His eyes slide from my hair to my face to my chest, where my breasts are obvious beneath the thin fabric of my tank top. I have an old sports bra I wear when I go out in the world since it’s easier to hike long distances and run if I need to without my boobs bouncing everywhere. But I don’t sleep in it.
“Don’t be getting any ideas,” I tell him bluntly.
“The only idea in my head right now is that you’re gorgeous.” He appears to mean it. There’s some heat underlying the admiration on his face, but there’s nothing predatory or aggressive.
“Being gorgeous is irrelevant to my life now,” I tell him, pulling off my socks and jeans and covering my lower half with the blanket. “I don’t have sex anymore. And I sleep light with the pistol in easy reach.” I call Molly up to my bed since she was eyeing our normal bed like she was confused about which one she was supposed to get up on. “So don’t get any ideas.”
He gives that choppy burst of amusement. “Okay. Got it.”
I turn off the lantern, and into the dark, Micah adds, “Not sure I’m up to much fuckin’ tonight anyway.”
4
I can’t rememberthe last time I slept through the entire night.
Without fail, I wake up every couple of hours, checking on Molly as well as the door and windows to make sure all is secure. Sometimes I get up and take my gun outside to walk the perimeter.
It makes me feel better. The confirmation that I’m alone. No threats are looming. That the forest around me is absent of human life the way it should be.
Tonight I follow my normal routine. Waking up a couple of times to check Molly and peer into the dark at Micah sleeping on my bed. It’s probably twoish when I actually stand, pulling on my sweatshirt and sliding my feet into my shoes.
Molly lifts her head and jumps off the bed to join me as I silently step outside.
She does her business as I make one circuit around the edge of the clearing, listening and looking for threats.
I’ve almost completed the circle when the soft sound of a throat clearing makes me whirl and aim my gun.
It’s Micah, hanging on to the doorframe to stay upright.
Lowering my gun, I stride toward him. “Get back in bed!”
“What’s goin’ on?” He looks weak and pale—he’s starting to sweat—but his eyes search my face and body urgently.
“I’m just getting some air. Everything’s fine.”
“You shouldn’t be out here in the dark.” He looks almost bad-tempered for the first time since I discovered him on the ground.
“This is my home. I get to do anything I want to do.” I’m overly defensive, but I keep my tone matter-of-fact rather than angry.
“Sure, but seems kinda silly to make yourself a target.” The tension in his face and body has relaxed. His lips lift in a quirk of a smile.
“I’m no one’s target.”
“I believe it.” Still holding on to the doorframe with one hand, he steps aside to let me and Molly back in.
“If you give me back my weapons, I could help.”
“You can barely stay upright. Lie back down.”
He does as I say, moaning low and gruff as he lowershimself back down. But then he says, “I could stay upright if I had to.”
I have to fight not to snicker at his words and dry tone. With a disapproving look, I turn on the lantern and lean over to check his bandages. They’re still secure, and he’s not bleeding through them. That’s good enough for the middle of the night. I’ll check more thoroughly in the morning.
Before I can straighten up, he lifts a hand and strokes his fingertips down the line of my loose hair, which has fallen over my shoulder so that the ends brush his skin.
I jerk straight, pushing my hair back behind my shoulder. “Sorry.” I flush warm, shaking and uncomfortable more at the look in his eyes than the barely there touch.
He’s staring at me with the same hot admiration he was earlier, but there’s more to it now.
