by Kylie Scott
It was difficult to know which alarmed her more.
“I’ve been using a trail bike, but we could switch to a small four-wheel drive. We can just switch cars when we hit a roadblock we can’t get around. What do you think?”
Think? Yes, she needed to think. To do that he had to stop. All of it. He had to stop pushing. “Wait.”
“I say we head out tomorrow. You can get packed up by then, yeah?” He propped his hands on lean hips, thumbs tucked beneath the waistband of his black cotton boxers like a threat, or a promise. She wasn’t sure which. His big hands framed the ridges and planes of muscle from abdomen up to his chest, fancy tattoos sitting atop each big buff shoulder, done in shades of green and gray and blue. He was a work of art.
Her knees wobbled.
With a particularly pained expression, he asked, “What’s wrong now?”
“You. You need to back off.” The flats of her palms connected with the heat of his chest as she did her best to shove him. “Give me some space. Now.”
The big guy gifted her one small step backward and hung his head. Lips compressed and jaw stern, he looked up at her from beneath dark brows. “Ali…”
“No. You need to back off. This isn’t going to work.”
The big man swore. Repeatedly. “You’ve been living up in the roof for what? Six, seven weeks? Coming down to scavenge when you have no other choice? That’s not living, and we both know it. The world may have gone to shit but we’re still alive, don’t you think it’s time to start acting like it?”
Her face must have conveyed her doubt over the pep talk because he groaned and ran a hand over the choppy, badly cut, short dark head of hair. He seemed beyond irate with his eyes narrowed. It wasn’t her damn fault he barged in and took over without a thought. Various muscles around his mouth tightened, as if he wanted to yell at her but held it in. She could relate. It was going around.
Finally, he rolled his shoulders, like a fighter getting ready to head back into the ring. He gave her a long hard stare and she did her best not to blink. Her frightened inner rabbit wanted to scamper as escape scenarios raced through her mind. Daniel noticed her reaction and the growl amped up a notch as he took yet another step back. This one was sizably bigger than the last; he was almost back to standing in the doorway. “Better?”
She nodded.
“Fuck’s sake.” His mouth opened then shut, as if he too had just noticed the lack of oxygen in the room. “Fine, maybe you don’t need me. Truth is … I need you.”
She stopped.
Daniel crossed thick arms over his chest and glared back at her. A purely defensive stance, she knew it well. Her own arms were crossed and bolted down over her breasts, which might have been his point. She was the one locked down. He simply mirrored her tight-ass ways.
And he looked downright stupid in Mary’s flowery feminine house. He was so big and intimidating. No wonder she had run like a rabbit. She winced at the angry red lines crisscrossing his tanned skin. Her work. But struggling had gotten her nowhere. He stood there barefoot, waiting on her in his underwear.
She focused on his toes because they were easier to fix on than his face or the rest of his stupendous body.
What the hell was she going to do with him?
Suddenly, he stuck his hand out. “Shake. We’re starting over. Clean slate. Pretend we just met, like it’s our first date or something.”
“Our first date?”
He gave a one-shoulder shrug, face carefully bland, but the lines around his eyes remained tight, sharply embedded. “You get the drift.”
His big hand hung there in the space between them. In many ways, she would be trusting her life to that handshake. Not a “throw caution to the wind”, idle sort of undertaking. All of this felt weighty, and she had no crystal ball to tell if he was good or bad, right or wrong. She had no way of knowing since the world had gone so spectacularly to shit.
Moments passed and the hand did not so much as waver. He waited her out with absolute patience. As signs went, it wasn’t bad.
“Alright.” She held her hand out, and he covered it with both of his.
“Daniel Cross, forty-one, single.” He paused and gave her a wary glance, turned his face aside. “Divorced actually, a long time ago. Let’s not discuss it. I’m a mechanic, or, I was. I’ve been travelling down the coast for the last six weeks, looking for survivors. Your turn.”
“Ah, okay. Ali Jameson, thirty-two, was a secretary. I lived in one of the townhouses next door.” Done. She shut her mouth and shuffled her feet. Ignored the tingling going up her arm entirely.
“Single?”
She gave another nod.
“Keep going,” he encouraged.
“Well…” What to say? Thinking back on it, her accomplishments were few. Best stick to the fresh stuff, what little of it was air-able. “Mary, the old lady that lived here, she got sick and asked if I would stay with her. She didn’t have much family. Mine were all down south.” Her voice wound down to a whisper, and he nodded in understanding. “There was no way out. Things went bad fast. People just…”
“Yeah, I know. There wasn’t as much military up north and what there was, was spread thin. But still, the streets were insane. You did the right thing keeping your head down.”
She said nothing.
His smile widened, all enthused once more. It made her stomach flip with nerves. “Okay, this is good. We’re getting somewhere. Tell me, Ali, did you have time to turn and run when you first saw me? You know the neighborhood well, don’t you? You’re one cunning babe. With a decent head start you could have lost me easily, I think. So why am I here?”
Ali’s breath stopped, stuck somewhere in her throat. She hadn’t seen it coming. She tugged on her captured hand, and his fingers tightened infinitesimally. “I did try to get away. It didn’t work. You’re very determined,” she muttered hoarsely.
