“I know what you meant.” Levering up on her tiptoes, she gave me a quick peck on the cheek before flopping down on the bed. I shifted my feet, unsure of what to do until she patted the space beside her. “What are you waiting for, Bodhi? Come over here and get to know me.”
* * *
We spent the next hour talking… and touching. Lots of touching. If this was her definition of ‘get to know each other’ then sign me up for the extended Q&A session. Though Breeze’s tight little body was a worthy distraction, I’d managed to stay on track well enough to give her what she’d wanted—the small pieces of me I kept hidden from view. The girl was like my truth serum, extracting from me my true, unfiltered self.
“What happened to you tonight?” she asked. “Can you tell me?” Sliding her fingers along my forearm, waves of pleasure spread from the place we were connected. I’d tell her anything as long as she didn’t stop. “Just exactly how close did you get?”
My hand crept to the smooth skin on her stomach as I gathered the strength to bring the nightmare back to life. “I woke up to an inferno. No joke, by the time I figured out what was happening, I was running for my life.”
As she lay riveted on the bed, I went on to describe the scene. From the exploding trees to my sprint through the burning house to retrieve the car keys, I didn’t leave anything out. Even my fear of death at the hands of the vindictive monster.
“It was the oil,” she said, after I’d come to the part of my tale where our stories converged.
“What?”
“The explosions you heard. Eucalyptus oil vaporizes in the heat and the gas it emits is highly flammable. Those trees can turn into fireballs if embers touch them. The explosions that woke you up were probably the oil in the crowns detonating.”
“How do you know that?”
“My stepdad is a naturalist. He knows everything about the environment. We used to take long nature walks every weekend when I was growing up. Boring stuff for a preteen girl, but obviously I retained the info dumps.”
“That’s like the opposite of what my father did with me. Our weekends were all about auditions and business lunches. When they put out crayons, he wouldn’t even let me color because he said it wasn’t professional.” I let my head fall back. “I was six-years-old.”
I could taste the bitterness on my tongue. I’d have given anything to grow up like Breeze—carefree. But instead, I got schedules and meetings and work. If anything, our little talk only solidified my decision to keep my father in the dark. The only way to move forward with Tucker Beckett was to leave him behind. For the moment, at least.
* * *
“I’ve got another one for you.” Breeze was lying on her back, pinkish-blond hair fanning out around her as I stretched out at her side on one elbow. We were closer now, our bodies fused as we settled into a comfortable camaraderie. Enthralled, I was glued to her every word, genuinely excited to hear the next outlandish thought coming out of her mouth.
Based on past experience, it was sure to be entertaining.
I’d never been so engaged in a conversation with anyone, much less a female. While most women were a means to an end, Breeze was more like a means to a beginning.
“Hit me,” I answered, sweeping a stray hair off her bruised forehead. A small gathering of freckles drew my attention and they were so adorably positioned that, without thinking, I placed a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose.
Her eyes sparkled as my carefree act reverberated through her female brain. No doubt she placed extra meaning on the intimate gesture.
“What were you saying again?” I asked, attempting to jog her memory and take the heat off.
A shiver ran through her and she shook her head. “Oh, right. I hate watching interviews with people who are out of breath. Like when a reporter asks an athlete a question right after he finishes swimming the 1,500-meter freestyle.”
“Yeah, that sucks. Who wants to hear panting unless it’s porn?”
“Exactly,” she said, chuckling.
“Okay, how about this one? I hate seeing one shoe on the side of the road. How does that even happen? I mean to those people I ask, what’s the rest of your life like?”
“Preach,” she said, running her fingers along my jawline. “We’re like a matching pair of socks.”
“Or Mac and Cheese.”
“Peterpan and Tinkerbell.”
“Eeww… I like SpongeBob and Patrick better.”
“Or…” She eyed me coyly. “Here’s one you are particularly familiar with—Ken and Barbie.”
I laughed out loud. “Is that a dig at my action figure?”
