He doesn’t say anything to that. Just drives silently along the tree-lined highway as the sun starts its lazy descent over the horizon. After a few miles, it’s clear he’s not going to respond. Not to that, anyway.
I try a different question. “Are you driving me out into the country to murder me and bury my body in a shallow grave?”
That gets a smile. “Don’t be silly,” he says. “I know to dig the grave nice and deep.”
“Seriously, Ian, where are we going?”
“Wyeth Airways.”
“Really?” I didn’t know they were all the way out here.
“Their headquarters where I’d be working, that’s downtown,” he says. “This is where they make the planes.”
A sign comes into view up ahead. Wyeth Airways Manufacturing. He keeps driving, though, headed for what looks like an abandoned lot on the adjacent property. His face is etched in concentration as he steers us to a hidden spot tucked at the back of the property beside a cluster of pine trees. It’s not until he’s parked that I glance up and realize why he’s brought me here.
“Oh my God, Ian—it’s beautiful.”
I’ve never seen a sunset like this one. Pinks and golds and reds and little wispy cotton candy clouds. The Columbia River chugs lazily in the background, reflecting the bright splotches of color. In the foreground, airplanes in all shapes and sizes hunker on the pavement like prehistoric animals slumbering against bright slashes of color on the horizon. It’s like something from a postcard.
“I used to bring Shane here,” he says. “There’s an airstrip over there that’s not used anymore, but when it was, we’d come here at sunset and watch the planes take off and land. It was one of his favorite things.”
Tears prick the backs of my eyelids, and I reach across the console to grab his hand. I know he’s uncomfortable with tears or overt displays of affection, so I breathe deeply to get myself under control. The fact that he brought me here at all means everything.
“I’m sure he loved it here,” I say. “I know he loved you.”
Ian turns and holds my gaze with his. I’m still gripping his right hand, but he turns in the driver’s seat and threads his left hand into my hair. When his lips meet mine, the kiss is achingly soft. The heat is still there, but there’s something else this time. Something gentle and fragile.
He breaks the kiss, but doesn’t let go of my hair. “Thanks for being there tonight, Sarah. I couldn’t have done that without you.”
“You’re welcome.” My heart thuds in my ears, and every nerve in my body prickles with an urge to be touched again. “Kiss me some more.”
He laughs and lowers his mouth to mine. He’s still gentle, but there’s an urgency this time. An energy that buzzes louder when I let go of his hand and grab his shoulders. I press my nails against the solid muscle, a silent cue that I want more. That I need to feel him.
Ian responds like I’ve spoken the words out loud. He deepens the kiss, hands still tangled in my hair. I slide my palms down his back, hungry for the bunched muscles in his arms, the solid heat of his chest against mine. If only this stupid console weren’t in the way?—
“Backseat,” he growls as he breaks the kiss. The heat in his eyes makes me shiver. “You first.”
“Why, so you can stare at my ass?”
He gives me a smoldering smile. “Damn right.”
I don’t have a problem with that, and I’m aching to feel Ian inside me, so I hike up my dress and clamber over the console.
There’s a throaty chuckle behind me. “I was thinking we’d use the car doors, but that works, too.”
“Doors are for amateurs.” I drop onto the backseat and turn to see him crawling after me. He’s a helluva lot bigger than I am, so his shoulders get stuck for a second. We’re both laughing by the time he flops onto the seat beside me.
“Did we just kill the mood?” I ask.
“Not even close.”
He grabs me roughly by the hips and pulls me onto his lap. I land with my thighs straddling him as my dress hikes up around my waist. The kiss he delivers is still soft, but the urgency is there in full force. I grind against the hardness between his legs, wishing we had a lot less clothing between us.
Breathless, I pull back to look him in the eye. The sun is almost gone now, and dusk edges around us like ink spreading on a tablecloth. But I can still make out the heat in his eyes. I’d recognize it blindfolded.
“I read through the paperwork last night,” I tell him.
Ian blinks, then trails his gaze down to where our bodies are practically joined. “You want to talk about legal documents right now?”
