Page 44 of Recklessly in Love

Mia nods her head in solemn agreement. “Especially if this whole plan to draw more people to town works. But what can we do?”

Greg runs a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “I hate feeling so powerless. Not that I want him to do something so awful again, but I wish there were a way to catch him red-handed if and when he does, so there’d be no question of his guilt.”

“Except, we kind of already did,” I point out. “I saw him put something in Carrie’s drink.”

“So did I,” Nate agrees, his tone laced with anger and frustration.

Mia nods again, slowly, sadly. “I’ll talk to Carrie about filing a report. If she doesn’t, maybe you two still can?”

Nate squeezes her hand, and I nod somberly. Carrie’s something of a little sister to me, too, after all these years. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.

A dangerous idea starts to form in my mind, but I keep quiet. I know they’d never agree to me putting myself at risk, no matter how noble the cause. But if we can’t catch him red-handed accidentally … maybe we can on purpose. There’s a fine legal line to walk there, though, and I’d have to be smart about it, so they can’t call it entrapment.

Still, someone needs to do something about this guy before he gets away with something horrible when we’re not there to do anything about it. The exact scenario I know Greg is tearing himself up over these days.

As everyone starts to leave, I watch Greg as I hug Mia and Rae goodbye. He’s talking lowly with Nate, looking defeated again. It makes me want to wrap myself around him, and not even in a sexy way, which is big. My chest aches for his obvious struggle, and I wish we hadn’t ended on such a sad note.

I sigh internally as the door closes behind our friends, and Greg turns to me.

“Thank you for doing all this,” he says softly, slipping his arms around my waist and burying his face in my hair. My arms circle his neck almost automatically. “I know it’s a lot of work, but it means the world to me. To all of us.”

“That’s just how I am. Point me at a problem, and I’ll fix it,” I murmur, still struggling with how to fix Greg’s feelings of failure. Even though I know that’s not my burden. It’s his. Still, I don’t want him to carry it alone.

God, I feel protective of him, I realize. That’s a first for me with a man.

I pull back a bit and look into his bright blue eyes. And in another first, I feel those three words catch in my throat. No, not “fuck me now.” The serious ones that show how far gone I am for this man. I shake my head, refusing even to think them. It still feels too soon, like we haven’t been together long enough, gotten to know each other well enough, for the urge to say those words to be coming from a real place. It could be just lust and the intensity of it all.

“I know,” he replies. “It’s one of the many things I love about you.” He leans in and presses a tender kiss to my temple. Between his words and his actions, I melt inside. The backs of my eyes prickle with tears.

Despite myself, I feel so much I can barely stand it.

I just need time. We need time.

And orgasms. Lots of orgasms. Yes, that’s always the answer.

So I push up and cover his lips with mine. He groans into my mouth as he responds, his hands sliding over my ass.

“Let’s go to bed, and I’ll remind you of everything else you love about me, mountain man,” I murmur against his lips.

I feel his grin on my mouth and his hardness on my stomach. “Fuck yeah, city girl.”

Greg lifts me, and I wrap my legs around him as he carries me to his room.

Greg’s dad? Ned? They’ll get theirs. I’ll make damn sure of it. But right now, all I care about is getting mine. And Greg damn well gives it to me all night.

When we finally come together, when he whispers dirty sweet words in the dark, I realize I can’t fuck my feelings away. Because it’s all I can do to swallow those three words down when they climb from my throat to the tip of my tongue as he holds me while we drift to sleep.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JOANIE

The week leading up to the town meetings is a whirlwind of activity and not the fun, sexy kind. No, it’s me helping Greg plan the agenda and pull out what feels like a million chairs from storage while he constructs a new podium since the old one had apparently bit the dust. Definitely not sexy … well, unless you count watching Greg work with his hands.

But I’m neck deep in my own world, thinking through how this will go, and as we’re setting up the great room, I eye the sea of metal folding chairs skeptically. “Is two hundred chairs going to be enough?” I ask.

Greg shrugs. “There will still be room for people to stand. And we’ve done this kind of thing before — at best, a quarter of the town will show up total.”

I’m unsure if that’s encouraging, but I trust his judgment. He knows this town better than I do. Still, doing that math in my head, assuming a few thousand residents, we’re likely to be over capacity for all three sessions.

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