“You’re beautiful, Rafe.” She gave his cock a firm stroke, pleased when he bowed up, his head thrown back, exposing his throat. She kissed him under his chin, on his throat, on his mouth, vaguely tasting herself.

“Not gonna take me long,” he gritted out.

She kissed down the column of his throat, stroking harder and faster. “Let me see you. Let me see if you’re as beautiful when you come as I imagined.”

That was all it took. He ground out a guttural cry and came all over her hand, his cock pulsing with aftershocks. He shuddered, then relaxed, his lips curving into the most smugly satisfied smile she’d ever seen.

“I think that was an unqualified success,” he murmured, his breathing unsteady.

“I think you’re right.”

He reached over the side of the bed, scooping his T-shirt from the floor, and cleaned off her hand. “You’ll get all sticky.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” she said, more than a little disappointed when he pulled his sweats back up. She settled her cheek against his shoulder, sighing happily when his arms came around her like a vise. “When do we have to wake up?”

“We don’t leave for Santa Rosa until ten, so we can sleep a few more hours. You wore me out.”

She wriggled closer, inordinately pleased. “Go me. Oh, and thank you.”

He laughed quietly. “You are most welcome. And thank you, yourself.”

RENO, NEVADA

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 6:25 A.M.

Amos twisted his clenched hands around the steering wheel, so stressed that he thought he’d throw up. It was barely dawn, but there were cars everywhere. People everywhere. The cars were all different. The signs advertised things he’d never heard of.

He felt like Rip Van Winkle, waking after a twenty-year sleep. Only I’ve been asleep for thirty. He couldn’t begin to imagine how the world had changed. He was afraid to even consider it. It was all too much.

He kept his eyes focused forward as they passed the sign proclaiming Reno only ten miles away. At least he knew where he was now. He’d only been to Reno once, with his grandfather. They’d gone “silver mining,” panning in a creek that Amos, with the awe of a five-year-old boy, had thought was real. His grandfather had found a small pebble-sized chunk of silver and with a deep, affectionate chuckle had handed it to him.

It was now snuggled at the bottom of Amos’s backpack. Worthless, really, from a monetary standpoint, but priceless in memories.

His grandfather would be heartbroken to learn that Pastor had lied to them. That Eden was a fraud. His grandfather had been one of Pastor’s most devoted parishioners, had defended him staunchly. Had raised Amos to respect the pulpit and the man who stood there.

Yes, his grandfather would be devastated about Pastor. Amos could only hope the old man who’d raised him would be proud of him now. I’m trying. But I’m so scared.