Cunningham Family: Lost And Found Part 1

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-shirt, 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 shiver 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 wishing 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 pushing his knuckle against me. I shift, 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.

I should have known a handyman would be good with his fingers. I'm tempted to ask him to pull over and do this properly. Or even stop at another motel, somewhere where we can take the time to explore each other fully again. Since running from Huntington Manor, neither of us can seem to get enough of each other. And I don't just mean physically-some nights, after he's fallen asleep, I find myself staring at him, just watching him breathe in and out. I don't know what he's doing to me.

I whimper as his finger brushes against my c.l.i.t, and my core clenches. It's not fair that he can bring me to this point so quickly, so easily. That my body reacts so completely. Times like this, when he's touching me, he could ask me to do anything and I know I wouldn't have the strength to refuse him. I'm under the influence of the world's most dangerous, most addictive stimulant. He glances over at me again, and just a single piercing look from those blue eyes sends a bolt of pleasure through me.

I don't want to be at the brink of madness by myself.

It takes more energy than it should to move my hand. Even more to reach over to him. My fingers brush against his thigh, then move slowly up his leg. He's already partially aroused by the time my hand finds him through his jeans, and he hardens further as I curl my fingers around him through the fabric.

"Lou..." he says. His hand tightens on me, and I let out a little gasp. He takes advantage of my distraction, shifting his thigh away from me and slipping his fingers deeper between my legs.

"Just trying to-mmm-return the favor," I manage as my nerves react to the new explorations of his hand.

"Do you want me to crash?" he says with a laugh. "I'm having enough trouble keeping my eyes on the road as it is." He looks back in my direction. "Slide your pants down some more."

They're already around my hips. Does he really want me to strip further?

"Go on," he says when I hesitate.

Like I said, I can't deny him. From the moment I first saw him back at the estate, back when he was just a nameless handyman, something about him stuck with me. And as I got to know him, as I was drawn back to him again and again, that feeling only grew. When he decided to flee with me, when he gave up his job-and his other ties at Huntington Manor-to take me away, it nearly broke me. I can't even look at him now without my entire body flooding with a feeling I'm afraid to name.

I push my curls out of my eyes and look out the window. There aren't any cars on this side, so the coast is clear for the moment.

Ward laughs again. "No one is going to see you."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one who-ahhhh."

"Go on."

I don't hesitate again. I let my feet drop from the dashboard to the floor of the car and I push the jeans down past my knees. Ward chuckles and nudges my thighs farther apart with his wrist. I shouldn't be surprised when he manages to slip a finger inside of me, but I still cry out in shock and pleasure. I clamp my lips shut immediately and throw another worried glance out the window.

"Don't worry," he says. "No one else can hear you. Just me."

Just me. The way he says those words sends a shiver up my spine. The next time he thrusts his finger inside of me, I don't try to hide my moan. I let my head fall back and give my body over to the glory of his touch. My breath comes in short bursts and my body starts to tense. I tighten my grip on the door handle and lift my hips once more.

Ward understands me. Not just what brings my body to life-though he figured that out pretty quickly-but who I am beneath all the screw-ups and the recklessness. He's stuck with me when another guy would have called me a 'crazy b.i.t.c.h' and run the other direction. He's supported me through the madness, even sacrificing his own needs for me. Even now, I can't forget the thing he confessed to me on our final night at Huntington Manor: that Edward Carolson, the estate's new owner, is his biological father. Ward took a job at that place in part because he saw it as an opportunity to forge some sort of relationship with the man.

He gave that up for me. There's no going back to that job now.

His fingers move, and I moan again. I ache, and not only for release-I need this connection to him, this physical link to support the emotional one that seems to grow more intense every day.

The car drifts slowly into the next lane, then toward the shoulder of the highway. My heart leaps, thinking he's going to pull over to finish the job-and kiss me, and look me in the eyes as he makes me come-but then my belly lurches with the truth. The drifting isn't intentional. Ward just isn't paying attention. He seems to notice the second after I do, and his fingers freeze between my legs. He jerks the wheel to the left, swinging us back onto the highway again. Behind us, someone lays on their horn.

I sit partway up, my pulse thumping. "Do we need to-"

"Don't worry. I've got it." He straightens-though his right hand is still between my legs-and tightens his jaw. For a moment, he doesn't do anything but drive, and I can see from the tension in his shoulders that our near accident has shaken him. But he keeps his fingers on me, and after another quarter mile, he relaxes slightly. His mouth curls up in a grin.

"You're going to kill me one day," he says with a laugh. "I got distracted by those sounds you were making."

He twists his finger, and I bite down on the cry of pleasure that rises in my throat.

"Don't fight it," he says, his voice growing rough again. "I want to hear everything."

"I don't want us to end up in a ditch on the side of the road," I say, then gasp as he brushes my c.l.i.t in just the right way.

"Do you have any idea how hard I am right now?" he says. "f.u.c.k, you should hear yourself."

"G.o.d..." I moan as he strokes me. It doesn't matter that we paused briefly. My body is more than ready to pick up right where we left off. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

"Spread your legs some more," he tells me.

I obey.

I'm going to come right here in the pa.s.senger's seat, right here while we whip past palm trees and while the wind is thick with the smell of the ocean. I'm throbbing between my legs, and every new intrusion of his hot, eager finger draws me closer. I know I must be making all sorts of noises because Ward continues to murmur encouragements to me, but honestly I hardly understand a word he says. I hear only the rush of my blood in my ears, blaring like a siren.

It takes me a moment to realize that it actually is a siren. And that's only because I suddenly catch sight of flashing red and blue lights in the side mirror.

I bolt completely upright.

"Ward," I say. "The cops."

Ward's hand jerks away from me. I throw a glance over my shoulder, praying that the police are just rushing toward a call or chasing down a speeding teenager, but the cruiser is right behind us.

"s.h.i.t," Ward says.

I hurriedly yank my jeans back up around my hips. Ward pulls over onto the shoulder of the highway, and all of the humor of a moment ago is gone from his face. There's a knot in my stomach as I b.u.t.ton my fly and straighten my clothes.

They write tickets for stuff like this, don't they? But let's be honest: a couple-hundred-dollar fine isn't the only thing at stake here. I caused a lot of damage at Huntington Manor. I wouldn't be surprised if Edward Carolson wants me arrested. And he's definitely rich and influential enough to have the cops chase me down.

Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. You'll figure this out.

I should have known this day was coming, that I couldn't just run away and escape the consequences of what I've done. I screwed up. Badly.

And if I'm being completely honest with myself, I've been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up for a while now. I've made more than my share of bad decisions over the past couple of years or so.

Sleeping with my project manager while working at my father's nonprofit organization in Thailand? Yeah-done that.

Continuing to lead on that project manager for the better part of a year instead of dealing with my grief? Yup-done that, too.

a.s.suming a false ident.i.ty to take a job at my family's former estate?

Completely flipping out and causing ma.s.sive damage at said former estate?

Seriously, the list goes on and on.