Susan Phillips - The Great Escape

# 3583

Your Pure Michigan Adventure Begins Here

Had this fallen out of Panda’s wallet or had a previous tenant lost it? Only one way to find out. She returned the card to the seat cushion, leaving it just as she’d found it.

The next morning it was gone.

LUCY FINALLY KNEW SOMETHING ABOUT Panda that he didn’t want her to know. That should have made her feel better, but she didn’t want to leave Caddo Lake, and her mood was dismal as they rode away. She persuaded him to stop in Texarkana where, fake pregnancy in place, she pointedly purchased a prepaid phone of her own. She told him to put it on her expense account.

Right after they crossed into Arkansas, they had to pull beneath an underpass to wait out a rain shower. She asked him where they were going, not expecting him to answer. But he did, at least partially. “We should be close to Memphis by nightfall.”

His bike had Texas license plates, he vacationed on the Louisiana border, they were headed for Tennessee, and he had a resident ferry pass to an island somewhere in Michigan. Were these the practices of an itinerate construction worker or simply the lifestyle of a wanderer? She wished she could be as mysterious, but it was hard to have secrets when your life had been laid out for public examination while you were still a teenager.

Their nighttime lodging was a backwater Arkansas motel near the Tennessee border. She took in the room’s painted cinder-block walls and ugly puce bedspreads. “I’m sure there’s a Hyatt someplace nearby.”

He dropped his pack on the bed closest to the door. “I like it. It has character.”

“Characters. We’ll be lucky if those drug dealers lurking outside don’t break in and murder us in our sleep.”

“Exactly why you can’t have your own room.”

“Why I can’t have my own room is because you like being difficult.”

“True.” He cocked his head and gave her his calculated biker’s sneer. “Plus, this way, I might see you naked.”

“Good luck with that.” She grabbed the pajama shorts and T-shirt she’d bought when they were at Caddo and headed for the bathroom. Once she’d sealed herself in, she took a deep breath. She was flustered enough from spending the day plastered against his back with the vibrations from that big bike stirring her up. She didn’t need him baiting her.

The flimsy shower stall was barely larger than a phone booth, and every time she moved, she banged her elbow into the plastic panels. She tried to imagine Panda attempting to wedge his body into such an uncomfortably small space.

His naked body.

She dropped her hands from the breasts she’d been soaping for too long. She was female. She couldn’t help the way Panda stirred her baser instincts. There was something primal about him. He was earthy and carnal, all brawn and muscle. Made for sex. It would be rough and raunchy, so different from sex with Ted, who’d been the gold standard of male erotic perfection—polished, inexhaustible, selfless.

Only now could she begin to admit how taxing that selflessness had been. She’d wanted to give back as good as she got, but what she got was so perfectly executed that she had no idea how to return it in equal measure, and that kept it from being as good as it should have been. She’d worried that her moans were too loud, her movements too awkward, her caresses too tentative, too rough, not in the right place. What if she was taking too long or her breath was bad or her thighs were jiggling? What if she farted?

All that stress.

It would be so different with Panda, so easy. He’d only be out for himself. And who cared what she did or what he thought about it? She could respond or not respond, however she felt. She wouldn’t need to worry about how her words, her actions, her moans—or lack of them—affected him.

The idea of simply taking what she wanted from a man who expected nothing except access to a female body tantalized her. All through high school and college, she’d fantasized about the wild men she sometimes encountered: the son of a wealthy socialite who’d supplemented his income dealing drugs, the college basketball player with the mile-wide grin who’d cheated on his exams, the guys with the cocky struts and cigarettes dangling from the corners of their mouths, the ones who drove too fast, drank too much, worked their bodies instead of their brains. And now Panda.

How would he react if she walked out naked? She couldn’t imagine that he’d turn away.

This trip was nearly over. She understood that, even if he hadn’t spelled out the exact timetable. Any day now, he’d be dumping her. Would she ever have a better chance for free, dirty, uncommitted sex? This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Was she going to let it pass her by?

Two weeks ago, she was engaged to another man—a man she still loved in so many ways. Jumping into bed with Panda would be unforgivable.

Still, the idea wasn’t altogether repellent.

