The Winner Takes It All. Alison Roberts

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      GET SARAH HOME. Get her well. Get her back where she belonged.

      Driving to Hood Hamlet on Highway 26, Cullen focused on the road and tried to ignore the woman seated next to him. Not an easy thing to do with the scent of her sweet, floral shampoo tickling his nostrils. He grasped the leather-covered steering wheel with his hands in the ten and two o’clock positions, exactly as he’d been taught in driver’s ed.

      He’d rarely driven this way as a teenager. “Hell on Wheels” best described his brother’s and his driving styles back then. But after Blaine had overdosed, Cullen prided himself on doing things, including driving, the right way, the correct way, to make things easier on his grieving parents. He’d made some stupid mistakes in the past, but he hoped he wouldn’t make any more where Sarah was involved.

      As he pressed harder on the accelerator to pass a semitruck, he fought the urge to sneak a peek at her. He’d done that too many times since leaving Seattle. Concentrating on the road in front of him was better. Safer. He flicked on the blinker to return to his own lane.

      “You haven’t touched your milk shake,” Sarah said.

      The meaningless, polite conversation of the past four hours made him wish for a high-tech transporter beam that could carry them to the cabin in less than a nanosecond. He’d settle for silence, even the uncomfortable kind of quiet that made you squirm while you struggled to think of something to say. He stretched his neck to one side, then the other. “I’m not that thirsty.”

      Cullen hadn’t had much of an appetite since last night. He hadn’t slept much, either, tossing and turning until the sheets strangled him like a boa constrictor. He rolled his shoulders to loosen the bunched muscles.

      “You’re missing out. My chocolate milk shake is delicious.”

      Sarah sounded as though she was smiling. A quick glance her way—he couldn’t help himself—showed she wasn’t. Her lips were tight.

      She stirred her drink with the straw. “Thanks for suggesting we stop.”

      Making stops along the way had allowed her to walk around and change positions, but had added time to the drive. “You needed to stretch your legs.”

      Their final stop hadn’t been all about Sarah. The truck had felt cramped. Confined. He’d needed some fresh air and space.

      “If you’d rather have chocolate, we can trade.” She held out her cup to him. “I like vanilla.”

      Memories of other road trips to rock climb flashed through his mind. Stopping to buy two different kinds of milk shakes had become the routine. Sharing them during the drive had been the norm. Pulling over to have sex had been his favorite break. Hers, too.

      Whoa. Don’t go there. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

      “Suit yourself, but I’m willing to share.”

      Her lips closed over the end of the straw sticking out of the cup. She sipped. Swallowed.

      His groin twinged. Blood boiled. Sweat coated his palms.

      Damn. He needed to cool off. Quickly. “I’m happy with mine.”

      Cullen snagged his milk shake from the cup holder and sucked a mouthful through the straw. The cold vanilla drink hit the spot. A few more sips and his temperature might return to normal.

      He was much too aware of her—from the way she glanced sideward at him to the crooked part in her hair. Things he shouldn’t notice or care about.

      And he didn’t. Care, that is.

      But now that she was an arm’s distance away, her feminine warmth and softness called to him like a PLB, personal locator beacon, beckoning in the night. Only, no one was lost. Nothing was lost except the impulsive, reckless side of who he used to be. The side Sarah brought out in him. The side he had buried alongside his brother.

      Sure, Cullen missed the sex. What man wouldn’t? But he’d been surviving without it. Without her. Celibacy was the better choice for now. Blaine had lost himself in drugs. Cullen had seen what losing control did to a man, to his brother. He wouldn’t lose himself in Sarah.

      He returned his drink to the cup holder. Maybe if he didn’t say anything to her, she wouldn’t talk to him.

      “Is Hood Hamlet much farther?” Sarah asked.

      So much for that tactic. He gritted his teeth. “Twenty-five minutes if we don’t hit any traffic.”

      “That sounds pretty exact.”

      He’d been checking the clock on the dashboard every five minutes for the past two hours. “I drive this way to the hospital.”

      “You work in Portland, right?” she asked.

      Great, more small talk. “Gresham. Northeast of the city.”

      “A long commute.”

      “Twelve-hour shifts help.”

      “Still a lot of driving,” she said. “Why do you live so far away?”

      He tapped his left СКАЧАТЬ