER 1

When the car appears over the horizon, I feel a jolt of relief. It’s the last Sunday in July, so while I’m shivering, it’s not from cold. Just the opposite, in fact. It’s been hot and muggy for days, the unfulfilled tease of a thunderstorm that would clear the air pressing all around me, but the cumulonimbus clouds gathering in the east haven’t budged since late afternoon, and rain isn’t forecasted until sometime tomorrow or Tuesday.

I definitely am shivering, but it’s from that weird, electric combination of fear and excitement. A line of sweat trickles down the channel of my spine and I press my damp palms against the seat of my cut-off jeans. There’s not much to them—the fabric barely covers my ass. But my shirt’s not a lot more useful, what with it being cropped above my navel.

The car barrels down the deserted road toward me. It’s the only one I’ve seen since I found myself stranded here in semi-rural Connecticut. If it doesn’t stop, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do.

I take a deep inhale of the muggy air, flavored with hot asphalt and dead grass, and stick my arm straight out, hand extended, fingers folded into my palm.

Thumb up.

The car slows as it approaches me, then pulls over and rolls to a stop. It’s a silver Lexus, shiny and freshly-washed. The driver apparently takes good care of it. That’s a good sign, right? A person who cares for their possessions—who cares about expensive possessions—surely will be a careful and conscientious driver, right?

Someone I can trust enough to get into their car?

The setting sun glints on the windshield and the side windows are tinted enough that I can’t see who’s behind the wheel. The car sits there, idling quietly, for a minute longer than I’m expecting and a flock of butterflies flutter around in my stomach.

What if this goes sideways?

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the car window. My blond hair is tousled from when I ran a hand through it to get the damp strands off my sweaty face.

There’s a low click and the passenger side window rolls smoothly down. I still can’t see the driver, so I take a couple of steps around the car, bend down, and rest my elbows on the door frame.

“Hi,” I say, and my voice is strangled in my dry throat. I cough into my bare elbow and try again. “Um, thanks for stopping.”

The man behind the wheel is—whoa—freaking gorgeous. Salt-and-pepper hair, with more salt than pepper at his temples. A close-shaved beard that doesn’t hide firm, well-shaped lips. Hazel eyes that are boring into mine like he can read everything I’ve ever done, been, or wanted, right on my face.

Older than me. Like, a lot older. Old enough to be my dad.

Hot as fuck, though. And eyeing me like I’m the hottest thing he’s seen in while.

“What are you doing on the side of the road, boy?”

I drop my eyes, and oh crap, by leaning up against the car door, bent over like this, I’m giving this man a view of everything. When I glance back up at him under the fall of my bangs, he’s staring down my cropped shirt, which hangs loose enough that he can probably see my pierced nipples.

“Um, so…funny story, but I’m, like, lost?” It comes out like a question, partly because I’m still feeling a little awkward about this. Hitchhiking is supposed to be dangerous, right?

But I’m kinda at the point of no return here. My only other option is something I’m not desperate enough to do. Yet.

“Lost, eh? Need a ride?” He’s still staring at my nipple rings.

“Please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

The man finally quits staring at my chest and drags his eyes back up to mine. I bat my long lashes at him—it’s worked before—and widen my green eyes at him. But then he pretty much immediately looks at my mouth, probably because I’m biting my lower lip.

“Since you asked so nicely…” He presses a button and the passenger door lock clicks.

I take one more deep inhale, cough out the car’s exhaust that I stupidly manage to breathe in, and yank the handle to open the car door.

I fold myself into the leather seat and pull the door closed. The man immediately presses a button on his side to raise my window. It’s blessedly cool inside. My nipples stiffen, though my shirt is loose enough that maybe he doesn’t see.

I glance at him and he’s staring again at my chest. Or maybe he does see. What have I gotten myself into?

He doesn’t drive us off right away. We’re just sitting here, in this really nice car, stopped on the side of the road. The air conditioning blows across my sweaty face and I shift a little on the leather seat. It’s cool against the backs of my bare thighs and the small of my back between the end of my cropped shirt and the low waistband of my cut-off shorts.

“I’m Silas,” I offer, to break the heavy silence between us.

“Mmm.” He doesn’t give me his name. Should I ask for it? Would asking his name make him think I feel the need to be able to identify him later?

I jump when a beep chimes somewhere in the car.

“Seatbelt, Silas.”

Oh right. I pull the strap over my shoulder and across my chest, then click it into the slot.

“How did you end up ‘lost’ out here?”

I can almost hear the air quotes, like he doesn’t believe my story. My brain races to come up with something plausible.

“I, um…”

“Ran away from home? What’s the matter, your daddy too strict with you?”

Oh shit. The level of disdain in his voice is doing something weird to me. Making my skin prickle with something more than the summer heat or the air-conditioning’s chill. My dick stirs and I fold my hands together in my lap to shield it.

He glances down at my lap, like he’s not fooled at all. “It’s polite to answer a question when you’re asked, boy. Has your daddy not taught you to respect your elders?”

I definitely don’t want to say anything bad about my Daddy, especially not to this man. I swallow a couple of times to moisten my mouth. “My Daddy is not too strict. He’s kind and gentle and gives me everything I need.”

There’s a snort, like he doesn’t believe that for a second. “Then what are you doing out here all alone?”

I risk a glance at his lap, then at his large, strong hands that are gripping the steering wheel. “Well, I’m not all alone now, am I?”

“If you’re looking for something your Daddy hasn’t yet provided for you, that can be arranged.”

That’s the whole point here, isn’t it? The reason I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road. The reason I got into his car in the first place.

His hands are flexing against the steering wheel. Like he’s keeping himself from doing something with them. Grabbing me?

Doing something to me?

Hurting me?

Those butterflies in my stomach turn into flapping, shrieking birds.