Unexpected Oasis (12 page)

By evening, the power sputters on and off sporadically just as the wind begins to do the same. Not much more than an occasional gentle breeze, it isn't enough to blow out the storm, not yet anyway.

When the sun sets, we settle in for a movie and a perfectly lovely evening for a surprisingly perfect day. I can't remember a day when I've felt more…fulfilled. Since I didn't get anything accomplished, I don't know why, but it's a good feeling. I almost don't want the wind outside to clear out the dust, not yet anyway. Just give me a few more days of this lazy bliss with Trey and I'll be happy. Just a few more days.

CHAPTER TEN

"D
o you think the water's back on yet?"

The power has stayed on consistently for the last half an hour, so I'm hopeful. And since I'd really like to get dirty with Trey again soon and I can only imagine what I smell like, I'd feel a lot better if I could wash up.

"There's only one way to find out."

Peeling myself from the most comfortable spot in the world—the crook of his arm—I pad toward the bathroom.

Once again, turning the shower knob only produces a puff of air. But within seconds, water sputters out between hisses. I shriek in excitement and rip off my clothes, pausing to poke my head out of the bathroom.

"It's back on!"

"I can tell. You might not want to take too long."

Fear
ing the water will disappear while my hair is covered in shampoo lather, I slide the door shut with a slam, take the fastest pee in my life, and then jump into the shower stall. The water flows from the showerhead at a weak pace but I don't care. It's warm and wet and feels like heaven caressing my skin. I swear I can feel every single grain of sand disappearing down the drain. I wash and condition my hair first, before pouring too much soap into my loofa and scrubbing the last bits of sand away in lathery goodness.

When my skin is pink and squeaky clean, I lean against the wall and just let the water pour over me. I know it's wasteful in this desert environment, but I can't help it. It just feels so damn good.

The door creaks open and I crack the curtain. Trey is standing buck naked, taking up the entire floor space in this tiny bathroom. "I can't believe you didn't invite me," he says.

My bottom lip is pinched between my teeth as I take his perfectly sculpted body in from head to toe. "I don't think we'll both fit in here."

He cracks a devilish grin. "I think I know how to make enough room."

Oh God. I'm suddenly even more soaked.

In one swift, smooth motion, he slides the curtain open, stoops, grabs my legs and wraps them around his waist. My arms fly around his neck as my back hits the back of the shower and his cock fills me.

We both moan.

"See," he says, burying himself deeper inside me. "Perfect fit."

"Oh my God, yes."

Wedged in the tiny shower stall, my feet press against one wall and my back the other. Clutching his neck, I can barely think as Trey thrusts over and over into me. My legs spread wide to accommodate his muscled width, his hands cup my ass, supporting my weight. His fingers curl in, applying gentle, teasing pressure against my back hole.

"You feel so fucking good," he says into my neck. "I can't wait to get you out of here so I can lick every inch of your body." His finger presses firmer into my ass, circling, teasing, while his cock ignites every pleasure nerve inside me, and the firm muscles of his lower abs grind against my clit.

His thrusts quicken, his breath becomes choppy, erratic, and just as my orgasm starts to rip through me, he slams into me. "Oh my God, Andrea."

I can only whimper his name as the last of my orgasm causes my body to shudder and twitch. My face buries in that glorious spot between his traps and neck.

He relaxes his grip on my ass but doesn't release me. His lips brush my ear, his tongue gently tracing the curve. He kisses his way to my mouth, where his tongue spreads my lips, dipping softly inside. The kiss is so gentle, so sensual, I barely notice the water is beginning to cool.

He pulls back, his eyes locked on mine. He starts to say something, then stops. Another gentle kiss before he releases me. My feet ease to the floor. "I'm going to go start dinner," he says.

I'm pretty sure that wasn't what he intended to say, but decide to let it go. "More MREs?"

"Oh yeah." He cups my chin affectionately and then steps out of the shower.

