“Excuse me for having survival instincts!” I hiss, unamused.
Another crack.Closer this time.
I grab her arm. “We’re leaving. Come on.”
I don’t wait for another sound. Ihaulher out of the truck like we’re in a full-blown horror movie, my survival instincts fully engaged.
Lucy stumbles, half laughing, half protesting as I practically drag her toward the cabin. “Harris—oh my God—are you seriously—”
“Yes! Yes, Iamseriously! Pick up your feet before I throw you over my shoulder.”
Anothersnapof a branch.
I don’t look back. I don’t want toseewhatever the hell is out there. I grip Lucy’s wrist tighter andrun.
She’s gasping through her laughter. “You—you do realize we’re probably runningtowardit, right?”
“Do not say that!” I yell, fumbling with the cabin door. My fingers are shaking far too much to get a good grip on the handle or insert the key.
Lucy leans in, breathing on my neck. “What if it’s already inside?”
I stop. My entire body locks up.
Sheloses it.
I whirl on her. “This isnotfunny, Lucy.”
She’scryingwith laughter now. “It’s alittlefunny. Baby bit.”
I yank the door open, shove her inside, and slam it shut behind us, chest heaving, back braced against it. “You arenevertalking me into outdoor sex again.”
“Do I have to remind you that we were just getting started?”
“No.” I shake my head vehemently. “Not happening. My dick is so flaccid right now.”
She bites down on her lower lip to entice me. “Bet I could change your mind.”
I scowl, crossing my arms. “Nope.”
She steps closer, fingertips dragging along my arm. “Not even if I—”
A loud thump hits the side of the cabin.
Iscream.
She doubles over, gasping while I clutch my chest like I went into cardiac arrest. “You—” she wheezes. “Youactuallyscreamed.”
Of course I fucking screamed! I’m scared, goddammit! I glare, panting. “I—that was amanlyyell.”
“That’s what you’re calling it?” She shakes her head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No, babe—that was ahigh-pitched terrorscream.”
When I open my mouth to argue, Lucy shocks me by dropping to her knees in front of me, hands smoothing up my thighs. She runs her palms over my jeans, nails tickling me through the denim.
“Jesus Christ, Lucy.” I back up so fast I nearly knock into a table. “Now isnotthe time.”
My back hits the front door.
“Oh?” she laments. “You don’t look very ...conflicted.”
