Page 102 of Claimed By the Mountain Men
"Tell me you didn't like it," I say against her ear.
Her lower lip catches between her teeth. She looks at me. Looks at Owen. Gives up the pretense with the specific reluctance of a woman who has been outmaneuvered and knows it.
"Fine," she says. "I liked it." A beat. Then her voice drops, and the softness in it is the real thing, the genuine wanting that lives underneath the banter and the defiance. "But now I want more."
I'm about to respond. I have several excellent responses lined up, each one designed to make her blush and squirm.
But Owen moves first.
He takes Maya's hand. Folds his fingers through hers with quiet authority and starts walking towards the bedroom.
"Reid," Owen calls over his shoulder. From somewhere deeper in the house comes the sound of a chair pushing back, of footsteps, of a man who has heard his name spoken in a tone he recognizes and is already in motion.
I stand in the hallway. The afternoon light is warm on my arms. From the bedroom, the low murmur of Owen's voice, too quiet to make out the words. Reid passes by me. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he goes by. Doesn't stop.
I was sixteen when I learned that the people you love can disappear without warning. I spent years making sure I alwayshad an exit, always had distance, always had the option to leave before the leaving was done to me.
I don't need the exit anymore.
I push off the doorframe and walk toward the bedroom, toward the sound of Maya's laughter.
THE END
