Home > Charged (Saints of Denver #2)(60)

Charged (Saints of Denver #2)(60)
Author: Jay Crownover

After we had the bathroom cleaned up and the things we were going to need to get through the weekend in the mountains packed into two backpacks, I took her to bed and told her I would keep her safe. I told her she had a real gift with food and that I really liked her parents. I told her that I liked the way she told me hello today, and that I really liked going to bed with her. She let me give her the words, she let me hold her close, and she didn’t ask for anything else.

She didn’t ask about court. She didn’t ask about the mountains. She didn’t demand attention or validation. She took what I had to offer and snuggled into my side as she traced the wings tattooed on my chest in a lazy caress. She was content to simply be here with me, and what I offered seemed to be enough for her. I liked a lot of things about this young woman, but the fact that she wasn’t asking for more than I had to give was at the top of the list. Her unassuming and undemanding nature made me want to dig deep into a well that I was sure had run dry, in order to provide her with more than the bare bones of the emotions I had left. I wanted to give to Avett, as much as I wanted to take from her.

I fell asleep with her head on my shoulder and her hand resting over my heart. I woke up with the sun hitting me in the face and Avett’s sassy mouth wrapped around my dick, while her small hand played with my balls. It was the nicest wake-up call that I had ever gotten, and it had me smiling all morning long. I did my best to put a similar smile on her face, and by the time we were done destroying my bed and each other, it was well past time for us to get on the road. The bike was fast, but the drive up to the mountains was still over treacherous passes and the weather was always unpredictable in late fall. I was trying to get the girl out of danger, not put her in more of it.

I had a leather jacket and a helmet that I bought for Lottie and had never been used. Avett made a face when I told her where the gear came from, but she still put it on and climbed on the back of the bike behind me, like a pro. A street bike was nothing like a Harley, but the basics of how to ride on the back of one were the same. That meant she got to wrap herself around me, that I got to have her hands pressed low and tight across my middle, with her legs squeezing me tightly as we moved together around each of the switchbacks that led up to the mountain. She moved like she had been born on the back of a bike, which I guess she kind of had been. But she also moved so in sync and so perfectly with me that all I wanted to do was find a place to pull over so I could bend her over the bike and bury myself inside her, so deeply and fully that she wouldn’t be able to remember what it was like to not have me inside of her.

It took several hours as we passed through small mountain town after small mountain town, each one more exclusive and more elite than the last. The tourists were out in force, making their way into the mountains to watch the leaves change and for a last-minute getaway before the snow moved in. We rode hard and fast, zipping around traffic and chasing the wind higher and higher up in elevation, the leaves turning from leafy green to vivid yellow and red the farther away from the city we got. It had been years since I’d been here and I’d spent so much time blocking out the memories that I almost passed the outcropping of rocks that led to the small turnoff where I knew there was a small, flat area where I could park the bike.

I pulled off the road, parked behind the boulders. I waited until Avett climbed off from her perch behind me and then swung my leg over the bike. We pulled our helmets off at the same time, and I loved the way her candy-colored hair floated around her face and down around her shoulders. She looked around the densely wooded area that surrounded us with trepidation and awe stamped clearly on her face. We’d left behind the glitz and polish of the nearest designer ski town miles and miles ago.

“Where are we?”

I rubbed my hand through my hair and pocketed the keys to the bike. “This is the back side of the White River National Forest.”

She laughed a little and reached out to put her helmet on the bike next to mine. “Okay. It’s really pretty and clearly no gun-toting bad guys are going to follow us all the way up here, but we didn’t pack anything to camp with in those backpacks. So I’m officially confused as to where we’re going and what we’re doing.”

I took her hand in mine and started for the trees. There used to be a path worn in the brush, a path I made as I walked over a mile each way every single day through these very woods to get to the bus stop, regardless of the weather outside. The path had long since grown over but suppressed memory and ancient instinct made my steps sure as I pulled Avett deeper and deeper into the thick foliage.

“I told you I was taking you somewhere safe, somewhere you can relax and not worry for a few days. That’s exactly what I’m doing. No one knows this place exists.”

She was panting a little as she trudged along behind me, doing her best to keep up with my longer stride and to step carefully over fallen logs and hidden rocks.

“If no one knows that it exists, how do you know about it?” That was a valid question and after forty-five minutes of trudging through rough and unforgiving terrain we came into the clearing where my entire past and childhood rested.

I looked at Avett as she came to a stumbling halt next to me. Her pretty eyes widened until they took up half of her face as she turned her head to look at me with questions overflowing in her gaze.

“Quaid?”

I pointed to the cabin and shrugged as I told her, “That’s where I grew up.”

She breathed out a disbelieving little laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

   
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