Willow
"HEADED TO REDWOOD GROVE?" HE ASKS AT LAST.
I nod. "Just got into town today. Tried to get to town, I guess."
I bite back the question on my tongue. Don't suppose you've seen a man in his sixties with short-cropped grey hair, probably wearing a Star Trek t-shirt and white socks with sandals? But I don't need this stranger knowing my business. Redwood Grove is supposed to be a small town, and hopefully Dad will stand out like a sore thumb anyway. "Where are you staying?" the stranger asks.
"Stillwater Pines."
He frowns. "Seriously?"
That was a rather ominous seriously. "Yes… why?"
"That place is a dump."
I could have guessed as much from the one and two-star reviews online, but it's not exactly like my minimum wage retail gig comes with a corporate expense account.
I shrug. "It's an affordable dump."
He draws a thumb along his jaw, an unhappy look on his face.
"Well, I'm headed to town in any case. You can follow me there." He moves to take the lantern from me, our fingers touching again. Instead of giving it up, I tighten my grip on it. We've drifted close enough that I catch his scent again. I want to press my body against his and inhale. His nostrils flare too. It occurs to me I probably smell like peach rings and nervous sweat. "You're not planning to do bad things to me, are you?" I'm mostly joking. "I have a knife."
"What makes you think the bad things I want to do would hurt?"
Those words, in that tone… holy shit.
My mind blanks for a second. Maybe it's just his hazardously sexy voice. Or maybe he meant to put it there, that undercurrent. The one that's turning my mind from violence to… something else. Those tattooed, callused hands gripping my hips. His teeth sinking into my skin. Sweaty bodies tangled together. The taste of salt on my tongue. The kind of bad that makes your blood run hot.
I take a deep breath of cold air, hoping to clear my head. "Doesn't seem smart. Following a stranger down a dark forest road."
The flickering lantern casts his face in ever-shifting light and shadow. When he speaks, his voice is lower than ever, almost velvety. "Don't have to be strangers."
The very edge of his fingertip brushes mine. Deliberately this time, I'm sure of it. Bare skin to bare skin. I feel a low swoop in my belly. "That's exactly the kind of thing a serial killer would say," I tell him. "I'll take your word for it. Serial killer, though?" He raises a scarred eyebrow. "That escalated quickly."
"You seem like you'd be experienced." That came out way more sexual than I intended. "I bet you have ropes and gloves and all kinds of implements in your truck."
That… didn't help.
"Ropes and gloves." He tilts his head. "Sounds like you've given this some serious thought."
My cheeks are flaming by now, but I stand my ground. "Tell me I'm wrong. Twenty bucks says there's duct tape and zip ties in your glovebox." "You're the one with the knife. I could be in real danger here."
His face betrays no expression, but there a glint in his eyes, like he's privately laughing to himself. I take a breath. About to tell him that yes, we do have to be strangers, because I'm not ready for the intensity of whatever is going on here, that I'm only here for one day, maybe two, and I don't do one night stands either, which means I'm basically celibate as a nun for the foreseeable future, and — A twig snaps in the trees.
He steps in front of me, his posture becoming protective. He doesn't move or speak, just stands, listening. Those bicolor eyes are so intent on whatever's in the forest they almost seem to… glow. Just a trick of the light, I tell myself. Just this dark forest and the fog making everything seem spooky. Something rustles through the underbrush before moving away.
Slowly, he turns back to me, his expression veiled. "You never know what you'll find in the woods."
My heart is pounding in earnest now. I need to get myself under control. My pulse is speeding like I just sprinted for a mile. My mouth feels dry and my palms damp. Breathe, I tell myself. Act normal. Crack a joke. Anything to break the tension.
"I'm guessing there's a gingerbread house," I venture, "maybe a cannibalistic witch?" I offer him an awkward smile as he continues to stare at me silently. "Not into fairytale references. Okay. That was Hansel and Gretel, for future information. Not a figment of my own twisted imagination."
I've got to shut up. When I get nervous, I start to run my mouth, and the last thing I need to do is blurt out something embarrassing— well, even more embarrassing—around this stranger. "I know what you meant. Can't say I've come across a gingerbread house yet."
"So is that a yes on the cannibalistic witch?" I'm starting to sound a little… squeaky. "That would be the least of your problems. C'mon. Let's get you to town."
I shiver. I'm the girl who has a heart attack when she sees a spider. I don't want to know what else is in that forest. Reluctantly, I give the lantern back to him. I actually have to force myself to step away from his intoxicating scent. "I'll follow you," I tell him. "Unless you care to lead the way."
"My GPS is malfunctioning."
"So that's your excuse." There's that hint of mockery beneath his cool voice.
Oddly, it puts me—well, not at ease, exactly. There's a little too much of something else going on for me to feel at ease here.
Something hot and charged, like electricity sparking in the air between us. Almost as if he knows exactly what effect he's having on me.
As if he might be enjoying it. But then he heads to his truck and I climb in my car, and I try to dismiss that train of thought. Ridiculous. He was just being a Good Samaritan. I start the car. The engine turns over smoothly this time. Thank God. As his taillights cut through the mist, I follow, my hands gripping the wheel. The GPS is clueless as ever, but at least I have gas in the tank. My pulse picks up again as he turns off the highway.
Onto a dark and winding road.