"What is it?" Neve's watching me now. Notebook forgotten.
"Chatter." I keep my voice level. "Normal traffic."
She's too smart to believe me but doesn't push. Just goes back to her work while I continue scanning. Gathering intelligence. Planning contingencies for when the storm clears and we have to move.
The afternoon passes with us circling each other through the cabin. She works on her notes. I maintain equipment. The space forces proximity we're both trying to avoid. Hands brush when passing coffee. Shoulders touch in narrow passages. Standing too close at the sink while washing dishes together.
Each contact is charged. Electric. Building toward something neither of us is ready to acknowledge.
By evening, tension has wound so tight I can hear it humming in the silence between us. She's curled in the chairwith her notebook, making sketches. I'm pretending to read weather reports while actually watching her bite the end of her pen with unconscious sensuality that's driving me insane.
"I need to wash up." She stands abruptly. Escapes to the bathroom.
Water sounds start almost immediately. The shower running. Movement. My imagination supplies details I don't need—her stripping, testing temperature, water moving over skin I remember touching. Soap sliding over curves I tasted.
I'm gripping the table edge before I realize it. Knuckles white. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to walk through that door and take what I want. Nothing's stopping me except the thin barrier of wood and the knowledge that she'll come to me soon enough. They always do when the hunger gets sharp enough.
She emerges wearing my shirt. Just the shirt. Sleeves rolled up. Hem hitting mid-thigh. Hair damp and loose around her shoulders. Skin flushed. She looks soft. Vulnerable. Mine.
Catches me staring. "What?"
Everything. You wearing my clothes. How badly I want to taste the drops still on your collarbone. The knowledge that you're probably naked under that shirt and it's taking everything I have not to verify.
"Nothing." My voice is strained. "You should get to bed."
Her eyes hold mine. Challenge sparking in their depths. "So should you."
"Eventually."
"Magnus." She says my name like a question and a dare both. "We can't keep doing this."
"Doing what?" I know exactly what she means but I want to hear her say it.
"Circling each other. Acting like there's not..." She gestures between us. Frustrated. "This."
I stand. Move toward her because staying away isn't working anymore. "You mean the attraction that's been building since you crashed into my plane?"
"Yes." She doesn't back down. Holds her ground even as I close the distance. "That."
We're inches apart now. Close enough that I can smell soap and her underneath. See her pulse fluttering in her throat. Watch her pupils dilate as I invade her space without touching.
"What do you want me to do about it?"
"I don't know." Her voice drops. Honest. Raw. "But I can't sleep. Can't think. Can't focus on anything except how much I want you to touch me again."
My hand lifts. Cups her jaw. Thumb stroking the pulse point that's racing under her skin. "Neve."
"Magnus." My name on her lips breaks something in me. Some carefully maintained wall between want and action.
I kiss her. Slower than before. Still hungry but exploring instead of consuming. Learning the taste of her mouth. The way she responds when I angle her head just right. How she makes this sound in her throat when I deepen the kiss gradually instead of taking immediately.
She melts into me. Hands coming up to grip my shoulders. Meeting my kiss with matching hunger. No hesitation. No second-guessing. Just pure response that tells me everything I need to know about how much she wants this too.
I break the kiss. Pull back just enough to watch her face. Both of us breathing hard. Her hands still fisted in my shirt. My thumb still stroking her jaw.
"Last chance to walk away." The words are rough. Direct. "Once we do this, I won't let you go."
"Good." Her voice is fierce. "I'm angry and scared and I want you so much I can't breathe."
