Authors: Kylie Scott
“You should have told me,” she said.
“You were upset enough that day.” His stomach growled, loudly. Sex always made him hungry. It had been hours since they’d eaten and it would be hours before they stood a chance of finding food—tomorrow morning at the earliest.
A mattress spring stuck into his hip. He’d slept on floors that were more comfortable. The air in the shed was frigid. They should have been in the cabin, curled up in bed with a roaring fire. They should have been fucking like bunnies. Everything else smelled like dust but she smelled like sex and feminine sweat. His dick gave signs of life and he angrily ignored it.
No matter how pissed he was at her, he still wanted her. Not a surprise.
There’d be no sleeping. He wouldn't risk leaving her unguarded. This place didn't feel that secure. Besides, every time he closed his eyes he saw that thing about to sink its teeth into her. One second later and she’d have been gone. Maybe he should take her to Blackstone. She’d be safe there, even if he wasn’t welcome. The walled community was still probably a hundred people strong. They were organized. She could have a life there.
The thought of it made his guts burn. Maybe she’d given him a stomach ulcer. But maybe Blackstone was the only choice.
Had their cabin burnt to the ground yet? Probably. Place had gone up like someone had poured on kerosene. What a balls-up. All of his plans had turned to shit. How would he protect her now?
“Were you really coming back?” he asked in a hard voice. He needed to know for sure. Inside of him felt like a fucking mess. He couldn’t make sense of the feelings.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why? You finally got away from me.”
“I told you. I realized we needed to talk things over.”
“Like what?”
“Like everything.” Her voice was so quiet that he had to strain to hear her.
“Because we fucked?” he asked, choosing his words with care.
She sighed. “Honestly, Nick, I don’t know.”
Roslyn stood patiently on the curb and watched as Nick broke into a clothes shop. They’d already gone through the drugstore across the street. Or he had. She’d been instructed to stand outside within view and wait. Like a dog being trusted off its chain, barely.
He still wouldn’t give her any more of the details of what had happened at the school. It had obviously been bad. The lost look in his eyes when she’d asked had stalled further questions, for now. It seemed surreal. Her brain wouldn’t quite wrap around the information.
The last of the people she’d known were gone.
Grief crept over her in waves. Crashing down on her and then withdrawing again. She didn’t know how to feel one second to the next. Her throat would tighten and her eyes tear up, and then,
poof!
Gone, as her mind busied itself once more in dealing with the here and now. Trying to figure a way out of the maze of this messed-up situation. A time or two she caught herself about to giggle hysterically. Maybe she was losing it.
She and Nick were half talking to each other. Sentences consisted of the smallest number of words possible and a meaningful flick of the hand. Sometimes he varied it, doing a grunt and a chin-tip instead, which was big of him.
The soles of her feet stung from the freezing cold concrete. She bounced her bag full of drugstore goodies off her legs, rattling the contents. Fidgeting always had helped distract her.
“Stop it,” he said. “You’ll break the reading glasses.”
“Oh. Why don’t you break the glass in the door?” she asked, then realized the answer. “Oh—the noise.” He paused for a moment and his shoulders tensed. Then he resumed tinkering with the lock, apparently foregoing the opportunity for a snarky reply. A moment later the door swung inward and he rose to his feet. He jerked his stubbly chin in the direction of the shop’s interior and gave her a meaningful look.
“Sorry?” she asked, maybe because contrariness was becoming her nature, at least when it came to him. And maybe because she was sick of the half-assed silent treatment.
He turned back to her with a pained expression, and looked at her from beneath dark brows. “Come inside. Please.”
“No problem.” Asshole. And to think she’d had sex with him. Never let your private parts dictate your choices. Therein lay the path to destruction.
Lay. Ha. Bad word choice.
Inside, the shop looked immaculate. Farm wear-type stuff, mostly, men and women’s. A bit of kidswear and some school uniforms, as well as bathmats and towels. There was an impressive amount packed into the neat little space.
