I give my toes a little wiggle, glad I went for that pedicure before the trip. “I can definitely feel them.”
“Good. Let me know if that changes and I’ll rewrap it.” He stands up and puts the backpack on again, which on any other man would look ridiculous—a backpack with no shirt. But on him, wow, yum. He holds out one hand and pulls me up to my feet, then says, “All right. Let’s go.”
Let’s go? There’s no way I can walk on this thing. I’m just about to tell him as much when he reaches behind meand lifts me into the air so he’s carrying me bridegroom-over-the-threshold-style, and starts down the path.
My entire body flames with lust and embarrassment and I let out a little “Ooh!” followed by, “Well, then … okay.”
Not knowing what to do with my hands, I fold them neatly on my lap. “No, wait. Listen, I can’t let you carry me all this way.”
“Sure you can.”
“Nope, I can’t. I’m an adult human. We’re not light. Well, some women are, I suppose. You know, those tiny waif women, like Lisa Loeb. I met her once. Very nice. She’s so little I wanted to pick her up and put her in my pocket. If you were stranded with Lisa Loeb, I’d say no problem to the carrying thing. But I’m not Lisa Loeb. I’m much sturdier. And taller, for that matter.”
He narrows his eyes a little and shakes his head. “I think you’re grossly overestimating how big you are.”
“I know exactly how big I am,” I answer, feeling somewhat indignant even though it’s possible he’s trying to compliment me. “I know the measurements of every part of my body. Well, the ones you need to order clothes online, anyway. And I’m not small. At some stores, I’m not even medium. I’mlarge.”
“Well, those stores are stupid,” he says, shifting me a little in his arms.
Okay, so he really might be trying to compliment me. That felt nice, actually. “Theyarestupid. I only shop at them when things are heavily discounted.”
“That’ll show ‘em.”
We get to a steeper part of the trail and he turns to the side, grips me tighter, and slows down a little.
I stare down at the path ahead, noticing that we’re about to come to a particularly difficult area. “Listen,maybe I can try to walk down this bit on my own. I’d hate for you to lose your balance because of me. I could scootch.”
He gives me an amused look. “Scootch?”
“Yes, on my bum. You know.”
“I can picture it, and in my mind it’s really slow.”
“What if I hop?”
He grunts a little, then says, “I don’t think hopping down it is going to be possible.”
Okay, he’s probably right about that. Dammit. His skin is hot against my arm and he smells like cedar after the rain. How can he smell this good when he’s been hiking all day in the jungle? I know for a fact I’ve got a little alphabet soup-level B.O. going on. The thought of it makes me desperate to get out of his arms. “I haven’t tried. Maybe Ishouldhop. I used to skip a lot as a child. I played a lot of hopscotch with my sister. It’s worth a shot.”
“It’ll be fine. I promise not to drop you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just … don’t want you to get hurt too.”
“I won’t.”
Well, that settles it then. He won’t. Simple as that. There’s no use trying to change his mind. He’s going to carry me all the way to that house while I just lay here in his arms. God, those survivor women that live there are going to think me so pathetic. Feeling completely useless, I stare around at the trees as they pass by. Then after a few minutes, I risk a glance at him up close like this, noticing that he’s got a tiny scar on his cheekbone. I can’t help but wonder what it’s from. Probably some woman with a big ring punched him when he broke it off with her. Oooh, maybe he cheated and that’s why she hit him! Only he doesn’t seem like the cheating type. The type to make youcompletely insane on a daily basis, but cheating? I can’t see it.
Mac’s eyes dart to mine and I immediately look away even though it’s too late. He saw me staring.
Oh God, this is so embarrassing.
And wonderful.
And just totally GAH!
I clasp my hands together to stop myself from wrapping my arms around his neck and leaning my head against his collar bone, but wow, do I ever want to do those things. Which is why I need to get him to put me down. I’ll be a complete mess by the time we get to the beach. A completely hot and bothered, wild and free sex maniac, even with the injuries. Not that he’s likely to reciprocate with a sweaty orange leech of a person who can’t even manage to walk downhill without screwing it up.
No, I have to get away from him. Now. “What about this? You could leave me here until I can walk again. I should be fine in a couple of hours, no?” I say, even though I know for a fact I won’t be able to walk on this ankle for days. Not far, anyway.
