He wanted to close his fingers over that kiss, to grip it tightly, to crush it into his skin so it couldn’t fly away. But the swell of her lips and the curve of her jaw demanded a gentler touch, a touch he felt incapable of delivering when the intensity of his response pounded in his veins. So he slid his hands into her hair, curling his fingers desperately into the short strands, and pulled her mouth back to his. And this time, instead of words, he used his kiss to impart his trepidation into soft lips that he feared would one day wish him gone.
Flashing red and blue lights filled the room through the uncovered window, circling the walls, one color chasing the next, and Finn and Bonnie froze, their breath and lips halting, even as their bodies demanded they continue. Finn shot up and off the bed, and Bonnie followed, reaching for her jeans and pulling them on without a word, shoving her feet into her boots without bothering with socks. Finn stood to one side of the window, watching the slow-moving cruiser glide past the short row of cabins. Finn was yanking off his shorts and pulling on his jeans as he watched, and he saw Bonnie pause, taking in the expanse of long, smooth, uninterrupted skin before he clipped out her name in warning.
“Bonnie. We’ve gotta go. Nobody knows what we’re driving but they’re looking for something. I ran into a cop tonight on my run. That looks like the same guy.” The cruiser had slowed to a stop by the cabin that served as the front office and the officer that had pulled alongside Finn earlier stepped out of the vehicle, looking this way and that like he was, indeed, looking for someone or something.
Bonnie didn’t take the time to pull on a shirt. Instead, she pulled her pink coat over the camisole she’d been wearing beneath her shirt and stuffed their T-shirts into his duffle bag. She grabbed her purse and swept up their toothbrushes and they were out the door within forty-five seconds of being rudely interrupted from the only thing either of them really wanted to do.
They’d parked Bear’s car right outside the door. But they were only thirty yards from the lobby entrance. And there were only three other cabins that appeared to be occupied. Freedom apparently wasn’t popular on Thursdays. Finn disengaged the locks and winced at the chirp and the flash of light that innocently welcomed them. Without looking toward the office to see if they’d been spotted, he and Bonnie slid into the car and said goodbye to Freedom with their eyes on the rear view mirror.
“What name did you give them when you registered us?” Bonnie asked. She was turned around in her seat, watching to see if they were going to be pursued. So far so good.
“Parker Barrow.”
Bonnie laughed and groaned. “And you thought that was a good idea?”
“No. I just thought it was funny. And at this point, funny is about all we’ve got,” Finn said with a rueful smile.
“We really aren’t anything like Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow.”
“I’ve decided that the media doesn’t care, Bonnie Rae. They want us to be . . . and so that’s the story they’ll tell.”
Chapter Eighteen
WE DROVE FOR an hour in the dark, half scared, half euphoric, not really knowing where we were going, but driving because that was the only thing we could do. Every second had taken on a relevancy that I didn’t want to miss. I was in love, I was in lust, I was afraid, I was fearless—contradictions that made perfect sense and no sense at all. Maybe it was the adrenaline of running from circumstances that seemed determined to hunt us down, but it was more likely the unfinished lovemaking back at the motel, and I was struggling not to beg Clyde to pull over and let me have my way with him in the back seat.
The tension simmered between us, a buzzing undercurrent that felt as intoxicating as a pounding bass line and a killer beat, and a song started to form in my mind, more a feeling than real words, but when I started to hum, Finn just looked at me, a smile on his lips and his eyebrows raised, and I almost moaned right out loud, closing my eyes against the desire that had to wait, just a little longer. I felt simultaneously weightless and endless, floating there beside him, as if he held me on a string.
Weightless and endless. Timeless and restless. Hopelessly breathless. The words seeped into my head, my yearning composing a chorus without conscious thought. I knew what the chords would be, and took note of the arrangement in my head, creating verses and a bridge to go with it. I wished I had Finn’s guitar. I hummed as I went, composing feverishly.
“Don’t just hum. Sing,” Finn urged.
I didn’t want to sing the words out loud. I didn’t want to scare him. Finn wasn’t as far along in his feelings as I was. I was there. All in. Love. But he wasn’t. And me, singing songs about needing Infinity probably wasn’t going to make him get there any faster.
“What’s your favorite song?” I asked instead. “If I know it, I’ll sing it.”
“What’s that song you sang, standing on the slide?”
“Wayfaring Stranger?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah. That’s my favorite song.” Finn nodded once, definitively.
“You know that song?”
“No. I’d never heard it before,” he said frankly, his eyes cutting to my face and then back to the road.
“And now it’s your favorite?”
“Now it’s my favorite.”
His sweetness moved me, and my desire for him swelled again, stronger, and I trembled, wishing I were brave enough to say what I wanted to say.
“Sing it. Please?” he asked.
And so I did. I sang until the interior of Bear’s car reverberated with my voice, and my heart was shredded from the feelings clawing to get out.