Nick shut and locked the door behind her, then strode past, obviously going to check out the back room. His rifle was slung over his shoulder and he’d tucked a pistol into the back of his belt. She’d asked him for the gun and he’d just given her a nasty look. She hadn’t bothered to ask again. Couldn’t be that hard to find her own and she knew how to shoot. Her dad had insisted she knew enough not to shoot herself in the foot.
There was a counter topped with glass, displaying purses and scarves beneath. But more importantly there was a water cooler standing at the end and it was three-quarters full. Oh, yes.
When Nick strode back in she was covered only in goose bumps, busy washing herself as fast as humanly possible with soap from the drugstore and a hand-cloth fresh off the shelf. He stopped dead and stared at her breasts. Suddenly being cold didn’t seem to matter so much.
“What are you doing?” he said, sounding like something choked him.
“Washing. You?”
He said nothing, just continued to stare.
“Give it a rest, Nick. You’ve seen it all before.”
His gaze jumped to hers and his face heated. He could blush. Who knew? She’d have laughed, but her teeth were chattering and it wasn’t really a laughing kind of day. Besides, laughing would probably lead to crying and she needed to keep her shit together.
His jaw did some strange side-to-side thing. Suddenly he got busy on the other side of the room with his back to her. But she hadn’t missed the bulge in his pants.
She’d quickly brushed her teeth and hair while he’d been looking out back, but this bathing felt like a whole new level of lovely. She’d cleaned her scratched-up hands, gotten the worst of the dirt and sweat from her body. The bruises on her knuckles from punching Neil had faded. Impossible to believe he’d died, busted nose and all. He’d been a wanker, but he hadn’t deserved that.
Nick stood over by the neatly folded stack of jeans. He selected and discarded, then he moved onto men’s shirts. His back remained to her at all times. The man was dedicated.
She’d started rubbing herself down with a towel when he dumped a selection of clothes on the counter beside her.
“Those should fit,” he said.
A pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and some matching underwear in plain black cotton. Funny, he’d always been about the silk and lace before. And there were some racier alternatives available. She’d seen them. “Thank you, but I can choose my own clothes.”
Another grunt. His eyes stayed elsewhere at all times. Screw him. He wasn’t making her feel awkward in her own skin. A skin that, until yesterday, he’d been all too keen to jump.
She yawned so hard her jaw cracked. “Excuse me.”
“You didn’t sleep well last night.”
“I didn’t?” It had been a bit cold and uncomfortable, but still.
“No, you woke up a couple of times crying about your friends at the school.”
“I did?” Huh. She had no memory of it.
“Yeah, I talked to you and you went back to sleep.” He shrugged.
For a moment she just studied the unattractive industrial carpet and searched for something to say. He’d chased away her bad dreams and she didn’t even remember it. Mad at her or not, he cared for her and held her when she cried.
And yet, the chain … there was always the damn chain to remember. “Thank you,” she said.
“Your friends died. You had reason.” He wandered off toward the range of sturdy-looking work boots, grabbing a backpack or two on his way. “Besides, you’re a pretty restless sleeper. I’m used to it.”
How long had it been? Five nights? And he was used to it. Used to her waking and used to soothing her back to sleep. Used to doing for her. When was the last time someone had shown the least predilection for caring for her? She couldn’t remember. Whatever weirdness lay between them needed sorting, now.
“Nick?”
He turned and his gaze dropped to her boobs before shooting back to her face. She could have covered herself with an arm but she didn’t. Rattling Nick made her feel good.
“Mm?”
“Aren’t you going to wash up too?” First thing to come to mind. Hygiene was the best she had. How sad.
His mouth opened but he didn’t speak straight away. “Later.”
He about-faced and strode back toward the selection of boots. There was a whole wall full of them.
He was still mad at her, obviously. The thing was, while she’d started off angry, she got it. He hadn’t told her about her friends out of compassion. She didn’t like it, but she understood. Him choosing her clothes, however, amply displayed he needed to learn how to let her make her own decisions. But he cared and she couldn’t deny it. She also couldn’t deny she’d chosen to be with him. It would have been nice to have ignored the facts, but grown-ups didn’t do that. Or they shouldn’t.
