Page 33 of True Ruin

“I know how to get off a motorcycle,” she said, though she really didn’t. It was her first time riding one.

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, already reaching for her.

Before she could ask where they were, Dallas set her on her feet and tipped her chin up to unfasten the buckle. His knuckles brushed her jaw, and the heat in his bottle-green eyes made her forget the question entirely.

Then the helmet was gone, and his mouth was on hers.

Not a hello kiss. Not a polite we-made-it kiss.

A hot, hard, thank-God-I-can-touch-you-now kiss that sent the creek, the cabin, the foothills slipping away.

“Hi,” he murmured minutes later, his voice rough.

She pressed her brow to his. “Hi.”

Letting her go, he opened the saddlebag and grabbed their backpacks, ignoring her offer to carry her own. Gesturing—you first—he nodded toward the pebbled path leading to the door.

On top of everything else, Dallas True was turning out to be quite the gentleman.

The log cabin sat nestled beneath red spruce and Fraser firs, a stone chimney climbing one side, a narrow porch outfitted with two rocking chairs tucked under the roofline. Pots of purple asters flanked the door, and a neat stack of firewood restedbeneath the front windows. The whole thing was almost too charming to believe.

“Whose place is this?” she asked as he crouched, lifting a flat stone beside the porch post. She tried to ignore the way his jeans pulled across his thighs, the tight curve of his ass. But when he glanced up, key in hand, her cheeks burned—and she didn’t look away.

“A friend of Campbell’s,” he said, his own gaze turning predatory as he braced his fist on his knee to rise.

She stepped aside so he could open the door, then walked in first—of course—with Dallas close behind her.

“It’s stocked. I had someone deliver food. The phone works, I made sure so you can check on Sam. Everyone knows how to reach us.” He patted his hip. “And I have my pager.”

While she took in the space, he crossed to a room off the main she assumed was the bedroom, returning without his jacket and their backpacks. Pausing, he braced a broad shoulder against the jamb, watching her. Without a word, he rolled the sleeves of his flannel shirt up, revealing corded forearms and the edge of that sexy tattoo.

The cabin was small but open, the kitchen tucked along one wall, the living area gathered around a stone fireplace with a stack of kindling waiting in a yellow basket. A worn leather sofa faced the hearth, a colorful quilt folded over one arm, and a square pine table sat near the window. On top of it, someone had placed a bouquet of zinnias and goldenrod in a stoneware pitcher.

She stopped to smell them, glancing back at him with a smile. “Flowers?”

Dallas frowned, then reached for glasses that were most likely in his backpack. She could see him trying to figure out what to say from across the room. “They were, that is, I thought you’d like them.”

Leaning against the table, she laughed softly. “You’re nervous.”

She was, too, but she hadn’t expected him to be.

He shifted his weight, rubbed the back of his neck. He was so adorable standing there, long, lean, lost. “I’m lots of things, Sparkle,” he finally said, his earnestness shocking her. “I want to rip off your clothes, but I also want to get to know you, and one often precludes the other in my experience. Once I go there, with you, I’m done. You see, I’ve never—” He blew out a breath, his smile crooked when it hit his lips. “I’ve never reallydatedanyone. The other, yes, in rushed circumstances, on the run, so to speak. Relationships that weren’t really relationships, I’m finding. No depth. This is new territory.”

Gabi imagined her son in twenty years, trying to navigate life. She hid her amusement—because she was amused, but also captivated—by crossing to the galley kitchen, grabbing a bottle of Cabernet, and searching the top drawer for a corkscrew. Sam always talked more if she wasn’t looking him dead in the face.

“Here’s how we’ll handle this, Hotshot. You start a fire, the evening will be cool enough for one, put something mellow on the CD player I see over there, while I rustle up dinner. Then we’ll eat, drink, talk, fuck. In that order. Several times for the last one, I’m thinking.”

He choked, coming off the doorjamb. “Sure, yeah…okay, sure.”

She heard him cross to the fireplace, then the dry scrape of wood being shifted.

“And, hey, Wilder?”

Gabi looked over, bottle balanced on her thigh, corkscrew in deep, to find Dallas standing in the fading sunlight slanting through the window, a split log in his hand. He was gorgeous and so earnest, nearly perfect. She’d never known a man who didn’t play games. “I’m really glad I came home.”

Her breath seized, leaving only a blood rush in her ears. Love struck her. Cleanly. Clearly. A sharp squeeze she’d never forget.

Later, she would figure out what to do about it.