by Dakota Gray
Nate drops his pack near me. “Where did Red go?”
“Nature called.”
Tarek wanders over next. “Where's Jackie O?”
Doesn’t take much of a leap to know he’s calling her that because of her namesake—John. F. Kennedy—married Jackie O. The startling thing is that he went out of his way to give her a moniker. He met her hours ago. “Jesus, you have a nickname for her, too?”
“Yup,” he says. “What do you call her?”
“Her legal name.”
Nate sighs. “Numb nuts let her walk off by herself.”
I shift my pack on my back. “I'll bring her back so you guys can check for yourself she's in one piece and safe.”
Nate spreads out his hands. “This is your first girlfriend in many moons.”
“And she's good for you,” Tarek interjects. “We want her to stay alive.”
“She's not my girlfriend.”
Tarek says, “And that's your problem. Make sure she isn't lost.”
I head in the direction she went, being incredibly loud. If she is still popping a squat, she has time to call out. Takes me three minutes to find her. Her glasses are stuffed into her shirt and she's pushed back the hat so it's free from her line of sight. She's worrying her lip and staring down at her map.
“Looking for grandma's house?”
Her shoulders lower like the weight of relief sits on them. “There you are. I took a left when I should have taken a right.”
“Grandma and Grandpa reminded me you should have taken a buddy. They sent me as the rescue party.”
“I knew I liked them.” She folds the map and shoves it into her front pocket. “One tree looks like another and I forgot to leave breadcrumbs.”
I jerk my head in the direction we need to go. “Walk ahead of me so I can keep an eye on you. If something happens to you between now and when I deliver you to Grandma and Grandpa, I'll never hear the end of it.”
“You just want to look at my ass.”
“That's definitely a perk.”
I'm a man. I look when she scrambles in front of me. Kennedy's ass in cargo pants should come with a warning: won’t be able to look at anything else if on display. Sure, I've checked it out more than once during the day. She's stretched, bent over...breathed.
Sure, sure. Her personality is buoyant and infectious. Yeah, whatever, I love talking to her about anything.
This very moment though, the backpack frames her ass.
There is a God.
My gaze cannot be moved from the two round globes. There is nothing better in the world than this.
Kennedy goes, “Huh,” and stops. Her voice is chillingly calm. I can practically feel the bristle of tension riding up her spine. “Is that snake poisonous?”
The words hit me and white noise fills my head. Kennedy’s in danger. I grab her pack and drag her back to me. My brain tries to yell at me it's the wrong thing to do. Snakes react to sudden movements perceiving them as threats, but my brain has gone caveman. My body needs to be between the danger and her. There’s nothing else logical to me.
The problem?
She's not expecting the Superman move. While I’m trying to yank her to safety behind me, she loses her balance. That’s not hard to do when she’s carrying twenty extra pounds of weight on her back. She over corrects with tons of flailing, popping me in the face at least twice. I rear my head back to keep from losing an eyeball.
That's the tipping point. We go down hard enough to steal my breath. I, being the stupid ass hero, twist sideways to bring her into me in a protective embrace.
Yeah.
I know.
At this very second the only thing I hate more than nature is the good guy inside of me who thought any of this was a grand idea.
Any air I had in my lungs has left. Kennedy and her heavy ass pack is pinned to my chest. I loosen my hold on her to get some air. There's an elbow or two in my ribs when she untangles our limbs to sit up and frown at me like I've lost my mind.
This is around the time I realize my left arm is the real hero of this tale. The villain is whatever has my sleeve getting that wet, sticky sensation that can only be blood. I'm not going to look yet. I’m just not.
I focus on her instead. “You okay?”
She laughs and tries to climb to her feet. Gravity works against her and her heavy ass pack so it takes a few tries. “You're not supposed to freak out. The thing could have bitten me or you.” She glances around. “I think we scared it away with your stunt dive.”