Sex-wise in the kitchen, and then again when she made the decision to turn back on the driveway, she’d chosen him. Then, when she’d needed him, when it was life or death, he’d come through for her.
“It wasn’t because we had sex,” she said.
His whole body flinched and his hand stopped mid-motion, stretched toward a set of black work boots. “Let’s just … let’s just get sorted. Alright?”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. I turned back because I chose you.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Yeah, I know. But we’re going to.”
He turned to look at her, his eyes stark. He strode toward her and if she’d had a whit of sense she would have been scared. But she wasn’t. No way would he hurt her. Nick didn’t stop until they were toe-to-toe and he loomed over her like a storm waiting to break. The hollows of his cheeks and the tense lines beside his fine lips. The look in his eyes. No one looked at her like he did, whether he was angry or happy or anything in between. It scared her and seduced her equally.
“We’re not talking about it,” he said in a quiet voice. “We’re going to stock up and hit the road.”
“But—”
“Don’t.”
As if. “Because you’re still mad about the cabin.”
He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving hers. “No. Because your stubbornness and stupidity nearly got you killed yesterday.”
She didn’t even bother fighting him over the stubborn part. “It’s not stupidity to reject living as a captive, Nick.” Odd, he’d seemed so worked up about his home the night before. “How many ways can I explain that to you?”
“It wasn’t going to be forever,” he said. “Just until …”
She waited for him to finish but he didn’t.
“Until what?” she asked.
He shook off the question. “You acted without thinking yesterday and you nearly died. And I dunno how to make sure that never happens again.” He crowded her, but her days of backing down were done. “So I can’t keep you safe. Can I?”
“Chaining me isn’t an option,” she said.
“I guess not.” He looked away. “Get moving. We shouldn’t stay here too long.”
There were bruises beneath his eyes, dark circles. How hadn’t she noticed that before? “You look tired. Didn’t you sleep at all?”
“I had a lot on my mind.”
“Like what?”
“I’m fine, alright? Enough talk, Ros. Get dressed. Standing there arguing with me in nothing but a towel isn’t smart.”
“Am I rattling your cage, Nicky?” she asked, deliberately being painful. The slit-eyed look he dealt her only spurred her on. “Deal with it, big boy.”
His gaze dropped down her, doubtless taking in the state of her hard nipples on the way. Damn obvious despite the towel. “You’re getting cold.”
True, but she was also a lot turned on, oddly enough. Because having him stand so close with his eyes taking her in so matter-of-factly worked for her. Or maybe it was the argument, all those heated words. Whatever it was he did to her, he did it with ease, just by being his own sweet self.
Which meant she didn’t know whether to kick him or kiss him, but she wouldn’t be rushing anything. Truthfully, she wanted his mouth on her. She wanted the heat of his kisses and the comfort of his touch. After what they’d been through, she needed it.
“Ask me,” he said.
“W-what?”
He came closer. “Whatever you want. Just ask me and I’ll give it to you.”
There were a lot of things she wanted. Half of them were vague, unformed ideas, but they all involved him. But there were priorities to consider. “Promise me we’re equal partners from here on in.”
“Ros.”
“No more denying of liberty or any of that crap. Promise me.”
He took a deep breath. “And you’ll just believe me. After everything?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated where she hadn’t. It hurt.
“Nick?”
“You’re getting cold.” His hand reached for the bra on the counter, the sensible black one. He threaded it over first one of her hands, then the other. The straps were drawn up her arms and positioned on her shoulders. “Turn around.”
She did so, part bemused and part bitter. “You can’t do it, can you? You can’t give me your word.”
Warm fingers eased the bra cups over her breasts, fastened the hooks at the back. “You nearly died.”
Next came the flannel shirt. A good choice on his part, because he’d been right, she was getting cold now. Standing there in next to nothing, waiting for him to do something he couldn’t. But also wanting him to take the choice out of her hands so she wouldn’t have to feel torn and frustrated and stupid. Wanting to grab onto him and yet unable to, so uncertain what the price would be. What part of her pride and self-respect would she have to sacrifice this time?
“I can do this,” she said, gesturing to the pile of clothes.