Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) Read Online Free Page A

through my heavy coat. “He’s trapped there, Cam. Maybe he can move between worlds, but the only place he can go back to is 1977. If… West … hasn’t returned, then Troy can’t. West would… find a way, if there was one.”
    I knew it was difficult for him to speak his name. I steadied my voice, brushing away the willful tears that slid down my wind-chapped cheeks. “Thank you, Logan. And you’re not an… a-hole.”
    He chuckled, gripping me even tighter. “Sorry, I know you hate it when I swear.”
    “I’m not your boss.”
    We stood under the lamplight for a few silent minutes. I lifted my head away from his shoulder, meeting his stare. His dark eyes searched mine, intent on reading something that I wasn’t sure was even there.
    “I want to kiss you.”
    My words, right before our first kiss, were whispered from him with the same pleading trepidation.
    I squeezed my eyes shut, taking a steadying breath. Am I that girl? The girl who constantly needs to be rescued, coddled, and protected? Would kissing Logan betray my love for West, a love that would surely never die?
    Reaching for him on my tip-toes, I cupped his f lushed face in both of my hands and sighed. I focused on a snow flake that landed on the dark shoulder of his coat.
    His hands slid under my jacket and around to my back as he lifted me against his mouth. I permitted his kiss for a few seconds, but the taste of his breath soon had me responding. His lips, so familiar, moved over mine, urging. I slid my fingers over his neck, protesting softly against his open mouth.
    The moment his hands skimmed my sides, I stiffened. His fingers moved to touch my stomach, exploring and tender, pressing against my tightened skin. Gasping, I broke from his kiss and stepped back.
    His heavy-lidded gaze was apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
    “No, I’m just…,” I struggled to steady my breaths. “I don’t want this… I’m not ready for this…,”
    “I have to… touch you, to know you’re real, and I’m real, and that I’d never hurt you,” he swallowed hard, looking toward the house. “The nightmares never end. Each time, each place… each time I… hurt you, I feel like I lose a piece of myself… of my sanity. Last night was the worst… I…,” he stopped short, shaking his head.
    The pain in his voice was evident. I crumbled, reaching for him. “Oh, my God, Logan,” I gathered him into my arms. “Talk to me, please. I’m not afraid of you. Let’s go in the house.”
    “You’re not afraid of… of me? Of the things I’ve done?”
    “It wasn’t you. It wasn’t you, ” I repeated, hushed, kissing his cheeks. An errant tear met my lips, and I pressed it away. “I still… I’ll always…,” I tried to even out my shaking voice.
    He met my lips again softly. “Come in. Let’s talk. I’ll make you dinner.”
    I nodded, walking hand in hand with him to the front door.

Chapter Three
    The inside of the Logan’s house smelled like Mrs. Rush’s favorite cranberry-scented candles for as long as I could remember. I took my coat off and hung it on the banister leading upstairs, a routine action stemming from years of visits to the Rush House. The colonial was built in the early nineties, as my family’s was, but the interior reflected Carol’s feminine touch where as my father preferred décor in only two categories- plain or plaid.
    “Fajitas?” Logan called from the depths of the open refrigerator. “I think we have everything we need for them.”
    “Sure. Thanks,” I answered, standing awkwardly by the counter. “What can I do?”
    Logan turned, depositing tomatoes, shredded lettuce, and sour cream to the granite countertop. “You can listen to me. I promise I won’t go into detail. I don’t want you to lose your appetite.”
    I shivered, unable to resist recalling one particular nightmare in a shadowy dungeon, circa 1533.
    “Refer to us in third person. It makes it easier,” I walked to the kitchen sink, taking