“About not leaving me behind.” I poke at my fish with a fork, avoiding his gaze. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
One word. That’s all he gives me. But I hear it clear as day—the smile threaded through that single syllable, the exhale that follows like he’s been holding his breath. Relief, maybe. Or something close to it.
The fish crackles in the pan. I flip mine, watching the golden-brown skin crisp and bubble. He leans forward, checking his fish, and his shoulder brushes mine. Neither of us moves away.
“You think they’re okay?” I ask.
“I told you, Cameron won’t?—”
“I mean the fish.” I can’t keep the laugh in.
His mouth twitches. “Probably.”
I roll my eyes, nudging him with my elbow. “Who’s the one worrying now?”
We eat in silence, the fish flaking apart under our forks. It’s good—better than good, actually. The salt and char from the fire, the tender flesh. I devour mine quickly, hunger overriding any need for manners.
“Good?” He licks the last bit of salt from his fingertips.
“Very.” After days of canned food, fresh fish is the best.
I shiver as the flames die down to glowing embers, no longer throwing enough heat to keep the evening chill at bay. Washing my clothes doesn’t feel so smart anymore.
“Cold?” Julien asks.
“A little.” I rub my arms. “I’ll be fine.”
He stands and grabs another blanket from the back of the couch. Without a word, he pulls his shirt off, revealing the muscled expanse of his chest and stomach. I force myself not to stare, but it’s a losing battle. His skin is a tapestry of stories, with several scars below his ribs and another jagged line across his shoulder.
The low light of the embers catches the ridges of his abs, casting shadows that make my mouth go dry. He’s handsome and sexy in that dangerous way that makes smart women do stupid things.
He settles on the sofa in the corner where the armrest meets the back cushions, spreading his legs. “Come here.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
“Body heat.” He pats the space between his thighs, voice dropping to that low register that makes my skin prickle. “Unless you’d rather turn into a popsicle.”
“Why not the fire?”
“It could attract people or zombies. Better to keep it out.”
I hesitate. The cabin feels colder by the second, the towel offers minimal protection against the chill seeping through the walls, and that almost-kiss at the lake still burns in my memory, making every nerve ending hypersensitive.
Screw it.
I cross to him on unsteady legs, turning my back as I lower myself between his thighs. His arms encircle me immediately, guiding me to lean back against his bare chest. The blanket follows, settling over us both as he tucks it around our bodies with deliberate care.
“Better?” His breath tickles my ear, warm against its shell.
I nod.
His skin is like a furnace against my back, radiating heat that seeps into my cold-stiffened muscles, and my shiveringgradually subsides, replaced by a different kind of trembling as his fingers begin tracing idle patterns on my bare thigh.
The touch is feather-light, almost innocent, but it sends electricity racing up my spine.
“This okay?” His fingers continue their journey, tracing the curve of my elbow to the sensitive inside of my wrist where my pulse flutters like a trapped bird.
