by Jax Hunter
It was nearly six in the morning. Julie didn’t even have to rationalize staying up. Get the fire stirred up, maybe fix some breakfast. The thought of fixing breakfast for Nic made her snarl inside. Did he think she had no pride, no feelings? He’d ended things with an apology. An apology, for crying out loud. Yeah, he’d reached out for her when she got up, but he’d promptly fallen back asleep without a word.
Did he find her so unpleasant then? The look on his face said it all, didn’t it? One second he was on top of her, obviously more than just a little aroused. Then, in a flash, he must have realized who she was or something, looked completely shocked, cursed and rolled over. And then said “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t until he was finally awake and she brought him a steaming bowl of oatmeal that she noticed that he’d bled again, soaking through his bandages. She’d have to change the dressing again, have to touch him, be near him.
Well, fine. She could do it. She just wouldn’t let his nearness affect her. And that would be that.
“Your wound opened again,” she said as flatly as she could manage taking his bowl to the sink. He’d eaten most of it. That was good.
He looked down at the red spot. “Yeah, I know.” He blew out a defeated breath. “At this rate, we’ll never get out of here.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
When she’d first pushed out of bed Nic thought he’d scared her. But she wasn’t acting scared. She was acting angry. About what? No telling. But after his last statement, all doubt was removed. She was definitely pissed.
She filled a pot with water and put it on the stove to heat. When it was warm she brought it over to the bed and, without a word, started unwrapping his bandages. The line of her lips said it all. She ended up soaking the last bit off after trying unsuccessfully to get it loose from the edge of one of the bigger gashes on his chest. He’d sucked in his breath as she’d tugged on it. She’d said a clipped sorry and then sloshed water all over trying to get the danged thing to let go.
Once the new bandages and sling were in place, she helped him to a chair in front of the fire, threw her coat on and left the cabin. When she didn’t come back right away, he pulled himself out of the chair and walked to the bathroom. At least the dizziness hadn’t overwhelmed him. That was a good sign. On the way back to the chair he made a detour to the bookshelf and found an old Clancy book.
It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. As he did, he fingered the spine of the book he held and smiled at thoughts of the team.
Clancy. That’s what the team called Will Pitkin. He’d been writing a bestselling adventure novel for at least a year. He never went anywhere without his mini recorder in his pocket. Once, when the entire squad was stuck on a cliff, waiting until the weather cleared to rappel down, Clancy had pulled out his recorder and mumbled plot ideas into it.
Cruz had laughed so hard that, if he hadn’t been clipped in, he’d have rolled off the cliff. The thought of Cruz brought him up short. Nic, Joey and Cruz were the three amigos. Sorrow clawed at his guts. No one could replace Joey. No one would try. It wasn’t likely there’d ever be a third amigo again. Cruz and Nic would have to find another name.
Dang. He should have told Cruz where he and Julie were going. If Ski-Mask Dude found them here and killed them in their sleep, even Cruz might have trouble finding their bodies.
What a pleasant thought!
Who was he kidding? It wouldn’t take Eric Cruz fifteen minutes to find them if he really wanted to. Somehow, that was comforting.
Where the hell was Julie? Nic looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. She’d been gone over two hours. Where was she?
The reality was that Ski-Mask Dude could find them here. He’d been here once to booby trap the door, and it was only a matter of time ‘til he came back. And Julie was out there and had been for two hours. What was he thinking?
Nic launched out of the chair and forced himself to move. He yanked off the sling, pulled his blood-crusted jeans on. He paused only an instant, then decided to tuck the .357 inside his waistband. Not bothering to find a shirt, pulled his parka from the hook—damn, there was blood on it too—and went outside.
He stood on the porch shielding his eyes from the stabbing light reflecting off the snow. Julie was nowhere in sight. He hollered her name.
No response.
Visions of her laying, bleeding in the snow swirled in his head. Cursing, he went back inside and shoved his feet into his boots. His whole torso screamed with pain as he tied them.
Lieutenant Quillen, their CRO once said that pain was your friend. Nic had rolled his eyes. The team called Quillen Yoda when he started down the philosophical road, which he did way too often for any of their comfort. The bit about pain had occurred when Joey landed hard on a jump after his chute had tangled. He’d been lucky to be alive. Nic supposed that was what Yoda meant by his comment. Being alive was definitely the better alternative.
But being injured sucked. Big time.
Nic made it back outside and down the porch steps before the sound made him stop. He listened, calming his breath in a trained way. Footsteps on the snow. He reached back for the revolver. But before he drew it, Julie came around the far turn, a shovel thrown over her shoulder, hobo style.
She didn’t smile as she approached. “The car’s almost dug out,” she said never slowing as she passed. “Maybe tomorrow, we can get out of here.”
Things didn’t improve once inside. Nic tried to approach Julie, in an attempt to diffuse her anger, but she would have none of it. At least, she wasn’t going to make it easy.
“Can I help you with lunch?” he asked approaching her in the kitchen.
“You need to conserve your strength,” she informed him with snarky efficiency, “so we can get the hell outta here.”
That was it, damn it. He hadn’t said it that way, in the first place, and the reason he wanted to leave was not to get away from her. He had no intention of leaving her. Not yet anyway.
“Julie, are you going to stay pissed at me or are you going to let me explain?”
Julie swung around and handed him a plate of food. “Stay pissed, I think,” she said, purposely narrowing her eyes.
Nic took a step forward, laying down the plate, trapping her between him and the counter. All anger fled within her at his nearness and the simmering heat in his brown eyes. She could feel his breath on her face. Her breath caught in her throat and she could feel herself flush.
“You think I want to get out of here so I can get away from you? Is that what you think?” His voice was low, almost a growl, but hardly more than a whisper.
That was precisely what she thought. But now, with him so close, she could feel the heat from his body. The look in his eyes told her she was wrong. Any answer she could muster, though, seemed to stick in her throat. Her body ached to be in his arms.
A flicker of amusement crossed his face before he spoke. “The reality is that, if we weren’t sitting ducks, I’d be more than happy to stay here with you. And at the moment, I’m sorely tempted to ignore reality and kiss you.”
Julie couldn’t move, could barely speak. She swallowed, her gaze locked on his lips. She couldn’t look away, didn’t want to look away. She ached to be kissed.
Before she could speak, his mouth closed on hers, his body pushing her back against the counter.
It took only seconds for his kiss, so soft, so warm, to burst into flame.
His good hand caught in her hair, pulling her closer. She pulled free from his mouth, throwing her head back, sucking in air. She opened her eyes to look at him. He hadn’t shut his.
He backed away for a moment, his hands cupping her face. There was nothing tentative in the movement or in him. She’d never seen him so sure of himself. His eyes danced with a smile, and he kissed her again. This time it spoke more than desire. It was almost reverent the way he held her face, the way his lips touched hers.
He gently stepped away, eyes closed, silent for a moment. Then he opened his eyes, l
ooking at her with intensity.
“Julie,” he whispered. He cleared his throat, kissed the top of her head, picked up his plate and walked to the table.
Chapter Eleven