Wariness parked at the edges of eyes that had melted his willpower more than once. But now, the brightness was replaced by a fear that soured the food in his gut. He considered the leg she still held off the ground. “Can you make it to the truck?”
She eyed him and the driveway, then finally nodded. Stubbornly independent, she struggled to her feet. Slipped. When Stone reached for her, she gritted out a “no.” Took a step and jerked violently. Dropped her pack and fell back against the tree.
Stone snatched it up, slung it over his shoulder, then moved in and lifted her off the ground.
“No!” She stiffened as he hoisted her into a better hold. “I just need a stick.”
“If you slip, you risk injuring it further.” He slogged up the mossy undergrowth back to the drive.
“Put me down. I can?—”
“Open the door is what you can do.”
She huffed and caught the door handle, then pried it open. When he aimed her into it, she arched her spine and cried out, “Wait!”
“What now?”
“I’ll get your truck dirty.”
“For the love of Pete.” He popped her onto the seat. “You won’t do anything Grief hasn’t.” He drew the seatbelt out and passed it to her. “Well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t puke like he does. Hard to get that smell out of the leather.” On the other side, he climbed in. For a second, he thought to pull up to the front, but they didn’t need anyone seeing him carrying her in. That’d draw attention. People remembered that kind of thing. Great way to get himself in trouble again.
He opted for his cabin. Which felt a lot like inviting the devil to dinner.
Chapter
Twelve
Bexar-Wolfe Lodge, Northern Virginia
“Holy … wow.” Propped against a door frame, Brighton gaped at the place Stone had delivered her to. She’d seen some swanky, modern places, but this … this was glorious. Rugged. Rustic with clear modern touches. Classy. A wall of windows offered an unhindered view of the mountains, and to the far right and down the hill, the lodge.
“What is this place?” Afraid to move and leave mud slicks, she tried to keep her imprint small.
“My place. Hang tight.” He strode across the living room and disappeared around a corner.
His place? She’d assumed he lived in the lodge in a private residence or something like his mom. The living room was nicely appointed with a leather sofa and two recliners. A dog bed lay by the unlit fireplace. “Where’s your dog?”
“Took off when I was looking for you. He’ll find his way back.” He reappeared. “I only moved up here a few weeks ago, so the guest bath doesn’t have a shower curtain or supplies. You’ll have to clean up … back here.”
“Okay.” Wondering at his hesitation, she stepped forward and winced.
He strode toward her.
“N-no.” Brighton held up a hand, not ready to be in his arms again, at least … not like that. “I got it.” She hopped to the first chair, then to the massive island that set off a wall of cabinets and a really large gas cooktop. She couldn’t help but smile, remembering how much he’d loved cooking. Surfing the counter, she made it a few more hops to the door jamb. And saw what made him hesitate??—the bathroom he’d instructed her to use was part of the master bedroom. His bedroom.
It was strange?—everywhere they’d met for their time together had a bed, but he’d never taken her to it, except that last night … when the warmth of his kisses on her neck, the urgency and power of his touch …
“Back here.” His voice was gruff and startling as he moved past her and pointed to another door. “Shower’s there, towel’s in the closet here. Use what you need.”
This felt like a trap. Or a danger. Likely both. “And why am I cleaning up here, not in my room at the lodge?”
“Besides the fact everyone would wonder why you’re covered in mud, injured people stand out and are remembered. We don’t need or want anyone remembering you.”
“Right.”
“Shout if you need anything.”
Her stomach squirmed as he brushed past her again, his hand making the barest of contact with her arm. She’d always had the nervous jellies around him?—the man’s presence was powerful. And she’d been part of his electrical circuit for a while. Until she’d ruined it. He’d never take her back but … maybe when they talked later, she could make him understand, see that she wasn’t evil personified.
