A hunt in the darkness.
Anything.
I’m still debating my approach when her car alarm bleeps. I’m still tripping over my options when she slips into the driver’s seat and pulls away.
It’s instinct that makes me follow her. My cock is throbbing hard by the time she pulls into a petrol station and I pull in after her.
She fills up and I do too. There’s a fuel pump between us and she remains oblivious.
I love how oblivious she is.
She’s ahead of me in the queue and she has no idea. I can smell her coconut shampoo as she stares straight ahead.
She’s close enough to touch. To taste.
I fight the urge to hoist her from her feet and abduct her in plain daylight. It takes everything I have not to call her name.
Two cashiers become free at once. She steps up to the counter and so do I.
I hand my card over just as she looks away. She crouches and picks up a packet of fruit sweets from the display stand.
And then she registers my shadow.
Her eyes move up slowly, from my boots to my eyes.
Hers widen. Mine hold firm.
She doesn’t know me, but she thinks she does.
Some deep part of her knows she does.
The cashier hands my card back across the counter and I take it.
My black swan’s mouth drops open as she sees the back of my hand.
The picture. Of course.
I sent her the picture.
She drops her sweets with a gasp. They literally tumble right out of her fingers. They crash to the floor and I’m straight down after them.
“Butter fingers,” I say with a smile. Her hands are shaking as I give them back to her.
Her whole body is shaking.
“Miss?” her cashier asks, but she doesn’t move. “Miss, if you could pay for your fuel…”
She stutters, fumbles.
I smile at her beautiful awkwardness.
And then I clear my space in the queue.
“Wait!” she calls, but I don’t respond. “Wait, just a minute!” she calls again, and I look back in time to see her frantically keying in her PIN number.
And now it’s my turn to hear her frantic footsteps behind me as I step out through the door.
Fifteen
Stranger, if you, passing, meet me and desire to speak to me, why should you not speak to me? And why should I not speak to you?
Walt Whitman
Abigail
It’s him.
It has to be him.
I know it’s him.
Every nerve is firing, every intuition I’ve ever had paling into insignificance next to this one.
I can’t pay for my fuel quickly enough. It’s desperation that makes me call out to him.
“Wait!”
He doesn’t even slow down.
“Wait, just a minute!” I call again, but he doesn’t look back.
I swear under my breath as I shove the stupid sweets into my handbag. I’m forcing my purse in after them as I dart through the queue and throw myself through the open door.
Fuck.
I scan the cars at the fuel pumps but don’t see him. It’s only when I take a step to the right that I see him heading for a truck at the far side.
Opposite me. He was at the pump opposite me. I must’ve been right next to him.
My sandals make a slapping sound on the forecourt as I dash over. I may be wired like a fucking crazy, but there’s no way I’m letting him leave. Not without knowing for sure how I can see him again.
If I can see him again.
I approach from the front of his truck, standing like an idiot to block his way out of here. He’d have to mow me down to get out of my sight.
And then I look at him. Really look at him.
He’s as dark as I imagined. Dark hair, dark eyes, heavy brows. His hair is long on top, just as I remembered. His beard is fucking perfect. He looks fierce, wild. He’s dressed in black. Black jacket, black t-shirt, black everything. My legs are quivering and I don’t care. My whole body is thrumming, and it feels like life itself.
The tattoos on his neck are obvious. Glorious.
He’s fucking glorious.
And he’s staring right at me.
“It’s you,” I tell him, even though my voice is weak.
He doesn’t even flinch, just raises an eyebrow. “It is?”
I’m nodding, even though I’m second guessing myself. I contemplate the possibility that I’m crazy, and this guy – this beautiful creature – is just a coincidence.
But no.
I know this isn’t a coincidence.
I remember the way his skin felt under my fingertips. I remember the graze of the hair on his scalp.
I remember him.
He takes a step forward and my breath catches in my throat.
“What’s me exactly, sweetheart?”
Another step forward and I’m so aware of the bulk of him. So aware how easily he picked me up.
There’s a tension in the air between us, and I’m not imagining it. His body knows mine, just as mine knows his, and I’m not imagining that either.