Free Torch: The Wildwood Series by Karen Erickson

bunch of pine trees. Maybe he was the drunk one.
    “You’d think after living here my entire life I wouldn’t notice either.” Wren shook her head. “But I always can. They’re my favorite part of living here. If I moved, where would I find a tree that smells as good as the ones that surround my hometown?”
    “If you moved to Oregon or Washington, you could find plenty of pine trees,” he pointed out as they drew closer to his car. He pulled the keyless remote out of his front pocket and hit the button to unlock the doors.
    “True. I don’t think I want to go that far though.”
    He opened the door for her. “You want to leave Wildwood? Is that what you’re telling me?”
    She climbed into his car, her gaze meeting his once she was settled in. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve been thinking about it.”
    Huh. That would change a few things. If she was leaving, then he wouldn’t have to worry about her seeking something long term. They could mess around for that brief period of time until she left. No harm, no foul.
    He liked the sound of that. A lot.
    Slamming the passenger door, he jogged around the front of the car and opened his door, sliding in behind the steering wheel. He started the car, threw it into Reverse, and was about to back out of the spot when Wren reached out and rested her hand on his arm.
    Tate met her gaze, taking in her grave expression, how serious her eyes looked. “What’s up?”
    “I’ve not told anyone that I want to leave Wildwood. I can barely admit it to myself.” She laughed, but it was weak at best. “It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. No firm plans are in place or anything.”
    He remained quiet, waiting for her to continue. But when she didn’t, he said, “Your secret is safe with me.”
    She squeezed his arm, and he felt that seemingly innocent touch like she’d gripped hold of his cock and stroked him into oblivion. He was hard and aching, just like that.
    “Thank you, Tate,” she whispered.
    “You’re welcome, Dove,” he whispered back.
    Wren didn’t even protest the nickname.
    T HIS TIME, SHE didn’t fall asleep in Tate’s car. No, she remained wide-eyed and completely awake, which meant she wasn’t as drunk as she originally thought. He had an unopened bottle of water sitting in the center console, and she’d drunk half of it in the first five minutes of their drive.
    She was trying her best to sober up. For what, she wasn’t exactly sure. But anticipation hung in the air between them, like a crackling energy that made her blood hot and her skin tingle. In the hushed confines of his car, it felt as if they were sitting extra close to each other, his thighs spread wide in that way guys sat, his knee reachable. She could reach out and rest her hand on his knee, if she wanted. Slide her hand up the inside of his thigh. Maybe even rub the front of his jeans and see if he had an erection or not . . .
    Her cheeks went hot just thinking about it, and she was glad it was dark. Surely he’d ask her why her face was so red. He’d done that sort of thing before.
    “You awake?” he asked.
    “Yes. Why do you ask?” God, could he see her blush even in the dark? How embarrassing.
    “Last time you were so quiet in my car you were snoring and whispering my name in your sleep,” he said.
    She went completely still. “I did not.”
    “You did too. You said my name, and when I asked you who you were dreaming about, you said me.” His voice was smug, and she sort of wanted to hit him.
    Well, not really. The urge to grab his junk was stronger.
    “I have never dreamed about you in my life.” Lies.
    He chuckled. “It’s okay to admit it. I’ve dreamed about you.”
    “You have?” She closed her eyes and thunked her head against the back of the seat. Could she sound any squeakier?
    “Oh, yeah. Naked, tangled-up-in-each-other-and-the-sheets type dreams.” He hit the brakes and came to a stop at an intersection, turning to look at her.