24. KATIE
Chapter twenty-four
KATIE
I spend most of the rest of the day lounging in the second floor sunroom. A wall of windows on two sides floods the space with a warm glow that lingers because of the two suns chasing each other across the sky.
Loren offers me several books on the history of Savolinna, the country I am in, and Amaata, the planet I am on, and a slim volume of folk stories about Travelers. Part of me wants to be stalking around and making escape plans, but the rest of me knows that what I need most is knowledge. How this world runs, and if there’s even a sliver of hope that we might be able to retrace our steps back home.
The room has several exotic –or exotic to me– plants that offer a kind of soothing texture to the otherwise golden space. One of them looks like a human-sized fern, but with deep purple veins running through the green fronds. It isn’t long until I fall asleep in the middle of reading a folktale about a Traveler who brought magical seeds between the worlds.
When I finally surface from my nap, I am limp and loose–much of the shoulder tension I’ve carried for the last week relaxed. Someone has pulled a gauzy curtain across one of the walls of windows, softening the sunlight. I’m covered in a fluffy cream-colored blanket, my head resting on a rather firm pillow. But I don’t want to move. I’m warm and relaxed, and for the first time since arriving in Amaata, I feel truly at ease.
Then my pillow begins to vibrate and my eyes fly open. A voice follows and I struggle to sit up.
“Hey, Katie, it's okay. Come and rest with me some more.” Max gently strokes my arm, leaving a trail of tingling skin.
“You were not here when I fell asleep.”
“Nope. But I’m here now. I even showered.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.
I snort. He’s so playful, not the careful gentleman like Loren, or the distant leader, like Callum. Max feels like a puppy–one that is happy to run and fetch and curl up and receive belly rubs. And one who can bare his teeth when he needs to.
“I really shouldn’t. There's so much to do,” I start, and Max sits up, adjusting so we’re facing each other and only touching where his hand keeps tracing lines on my arm. I need to pull away and set a firm boundary. But the touch feels too good.
“What do you need to do? I can help.”
His fingers trace their pattern up my arm, but instead of stopping, they skim over the curve of my shoulder to flutter-touch along my collarbone.
I wave my hands in front of me, dismissing his words and forcing his arm to move back. My skin aches for his touch, too cold without his heat for warmth.
“I don’t know. I just need to figure out how we got here and if there might be a way home. And I should probably inventory what we have that survived the… crash? Or whatever happened.”
I’m rambling over all the little tasks that I had shoved aside while trying to sort my sisters out at the Conservatory. My shoulders start to rise toward my ears, and my molars grind together.
“Easy there, Tough Girl. You don’t have to do all of that right now–it’s almost time for family dinner anyway. But pick one thing and let me help you.”
He caresses my cheek, and my jaw relaxes, his heat softening the tense muscles.
Make a plan, execute the plan.
“Can you take me to the hospital to get our stuff? It wasn’t returned to us at the Conservatory, and I’d really like to have my things back.”
“Of course. We can zip over there and back before dinner. And since I’m sure Callum is working late, he won’t even notice.” Max winks at me, before standing and holding out his hand.
I really shouldn’t take it. I shouldn’t let him help me with this. But I need the ride over to the Conservatory, and if I can convince Max to drive me around now, he might be more open to driving me to investigate possible portals home later on.
I slide my fingers over his palm, rough and warm. He pulls me forward and I tumble into him. He laughs, wrapping his free arms around my waist.
“Steady there, Tough Girl.” We are nose to nose, the warm whisky scent of him wrapping around me like a heady, intoxicating steam.
“Can you ride?” he asks, his voice thick.
My first thought is to push him back down on the couch and show him just how well I can ride him. My mouth parts, and I feel my panties stick to me from how wet I suddenly am.
Damn this ridiculous biology! Hormones are a bitch.
“It depends. I can't say I’ve ridden many horses.” I step back, giving myself space to cool down. From the bulge in his gym shorts, Max needs the space too.
He chuckles, and shakes his head. “Not a horse, a bike.”
Bicycles? I blink away my lust-haze. “Sure, I’ve been riding since I was a kid.”
“Great, then let’s go.”
He leads me down to the garage, where a sleek red sports car and a plain black SUV are parked. There’s two empty spots, and I wonder what other cars they might own. Does Callum drive a patrol car like we have on Earth? Both cars are plugged into the wall. So the cars here are electric. I’ll need to learn their relative ranges if we ever need to borrow one for an escape.
He hands me a shiny midnight blue helmet. “Put this on, and make sure the chin strap it tight.”
“A bit overkill?”
He gives me a quizzical look before walking behind the SUV and emerging with a short motorcycle, the kind an old ex-boyfriend called a “crotch rocket.” It’s a vibrant orange, with low slung handlebars.
My brain fog hadn’t even supplied the idea of a motorcycle, but of course that’s what Max would drive. Max on a bicycle is ridiculous and I could laugh at the image of this man cycling through the city. I mean, he’s fit enough to do it, but something tells me fixed gear isn’t his vibe.
“Your straps are too loose,” he says, reaching over to adjust them. My heart thumps in my chest looking at the bike. In order for two to ride, I’ll have to practically glue myself to his back.
Which is probably the whole point. I sigh.
“Where are we going to put my stuff?”
“Storage under the seats.” He yanks the strap right under my chin, before letting the tips of his fingers caress my jaw.
“You are beautiful.” He says the words as though he doesn’t realize he’s speaking, his warm gaze dancing over my features like he can’t get his fill. Heat blooms in my chest, not just the biological ping-poing that’s made me needy and wanton, but something more.
No. you’re going home. Don’t get attached.
I have a mission, clear and simple.
As I straddle the motorcycle and wrap my arms around Max’s broad chest, the heat that throbs in my core warns me that this mission is about to get very messy.