Page 52 of Her Wild Coast Promise

He’s more man than I’ve ever had beneath my fingers. Strong, solid, and sexy as hell.

I shut my eyes, but all I see are the stars that exploded behind my vision.

My blood heats and my heart tingles in my chest. “Ugh,” I say, and toss back the covers. I return to the bathroom and strip out of my PJs, then turn on the shower. Once under the water, I stand there, breathing deep, slow breaths.

I let the water run over my shoulders and down my arms. I turn away so it can run down my back. But I’m reminded of Seth’s hands between my shoulder blades, so gentle, while he closed the zipper of my dress. Using the washcloth, I try scrubbing my skin, as if I can scrub clean the memory of his body pressed to mine, or the way he held my face before he kissed me, like I was something precious.

The ache for more tightens inside me like a hard, painful knot. Breathing faster, my head spinning, I imagine his hands on my body, his lips on mine. I can see the two of us on my bed as we touch and caress until we’re entwined and moving together, sharing something unique and joyful, genuine. Would he be gentle, or demanding? Quiet, or roar like a breaking storm? Will he hold me when it’s over, and kiss me with tenderness? Or will he patiently, steadily stoke my fire until I’m ready for more?

Not knowing is going to kill me.

But giving in would kill me worse. I don’t date cops, and I’m done with dead ends.

Five more weeks of being in Seth’s orbit. Then it’s time to take life by the horns.

I march from the shower and dig up my vibrator. It doesn’t take long, and though it’s not the full release I’m craving, it’s enough to get my mind off of Seth so I can rest.

When I rollout of bed at six the next morning, the house is warm but quiet. Seth is off today, but maybe he’s out? I pull on leggings, socks, and a thick sweater and pad downstairs. From her bed by the woodstove, Rosie thumps her tail in welcome but is too busy working a cow bone to greet me.

“Seth?”

A crackle from the woodstove is the only reply.

The coffeemaker’s empty and the glass pot is clean. There’s no note.

I peek out the front window. Though darkness coats everything in inky black, the light over the garage illuminates the empty place usually occupied by his Sheriff Deputy rig.

See?My inner voice gloats.Gone. Typical cop.

After making coffee and toast, I stoke the wood stove and bring my laptop down to the couch. I tackle my list of follow -up tasks from last night’s event. To my delight, Seth’s campaign fund has grown by almost ten thousand dollars.

That’s enough for a billboard. Or a thirty-minute block of radio time.

It’s mid-morning when my phone lights up. It’s Libby.

I cry out, startling Rosie, who jumps up, barking.

“Libbieeee!”

“Ohmigawd, hi from Costa Rica!” The connection is decent, but her voice sounds thin.

“How’s it been so far?” I ask.

“You first. How’s Alaska?”

I rattle off a series of updates. The rain, the huge mountains, the wildness, the weak and limited daylight.

“Maybe you can make use of all that time in the dark?”

“Libs, don’t,” I groan. “It’s hard enough.”

“Speaking from experience?”

I remember what Peyton’s friends shared on social media about Seth. Based on what I felt against my thigh when he kissed me, it’s a lie.

“Very funny. You know my rule.” I force down the tremor of desire sparking to life inside my belly.

“I’m aware,” she replies in a lilting tone. “How’s the campaign going?”

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