I’m so mad I don’t realise I’m even moving until I hear Holly shout, “Where are you going?”

I wave her off like it’s no big deal and stalk toward the garage. Two of Dad’s friends try to pull me aside, no doubt to lecture me on my sex life, but I shrug them off with a half-hearted line about needing to help the dragon with something inside. Once I clear the front of the house I dive into the garage, strap on my helmet and walk Bespa quietly out to the alley.

I don’t hop on and start the engine until I’m on Main Street. The truth is, I shouldn’t be driving. I’m pretty sure that first cup of wine cooler after Elijah left put me over the edge, but that was a good two hours ago and I haven’t touched a drop since.

I’m not drunk, I’m just angry, I tell myself, as I coast along Main Street toward the motel on the outskirts of town. I really didn’t think this thing through, I realise, as the wind batters my bare arms and legs and skates down my back. It’s late and oddly freezing for this time of year, but I chalk it up to the fact that I didn’t think to grab a jacket before I made my great escape, and wind-chill is a bitch. As if that’s not enough, I feel a fat drop of rain hit my back and I almost drive off the road.

I can see the motel looming up ahead, but it starts to pour down long before I pull Bespa into the gravel parking lot. It doesn’t matter that I have no idea which room Elijah is in. The Sugartown Motel has been here for years—almost as long as the Sugartown Mill. They built it for the single men who travelled to the mill for work but it mostly sits here with all the rooms unoccupied, unless the odd tourist spends the night instead of travelling through. Personally, I’d rather take my risks on the road, but that’s just me.

All of the rooms sit in darkness bar one, right at the end on the second floor. I duck beneath the awning and shake myself like a dog to rid my waterlogged dress from the rain, and then I take the steps two at a time until I’m standing before a green door with peeling paint and a number seven that’s been nailed on crooked.

Now that I’m staring at his door I think this probably wasn’t such a good idea. I’m freezing, my nipples are probably high-beaming through my dress and I more than likely have panda eyes. Okay, so no part of this plan was a good idea, but I raise my fist and pound on the door anyway. Several chips of paint flake off and fall onto the ragged looking welcome mat.

Elijah yanks back the door and takes me in with a bemused expression. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans. No shirt. No shoes. And, sweet baby Jesus, the tattoos are even more beautiful up close. God damn it! I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“Ana, what are you doing here?” He pokes his head through the door and checks the parking lot, probably worried I brought my dad and his biker friends along for an old-fashioned town pummelling. “Are you wet? Holy shit, did you ride here in the rain?”

“No. I freaking swam, Cade,” I hiss back. “Are you going to invite me in?”

He steps aside when he sees my angry, crazy panda eyes and I push past into the warmth of his motel room. The door slams behind me. “What are you doing here, Ana?”

“You left.” I accuse.

He squares his jaw and narrows those pretty chocolate eyes at me. “Yeah. I did.”

“You usually kiss girls and leave them without another word?”

“Sometimes.”

“So it’s not just me, then? Good to know.”

“What do you want, Ana?”

“A towel might be nice. And an explanation as to why you just left me there and ran.” Elijah clenches his jaw and saunters into the adjoining bathroom, then hands me a clean towel like he’s afraid he might catch something.

I begin patting myself down. When I finally reach my hair I glance in his direction, sort of like a prompt for him to answer my question. He scowls at me.

“Look, Ana, you’re a real sweet girl, but I’m working for your dad. I know he doesn’t like the thought of someone like me dating someone like you—”

“Who the hell cares what my Dad thinks?”

“I need this job.”

“What’s he gonna do, fire you?” I snap back incredulously.

“You’re a distraction. One I can’t afford.” A look passes over his face. It’s like he almost can’t believe he just admitted that. He doesn’t say anything else and that simple sentence stings more than I care to admit, and so when I realise there’s no budging him I put on my big girl knickers –metaphorically speaking, of course– and yank them up so he can no longer read the hurt that I’m certain is written all over my face.

“It was just a kiss, Elijah.”

He narrows his gaze, cants his head to the side and I know he doesn’t believe me. “Just a kiss? That so?”