I watch him walk naked from the room, marveling at his perfect backside. As soon as he's gone and I wipe the drool from my chin, I quickly rinse the sex from my body and turn off the water.

He shuffles around like a bull in an undersized trailer as I wipe the steam from the mirror. It is a small room and he's a large man, but it seriously sounds like he's remodeling instead of making a few meals. A dollop of leave-in conditioner and a comb through my wet hair, a slathering of facial cream and body lotion and I step into the other room, wrapped in a towel, and realize what the noise was all about.

The bed frame removed and stacked neatly in a corner, a second mattress is shoved against mine now lying on the floor, looking like a studio apartment of a poor college student.  Shocked, my gaze jumps to him in question.

He offers a nonchalant shrug. "I thought it'd be more comfortable than us both trying to sleep on that postage stamp."

My gaze returns to the bed now taking up nearly all of the room. "I can't believe you managed all this in such a short time."

"I had motivation. Remember the postage stamp comment…"

A vision of him with a mattress tossed over one shoulder trying to squeeze through the door and not trip over the furniture already overwhelming the room pops into my head. Assuming the dust sticks around, does that mean this he plans on staying for longer than just tonight?

I don't know how I feel about that.

Actually, I do. I love it. I love the idea of being wrapped in his arms night after night. But that's exactly the problem.

He must pick up on my hesitation because he asks, "What's wrong?"

I don't know how to respond. But the more I look at the bed, the more I doubt myself. Him. Everything. What am I doing?

He reaches for me. "Andrea…?"

I jerk away. I don't mean to. It just happens.

His face twists up indignantly. "What the hell is going on?"

What is wrong with me? Ten minutes ago I was lusting after his perfect backside. Now I'm freaking out because he's staying? Even though he stayed last night? Even though I loved every second of it? Even though I want him to stay?

I can't seem to quit staring at the mattresses. What happens now? What happens next? When we're back at Merritec and then after? What happens if I get attached? Obviously this is nothing more than a fling…

My stomach clenches. Of course it's just a fling.

And I'm already attached.

"I think we're rushing things."

"You are fucking kidding me."

My gaze snaps up. I don't like his tone. At. All. "Excuse me?"

"You can't keep running every time things get a little intense."

My
defensive line
straps on their helmets…

"Who's running? Just because I'm not ready to shack up with you—"

"You sure didn't seem to have a problem with it last night."

Now I
really
don't like his tone. "I'm sorry, but one night of sex doesn't mean I'm ready for you to move in. To keep your toothbrush on my vanity."

"You're being ridiculous." He's pissed. I mean, really pissed. I don't like it, but clench my jaw tight. Not liking that he's angry is exactly why he shouldn't stay.

"I knew this was a bad idea."

"Because you're making it a bad idea. Jesus Christ, relax already."

"You can't just waltz in here and take over. I'm not some task for you to conquer."

"Fuck, Andrea. I didn't mean anything by it. The dust storm just makes us extremely vulnerable and—"

I feel my eyes widen. He cuts the sentence short when he catches my expression.

"It's fine." The way he flicks his hand as he rattles off the word tells me all I need to know. It's not fine and his
reassurance
does nothing to ease the anxiety bristling under my skin.

"Look," he says, shifting the conversation back. "I thought we were having a good time and quite frankly, I'd simply feel more confident about my job as your protector if I stayed in the room with you. I sure as hell wasn't trying to imply anything."

Oh good, the irritation is back. I hold on to the emotion. It's better than the fear. "So, I'm just your job…with benefits."

He holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Never mind. I'm out of here," he says with a shake of his head. "I'll fix the bed in the morning. Be sure to lock the door behind me." He's already inches from the exit, pausing only to swoop up his laptop.

Shit, this is happening so fast.

Pushing open the door, he stalls in the opening. I hear him sigh. Part of me wishes he'll turn around and swoop me up in his arms, tell me my fears can go to hell, kiss me passionately, and then toss me on the mattress and make wild love to me. The other part is scared that's exactly what's going to happen.

