Love In Alaska (The Love In 50 States Series Book 2) Read online

  “What if I don't want you to stop?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

  He leaned back, like I'd caught him by surprise. His eyes stayed on me, his expression unreadable. He blinked and shook his head.

  “No way,” he said.

  “Now I think I'm offended.” I pressed my lips together. “You're turning me down.”

  “No. But I promised you that this wasn't a trip to get you out here and put the moves on you,” he said. “Remember? We laughed at that.”

  “I remember.”

  “And if...something were to happen tonight,” he explained. “You'd always be second-guessing me. Don't say you wouldn't.,” he said when I started to object. “Look, I'm no angel. And, right now, I feel like maybe the stupidest guy on the planet for putting on the brakes.” He took another deep breath. “But I really like you and I can't believe we're in a tent in the middle of nowhere and I don't know what's going to happen and you're heading to Arizona in a few days and I really, really don't wanna screw this up and I feel like if we...push the issue...tonight, you'll look at me a little differently in the aftermath. And I don't want that.”

  Everything he said was dead on right. I'd absolutely be second-guessing if we had sex right at that moment. I knew myself well enough to realize that I would be hyper-focused on whether or not his invitation had all been a ruse to get me alone and naked on his terms. It was how my brain worked. I didn't think for a second that he was playing me, but I'd convince myself that he was. And it would ruin everything. I didn't know what was going to happen either, but I didn't want it to go up in smoke because I'd struck a proverbial mental match to it.

  “I guess you could overpower me and just take me,” he suggested, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Absolve me of any guilt. I think I'd be okay with that.”

  I felt a stab of desire. “Just pin you to the sleeping bag and have my way with you?”

  “I'm not sure anyone's ever just had their way with me, but yeah.”

  I tried to fight off a smile, but failed. “Fine. I will not push the issue.”

  “Crap,” he said, his shoulders sagging. “That's what I was afraid you were going to say.”

  “Your fault,” I said. “Totally your fault.”

  “I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “I'll be thinking about it all night.”

  “Good.” I crawled into my sleeping bag, pleased that it might keep him awake for awhile.

  He checked the zipper on the tent, tugging on it before climbing into his own bag.

  “Hey, Evan?” I said into the near-darkness.

  “Yeah?”

  “I'll be thinking about it, too.”

  NINE

  The rain got worse.

  Several times over the course of the night, thunderclaps startled me awake and I listened to torrents of rain pouring down on us. By the time the sun came up, it sounded like we'd been transported to the middle of the river. I glanced down at the floor of the tent, expecting to be half under water. But everything was dry.

  Evan sat up and scratched at his head, yawning. He glanced at me and smiled. “You sleep?”

  “A little.” I yawned, too. “You?”

  “Eh.” He reached his hand outside of his sleeping bag and grabbed something.

  “What are you doing?”

  He held up his phone. “Wishing I had service.”

  “Why?” I tried not to panic. “Is something wrong?”

  His eyes lifted to the roof of the tent. “Well, it's still raining.”

  “Is that a problem? Is it supposed to stop soon?”

  He sighed. “No idea. We had a forty percent chance of rain yesterday, a one-day front coming through. We're now at twelve hours of precip.” He motioned to the roof. “And no sign of stopping.”

  I unzipped my sleeping bag a little to free my arms. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “So what do we do?”

  “There isn't much we can do,” he said.

  “Could you maybe elaborate a little?”

  “We're stuck here,” he said, sighing. He caught my expression and offered a small smile. “We're safe. But I have a feeling this storm is going to be here for the better part of the day. Even if it stops now, it's going to be a bitch to hike in. We're probably here until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” I repeated.

  I thought about our dwindling food and water supply; we'd only packed enough food for an overnight trip, not a three-day adventure. And I also thought about the bathroom. Because I had to go again.

  It was like he could read my mind. “I have a portable toilet,” he said.

