Noah’s arm slides one way and in a maneuver so slick it seems choreographed, I slip to the side, once again barely dodging his grasp.
“You’re too slow,” I taunt as I gain traction and sprint for the field of untamed wildflowers. The white-and-yellow daisies brush against my legs as I push forward. My skirt swishes against my thighs, and I love how the smooth material grazes my skin. Clean air fills my lungs, and my blood beats manically in my veins. Never in my life have I felt so alive. So high that I’m soaring.
“I’m letting you win,” he calls out.
“You are not.” I slow and pivot to watch as he struts behind me. The tall grass and flowers reach his jean-covered legs. For once, his dark hair doesn’t hide his eyes, and I love the spark of naughtiness in them. “You’re sore that you’re losing.”
He flashes the type of grin that encourages tingles. “You’re becoming cocky, Echo.”
I laugh, and the sound causes his smile to widen. Even though he’s slow in his approach, his wide gait closes the distance between us faster than I’d like. I steadily walk backward, unable to tear my eyes off the fluid way he moves. “Now, now. Out of the two of us, we both know you own that title.”
“Own it, wear it, I am it. I’ve never claimed differently.”
Nope, he never has. Noah is exactly who I see. A few months away from Kentucky, away from home, the rough foster kid is evolving into a man.
“Hey, Echo.” Noah gestures with his chin that he has something important to say, and I stall, watching as his gaze falls to my midriff. “Your tank rode up.”
I peer down and in a heartbeat realize my mistake when grass rustles and Noah grabs my waist. In a dizzying circle, my arms wrap around his neck and somehow we both end up on the ground. Me on top. Noah on the bottom. As always, Noah becomes my safe place to land.
With a wink, Noah rolls us, reversing our positions, but I don’t complain. I dream of his body over me. The heavy sensation is familiar and addictive. Noah skims his nose along the side of my neck, and the pleasing tickle causes me to suck in air.
“I won,” he whispers against my skin.
I find myself in a waking dream as I savor his caresses. “Did not.”
Noah presses a kiss to that sensitive spot behind my ear. A stream of warmth floods my body. Longing for more, I twist to expose my neck.
“Did, too.” His hands roam, sliding to my side. I melt and tense at the same time. We’re in the wide open, but I can’t stop the way my body molds to his. My fingers bunch the material of his shirt as I play with the idea of removing it. We’re far from the walking trail, far from the campsite. How many people, besides Noah and me, allow themselves to wander to the point of being lost?
“You said you could find me in five minutes,” I say softly. “That was longer than five minutes.”
“Echo,” he says as he raises his head. His fingers begin this little dance. Moving up then slowly down. Each down is slightly lower and promises very wicked things.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got you beneath me and not a person in sight. That’s winning.”
A peacefulness unfurls within me. I have to agree. That is winning.
I scan our surroundings, and a snippet of concern enters my brain. “Are we forest-ranger-can-find-us lost or one-of-us-better-know-how-to-start-a-fire-with-twigs lost?”
Noah shifts to the side, leaving one leg and arm draped over me. “Look to the left.”
I do, and a nervous shock causes me to jump. The path. That’s the path. How did I not notice? Oh, God, did an entire AARP tour group shuffle past, watching me and Noah make out, and I was clueless? “Are there other people?”
“Relax. There’s no one around. You ran in circles most of the time.”
And here I thought I had been running straight. Guess I’m not as crafty as I thought. “One of these days we really will get lost if we keep straying from the path.”
“Paths are overrated. Besides, I’ll never let you get so far in front of me that I can’t catch you.”
Warm fuzzies engulf me. Noah said he’ll always be around. “Promise?”
“Promise. I’ve got no interest in letting you out of my sight.”
I pluck a daisy off a stem. Because, at times, I playfully test how far I can push Noah, I stick the flower behind his ear. He raises an eyebrow. I grin.
“I like it here,” I tell him. “This has been my favorite stop so far.”
Noah yanks the flower from behind his ear and loops it through on one of my red curls. “Want to sleep here tonight?”
“We are.” I motion with my thumb in the direction of the campsite. “Remember that tent that took us forever to put up?”
“No, I mean sleep in the field. I can grab some blankets, and we can stay here.”
“Walk all the way back to the campground then walk all the way back here?” Honestly, that prospect doesn’t bother me, but it sounds like a fantastic excuse.
“You can stay here, and I’ll get everything.”
Crap. He foiled my plot. “So we’d sleep in the open? Like alongside bugs and other things that have more legs than us crawling on me?” Or worse, things that don’t have legs and hiss and bite and have venom.
Or big things with four legs and fur. The overgrown carnivore with hair and teeth will scare me then eat me. In the end, the whole thing will be tragic.
Noah scratches the stubble on his jaw in an attempt to hide a smirk. “Yeah. The open.”