She felt an irrational urge to talk this over with Ted. He was always clearheaded, and she wasn’t clear about anything right now.

Even as she dried off, she was still thinking about it. She knew what she wanted. Didn’t know what she wanted. Finally she decided on a coward’s compromise. She wrapped herself in the threadbare towel, opened the bathroom door, and said, “Don’t look.”

He looked. Not even being subtle about it but studying her in a way that made her skin hot. Long seconds passed before he spoke. “Are you sure about this?” No games. Straight to the point. Pure Panda.

“No.”

“You must be fairly sure.”

“I’m not.”

He took more time thinking it over than she’d expected. Finally he rose from the bed and jerked his T-shirt over his head. “I need a shower. If you’re still wearing that towel when I come out, lose it.”

She didn’t like this. Not the fact that he intended to shower—she knew exactly how grimy they were from their long bike ride—but she didn’t like having more time to think than she wanted. Was this the best way to move on from Ted or the worst?

The bathroom door banged shut. He’d left his phone behind, proof that he’d wiped it out again. She made a call. “Meg …”

“Luce? Honey, are you all right?”

“I’m … fine.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because …” Lucy paused. “Would I be … like … a total skank if I slept with another guy now? Like in about ten minutes?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Do you like him?”

“Kind of. He’s no Ted Beaudine, but …”

“Then you should definitely sleep with him.”

“I want to, but …”

“Be a skank, Luce. It’ll be good for you.”

“I guess if I’d seriously wanted to be talked out of this, I’d have called somebody else.”

“That tells you a lot, then.”

“You’re right.” The water shut off in the bathroom. Panda had taken the fastest shower on record. “I have to go,” she said in a rush. “I’ll call when I can. Love you.” She hung up.

The bathroom door opened. Now there were two of them wrapped in threadbare towels, Panda’s draped so low she could see the entire plane of his stomach … and the bulge beneath.

He held his discarded clothes in one hand, his hair a long wet tangle, his lips thinned in something approaching a scowl. Water beaded on his chest and on his bare legs, which were—no surprise—free of any disfiguring scars. What was surprising, considering the lack of sunlight they received, was how tan they were. Even more surprising was how foul his mood seemed to be for a man about to get lucky.

He cocked his head in the general direction of her towel.

“I’m still thinking,” she said.

“No, you’re not. You made up your mind.” He yanked his wallet from his jeans pocket, flipped it open, and pulled out a condom. “I only have one of these, so you’d better be good.”

“Might be. Might not be,” she said. “It depends on my mood.” Her words exhilarated her.

He dropped his clothes, walked over to her, and dipped his index finger into the fabric between her breasts. With a single tug, the towel fell to the carpet. “Time to taste the forbidden fruit,” he said in a barely audible rasp.

Who was the forbidden fruit? Herself or him? She didn’t want to think, only to feel. He dipped his head to her shoulder, but she wasn’t going to be the only naked person in the room, and she tugged off his towel. It fell across their feet as their bodies met. His lips touched her collarbone. He nipped. Moved onto her neck. He hadn’t shaved, and his beard scraped lightly over her skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

She’d spent hours today pressed against his body, and now that she’d made up her mind to do this, she wanted to feel more of it. She splayed her hands against his chest. He lingered just below her earlobe. She didn’t want him to kiss her, and she turned her head before he could reach her lips. The movement exposed more of her neck, and he accepted the invitation.

Before long, his hand went to her breast, his thumb to the crest. Hot blood rushed through her. He flicked it, and she did the same to him. His breathing came faster, and so did hers. He hooked his arms under her bottom, lifted her, and carried her to the bed she’d staked out for herself. No kisses. No endearments. Nothing that would remind her of Ted.

He flipped the covers back with one hand. As they fell into the sheets she accidentally scratched him. She didn’t care. She dug her hands into his wild curls and tugged simply because she wanted to.

“Ouch.”

“No talking,” she said.

“Like it rough, do you?”

Yes. That was exactly how she wanted it. No solicitude or consideration. No tender caresses.

She slipped her hands between his legs and squeezed. Not hard enough to cause him pain. Just enough to make him feel the tiniest bit vulnerable.