  He sat up in his sleeping bag and reached into his pack. He pulled out something that looked like a thick, white Frisbee. He took off the lid and, within seconds, it popped up into a container. He fished inside of his bag again and found a plastic liner.

  “I'm not using that.”

  “Well, you're not going out in this,” he countered. “It's wet and it's cold.”

  “I'm not going to the bathroom with you in here!”

  He unzipped his bag and got to his knees. “You don't have to. I'm leaving.”

  Panic gripped me. “What? Where are you going??”

  “Relax,” he said. He found a hat in his bag and positioned it on his head. “I need to go grab the food. Assuming it's still there.”

  I glared at him. “So you can go outside but I can't?”

  “You wanna try and get it down?” he asked.

  I thought about the contraption he'd built to secure the food in the tree. It probably was just a piece of rope I'd have to tug on but I didn't want to be the one responsible for losing our food.

  I sighed. “Fine. Go get the food. But I'm not using that,” I said, pointing to the blue and white toilet.

  “Don't be stupid,” he warned.

  “I'll be whatever I want.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He pulled a windbreaker out of his backpack and stripped off his fleece pullover.

  “Don't you want that?” I asked. “It's freezing.”

  “I don't want it to get wet,” he said, his tone clipped. He zipped up the windbreaker. “I'm gonna be a little cold when I get back and I'll need it to warm up.”

  He tied on his shoes, repositioned his hat and unzipped the tent. Rain drops pelted the floor tarp and I shrank back from the entrance, surprised by the blast of cold air.

  “Zip this up behind me,” he said as he ventured outside. “To keep the water out. I'll yell when I'm coming back so you can let me in.”

  I nodded and yanked the zipper down. I sat back down and my bladder tightened. I crossed my legs and glared at the toilet two feet away.

  “I can't believe I'm doing this,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Do not come in until I tell you to!”

  I pulled down my pants and squatted over the toilet and emptied my bladder, convinced I was going to overflow it and there would be a puddle of urine inside the tent. But when I finished, glancing at the plastic liner, I was surprised—and relieved—to see it wasn't even a quarter of the way full. I yanked the bag out of the toilet and sealed it shut. I held it for a moment, the contents warm in my hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? On impulse, I stashed it in my bag, fervently hoping it was leak-proof.

  “I'm finished,” I called.

  There was no answer. I crawled back toward my sleeping bag, wanting to burrow back inside of its warmth. But I needed to stay near the opening of the tent to let Evan back in.

  I waited for what seemed like hours. There was no sound outside except the steady pounding of the rain. My imagination took over. What if something terrible had happened? What if he slipped and hit his head? What if a flash flood swept him away? What if the bear had been waiting for him and jumped out of the forest and ate him? I dug in my bag and found my phone. I pressed the home button and my heart sank when I saw the words No Service.

  I wasn't religious but I found myself muttering prayers to anyone who would li
sten.

  Finally, I heard splashing that sounded like footsteps and a flood of relief washed over me.

  “Open it up!”

  My fingers couldn't work the zipper fast enough. I unzipped the flap and held it open and Evan dove inside, a river of water coming in with him. His hair was plastered down and his beard looked like a sponge, droplets of water clinging to it. His clothes were so wet it looked as if he'd jumped into a pool fully clothed. I pulled the flap back down and zipped it up.

  He held up the wet food bag and gave me a weak smile. “Found it,” he said, huffing and puffing. “Branch broke. It floated away and I had to hunt it down, but found it.” He rolled over on his back, his chest heaving up and down. “And holy shit, is it cold out there.”

  His teeth chattered and his shoulders shook with chills.

  “You need to get out of those clothes,” I said. “You need to get warm.”

  “I know,” he rasped. “Need to catch my breath first.”

  I crawled over to him and started unlacing his soaked boots.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, lifting his head up. His eyes were glazed and his lips were more blue than pink.

  “Getting you out of these,” I said. “You need to get warm. Now.”

  “I can do it,” he said, attempting to sit up.

  I nudged him back down. “Get your jacket off,” I said. “Now.”

