Part 1 (1/2)

Lost and Found.

By Ember Casey.

CHAPTER ONE.

”I can smell it,” Ward says, his eyes lighting up and his hands tightening on the steering wheel. ”f.u.c.k me, I can smell it!”

He's wearing one of those grins that makes my insides feel like mush and tilting his head toward the open window of the car. The wind pushes his auburn hair up in every direction, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's too busy breathing in that unmistakable briny scent that means we're getting closer to our destination, that we're almost to the ocean.

I smile to myself and reach my hand out my own window. The air presses against my palm, and the sun beats down on my skin. I wiggle my fingers, trying to soak up the warmth. Some of my curls have come loose from my ponytail again, and they whip across my face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, following Ward's example and tasting the first hint of our destination on the wind. By my estimation, we're still an hour away from the beach, but the evergreens on either side of the highway have already started to give way to palm trees and marshlands. I hear the screech of a bird overhead, and I don't even have to open my eyes to know it's a seagull.

I love the beach. Always have. But my current excitement has nothing on Ward's. He's been grinning like that all day, and I doubt he can even feel his cheeks anymore.

I lift my lids slightly and peek at him from beneath my lashes. He's still leaning toward the window, and I bet it's taking all of his willpower to keep his head inside the car and his eyes on the road. It melts me, this strangely boyish side of him-or maybe it's just the way the afternoon sun is. .h.i.tting his face, setting off the strong line of his chin and the thin layer of red-brown stubble that's sprouted along his jaw and cheeks. Something flutters in my chest. Back at Huntington Manor, he kept himself clean-shaven, but there wasn't exactly time to grab toiletries during our mad escape from the estate I once called home. While this new look of his is different, there's something undeniably attractive-undeniably rugged-about it, and my whole body warms as my gaze lingers on him.

He turns his head slightly, his eyes flicking to me before returning to the road. ”What?”

I've been caught. I open my eyes fully.

”Nothing,” I say lightly. But he catches my smile.

”What?” he asks again with a laugh. ”Come on, Lou.”

I prop my feet up on the dashboard and push my hair out of my eyes. We're starting to pa.s.s billboards for beachier places now, and I try to focus on the pastel-colored advertis.e.m.e.nts-Charlie's Crab Hut! Aquatic Funland! Spotter's Dolphin Tours!-and ignore the heat flooding my neck. We've been on the road together for a few days now, but he still manages to make me fl.u.s.tered sometimes. Like when he uses my real name.

Back at Huntington Manor, he knew me as Addison Thomas. I had to lie about my ident.i.ty to get a job there. If anyone had known I was Louisa Cunningham-of the disgraced Cunningham family who once owned the elaborate estate-well... things would have gotten complicated.

I wince. At the end of the day, things did get complicated. Not only do they know who I am, but they know I caused substantial damage and chaos at the property. Even if they were willing to forgive the fact that I lied about my name, they're not going to forget the stunt I pulled with the sprinkler system. I'm sure I cost them substantial amounts of money.

And not only that, but I ran away from my brother. Calder and I haven't exactly been on easy terms since our father's death, and I know he won't understand why I felt the need to trick my way into a job at the estate. Or why I didn't want to see him when he showed up at the gate to drag me off. He's never really understood any of it.

But I don't want to think about the stupid things I've done. Not right now.

”Well?” Ward says, reminding me that I'm supposed to be answering his question. ”Don't think I'm letting you off the hook.”

I look back at him-at the wide curve of his mouth, at the hard muscles of his body that are only barely contained by his flimsy T-s.h.i.+rt, at every bright, s.e.xy inch of him-and all thought of Huntington Manor slips away.

”I just think it's cute how excited you are,” I say.

He makes a face. ”Cute?”

”What's wrong with 'cute'?”

”So I'm... what? A baby bunny? Exactly what every guy wants to hear.”

I laugh. ”You know what I mean.”

”All I know is that if you think I'm cute, I must be doing something wrong.” He shoots me another look. ”Maybe I should fix that.”

”You're taking this way too seriously.”

He doesn't answer. Instead, he reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh.

”What are you doing?” I ask.

”Fixing this.”

”Oh, yeah?” I say. ”And how exactly do you plan to do that?”

The corner of his mouth curls up, and I know I'm in trouble even before he slides his hand forward. His fingers only brush lightly against my jeans, but it's enough to send a s.h.i.+ver all the way up my leg. I start to pull my feet down off the dashboard, but he clamps his hand down on my thigh.

”Stay there,” he says, and there's a wicked edge to his tone that I don't want to disobey. His grip loosens, and his fingers dance across the inside of my thigh before drifting slowly up my leg.

I try to ignore the heat that's already building in my lower abdomen. After all, we're in a moving car. It's not exactly a place I want to get worked up.

But it's hard to resist Ward's touch. Or to keep myself from wis.h.i.+ng I'd been wearing a skirt when I ran from Huntington Manor. I escaped with only the handful of things on my body: my jeans, a tank top, a single set of undergarments, and-thank goodness-my wallet, which I'd shoved in my pocket. The only thing protecting me from the full force of Ward's skilled hand is the pair of jeans I've been wearing for the last several days.

But as his hand continues to move up my leg, I'm forced to admit that the denim is a pretty useless barrier. The fabric presses against my skin, doing little to protect me from the heat of his fingers, and crazy sensations move through my body. The higher he goes, the closer he moves to the place where my legs meet, the dizzier I get. By the time his hand reaches its destination, my breathing is shallow, and I can't help but let out a whimper as he presses his thumb against the thick seam that runs just over my most sensitive spot.

”So I'm cute, huh?” he says, his voice low. His fingers move back and forth over the denim, rubbing the seam against me, and I wiggle in my seat.

”No,” I manage to choke out.

”Mm. I'm not sure you've learned your lesson yet.”

This is getting increasingly dangerous. I don't know how I feel about him getting me off in broad daylight in the middle of a moving vehicle. I shoot a glance out the window. There's no one in the lane next to us right now, but that could change very quickly.

”You're not cute,” I say breathlessly. ”Not cute at all. You're very s-ahhhh.” Ward is pus.h.i.+ng his knuckle against me. I s.h.i.+ft, trying to get away from that delicious pressure, but I can't seem to find the right position, buckled in the seat as I am.

”You don't sound very convincing,” Ward says with a dark laugh. He moves his hand again.

”You-oh-aren't cute. You're hot. s.e.xy. Mouth-ahh-mouthwateringly gorgeous.”

His hand pauses. ”Mouthwateringly gorgeous. I can deal with that.”

I relax slightly, thinking his a.s.sault is over, but he throws a devilish look at me.

”Take off your pants.”

I stare at him. ”What?”

”You heard me. Undo your pants.”

It doesn't matter that we're in a car. Or that Ward should keep his attention on the road and that I should probably be worried about pa.s.sing drivers getting an unexpected show. Heat pulses through me at the command, and I find myself reaching for my fly. I undo the zipper and push them down. I'm not wearing any panties. I washed my only pair in the sink this morning, and they're currently drying on the backseat.

He doesn't even wait for me to get the jeans to my thighs. He slips his fingers between my legs as soon as I'm showing skin. I squirm on the seat, parting my thighs to give him better access. My head falls back against the headrest and my hand closes around the handle on the door, as if somehow that'll keep me grounded. The wind continues to whip my hair across my face through the open window, but I don't bother trying to push the strands out of my eyes again. I hardly notice anything but the growing ache between my legs. It doesn't matter that we spent last night devouring each other. My body already longs for his again, and I won't deny him.