I fold my arms over my chest and try to look indignant. “So.”

One corner of his mouth tilts up at the side and his certain gaze locks on my wavering one.

Crap, I think he was testing me.

Double crap, I’m pretty sure I just failed.

Elijah stalks closer. I take a nervous step back into the closed front door. Anyone else would be conscious of invading the delicate boundaries of acceptable personal space, but knowing that he has me cornered seems to make him really, very happy. He grins and pens me in with his arms pressed against the door.

What is with this guy and his blatant disregard for personal space?

“You wanna know what I think, Ana Belle?”

“Not really, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway,” I squeak.

He leans forward, his mouth brushing the shell of my ear. This small, insignificant touch sends warmth flooding between my thighs and a shiver down my spine. He whispers, “I think you’re lying.”

“You can think whatever you like, but you’re wrong.”

“Am I?” He leans in until our lips are inches apart and the moment stretches out in front of us like the beginning of a warm summer day on the road. I breathe his breath, he breathes mine. Our eyes are locked, our bodies move into one another, and then, when his mouth meets mine, it’s like we both just come apart. I taste whiskey on his breath. Whiskey and need.

I don’t know if it’s the same for him, but for me, the whole world could slip away and I won’t care as long as Elijah never stops kissing me. His hands are no longer penning me in; they no longer have to. One digs into my hip through the thin, wet cotton of my dress, the other is tangled in the hair at the back of my head. His grip is strong; his frenzied mouth works at mine, so hard it almost hurts, but I kinda like that, too.

The assured way he holds me gives me the confidence to be as free with him as I want to be. Gone is the girl who hesitated as he pushed into me up against my house, and as I break away from him, lifting my dress over my head and letting it fall to the ground with a loud wet slap, I feel a freedom I never thought possible. Elijah’s Adam’s apple bobs as his gaze drifts over me from head to toe. The dress didn’t allow for a bra underneath so I’m standing before him in only a pair of lace knickers. I’m freezing and beginning to feel self-consciousness sneak back in. I wrap one arm around myself, but before I can cover up completely, Elijah takes my wrist and pulls me toward him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He wraps all six feet of hard muscle around me. I feel smothered and small in his arms but I find I like that, too. Very much. He runs his mouth along my neck, across my jaw until my mouth meets his. With his hands he hoists me up and suddenly I’m weightless. I can feel the hardness and heat of him through his jeans and I’m more than a little afraid. I know this is going to hurt, but it’s not the physical pain I’m worried about, it’s knowing I’m going to want more afterward than he’s willing to give.

My breath catches in my throat and I press myself tighter against him so he won’t notice how much I’m shaking. Elijah doesn’t notice, though, he just walks us backward until his legs run into the bed and then there’s nowhere else for us to fall.

My breath leaves me in a rush as his weight settles on top of me. I’m running a mantra over and over in my head: Don’t chicken out, you want this, you want him. Though my hormones and my lady parts are certainly on board with handing Elijah my virginity on a silver platter, I don’t think my head agrees. It’s coming up with excuses as to why I have to flee from his motel room.

Maybe Elijah senses my hesitation, because he pulls back and glances at me with a bemused smile. I must look like a deer, caught in headlights. He opens his mouth and I think he's about to comment on how much I’m shaking, but instead he kisses the tip of my nose so gently I barley feel it. He eases his weight off of me, and I’m about to protest when his mouth glides over my collarbone and lower still, until he’s kissing my breast and taking my nipple in his mouth.

I arch against him. His calloused hand palms my other breast and then he’s trailing his lips over my tummy, licking and kissing his way down until his warm mouth covers me, underwear and all. Elijah shifts on the bed until he’s lying between my legs. His fingers curl beneath the waistband of my kickers and he peels them off, painfully slow, and tosses them somewhere over his shoulder. I’m laid bare before him.

He slips a finger into my wetness and slides it up to my clitoris, circling gently. I want to tell him to stop, or to go faster, or to just wait a minute and let me breathe, but none of that is necessary because all at once his hands are replaced with his mouth and his tongue is gently laving at me. His arms border my thighs. His hands lie flat against my stomach with just a hint of pressure.