That's good. The last thing I need is a snake bite, too. “Wasn't thinking that clearly. I had good guy on the brain.” That fucking asshole. I'm going to kill that guy. Soon. “But you're okay?”
“Yeah.” She giggles and shakes her head. “I don't think I've ever seen you move that fast. You all right? I landed right on top of you.”
I don't know how to answer that without lying. Fuck. I'm going to have to look. Shit. I bite down on my lip. Only a grunt gets out when I sit up. There's a nice sharp rock the size of my two fists where I landed on my arm. Kind of can’t avoid rocks or trees off the trail. Hence why we fucking stick to them.
Not the point. There's also a fair bit of blood on the gray stone and my sleeve is sliced open.
Yeah. And my arm is too. Thankfully it looks worse than it feels. This is exactly what I plan to tell her, but all color drains from Kennedy’s face.
“Duke!”
“It's nothing.”
She kneels beside me, gently taking my arm in her hands. “Your arm is probably about to fall off from gangrene and you say it's okay.”
“Gangrene takes a little longer than this.”
She glares at me for a second. “Deep breath, I'm going to pull out the pieces of your shirt to get a good look.”
I nod and try to hold back my wince when she does. The gash is about three inches long. I don't know how deep, though I don't see bone. There’s too much blood to see anything but a gaping wound. It's going to take more than a gauze to deal with it.
Shit.
“All right,” she says and nods to herself. “All right.”
Someone could put porcelain next to her face and she might be two shades paler than it. “Kennedy—”
“Do you have a decent first aid kit in your pack?”
“Yes, but—”
“This is what's going to happen.”
“Ken—”
“You're going to stop saying my name like I'm a woman flipping out for no reason when you're sitting in a pool of your own blood.”
No one ever snaps at me. I blame shock for why my mouth clamps shut.
She nods. “How deep is the kit in your pack?”
“Right on top.”
“Good. I'm going to help you get your pack off and you're not going to argue with me about it.”
We work together to get it off. Her hands tremble. I say nothing because color hasn't returned to her face. Her actions are methodical, like she's calling on rote memory to walk her through patching me up. She sanitizes her hands, gloves on, cuts off my sleeve, sterilizes the wound and cleans for visibility of the injury. She's done this before or trained for it—like I have. Tarek made sure of it before he took us out on our first hiking trip.
“I don't know if you need stitches,” she says. “There's too much blood and it's not stopping. I don't want to use glue in case your wound needs to be cleaned out better. You need a doctor.” I open my mouth. “Don't argue with me. A professional is going to look at your arm to make sure it won't fall off.”
She's fussing over me and bossing me around. I don't think anyone has ever done that. Mothers don't count. I don't know how to process this. I kind of just want to let her, just to see how it feels.
“Tarek has the satellite phone,” I tell her. “There are a bunch of cabins he reserves in case there are flame outs. He only uses them if someone cries Uncle. If we're an hour out from camp, that means they are thirty minutes west of here.”
; “Flame outs?”
“Sometimes people like the idea of camping more than actually camping.”
“I'm currently missing the shit out of a proper bathroom. And an ER.” The corners of her mouth tighten. “The bleeding isn't slowing down. Are you dizzy?”
I’m too enthralled by what’s happening to her. I know she wants to fuck me and that she likes me, but this is different. This is fear on my behalf. “Bandage me up as best you can. I'll be fine.”
After Kennedy wraps the gash in gauze, she pins me with a worried gaze. “Here's the test. We're going to get you to your feet. Hopefully you won't pass out. I can't carry you.”
“I doubt I'll swoon, but so you know, the clearing is straight ahead. Don't make any left turns.”
Her golden eyes flash. “You are not going to pass out on me.” She nods, mostly to herself and repacks the kit. “Let's get your pack on. I can't hold mine, it and you. You're going to have to pull your own weight. And you're not going to pass out.”
