“There!” She’s pointing to our left, where a stone foundation slab juts out over the hillside, forming a narrow overhang. “Come on!”
Her grip on my arm slips away as she starts running toward the outcropping, those too-big boots sending mud-spatter in all directions as she tromps through puddles without a care. I suck in a sharp breath before I follow, swallowing down the hollow ache her touch set off inside my chest. One casual hand-graze, and I’m coming undone.
God, I’m pathetic.
I run after her, ducking beneath the low ceiling of hanging vines and heavy stone as I enter. The shelter is small — no more than ten feet across in any direction — but it’s dry, and right now that’s all that truly matters. Anything to get us out of the whipping wind and relentless rain long enough for some life to leech back into our bones.
We take up opposite sides of the cavelike space, each leaning on an earthen wall, staring at each other in the dim light as we catch our breath. Neither of us says a word. Tucked beneath the thick slab of rock, the storm is somewhat muffled. Muted. The world outside suddenly feels far-removed.
The silence stretches on, thick with things better left unsaid, questions better left unasked. Seconds curdle into minutes, stagnating the musty air between us. I focus on the faint rattle of Jo’s breaths, relieved she’s breathing at all. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from the moment I pulled her from the water, lips blue and lungs still. That’s not the sort of memory that ever fades.
She simply stares at me, perhaps waiting for me to break this wordless stalemate. Waiting for me to fill in the blanks her dazed mind is no doubt struggling to piece together.
She’ll be waiting a long time.
It’s difficult not to stare at her. After a year of absence, of aching memory and throbbing loss, being this close — seeing every angle of her face at this proximity — is damn painful. I thought I knew her details by heart, but she’s twice as beautiful as I remember.
Were her eyes always so blue?
Did they always cut into me so sharply, a knife slipped straight between the ribs?
Beneath the clear plastic poncho, her sundress is plastered to her skin, clinging to every curve, highlighting her perfect figure. Her nipples protrude against the thin fabric. I tell myself not to look, feeling like a bastard of the highest order when desire spikes through me, an unwanted current of electricity that shoots straight to my cock.
Not now.I grit my teeth and avert my eyes.Not here.
I chew the inside of my cheek so hard, I taste blood.
Jo breaks our stalemate first. Clearing her throat to shatter the quiet, she mutters a stiff, “I suppose I should thank you.”
My brows lift in question.
“For saving my life,” she tacks on. “Pulling me from the water. Thank you.” Her well-mannered upbringing is beyond reproach — even when it comes to someone like me. Someone she can’t stand. The girl would thank her mortal enemy if the right opportunity arose. She pauses for a long beat. “I guess I’m lucky you were nearby.”
“Don’t know if I’d call nearly dyinglucky, but sure.” I shrug lightly. “We’ll go with that.”
Her eyes narrow. “What I’d really like to know ishowyou happened to be nearby.”
To this, I have no reasonable response. So I don’t respond at all.
“I assume you heard my radio call…” She lets the statement hang in the air, unfinished, waiting for me to offer a proper explanation.
I don’t.
I give her nothing. Nothing except a shallow, noncommittal nod.
Her brows pull inward, a furrow of frustration. When a full minute ticks by and still I remain silent, the furrow becomes a full frown.
Without the distraction of the storm, without the pressure of our lives hanging in the balance, she’s able to examine me properly for the first time. Her eyes move rapidly over my face, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to shy away. Beneath the anger, there’s an unmistakeable edge of incomprehension as she takes in the scruffy beard, the overgrown haircut, the hunched posture. I slide my hands deep into the pockets of my coveralls, hiding my scars from her pursuant gaze.
“So this is…” She gestures vaguely at my lobstering getup. “What, exactly? A summer job?”
I expel a sharp breath. “Something like that.”
“I figured you’d be off at some glamorous training camp between collegiate seasons,” she says bluntly. I do my best not to flinch at the not-so-subtle dig. “Isn’t that what all you baseball hotshots do?”
I wouldn’t really know.
I shrug.