A team of doctors—husband and wife—had sectioned off a portion of the hospital, keeping themselves and a handful of patients safe from the outside world. But eventhatcouldn’t last forever, and within months of Libby’s awakening, the couple perished in a zombie intrusion.
So basically, Libby has lost everyone, and Nick is the only spot of hope in this dark, dreary world.
I sigh. Despite Dawson’s romantic admission in the treehouse—and itwasromantic—I bristle at the idea of my fate hinging on someone else.
“So,” I say softly. “I’ve been thinking some more about The Fix.” This is delicate ground for Libby; the topic has been a source of conflict since the invasion. Libby lives in constant suspicion that Nick knows more than he’s letting on, and Nick spends his days furious and bitter that Libby doesn’t trust him. Unless he really is lying.
A strand of hair falls over Dawson’s forehead as he bends down, still miming the whole wood chopping thing. He lifts his chin, flicks the hair from his face, and fixes his heated gaze on me. “Oh yeah?”
Holy heavens and earth and anything else I can ramble in my head to keep me grounded.Dawson is magic. He’s a magnet the size of Texas and any female within a visual radius is doomed. Not only is he ridiculously attractive from head to lumberjack boot, but he’s also incredibly good at what he does. He knows how to speak without words better than anyone I’ve known. That talent, his ability to emote with his face, eyes, and posture—is how he brings each role to life on the silver screen. But to see it in person…it’s something else.
I clear my throat. A blush of embarrassment sweeps into my cheeks as I consider what I’m about to say. “I’ve been wondering if we should, you know, test it out, like you suggested.”
He pretends to prop the axe against a stump and folds his arms. His face hardens. “Like I…suggested?”There’s so much heat in that word I’m worried I’ll ignite.
I nod and gulp.
“I didn’t casuallysuggestwe test the theory in passing one day, Libby. I’ve been pleading with you to accept my kiss for two hundred tortured days!”
My heart—I think it just stopped beating. Oh, no, there it is—Whomp-whomp-whomp, whomp-whomp-whomp.“I know,” I manage.
“And you’ve refused.”
I nod again as he strides toward me, chest puffing, shoulders rising, glare smoldering. He shoves one leg between mine where they dangle off the edge of the desk.
I suck in a genuine gasp at his brazen approach.
Dawson keeps his gaze locked on mine as he slides his strong arms slowly along either side of my waist. At first, I wonder if he plans to hold onto my hips, but he plants his hands on the desk instead to prop himself there, his face a mere inch from mine.
“Now, after all this time, you’re suddenly ready?” His eyes are dark and demanding.
My heart trips over its staggered beat. No wonder the women acting opposite him are so convincing. “Well,” I stammer. “Not like,rightnow.” I lean back an inch and resist the very real urge to fan my face. “I meant, only, that I might be warming up to the idea and so maybe sometime soon, you know, we could maybe give it a shot.”
He holds my gaze, then drops it noticeably to my lips. “Maybe sometime soon?” he whispers.
His heated breath tickles my lips he’s so close. “Uh, huh.”
“Youdoknow what they say, don’t you?” His voice is low, raspy, seductive.
I shake my head, eyes darting to his mouth now.
“There’s no time like the present.” He leans in slowly.
That’s supposed to be my cue to hop off the desk and offer a flimsy excuse fornotseizing the moment, but all I want is for Nick—this character who chops wood with a massive axe and speaks to me with that rebel glare—to kiss me good and hard on the lips right here and now.
A wry chuckle sounds low in Dawson’s throat. I’m pretty sure it’s not in the script, which means he knows the effect he’s having on me.
It’s enough to inspire a little improv of my own. I reach up and cover his mouth with my palm. “I can’t right now,” I say, trying not to grin at the mirth in his eyes. “I have to get that wood in the oven if we want to keep the hunters at bay.”
The term hunters is something Nick and Libby use for zombies hoping to feast on flesh. Lucky for us, they hate smoke.
Dawson’s glare turns impossibly more severe. But then his shoulders ease the slightest bit. Slowly then, eyes still pinned on me, he rotates his body just enough to let me slide off one side of the desk. Under the heat of his scrutiny, I do just that.
“Thank you.” My cheeks are definitely red and my voice is shaky from whatever spell he cast over me during the scene, but I sigh in relief as I make my way toward the make-believe wood stack.
End scene,my inner voice declares.
I did it, even if I am hot and bothered and, as the script says, inwantof his kiss. A quick glance at Dawson has me recalling his comment about Nick. ‘He may be human, but he’s still a man. And that man is out to satisfy a craving of his own.’