Daniel skewed his lips, took his time. “I know you tried. You were scared. Here’s the thing though … I don’t think you want to be alone any more than I do. Some part of you chose to face me, to take a chance that I would be a good guy, that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“Are you a good guy?”
“Mostly. Define ‘good’.” The side of his mouth curled up and his gaze slid over her, making all of her tingle this time. Not good. First dates always made her feel awkward, stupid. This one blew them all to smithereens.
“For instance, do you mean am I good at certain things, or am I a good person? Because both are valid in their own way,” he said. “And as for being a good person, just because my thoughts are impure doesn’t mean my actions would be. Mostly, I manage to keep myself in check. But, with you, I’m a little overexcited. You might have noticed. You have, haven’t you? I think I’d given up on finding anyone alive and you … well, you exceed my wildest dreams.” He paused, stared at her for a moment, eyes intent.
Such blue eyes.
“But back to the question, I’ve been told I’m quite good at some things. I can give a demonstration if you like. You know, of things I might be good at. You could judge for yourself if you like. Do you like?” he asked.
She blinked.
“I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
“Somewhat.”
“You’re very kind.”
They smiled at each other. He had a nice smile.
It occurred to her then that, for a brief time, she had been okay. Fear had not ruled her mind. Panic had not owned her body. She was not cowering up in the sweltering heat of the attic, surrounded by dust and cobwebs, more frightened of the world outside than she was of the poisonous spiders sharing her space. For a few brief minutes she had been herself, holding a conversation even, albeit a rather odd one.
How perfectly, weirdly, normal.
“You okay? What are you thinking?” Daniel eased the grip on her hand, and she managed to draw it free. Stupidly, once back in her own possession, her fingers missed the firm, steady grip. “Not going to flip out on me agai
n, are you?”
That was the question. She thought hard before answering.
“No. I don’t think so.” Ali rubbed her palm against her leg, wishing she could rub off the whole liking the hand-holding business.
It was the human comfort factor, no biggie. Without a doubt, she’d certainly been short on comfort. She might crave it, but she could live without it, as she had amply demonstrated over the past few months. The underdressed, oversized man standing in her bathroom eating her up with his eyes was entirely unnecessary for adequate levels of comfort. If only her fingers would stop quivering. If only she wore more than a towel.
“It’s okay if you need to flip a little. I can deal with it,” he said. Gentle fingers tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear and then lingered for a moment before returning to his side. He had a way of moving into her personal space in the blink of an eye, before she even knew what was going on. Or, maybe he had never left and she had ceased to notice.
She’d acclimatized to his presence.
“You know, I kind of enjoyed you against me, not biting or anything. It was nice. I could get used to it. Shit, I really am babbling. I haven’t talked to anyone in weeks.” Daniel scrubbed a hand over his face then let it wander up to do the same to his choppy hair. “Funny thing is, before all this, my favorite thing in the whole wide world was to be left alone to get things done. I hated conversation for no damn purpose, for politeness’s sake. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” she said, understanding perfectly. More often than not, opening her mouth meant saying the wrong thing and being frowned at or ridiculed. Alone was a thousand times simpler.
He stepped closer. She stepped back, her butt hitting the sink.
“So … Communal bathing? Too much, too soon?”
“Mmm.” She tucked her lips in and gripped her towel, afraid it might slip to reveal more than he needed to know of her state of mind. The man had a way of seeing everything.
“Gotcha.” His hands settled on his hips and he gave her a lopsided grin. “I didn’t mean to scare you with all my grand plans.”
“I’m not afraid of you, or your plans.” Mostly.
“Well, I didn’t mean to push you either.”
“Yes, you did,” she laughed. “You’re the epitome of pushy.”
He sighed. “Busted. Out of curiosity, if you weren’t scared, then what were you? When you were staring at me just now, I mean.”
“Maybe a little scared.”
“Ah. Okay. If I’m not allowed to get away with telling fibs, even the little ones that don’t hurt anyone, same goes for you, babe.” Blue eyes bored into her. “If it makes you feel any better, you scare me too.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Daniel hated the moaning. It might drive him crazy.
One of them still bumped around outside, knocking over potted plants and banging into wind chimes. Daniel watched Ali by the light of the candle but she didn’t stir, thank god. His girl needed her sleep.
She might have begun curled up in a tight ball but she was a bed hog at heart and after weeks of sleeping up in an attic, he didn’t much blame her. He hadn’t been able to sleep. Every time he lay down, his nightmares started.
Besides, her presence excited the hell out of him.
To have company was great, amazing. But to have her as company thrilled him right down to his toes and all the way back up again.
So instead of sleeping, he enjoyed the view, sitting at the end of the wonky double bed, which in all likelihood predated him. His girl defied the laws of gravity splayed out the way she was, with the sizeable dip in the mattress toward the center. She was lying on her back with her limbs spread-eagle, nothing more than white panties and a tank top covering her on account of the hotbox humidity.
Daniel couldn’t help but appreciate the nice thin cotton.
