Running Wilde (Wilde Security, #4)

She’d never seen Preston angry before. He’d been so mild mannered, which was why she’d chosen him. He’d seemed like a safe bet, but the way he’d ripped up the hotel room was a vivid reminder of a past she wanted to forget. She’d called off the engagement right then and, although she’d wanted to run from him, too, her friendship with Libby and the fact she’d been a bridesmaid had made her stick.

She’d returned to the reception like nothing had happened and drowned her sorrows in revelry and champagne. She tended to be a mopey drunk, though, and when the reception had started winding down, she’d staggered onto the beach to do just that—mope over her horrible taste in men.

Why was she was only attracted to the psychos?

She watched Vaughn walk along the edge of the road, searching for… she didn’t know what, and then she remembered him stumbling toward her that night on the beach, obviously having had one too many drinks himself. She remembered how sweet she’d thought he was for his drunken attempts to cheer her up. Remembered how hot she’d burned the first time they’d kissed under that dancing palm tree…

Okay, maybe she wasn’t only attracted to psychos.

She was more attracted to Vaughn than she’d ever been to any man in her life, and he was a good man with a good heart—once you got past the solid wall of brooding, intimidating intensity he erected around himself. If she had the luxury, he was the kind of man she’d want for the long haul. Only, she wasn’t going to get long haul. She was lucky to get right now.

But oh, how she wished circumstances could be different.

“Over here,” Vaughn called as he left the road, breaking through her thoughts.

She followed him down an embankment and found him circling a small clearing, picking up twigs and branches as he went. “Is this where we’ll camp?”

“Yeah, it’s a good spot.”

She eyed the clearing. A good spot? All she saw was a bare patch of leaf-strewn earth. What exactly was good about it?

Her doubt must have shown on her face, because he added, “It’s flat, dry, has a good canopy overhead in case Mother Nature wants to be a bitch and dump on us. Plus, we can see the road, but anyone driving by won’t be able to see us.”

The idea of staying here overnight gave her the sensation of ants crawling over her arms. She told herself bedding down here was pretty much the same thing as walking along the road—either way, she wasn’t leaving the woods tonight—but that didn’t help. She hugged herself. “I don’t know about this. Maybe we should—”

“What? You already pointed out it’s getting cold, and we still have a long hike. We’ll be better off staying put and warm until the sun comes up.”

She grumbled. “I hate that I was right.”

“C’mon.” He crouched down, cleared away the dead leaves from a spot on the ground, and started layering the sticks he’d collected into a teepee. “Haven’t you ever been camping?”

“No. The closest I’ve come is—” Realizing how much she was about to reveal about herself, she stopped.

He glanced up. “Is…?”

“Nothing.”

His expression said he suspected it was more than nothing, but he didn’t call her out. Instead, he set about making the teepee. When he finished, he grabbed his bag from her and dug through it.

“Now what?” she asked. “Do you rub two rocks together?”

“I could. Or…” He found what he was looking for and held it up. “Use a lighter.”

“You’re not a smoker. Why do you have a lighter in your bag?”

“Never leave home without one.”

She found a downed log, sat, and propped her chin in her hand. “I thought it was Tabasco sauce you never left home without.”

He reached into the bag again and pulled out a plastic bottle. “Have that, too.”

“That’s not going to start a fire anywhere but in your gut.”

He chuckled and slid it back in the bag. “Now you sound like my buddy Quinn. He thinks I’m crazy for liking the stuff.” As he spoke, he crawled back over to the teepee and flicked the lighter. Within seconds, the small pieces of wood underneath caught. He blew on it, fanning the flames until the whole thing was engulfed.

Sage scooted closer and warmed her hands over the flames. The heat was delicious, a wonderful reprieve from the February chill.

Tonya Burrows's books