Those words aren't for me. I'm aware of that, but I take my time getting to my feet. My heartbeat feels funny. When she's sure I'm not going to swoon like a Victorian lady, she helps me put on my pack taking great care to avoid direct contact with my arm.
Her shirt and cargo pants are covered in my blood. I look no better. “We're going to scare the shit out of everyone.”
“They'll deal.” She inspects my face. “You're pale. Shit. Come on.”
Our pace is hurried and I keep up without weaving. I am losing a fair amount of blood, but it’s going to take more than this to kill me.
We hit the clearing without mishap. Tarek and Nate’s heads are together but they both snap to attention when they see us. It goes about as well one would imagine when one of your friends is covered in his own blood.
For the next forty-five minutes, Kennedy barks orders like a drill sergeant. It's a thing of beauty. Within an hour I'm at the cabin with ice on my arm to help combat the swelling. Nate is on watch for the doctor on the porch. He was told to come along in case he had to carry me.
I'm not to move from the couch or so help me God.
One guess who says that.
In a few hours when the doctor gives me a clean bill of health, Kennedy’s going to crash from the adrenaline rush. I close my eyes to get some sleep because I'm going to be there to catch her. She took care of me. I can feel the depth of that.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I'm on the bed using my good arm to flip pages of The Art of War. Not my choice, though it does have some salient points. Someone left it behind and it was this or the Bible. The bathroom door creaks open. Kennedy leans against the doorjamb. Her shirt is tight and stops just below her belly button. The boy shorts cuts high along her thighs. I went through her pack and I know she had a long sleeve shirt and leggings packed for the night.
Despite that, what I focus on is her face. I don't need her to stand in the light to know she's been crying in the shower. A knot rises in my throat. I knew she’d crash, I hadn’t thought there would be tears.
“Come here,” I tell her.
She doesn't bark any orders to keep my left arm propped on the pillow as she climbs in next to me. The mattress softly protests with the added weight then again as she cuddles up to my chest. Her hair brushes my chin. The scent of lilacs cling to the damp strands.
I place my palm on the back of her head. “You've had a long day.”
She tries to play off the sniff by burying her nose in my shirt. “It could have been your hard head that you split open.”
“I was trying to be a good guy. This is what happens. I've learned my lesson. Never again.”
She brings her gaze to mine, and she is not amused by the joke. I chuckle at the quiet admonishment. Her brows furrow more.
“I get it,” she says. “You consider it just a scratch and I freaked out.”
“Did I say that?” I ball my hand in her hair and tug so she has to look at me. “I heard 'snake' and I—”
I can't form my mouth to say scared. If anything happened to her because of me I don’t know if I could weather it. There isn’t enough cold in the universe for me to drown myself in.
I try again. “We should have backed up slowly. I didn't. In my attempt to play Clark Kent, I busted open my arm. You took care of me. Now stop putting words in my mouth.” Her gaze softens and I smile. “Especially when your—”
“Duke,” she says in an exasperated tone.
Of course I’m thinking about sex. She’s breathing and cogent. “I thought women loved honesty?”
“I'm just...” She fists her hands in the collar of my shirt. Her fingers press into me like she has to reassure herself I’m right there. “I get tense when people I care about get hurt.”
The darkness staring back at me in her gaze makes me swallow. How could I be a criminal attorney and not be able to recognize the bleakness? Childless mothers, motherless children...they all have an abyss sitting inside them. I try not to look into it. I can't do my job if I do. Not because I'm some bleeding heart, but because emotions don't matter when arguing facts. Unless it's to my benefit.
I'm not standing in front of a jury now. Her abyss drags at every vulnerable and weak bit inside me. It tries to drown me in the sorrow reflecting at me. The Sec never mentioned it, and that makes me think not even they know. This is her secret, one she’s sharing with me now.
“Your mother?” I ask though I know the answer.
She blinks. I'm not sure if it's from surprise or trying to fight back tears. “What?” her voice is a rasp.
