His lungs fought to catch a breath, his head spun, his vision darkened at the edges.
Overstimulation, loss of control. These were the things he fought so hard against.
He pulled off his outerwear, playing nonchalant, while inside he was anything but.
It helped to concentrate on sloughing off the layers of clothing, brushing them carefully, then hanging them around the tent to dry.
Seeking calm and focus, he looked wildly around before settling his attention on the tiny camp stove flame.
“Guess you missed me.”
His only response was a tightening of the lips, awkward and a little embarrassed.
Despite the ever-present exhaustion, preparations went faster than they ever had. Practice, he guessed. Or maybe it was that energy buzzing between them, that wide-openwhat’s gonna happen in the bag tonight?
Once they’d settled with their bowls and he’d shoved a couple steaming spoonfuls of food into his mouth, he made himself look her in the eye—a little surprised to see something like hurt there. Had he done that?
“I’m a mess.” His mouth took over, pressing words through damaged vocal cords before he’d had a chance to consider. “This thing. You and me. It’s screwing with my head.”
She blinked, spoon halfway to her mouth, then lowered it and waited.
When he didn’t go on, she took a quick bite, then another. For a few seconds, he watched her tear through her food with a vengeance. Her face got redder as she went, her eyes cast down instead of at him.
Finally, bowl empty, she set it aside and made as if to get up.
“Wait, Angel.” He stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“What,Ford?”
“I didn’t mean to say that it was bad.”
She skewered him with a look. “What did you mean to say?”
“That I…” He puffed out a frustrated sigh. He was bad, really bad, at talking to women. To anyone, actually. “You’ve short-circuited my brain.”
“Me? I short-circuited it?” Her brows went so high they disappeared into her hat and the red on her cheeks solidified into two dark spots. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.Ididn’t do anything to your brain. You did it yourself.”
“I didn’t intend to blame you. I’m just saying that—”
“You’re just saying that I’m responsible for whatever happened last night.” She nodded, once, hard. “Fine. That’s fine. I can take the blame. For last night. For every one of my past relationships being utter, pathetic failures. For being the ball and chain that’s kept you from skiing yourself to safety, right? I’ll take on all of that. Oh, and how about I take the blame for us being here to begin with, shall I? Those guys that almost killed me? My fault. Yeah. And I forced you to kiss me out there last night. The sleeping bag, obviously, was me because I was freezing cold and—”
Coop opened his mouth a few times, but she talked right through whatever he’d been about to say. He deserved this tirade.
She was right, blaming her was ridiculous.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not used to all these…” He waved helplessly between them.
“What?” Her eyes watched him, hot and bright with what looked like desire. “These what?”
“Feelings,” he said on a groan. “Angel, I don’t know how…” He leaned in, reached for her, then pulled away again. “Can we…”
“Yeah. Come here.”
They met in the middle. The kiss was hard, nothing like the soft, voluptuous thing they’d shared before. This was bossy, demanding…although he’d be a liar if he said it was only that. Words couldn’t explain what he felt, but his lips, teeth, and tongue could.
He nipped her bottom lip, slowly released it, and pulled back, just enough to say, against her lips, “None of this…” When she opened her mouth, he went on. “Is your…” Another nip, a swipe of his tongue. “Fault.”
Breathing hard, she pulled away. “Whosefaultis it, then?”
