“Hey. Um.” He pulled in a shaky breath. “Should we just set up the…” He swallowed the wordbedand opted for something less intimate sounding. “Sleeping area out here? Keep each other warm?” He cleared his throat. “The three of us, I mean.”
“Good idea.” She stood to help him spread out the things, although they did more bumping in the dark than was useful. It lightened the air, though, gave a little levity to an atmosphere that was bound to get heavier before his story ended.
By the time they’d put the covers out and she’d settled under them, he half regretted the suggestion. He’d be warmer, all right, but he didn’t trust his body—or his brain—not to do something stupid.
“You staying out there?”
“Oh. Um… No.” He crouched, pulled off his boots and slid in under the piled-up bag and fur and blankets she held open. Once in, he settled onto his back and looked straight up at the stars. Beside him, she seemed tense, suspended. Was she even under the covers or had she scooted out to make room for him? “You warm?”
“I’m fine.”
He opened his mouth to protest and shut it.
“Oh, wow.”
He was on his side before she’d finished. “What? What is it? You okay? Hear something?”
Her barely voicedoooohsounded more amazed than worried, and slowly, his muscles released.
“The stars. There are so many of them.”
He lay back again and took in the night sky, trying to see it the way she was. It wasn’t the same sky folks saw in the lower forty-eight, or even in Schink’s Station. It was bigger, closer, brighter, throbbing with life and mystery. In a place this empty, with no other lights, no neighbors—even distant—the stars and planets were more accessible, somehow, more real, pulsing with warmth and light and possibility. Like looking out your window to see a neighbor’s lamp on at three in the morning.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” He paused, remembering the way he’d seen the sky after running here. The way he’d looked at everything. “It didn’t seem beautiful ten years ago. I mean, I’d seen the sky here before, but never alone, without a light around. Without a soul to share it. On the way here, running for my life.”
“Yeah?” The word was gentle. “Kinda like now, then?”
“No.” His scalp prickled. “Nothing like now.”
“Yeah? What’s different?”
Everything. Every single thing.“You.”
She caught her breath and rolled toward him. “Me?”
He didn’t know what to say now that it was out, but she had to hear the harshness of his breathing. Christ, she had to know he wanted her.
“Come here, Elias.”
Shock sparked through him, but he turned toward her. It took them a while to find each other in the dark. Those few fumbling seconds tore at his nerves and ramped up his heartbeat, turned the dull bellyache he hadn’t even noticed into something hot and frenzied.
“Come here,” she said again, only this time her hand was on his coat and her voice was the low, pained groan of ice scraping ice without finding purchase.
And, dammit, he wanted purchase.
Though their lips barely touched, the sizzle could have lit up the night. None of this made sense—not the current running through them, not the deep, burning need, nor this feeling that heknewher. And she knew him.
Her lips moved, enough to make this a kiss instead of an innocent touch, but just that slight friction made him hard as nails. And hungry.
He opened his mouth under hers, sought her soft, silky tongue, breathed, taking in the little things he hadn’t had time to notice when they’d lost it against the tree. She wasn’t quite familiar, but she was…rightin a way he couldn’t recall feeling before. Her smell, her sounds, the easy way her body moved against his. His hands were already on her, gripping whatever they could find, frustrated by all the clothes.
Her kiss was too gentle to quell the need zapping through him. He grabbed, tugged, until she’d rolled half over him. He tried to pull her all the way, but she stopped, out of breath.
“Wait. Wait.” She gasped and leaned back.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. I forgot about your side.”
