Take You Away: A Novella (2 page)

Frankly, I have no idea if there’s a motel nearby. But dammit, I’d sell my soul to find one right now.

Fortunately, it’s only three more exits on the highway before we see something. Just a beat up old place called the Sands Motel—which is funny because we’re at least three hours from the nearest beach—but it’ll do. And who knows when and if we’ll find something better.

Turns out, the Sands Motel is even shittier than the gas station. I didn’t think that was possible, but the minute I steer Ol’ Stella into the lot, I realize we’d probably have a better night on the side of the road. There’s paint peeling off the motel’s walls and the sign is hanging at an angle.

I glance over at Louisa. We haven’t really had a chance to talk about her past, but knowing her family, I’d bet my ass she’s never had to stay in a dump like this. She doesn't belong here. She doesn’t belong within a week of this place.

But she’s climbing out of the car before I’ve even thrown on the parking brake.

"Well, this’ll be an adventure," she says, flashing me a smile. There’s still heat in her eyes, and I know by the way her pupils dilate when her gaze meets mine that she sees my own need.

Even now, she has no idea what she’s done to me.

We head toward the motel’s office, and I hold out my arm for her. I might not be a gentleman, but at least I can act like one. Pretend that I haven’t just brought us to the world’s sketchiest flea paradise.

Inside, we find an older woman working behind the desk. One look tells me she won’t be any more pleasant than the dude in the convenience store, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at a place like this. I don’t peg her for a shotgun owner, though. She’s probably packing a handgun. Maybe a small pistol.

My grip tightens on Louisa. She squeezes my hand and smiles up at me, and I can’t tell if she’s putting on a brave face or if she just doesn’t realize how many dangers there are out here.

A room is only $24.50 for the night. I guess that’s the good thing about shacking up in a crappy place like this. Louisa insists on paying. I try to argue with her, but in the end, her stubbornness wins out. Truth is, it’s probably better that I let her pay. Those five hundred dollars—or four hundred and sixty dollars or whatever I have left in my account after the gas station—aren’t going to last much longer. I don’t know what we’re going to do when it runs out. As far as I know, Louisa’s as broke as I am at this point.

I hate that I don’t have the money to take care of her. That I can’t even afford shitholes like this, let alone the five-star hotels that I’m sure she's used to. That she
deserves.
Some fucking knight I am. Only the finest rooms and beef jerky for my lady.

And she doesn’t even seem to realize it. Or maybe she’s just pretending it doesn’t matter.

I know better than that
, I think as I unlock the door to our room.
It might not matter now, but it will.

I swipe at the light switch as I step inside, but nothing happens. I stumble into the dark room, my arm outstretched in front of me until I find the nightstand. There’s a lamp bolted to the top of the little wooden table, and I tug at the chain. The bulb buzzes to life, filling the room with soft yellow light. I glance around and immediately wish I hadn’t.

The wallpaper is peeling. The carpet is torn up in the corners. The bed sags in the middle. I spot at least one roach scurrying to the safety of the shadows. Shit, I’m beginning to rethink the whole sleeping-in-the-car thing. I can’t let Louisa spend the night here.

But she’s smiling.

"I was expecting worse," she says. Her grin widens slightly, but I can see the strain at the corners of her mouth. She’s always plastering on a smile when she's afraid to show how she really feels, but I see right through it.

"Louisa, we can—"

"Are you going to help me finish these pork rinds or not?" She bounds over to the dresser. There are a couple of Styrofoam cups next to an empty ice bucket, and she grabs one. She dumps the rest of the pork rinds inside. The chocolate candy goes next. Then she covers the top of the cup with her hand and shakes them up.

"Live dangerously, right?" she says, grinning wickedly. She takes a handful and then holds the cup out to me.

I glance down at it. "You have weird taste in snacks."

"Try it," she teases. "Or are you scared?"

There’s no backing down from a challenge like that. I grab a handful of the mixture and shove it into my mouth.

"How is it?" she asks. "Better than fourteen-hundred dollar wine?"

Honestly, it’s not bad—the crunchy, salty pork rinds actually go well with the chocolate. But it’s her words that make my mouth water. They're a reminder of the nights we spent in the maze back at Huntington Manor.

I grab another handful of the concoction. My gaze never leaves hers, and her eyes crinkle slightly as I pop it in my mouth. There it is again—her
real
smile. The one she only shows me when she’s forgotten everything else.

I only wish
I
could forget that I brought her here. To this hellhole.

She deserves better than this place. Than what I can give her. Was this what she was expecting when she let me lead her over the wall and drive her away? She might be willing to smile and let it go right now, but what happens after a few nights of this? Weeks of it? I’m just a fucking handyman, and she’s Louisa Cunningham.

"What about some TV?" she says lightly. She walks over to the dresser and presses the button on the front of the dilapidated old television set. Nothing happens. She jabs at the button a few more times, then gives up and sits down on the bed. The mattress sinks under her weight, even though she probably only weighs half of what I do.

"Well," she says, swinging her legs, "I guess there’s only one thing to do to pass the time in here." She beckons me forward with her finger. There’s a promise in her eyes, and my body responds immediately. I close the small gap between us and sit down on the bed beside her.

Her hands are around my neck before I can say a word. I slide my arms around her back and pull her into my lap. My lips come down on hers. Her mouth tastes like chocolate and salt, and her tongue flicks against mine. I moan and pull her harder against me. She’s so soft, so small in my arms. I could break her if I wanted to. But I want to absorb her, to mold our bodies together so perfectly that she will never feel right with any other guy ever again.

I twist and press her down against the bed, lowering my weight on top of her. The mattress springs creak beneath us, but I ignore them. I don’t care if we break this fucking bed.