Kennedy tries to break our stare but my hold on her hair is too strong. “How did she die?”
Her throat bobs while seconds tick by. “She was murdered,” she murmurs. “Home invasion, and she was the only one home.”
My hold tightens to keep her still. “Did the person who did it pay?”
“It was his third strike.”
Everything about her falls into place. She, too, is a product of her upbringing. Whereas I was raised to look for the loopholes, avoid manipulation but dish out plenty, and never, ever lose, Kennedy had her world turned upside down.
From then on, she needed for her world to remain black and white. People who commit crimes should go to jail. Innocent people should be found not guilty. Good guys are the only men she should climb into bed with.
I loosen my grip. How much does it cost her to be here with me? Will she resent me for it eventually?
Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to.
She’s here, in bed with me, and I’m not that good of a man to turn her away. I tip her chin up and guide her mouth to mine to give her the only comfort I know how to give.
I'll never get tired of kissing her. Kennedy breathes me in every time we do like she can't believe our mouths are fused. Fuck. It's intoxicating. I want to take her hard, now. If I pop the stitches in my arm it will be well worth the pain and inconvenience.
But I had her hard the first time we were together. Shit, today she put on her armor to make sure I remained in one piece. That deserves softness, especially when I can still taste the salt of her tears in the kiss.
I brush my tongue into her mouth. She responds in kind, her moan a whisper.
She works her fingers underneath my shirt and traces the lines of muscle up and down my chest. She passes her thumb over my nipple once, twice. My blood pounds. I pin her shoulder to the bed.
Her gaze flies to mine then she smiles. “Like that, huh?”
“Too much, especially when it's your nipples that need attention.” I push up from the bed and she laughs.
“Can't lose control for one second, can you?”
I lift the edge of my shirt and then her hands are on my skin. I grunt as she helps, in her own fucked up way. There's nothing I can do but promise payback when she closes her mouth on my nipple and sinks her teeth in. Her tongue is hot, quick, and mind-numbing. I get tangled in my shirt unable to do anything but watch the flash of pink as she licks
her way down my torso.
She looks up. “Need help?”
“Yes.” Anything to get her mouth off me.
“I guess I'll be nice.”
She still uses her mouth. A lot. Her hands too. I'm panting by the time we get my underwear off. I push myself between her legs and imprison her hands above her head with one hand.
“Be still.”
She bites her lip to hold back a smile. “You seem angry.”
“Annoyed.”
“Oh, I was supposed to lie back and let you seduce me?”
“Yup.”
“Ask me nicely. I want a 'please' and 'thank you', and if you don't know what those words are, I'm happy to define them.”
Kennedy is a two-hand job, but I'm going to make do. “Shirt, panties off.”
Her laugh is mixed with moans as I help her this time. When she's bare I lean back on my haunches to enjoy the view of her legs spread wide with mine, her tits heavy, swollen and the tips pebbled, wet from my tongue.
I take her hand and close her fingers over my cock. “Please hold on to this and stroke lightly.”
“What if I make a mess?”
“Just rub the tip of my cock in it.”
I lean forward and close my mouth around her nipple. Her hand tightens. Better, but not close. I roll the bud in my mouth, nip, lick and everything until her hand stills. Better when the tips of fingers of her free hand sink into my hair, pressing me close to her breast. I let my mouth worship her tits from the curve of her breasts to her collarbone. She doesn't complain about the scratch of my stubble, or the bites, or the tugs either. Her hips rock up and down, begging in their own way.
I make my way back to her mouth. She lets out a frustrated groan.
“Why won't you just fuck me already? Are there no condoms in this cabin?”
I crack at smile at her. “Found some next to the Bible in the drawer.”
“Then fuck me already.”
“That's the mistake I made the first time.” I catch her hand before it squeezes my dick. She had her chance to drive me to the brink. Now it's my turn. “You shouldn't have been able to walk after I was done with you.”