“Wake up,” I whispered at his ear, finally waking him.
His eyes fluttered open, confusion chasing away the sleep before they grew dark and angry. “What are you doing?”
“I came to ask you the same question, at least we’re on the same page about something,” I teased, rubbing my arms as the damp chill settled into my bones. “What are you doing out here? Trying to catch your death?”
His eyebrow arched before he turned back to the bay. “Maybe.”
“Come on, please come back to the cabin, I can’t stay there alone, the ghosts will get me.” I pushed at his shoulder, trying to get him to loosen up. He was tense, muscles bunched like marble. “Looks like they already claimed one victim tonight.”
That earned me a reaction, a ravaged grunt before he whipped the sleeping bag off of him and flung it around my shoulders. He moved quickly, zipping me up inside and then rubbing my shoulders as I stood in front of him.
“Come back to the house.”
“I can’t sleep there.”
“I can’t either.”
“The sound of the waves are the only thing that clear my head.” His confession surprised me.
“Maybe I should try it then.” I dropped to my bottom, trying to relax into all the stillness around us. The bay sparkled, the tiny marina lit in the distance as a single boat patrolled the bay.
“I need the quiet to hear myself think.” He crouched near the dying embers of his campfire, poking it with a large stick until the flames grew brighter.
“I think that’s why I stopped coming up to the ridge; so much...quiet,” I mused, thinking back on the camping trips Dad and I had spent up here, not far away at a campground a mile closer to Cherry Falls.
He nodded.
I sucked in a soft breath, air filled with the scent of him. Leather and woodsmoke and perfection. I wondered what he tasted like.
“Sometimes I think it’s my fault this place is so dark and...haunted.”
I didn’t reply, eager to hear him and afraid of his next words at the same time.
“You said the ridge had ghosts—there’s only one.” He sat in the damp grass at my side. He gave me one long gaze, something that burned down to the depths of my toes before he tucked himself at my side. Another breath. More leather and wood smoke.
I crammed my eyes closed and fought the smile, desperate not to make a fool of myself.
“Can I?” He gestured with his big arm.
I nodded, curling into the crook of his arm and trying to steady my heartbeat.
He was so warm. So much like home.
“You smell nice, Petal.” His words were gruff.
“Thank you,” I uttered.
“I was lucky the first time, too lucky. Aspen’s mom grew up in Syn City but she loved the peace and quiet, spending most days in her garden or tending that sunflower field behind us. I hate looking at it, but I can’t bear to take it down either.” His rough knuckles grazed the edge of my wrist. His hard body pressed close to mine felt illicit and wrong, and exactly right. He trailed the pad of his thumb along my ring finger and continued. “I’m sure your dad told you at some point that my wife, Aspen’s mom, passed away when she was giving birth.” He said the words in rush, like he couldn’t wait to get them over.
I didn’t reply, only let the night silence stretch between us.
His chest vibrated with energy, the gentle movement up and down as he breathed, measured and low, and I draped my palm along his flannel-covered stomach.
“I've never forgiven myself and I-I’ve been shaming myself since the minute you stepped foot on the ridge for being drawn to you like I am.”
“D-drawn to me?”
“You’re so damn young—I shouldn’t—”
My heart rattled, drowning out his words as my own focus became every single nerve humming to life inside of me as he draped his thumb across my wrist with absent-minded tenderness.
“And to the Captain’s daughter on top of everything else—”
“Everything else?” I stammered. “I don’t think any of that matters.”
He paused, stroking his thumb along my jaw and forcing my eyes to meet his. “You don’t think so?”
I shook my head, eyes still locked with his. I felt his gaze everywhere, like shimmering glints of stardust swirling through my bloodstream. I was pulled to Maverick on a magnetic level, every cell of him finely attuned to me. Our energies hummed like a frequency from another planet, one filled with possibility and excitement.
Maverick caught my wrist, turning it in his hand, and brought it to his lips. The stubble of his beard tickled my skin and sent a flood of emotion through me. He pressed a kiss at my throbbing vein, the source of my life’s blood tied directly to my beating heart. Like an arrow, his kiss sank deep inside of me.
“You should ask me how old I am, Petal.” His voice was deep and throaty and I felt it down to my toes.
“Does it matter?” I gulped, too turned on by him to think straight.
“Yes.”
My stomach dropped with his one-word answer.
He tipped his head, moving closer as his fingertips rubbed the ends of my hair. He paused, dropped the slender threads, and then asked, “Do you like when I touch you?”
“Yes,” I answered earnestly.
“Do you want me to keep touching you?”
“Yes.”
“Then ask me how old I am.”
I clamped down on my bottom lip, not caring about his answer, but only that he seemed to care. “How old are you?”
He didn’t answer immediately, but stroked the pad of his thumb across my naked collarbone.
I took a swift breath, then shuddering, repeated: “How old are you?”
“So shy…” He stroked across my bare shoulder bone. “I’m forty-eight.” His eyes caught mine, intense and heavy. “Am I too
