People are milling along the aisle, looking for their seats. One of them reaches for the spot opposite mine and aflash of familiar expensive fabric catches my eye. My jaw drops when the man takes his seat, sucking the air out of the coach.
“You can’t be here,” I stutter.
“I sensed you needed some company.” He smirks and there’s no trace of the sorrowful man apologizing from earlier. The man sitting in front of me is determined and confident in whatever crazy plan he’s hatched in the last half an hour.
The dark blue pants stretch over his thighs when he moves his legs to trap me. With an elegant swirl of his fingers he unbuttons his jacket, giving me a mouth-watering view of the white shirt hugging his wide torso. Hard flesh under expensive linen, so tempting I want to reach out and perch in his lap like a cat.
“Hey, man. That’s my seat.” The bubble bursts when a guy who looks tired to the bone looms over us, unaware of the emotional turbulence I’m going through.
Without batting an eye Carter fishes out an alarming number of one-hundred-dollar bills and a ticket from his wallet. “This is your seat.”
Life pours into the haggard man, and he stands straighter. “Definitely! Must’ve mixed it up with this one,” the guy says, handing Carter his ticket, leaving the two of us in a heavy silence.
The shadows of the changing landscape are dancing on Carter’s face, who’s enjoying my shock.
“Are you insane? It’s going to be midnight when we get to Portland!”
“It’s been a while since I admired the view from a train seat.”
My eyebrow arches. “Have you ever?”
He smiles and my insides melt. “No.”
I stare at him, unsure what to think. “What’s in the bag? A tiny laptop and a mini satellite dish?”
His lopsided grin and the way he tilts his head to study me heat my chest and the flame travels up to my neck and ears.
“No. I don’t want anything distracting me from the view,” he says while raking his eyes over my body. It’s heavy as a physical caress and my belly clenches.
He takes out something wrapped in white paper. “You didn’t have time to eat.” His outstretched hand is unwavering and it’s a battle between my pride and my growling stomach that decides to settle the matter with a loud grumble.
This man. Neatly wrapped in crisp parchment paper I stare at my favorite ciabatta beef sandwich. No onions.
I peek at Carter under my eyelashes and the hopeful roundness of his eyes convinced me to take the first bite. Of course, it’s the best I’ve ever eaten. Carter Rawlings doesn’t do anything half-assed. Unless it’s saying goodbye to the woman who fell for him like an idiot.
“Thank you,” I tell him from behind the napkin I use to dab my mouth. “It was delicious.”
“I’ll let the weird Michelin star chef know,” he teases, his smooth voice sliding around me like velvet. “Try to get some sleep. I’m here.”
Belly full, the long night on the train and the full day in New York catch up to me. I can’t fight off the exhaustion and there’s also the two-hour drive from Portland I have to consider.
“Wake me up if you decide to hop off in Boston.” I give him an out, so he’s not stuck here with me out of a misplaced sense of obligation.
“I promise I’ll stay by your side all the way,” he says and leans back, relaxing in his seat.
Are we still talking about the train ride?
The truth is I do feel safer with him here than sleeping alone, so I let my heavy eyelids drop and drift off, rocked by the moving train.
When I wake up stiff and groggy his jacket keeps me warm and my legs are propped on his knees, his large hand holding my ankles in place. Scorching heat goes up my leg and it nests between my thighs, pulsing, calling for his touch. His smell is intoxicating, but I reluctantly hand his jacket back. Carter’s watching me with an expression I’ve seen before. One I can’t bring myself to trust again.
We don’t talk much on the short walk to Congress Street, where I parked my truck, but his nearness scratches at the healing wound in my heart. Carter smiles down at me and it’s like looking into the sun. When he reaches for my hand, I’m unable to step away and I’m hypnotized as he lifts it until his lips press over the pulse point in my wrist. I nearly implode.
His touch is a warm bath after being stranded in cold weather for too long.
“Give me the keys,” he murmurs against my skin.
The temporary daze clouds my brain, and I can’t make sense of what he’s saying.
