Skin (Flesh 2)

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 ni**les 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 br**sts, 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.

“I know. Arms.”

She put her hands into the sleeves and he dressed her. Reached around from behind and started doing up the buttons from bottom to top. He paused halfway and she almost held her breath.

“Promise me, Nick.”

He was hard against her back and he didn’t bother to hide it. His pelvis rubbed against her rear. Not gratuitously, exactly, but more than enough to let her know the state of affairs. Nice to know she wasn’t the only idiot being led astray by her hormones.

What was he going to do? So many possibilities. She waited.

When he hesitated, she raised her hand to move her boob. It didn’t feel right.

“Let me.” One of his hands held open a bra cup while the other slid down inside it. His palm brushed against her aching, tight nipple. Fingers cupped and lifted her breast, positioned it.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Hmm.”

“What would you do if I tried to leave again, Nick?”

“Why would you?” His hands did the same with her other breast, plumping it up within the confines of the cup. She let him. Hell, she liked it. The warmth of him at her back and the touch of his hands made blood rush to all her best bits. He made her feel alive. Her body responded amply, but her mind held back. Her heart was wary.

“You won’t survive out there on your own,” he said. “Didn’t you get that last night?”