  He blinked a couple of times, processing my words before he fumbled with the zipper on the jacket. I had his other boot off before his trembling fingers finally got the jacket unzipped. I helped him pull it off, the wet material sticking to him. I laid it next to the boots and pulled his socks off while he slowly stripped off his shirt.

  He lay there, half-naked, his eyes closed.

  “Get your pants off.” His eyes flashed open and he started to protest but I cut him off. “Don't get all modest now. I just peed in a bag.”

  He smiled weakly.

  “You need to get dry and warm.”

  He didn't say anything but he unbuttoned the cargo pants and I helped him pull them off, grabbing the cuffs of both legs. I shoved all of his wet clothes in the corner, hoping to keep them away from his sleeping bag, but the damage had been done. He was shivering like crazy and his sleeping bag was soaked.

  “Get in my bag,” I commanded.

  He hesitated, his arms wrapped tightly around his bare chest, his teeth slamming together like tiny hammers.

  “Get in now,” I said, pushing him in that direction.

  He finally crawled toward the bag and rolled inside it.

  I spent a minute spreading his things out, thinking they would have to dry at some point, especially his shoes and socks. I pulled those away from his wet clothes, laying the socks out next to one another at the foot of my bag and opening up his boots as much as possible.

  I glanced at Evan. I could see him shaking, the fabric of the sleeping bag vibrating. I grabbed the fleece he'd stripped out of and handed it to him. “Put it on.”

  “I can't,” he said, his teeth still jackhammering.

  I unzipped the fleece to the midpoint and pulled the top of my bag back. He had his knees to his chest, curled in the fetal position. I tried to get the fleece over his arms, but it was nearly impossible because he was shaking so bad. I flung the fleece aside and scooted into my bag with him.

  “Hug me,” I said, putting my arms around him. “Put your arms around me.”

  “I'm still wet,” he stammered.

  “Just your hair,” I said. “The rest of you is dry. You need body heat. Hug me.”

  He untangled his arms and I moved into him, pulling him tightly to me. His chest was cold and clammy. I threw my leg over his and pulled him in as close to me as I could get him. His arms went around me, loosely, like he was cradling something delicate.

  “Hug me,” I said. “I won't break. I promise.”

  He grunted and his arms wrapped tighter around me.

  We lay like that for awhile, until the shaking and chattering stopped. I could feel his heart beating, could tell when it slowed to a more normal rate. I moved my hand lightly against his back. His skin felt warm. Heated.

  “Jesus,” he whispered, sighing deeply. “That sucked. Thank you.”

  “Thank you for getting the food,” I said, still listening to his heart. “You shouldn't have gone.”

  “I didn't want you to starve.”

  “I can go a day without food.”

  “I know,” he said. “But I didn't want you to.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “Even though it was a stupid thing to do.”

  “Just like not using the Pop-Up Pooper would have been a stupid thing to do.”

  I couldn't help it. I laughed. “The what?”

  He motioned to the portable toilet. “Great name, right? It's nice to have when the weather and your bladder don't cooperate.”

  “It's a terrible name,” I told him. I shifted my hands, finding a new spot on his back. “But I think I'm glad you have one.”

  “Trust me,” he said. “You wouldn't have wanted to go out in that.”

  “I know. Thank you.”

  “You're welcome.” His arms tightened a fraction around me. “Your hands feel amazing.”

  I froze. “They do?”

  “On my back? Yes. I haven't had my back rubbed in forever.”

  “I'm not rubbing your back. I'm trying to warm you up.”

  “It's working.”

  We lay there in silence, listening to the rain. His hands splayed against my back and, after a moment of hesitation, he began to rub me through my shirt, kneading at the tense muscles. I sighed against him, the tension ebbing out from under his fingertips. I used my own hands, gripping his shoulders, my fingers digging gently into his skin. I fitted myself tighter against him, moving my hips into his and I smiled when I felt his erection pressed up against my thigh, the thin fabric of his boxers the flimsiest of barriers.