Neither scenario plays out. Instead, he removes a small gun from a holster attached to the side of his boot, and then checks that it's loaded. "I shouldn't do this but…" He offers it to me. "You know how to shoot a gun?"

"I am from Kansas," I say, taking the weapon and verifying the
safety
is engaged.

His smile barely touches the corner of his mouth, and looks a bit…sad. "You shouldn't have to use it, but just in case."

I nod that I understand.

"You still have the Talkie, right?"

"I do."

"Good. Make sure you keep it on. Remember, I'm
right
next door." His jaw juts toward the back wall. "If you need anything…" The last word trails off, lost in a million different meanings.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

I swallow, trying to remember why I became so angry in the first place. "I'll um…call you."

He watches me for a moment before turning on his heel and walking out the door, keeping his back to me when he says, "Good-night, Andrea." The door closes behind him.

My sigh is like an explosion. Fuck. Me.

I fall against the wall and stare blankly at the mattresses.

Why'd he have to push? Why couldn't he just ask me, or explain the situation? Why'd he have to just jump in, control the situation? Just
assume
he knows what I want and need.

Because that's what he does. That's what he's done since day one. Trey doesn't ask for anything. He just goes for it. It's one of the many things that make him so sexy.

And scary as hell.

I drop the towel and leave it in a puddle as I slip on undies, my yoga pants and tank-top. They're still covered in dust and I wish I'd brought more clothes to sleep in. Stupid of me to assume I'd be able to wash them…

Grabbing the Walkie-Talkie, I set it and the gun on the desk/nightstand, click off the light, and crawl wearily into a bed that feels way too big even though it's smaller than a Queen.

I feel strangely lonely. It's silly since I've been sleeping alone for months.

Why did I do this to myself? I knew it was a bad idea to get involved with Trey. It doesn't matter if the last twenty-four hours have been pure bliss. So I've felt more alive than I have in years, and more
myself
than I have in months. I knew I wasn't ready for it, that I'd only get hurt.

Ugh. I'm my own worst enemy right now.

~

The sound of a gunshot cracks me out of sleep. At first I'm not certain that's what I heard, but a second shot confirms it.

I jump when another shot is fired. And then a fourth and a fifth.

Oh my God.

"Andrea." Trey's voice crackles through the Talkie speaker. "Are you okay?"

I fumble in the dark for the Walkie-Talkie, finding it after nearly knocking the gun onto the floor. I press the button. "I'm here," I say into the speaker, keeping my voice low. "I'm okay. What's going on?"

"I don't know. Don't go anywhere. I'm coming there."

His voice disappears in to the darkness. Clutching the Talkie in one hand and the gun in the other, I hustle to the door, painfully aware of the sound of my feet on the floor. Even breathing seems too loud and I'm pretty sure my heartbeat can be heard in Pakistan.

I wait. And wait. And wait. Five minutes pass, then ten. Trey's room is literally twenty feet away. What could be taking him so long?

What do I do? Tucking the Talkie into the waistband of my yoga pants, I quickly check the gun over, straining my brain to remember all the gun safety lectures I went through with my grandpa decades ago as I
re
-familiarize myself with the weapon. Jim was anti-gun with a passion, so it's been years since I've even looked at a gun—well, besides the plethora I've seen since coming here. I hope it's like riding a bike.

Satisfied I'll remember how to pull the trigger if the need arises, I move to the window and press my ear to it. It's tempting to peel back the blinds, but not only will I be giving my location away, I doubt I'll be able to see anything anyway. I'll have to rely on my other senses to tell me what's going on outside.

At first, the only thing I hear is the wind. Or rather, the rattle of loose metal as wind whips through the narrow pathway created by the shipping containers. I'm reminded of the many nights I spent at my grandfather's farm listening to summer storms roll in. I half expect to hear the creak of a door needing oil or the chatter of wind chimes. I'm not sure why I'd be reminded of childhood summers right now, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with the gun in my hand.