Chapter 25
Geneva
The views from the winding road that followed the White River were stunning, the summer already taking hold, the green of the surrounding forests lush and deep. They had the river’s waters littered with white caps presenting a picture of a mountain idyll that even someone like the stone-hearted Rick Trafford could appreciate.
The gravel ticked against the undercarriage of his Audi as he pulled off onto a roadside look-out, the vista of the White River spreading out before us as we faced north. The water meandered its way down the final miles of its journey to its rendezvous with the mighty Columbia River, the confluence just barely visible far down the valley to our east.
Every now and then a tractor trailer rig would roar by behind us, but aside from that, the only sounds were the gentle moan of the wind at our ears, and the almost imperceptible murmur of the river as it coursed and tossed over the rocks of a shallow ford just below the promontory of our look-out.
“I didn’t know this place could look… like this.”
I wasn’t entirely sure if Rick was talking to me or himself, but I completely agreed with the sentiment, regardless.
As odd as the ‘meeting’ had been in the strange little town, the overall experience of life in that place was… something entirely bizarre. I still wasn’t sure how to attempt to unpack everything I’d seen—and felt—but of one thing I was already quite certain.
Someday, I would come back to that place.
Perhaps with Rick, perhaps not. There was so much more to explore, so many unanswered questions my experience of the town and its environs had left me with.
But that would have to be for another time. There were far more pressing matters. Such as my burgeoning, confusing—and probably stupid—interest in the man who was at that moment leaning over the high guardrail, his huge hands resting atop the pale gray painted steel.
A better version of me might not have immediately noticed the curve of muscle of his compact, powerful buttocks, the fabric of his black slacks stretching over his much-too-fine ass.
Not now, Genie. Down, girl.
While Rick may have come up with a possible way to help solve the disappearances happening in town, what he hadn’t determined was how the two of us were going to maintain a relationship. We needed a way of making what might work for us.
Despite the near certain disaster that would befall either of us should my uncle learn that Rick and I were involved sexually.
“What we need is the proverbial cabin in the mountains,” he suggested. “Cliché, I know, but it would be perfect. Some middle of nowhere place. Just us. Nobody else around. Nearest town miles away. How about that?”
I assumed he was talking theoretically, just throwing out ideas. “Um, okay… that might work.”
I didn’t tell him what the imagery of what he could do to me once he had me all to himself did to my insides, my clit suddenly so hard and throbbing it took all my willpower not to squeeze my thighs together right there in front of him.
I just watched him, wishing I could read his thoughts. I wanted anything that would give us a chance.
While I thrilled at the idea of being his little captive up in some forgotten cabin in the woods—the stuff of some of my dirtiest, most long-held fantasies—I couldn’t shake the fear that a relationship with a man I should hate was doomed from the start. What if all we had was sex?
Was that enough for me? Was that enough for him?
I was growing ever more fascinated with him, in spite of—and perhaps because of—the fact that Rick was bad news for a girl like me.
But when you think with your pussy, all problems are mere details. Right?
What if what I was actually looking for was bad news?
Rick finally glanced over at me. “Seriously though. I may have an idea or two on where we might stay. If it actually comes to that.”
I gently bounced the side of my shoe off the oiled-timber post of the guardrail, all the while breathing in the refreshing, clean air. I was trying to pull off nonchalance, but secretly hanging on his every word, reading into the tiniest change of the tone of his voice. “Okay…”
“I looked up a few before coming out here. The listings were… a little vague. I think we know now why that might be.”
I laughed softly, nodding, trying to play it cool. The images of what we’d seen would probably play for many days in my head.
But was I truly scared of what we saw? Or was it something much, much different than fear affecting me deep down inside?
“The one I’m leaning toward is a bit of a drive up from town—maybe five, six miles away? There’s a small lake up there. Goose Lake, I think it’s called. I’ll have to look it up again. Cottage, winding little gravel driveway, all screened by trees, mostly. Can’t see much of anything from the road. But in the back of the property, it’s got a helluva view of the river. Might work pretty well, actually.”
The vista of the White River was something almost otherworldly in its beauty, and I smiled at the notion of having such views greet me every morning.
Sure beats the living shit out of the city.
“Anyway, it’s nothing but dense forest for miles around the lake. Worse places to go to disappear from the world. I don’t know. Something to kick around.”
The sun glinted golden fire off the surface of the river, evoking an almost dancing visual effect. It was remarkable, and I found it was impossible not to stare at the mesmerizing display.
“What’s wrong with it?” I asked with a resigned sigh.
There was always a catch.
Rick tugged at the cuff of his shirt. “It’s pretty small. Looks like three rooms, including the bathroom, plus a tiny galley kitchen. It’s high enough up, though, that most people wouldn’t even brave the area until spring. Probably a lot of snow, even more than the town sees. So, we’d be all alone up there. Most of the time.” Rick flashed a wolfen smile at me. “Just the way I like it. But we need to get going.”
I took one last glance across the river, closing my eyes for a moment. Committing the sight and smell of the countryside to memory, I made my way back to the car.
Already slipping his long form behind the wheel, he held his hand out to me. “Come on, silly girl.”
Reflexively, I nearly spat an acid retort at him. But something else very, very unsettling happened instead.
A trickle of itchy heat slipped between the lips of my sex at the tone, the casual diminution of the term… doing things to me.
Doing things? What’s gotten into you?
I rubbed my face. “This town… it’s got me all out of sorts.”
He winked. “I know the feeling. Makes me want to come back. And soon.”
As he gunned the engine, the Audi fishtailing slightly, twin rooster tails of gravel flying up behind us until we bumped back up onto the blacktop, I took one last, long look at the gorgeous river.
With what little I’d actually seen, I should have wanted to put a thousand miles between myself and White Valley.
Why do you lie to yourself?