Page 26 of Her Wild Coast Promise

“Let’s get your bags.” If I keep moving, maybe it’ll quench this wild craving to touch her. I tilt the handle of her carry on and wheel it to the carousel.

“Are you hungry?” I ask.

“Starved.” She tucks a stray curl behind her ear. “Oh, there’s mine!”

I leave her bag near her and step forward to pluck the navy blue suitcase from the carousel. When I turn back, our eyes meet. She smiles again, her face calm, and time feels static, like the energy between us is weighing it down.

“There’s one more,” she says when I return to her side.

“Traveling light, huh?” I tease but resist the urge to jab her in the side. I don’t think touching her right now is a good idea.

“It’s called being prepared,” she fires back, then points at a large duffel floating tumbling out of the delivery chute. “There!”

After weaving through passengers back to the carousel, I sling the duffel over my shoulder. This time, when I turn back, I just catch the way her face has tightened with yearning.

Like she’s feeling the heat between us too.

Not good.

I fight the urge to drop this duffel so I can cradle her face in my hands and kiss her.

Instead, I wheel her first suitcase with my free hand to walk side by side with her to the exit. The doors whoosh open, and I force in a slow breath.

But the brisk autumn air does nothing to calm my racing heart or cool the prickled heat hugging my spine.

Two months of working closely with Cora, having her under my roof while fighting my cravings and keeping my hands to myself. Two months of reminding myself that she's my best friend's little sister, that no matter how badly I want her, I can't have her.

A little voice in my head reminds me that I brought her here, knowing the risks.

But it’s more intense now that she’s here.

Say hello to two months of torture.

ChapterSeven

SETH

“We can graba bite on the way, or pick up a pizza?” I ask over the grind of the luggage wheels on the coarse pavement. The air smells like old snow and jet fuel and makes me want to wrap her in my arms and inhale her sweet scent instead.

“Does the pizza have reindeer meat on it up here?” She flashes me a grin.

“With a side of King Crab legs.”

“Salty,” she replies in a sassy voice. “Can we wash it down with Moose Drool?”

That’s right. Cora likes beer. And football. And dancing. And horses. And what the hell does she have in these suitcases? Ball gowns? This is Alaska.

At my truck, I slide her bags behind the seats—the bed is full of Hope House donations that I’ll switch over to my rig in time for my meeting tomorrow with OCS Director Heidi Jennings.

Before I can help Cora, she vaults to her seat, leaving me in a wake of her scent. It’s spicy today, like cloves, but better. Sexier.

“You were right. Everything is bigger here,” Cora says as I pull out of the parking lot. She’s gazing out the window, toward the distant mountains. The cloud level obscures the peaks, but the setting sun is bright and warm on the slice of lowland and valleys.

“You like it?”

Cora nods. “Beautiful, but still raw, you know?”

“I do.” Alaska isn’t for everyone, but it’s unlike any place I’ve ever lived. That she already appreciates it tugs at my heartstrings.

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