  I looked up at him and, before I could say anything, his mouth came down and closed over mine. His lips were hot and firm, more insistent than the previous night. I didn't resist, just reveled in the feel of his lips and his skin. I made a sound, a small whimper, and he pulled me closer, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head.

  I tore my mouth away from his. “Evan?” I whispered.

  “Mmmm?”

  “We made it through the night,” I whispered. “I'm not gonna second guess.”

  TEN

  We wiggled out of our clothes in the sleeping bag, tossing them out. I sucked in my breath as bare flesh hit bare flesh. His thighs were solid and taut, like a tightly wound coil, his abdomen a line of lean muscle. I trailed a path from his stomach to his thigh, briefly dancing my fingers through the thatch of wiry hair surrounding his arousal. He moaned and lifted his hips, trying to find my hand, but I stayed just out of reach.

  I'd been nervous with Adam in Alabama, unsure of what I was doing, unsure of what was going to happen. I'd let Adam lead the way because I'd forgotten what it was like to have sex. But things were different with Evan. I didn't know why, but I felt confident. The only nervousness I had stemmed from excitement. I didn't want to be a bystander in this encounter...I wanted to be a full participant.

  I rolled him onto his back and moved on top of him. I wasn't in a hurry. I wasn't trying to devour him. I kissed his neck while his hands roamed over my ass and the backs of my thighs. I could feel him vibrating against me, pushing up between my legs, like he was trying to find me. I slid slowly down his body, kissing his throat, his chest, his stomach, his hips. His fingers glided over my shoulders and threaded in my hair.

  I touched my lips lightly to his arousal and he groaned. “Yes,” he breathed, lifting his hips.

  His fingertips pressed into my skull and he pushed his legs out to the sides. I went slow, the smooth skin of his shaft sliding across my tongue. I licked softly, watching his reaction. His mouth was open, his eyes closed tight, his entire body tensed and ready. I smiled and w
rapped my hand around him and took him fully into my mouth. He gasped and I felt my own body respond, excited that I had such power over him. I worked my mouth up and down, his cock hard as a rock, vibrating in my mouth. I found a rhythm and sucked harder, my hand pumping up and down as I swallowed him down.

  “Oh, Jess,” he whispered, his fingers tightening in my hair. “Jesus.”

  His words spurred me on and I went faster, wanting to turn him on more, bring him to the edge. I couldn't remember the last blow job I'd given. Probably back when Brian and I had been dating. He never asked for them and I just assumed I wasn't good at them. Oral sex had never been part of our limited repertoire and I'd just accepted that. But Evan's reaction made me want to keep going, to try new things, to see just how far I could push him.

  He shifted his hips, pulling out of my mouth. “No. No. Shit. Stop. I'm gonna lose it.”

  “That's fine,” I whispered, closing my mouth over him again.

  He waited a moment, then pushed me away again. “No. Not yet.”

  I slid back up his body and he turned, rolling me to the side. I tried to push him back, but he held me there and rolled on top of me. He was stronger than he looked. He kissed my ear, his tongue dancing in and out of it, sending shivers down my spine. His hands were light on my body, caressing my breasts, sliding over my stomach and between my legs. I did the same thing he'd done, pushing my legs open wider and inviting him in.

  His fingers brushed against me and I gasped, my hands gripping his back. He stared down at me as he touched me, our eyes locked. Desire surged through me and I was desperate to feel him inside of me. His finger rubbed at me, gently, teasingly, and I bucked into him. He slipped one finger inside, then two and I cried out, hanging onto him. A small smile crept onto his face and he worked his fingers faster, massaging me. I lifted my hips and he pulled out, his fingers finding the sensitive nub of my clit. He slid his finger across it, his touch vacillating between gentle and firm. I closed my eyes, focused on the wet heat building between my legs. He quickened his pace and my fingernails dug into his back.

  I pushed his hand away, gasping. “No, not yet,” I said, repeating his mantra spoken only minutes earlier.