Page 36 of Wanted
I inhale sharply when Chance abruptly stops the truck in the middle of the lane on the very long stretch of road. For a second I think about the cars that must be behind us, but that concern quickly passes. There’s no one but us on this backwoods road.
Among the sea of racing thoughts and unanswered questions, a warmth that I’ve never known until recently envelops me.
It’s Chance.
His massive hands cup my face.
He doesn’t pull me to him, or hug me. He just stares down at me, his eyes scanning my face. One of his rough thumbs runs across the top of my cheek, wiping another tear away.
Another chill runs through my body.
An odd sensation takes place in the bit of my stomach. It’s more than mere physical attraction. The butterflies that come with that type of attraction are there as well, yes.
But this is different. It feels like there’s something that’s starting to unfurl within the core of my belly.
“I will help you find your sister,” Chance finally says. His gaze locks on mine, preventing me from looking away.
I let out a long, steadying breath.
At this point, I don’t even find it surprising that I believe him.
If Chance says he’ll help me find my sister, then that’s what he’ll do.
Instead of responding verbally, I do something extremely out of character. I tilt my head into one of his palms and run my cheek against it.
A humming sound penetrates the inside of the truck and I blink open my eyes, realizing that the murmuring is coming from me.
I pull away from Chance’s hold before nodding.
“Thank you.” The words come out hoarse as I force myself to look straight ahead at the road.
Seconds later, we’re moving again. But to where and to what, I’m not sure.
CHAPTER 11
Emery
“We’re here.” A deep voice penetrates the haze of sleep I’ve fallen into.
It takes me a few attempts, though, to blink my eyes fully open. Chance must’ve driven through the entire night.
“You didn’t sleep?” I ask as I sit upright in the passenger seat of his truck, fixing my wrinkled clothes.
He gives a short shake of his head before his eyes rake over me.
A glance down at his arm reveals smooth, veiny skin. But no injury. Not even a scar. These guys really do heal quickly.
I gulp and hold my breath. I can only imagine how disoriented I appear. My hand immediately goes to my hair and I groan at the frizz I feel. Without another thought, I reach for the handbag I kept in my suitcase in the back seat of Chance’s truck. On instinct I pull out the extra hairbrush, the face wash sheets I always keep on hand and a few other supplies to put myself together.
Though I left most of my makeup and hair products back in the motel, having some of my familiar toiletries on hand brings me a modicum of relief.
A woman must always look her best.
Despite my somewhat precarious situation right now, fixing myself to look somewhat presentable is the least I can do.
“What are you doing?” Chance asks.
I clear my throat. “I, um…nothing,” I answer before fixing my hair into another neat bun. That’s the only thing I can do with it at the moment. I start to realize that it’s been well over two weeks since my hair straightening and coloring treatment and I’m running the risk of my roots starting to frizz up.