I haven’t felt so vulnerable in a long time.
Years.
But something inside me wants it as much as fears it.
Even Molly is more alert than normal, on guard and constantly sniffing me to figure out what’s going on.
If I knew, I would tell her. Relieve her concerns.
But I have no idea what to make of it.
It’s not physical. Lust might be strong, but it’s also simple. And there’s an easy remedy for it. This is just as energizing but different. Deeper.
Shit, it’s really stupid, and it’s only going to get me hurt.
I should have gotten rid of Micah on the second day.
“Y’okay?” he asks after we’ve returned to the firepit near my camper.
I’m just standing still with my hand halfway stretched out toward my wood pile, frozen in the middle of preparations to start a fire for the evening.
He asked me the same thing earlier this afternoon—and in the same tone. Soft. Gruff. Hesitant. Like he knows the simple question might pierce through all my defenses.
His sensitivity increases my anxiety. So much that I feel like snapping back in response.
I bite back the instinct and instead murmur, “I’m fine. Just in a weird mood after earlier.”
He washed up like I did after we returned, but he’s already dirty again. Sweaty and unshaven. There’s a dark smear on his forehead—like he wiped off perspiration with an unwashed hand—and there’s a damp patch in the middle of his T-shirt. His jeans are as old and faded asmine, worn so thin the threads are shredding at the knees and up near the belt loops.
He has no right to look so hot right now. No one should in his condition.
But his features are strongly chiseled, and his eyes are that startlingly dark blue, beautiful in the last of the day’s sunlight. His body is big, strong, and tightly molded. He exudes heat and energy and resilience. And his arms…
I swallow hard as my eyes run over the contours of his biceps beneath his short shirt sleeves. He’s got dark hair on his forearms and an old scar slashing down from his elbow to his wrist on the right.
I want his body in a way I thought was erased from my consciousness a long time ago.
But wanting isn’t nearly as important as surviving. I force down the surge of physical desire and focus on what he’s about to say.
Which is to mutter, “I’ll leave if you want me to.”
“What?”
“I can leave.”
“I know you can leave, but why are you suggesting it right now?”
“You know why. You’re not sure you want me here.”
Shit. He’s way too perceptive. Men aren’t supposed to see under the surface that way. “I’ve told you I’m used to being on my own, so it’s strange to have someone else here. But I’m not kicking you out yet. At least not until you’re fully recovered.”
He nods slowly, his expression relaxing. “Okay. Let’s get the fire goin’ then. I’m already hungry.”
By the timewe get the fire going and heat up my grill pan, it’s nearly dark. The forest is quiet, and so are we as we grill eggs and slices of ham and then toast bread.
The meal is good. Micah obviously enjoys it as much as I do. Molly sits at attention and happily accepts the bites we offer her.
Micah doesn’t force conversation, so I’m able to relax. My weird buzz from earlier is fading. This is fine. As far as companions go, I could do a lot worse than Micah. And I don’t want him to die from risking travel before he’s fully recovered from the gunshot wound.