I kiss her throat. Her chin. Her jaw. Her cheek. I want to kiss her everywhere. Taste every last bit of her. She seems to have the same idea, because her lips brush against me every place she can reach. My ear. My neck. The top of my head as I work my way down her chest.

But I don’t want her breasts right now. I want her mouth again. I want to taste her hunger for me. And I want her to taste mine.

Her lips always give me a rush. They’re everything I could want and at the same time never enough.

"Louisa," I murmur. The more I use her real name, the more natural it sounds.

She seems to think so, too, because her grip on me tightens. I kiss her again and again, and then I let my lips move across her face.

And that’s when I taste it—wetness. She’s crying.

I push myself up on my elbows and look down at her. She shakes her head and smiles, and if somehow that’ll disguise the fact that she has tears on her cheeks.

"What is it?" I ask softly, brushing my thumb along her jaw.

She shakes her head once more, and when she looks up at me again, I see that familiar guilt in her eyes.

"What?" I continue to stroke her cheek, but my stomach clenches before she’s even said a word.

"You shouldn’t have come with me," she whispers. "You shouldn't have given all that up for me."

And there they are. The words I’d been afraid to hear. They aren’t a surprise, but that doesn’t mean they don’t tear me up from the inside out.

But I force my voice to be light.

"Given up what?" I ask. "A shitty job at a place I hated?"

"You didn’t hate it," she says. "Not all of it. And your father—"

"Carolson was never going to give me the time of day. You know that. As far as he’s concerned, he’s already done his duty by me."

She doesn’t look convinced.

"Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if he’d changed his mind," I add. "He’s an asshole. That part hasn’t changed. I don’t want that bastard in my life."

She shakes her head again, and I can tell she’s going to argue, but I catch her face between my hands.

"Look at me," I say. I wait until her gaze is on mine before continuing. I want her to see the truth in my eyes. "I’ve made my decision. I’m with you. And I don’t regret it even a little bit." I swallow before continuing. "But if you don’t want me here—"

"Of course I want you here." She reaches up and pulls my face down to hers. "I want you here so badly…" She kisses me once, twice. The third time I catch her bottom lip between my teeth, and she opens her mouth beneath mine.

But when she pulls away again, I know that something’s still bothering her even before she speaks.

"You look at me like… like I’m…" She looks up at the ceiling. "How could you think, even for a minute, that
you
aren’t the one doing me the favor?"

Her eyes are fixed on some point past my head. Like she can’t bear to look at me. A bitter laugh rises in my throat.

"You call this a favor?" I ask, sitting up. When she doesn’t immediately reply, I gesture at the peeling wallpaper. "Look around you."

She pushes herself up onto her elbows. "It’s just a crappy motel. It’s the only place we could find."

She doesn’t understand.

"It wouldn’t have mattered if there were a hundred hotels to choose from," I tell her. "You think I can afford some swanky five-star joint? It doesn’t get much better than this with me." Not exactly the smoothest thing I could say to the girl who makes my entire body go hot with need, but she has to remember the truth. "This is pretty much the norm for me. For my life. And you…"

"And I
what
?"

I’m not sure whether it’s anger or shame or something else I see in her eyes, but suddenly she’s squirming out from under me. She climbs off the bed.

"I don’t need a five-star resort," she says, spinning around to face me. "I need… I need…" Her shoulders droop, and when she speaks again, her voice is a whisper. "I don’t know what I need. But it’s not luxury."

I sit up, and she sinks to her knees in front of me on the dirty carpet.

"Get up," I say, trying to pull her to her feet. But she shakes her head again and stares up at me with those dark, mesmerizing eyes.

"I can’t change who I am," she says softly. "I know I lied, and you have every right to be angry with me. I know I have to work for your forgiveness, but… I can’t change the fact that I’m Louisa Cunningham. If you can't accept that, then… just let me know now. Please. If you can’t get past who I am, then I want to know before I…"

Fuck, how did I give her the idea that I can’t accept the truth? I knew who she was when I offered to take her away. Yeah, maybe I should be more pissed with her than I actually am. But if I see her as a different person now, if I’m having trouble relating to her now that I know about her family…

Well, that’s on me. Not her.

I pull her up into my arms, drawing her into my lap. Her face is close to mine once more, and for a moment, I just stare at her. I could drown in those dark eyes of hers. Live off of those soft lips. Spend an entire night memorizing her face with my fingers.

"I don’t give a shit what your name is," I say. "And if you're okay with dingy motels and gas station food—"

She kisses me, cutting me off, and this time her lips linger. Heat rushes through my body, and I tighten my arms around her, crushing her to my chest. I want her to be safe. Happy. I never want to see that sadness in her eyes again. Or that shame. I want to protect her, but I don’t know how. If anyone threatened her or hurt her, I’d kick his ass in a heartbeat. Kill him, if he deserved it. But her pain isn’t coming from someone else. It’s coming from inside of her. And I don’t know how to fight that.

"Ward," she moans against my mouth.

What little restraint I have left isn’t going to last much longer. Not if she keeps kissing me like that. Fuck, the things she does with her lips…

I flip her back down on the bed. She wraps her legs around my hips and pulls me down against her, and I let out a growl. There’s no holding back now.

I tear off her shirt, then her bra. Her skin is so soft, and her little pink nipples are even softer. They tighten as I tease them with my fingers. She writhes and arches her back, pressing those perfect little breasts against my palms.

I love making her squirm. Love watching her eyes roll back in her head as I draw her body slowly to the brink. I squeeze one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, then twist. She cries out and slides her hands beneath my shirt, digging her nails into my back.