Not only sensible for summer but perfect for spying what lay beneath, like the valley between her breasts and the shadow between her thighs. That he could make out the lips of her pussy was probably pure imagination.
Dark blonde hair was spread out across the pillow, her pretty face turned away. The slow, even rise and fall of her breasts mesmerized him. Hypnotized.
He could watch her sleep for hours.
He likely would.
He had considered taking himself in hand, getting some relief, but no. For some dumb reason it felt like cheating. As if it would take something away from finding her, from waiting for her and winning her.
And he would. His commitment was total.
Apart from the moaning, things were good—body washed, belly full, and his girl laid out for his viewing pleasure. Tortured, but good.
The window was boarded and a chest of drawers sat in front of the door, his girl’s shotgun in pride of place on top. She had actually gone to sleep with it beside her. He’d moved it to higher ground at the first opportunity.
Besides the hundred and one locks and the bars on every window, no less than guns and barricades would have convinced her to sleep in the house as opposed to up in the attic.
He moved the drawers aside carefully, quietly, and stepped out into the dark hallway.
Ali had refused to use the main bedroom, wouldn’t even go near the closed door. It was as if she hit an invisible wall a body’s length from it and—bam!—got no further.
People had done some horrible things to survive. He knew he had, the worst of it keeping him awake at night, scared of what might come out of the dark. The virus had made monsters of everyone.
Deep down, he knew what he would find.
He didn’t go in, just stood in the hallway and opened the door. The hinges creaked ominously as it swung open. No need for the warning, the smell was sufficient. The small flashlight he used gave him small, tight circles of light. Sensible, since the infected seemed to find their meals by sight and sound alone.
There was a lot of blood on the floor. The human body held liters of the liquid. It had seeped into the carpet and dried, making a stain of darkness among the pale pink. An old-fashioned marble lamp lay discarded close by, its heavy base covered in more blood.
This was Ali’s secret then. She had bashed her infected, elderly neighbor’s skull in with a lamp base.
His stomach clenched. Shit, his poor girl.
A gun was much simpler and cleaner by comparison. Faster, even if the eventual toll remained no easier to pay.
He pulled the door closed and continued on with his tour, up the aluminum ladder till he reached the manhole. He doubted she could have done more than move around the tiny attic on her knees. As lodgings went, it was hot as an oven and thick with dust, way claustrophobic.
Never the fuck again would she go up there if he had anything to do with it.
Daniel descended the ladder and padded back to the guest room, rearranged the drawers against the door and tugged off his t-shirt. Night had failed to appreciably cool off the house. It remained sweltering with the windows closed and no electricity to turn on the fans.
She had moved in his absence, rolled over onto her side so those pale plush limbs fell into alignment. She’d even tucked a hand beneath her cheek.
He might have offered to sleep on the floor as part of the giving her space and time negotiations, but he couldn’t do it.
The mattress springs made a racket as he climbed on next to her, easing an arm over her waist and settling in to spoon her warm body. They fit together just right.
She murmured something but didn’t wake.
The memories of the scene next door kept his cock under control, which was good. His poor girl. He wanted to comfort, pamper and protect her.
She needed that right now.
Being this close to her, his skin slicked with sweat in no time. He felt like he had a fever. No way was he moving.
Because, despite being this close to her, the in and out of her breathing soothed him. How she riled him up and calmed him down all at once, conscious or not, defied logic.
Weeks of exposure had t
aught him to block out the moaning coming from the street, to shove it to the back of his mind and not let it consume him. He could lie there and stroke her arm, breathe in the scent of whatever shampoo she had used up a bottle of and bide his time. It was all good.
For the first time in ages, he had hope.
CHAPTER SIX
Ali woke with a gasp, taking a moment to get her bearings.
The morning sun hadn’t woken her, Daniel’s wandering hand had. His hand and the whole body ache his touch generated. Her skin felt prickly, disturbingly alive and alert.
The hand cupping her breast would have been cause for castration, except for the fact that her hand was shoved down the front of his boxers. Her fingers curled around a hip like she owned it, with her wrist resting beside a sizeable appendage greeting the day in the usual way. Whoa boy. The head of his cock came close to peeking out from beneath the waistband of his boxer-briefs. His member matched the rest of him in size.
Wicked thoughts drove her silly. She needed to calm down. Do the deep breathing. Which was a mistake because he smelt good, warm skin and clean male sweat.
She inhaled him, just to double-check. He smelt amazing. A girl could get high on him. She wanted him. She did. Wanted to feel him inside her, wanted this ache to end. Desire owned her, and it was leaving her a big, wet mess. What a terrible power to hold over someone. He didn’t even have to do anything to turn her to shivers, her own mind and body could run riot just fine.
But it was a natural urge, nothing to worry about. It had been a while, and a stressful situation and curiosity being what they were, blah, blah, blah. All the old clichés.
Curiosity. What a lame ass excuse. She could do better.
Thank god he wasn’t watching her now. Her cheek rested on one sun-burnished pec and God help her if she had drooled on him in her sleep or something. How special would that be?
Someone so hard-bodied shouldn’t have made such a comfortable mattress. She needed to get the hell off him.