17. Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Lucy
R icocheting sounds still echoed in her ears. The raging shift of the earth and snapping of trees rattled her body, phantom sensations that had yet to dissipate. The heavy base of her pumping heart and the smothering roar of frantic breath accosted her from the inside.
She had been overcome with fear, seized by the panic of having barely escaped with her life. But then Jonathan’s calming words and gentle caresses tunneled through the haze. He brought her back from the brink of a meltdown, and the reality of their survival dawned on her. She lifted her head, their eyes met, and she was lost in them. She grasped around, searching for purchase. She needed something to cling to, a place to focus so she could somehow pull herself together.
With the gentle graze of Jonathan’s lips, Lucy felt the world go quiet. All her senses, once overwhelmed by a chorus of natural disaster, zeroed in on skin touching skin. There was nothing else, only the delicate contact and mingling of breath and dueling heartbeats.
The timid kiss had the opposite effect. Meant to extinguish the panic, it fanned the flames instead. She could feel his heart battling against his chest from where her breasts pressed against him. His hot breath played over her mouth, and the tip of his tongue teased the seam between her closed lips. She parted them, willingly succumbing to the heat that emanated from the contact .
She shifted so her legs straddled his waist. Her bulky backpack, still firmly hitched to her shoulders, should have been uncomfortable. Instead, the weight of it felt comforting, like a barrier insulating the two shell-shocked travelers from the disaster that came before. Lucy caught Jonathan’s lower lip in a fleeting nibble, and his approving groan was unmistakable. His hands were in her hair, pulling her more feverishly into the kiss. He tasted strikingly similar to the thunderstorm they had survived—like rain, electricity, and strength.
The absurd comparison manifested as a sharp giggle that rippled over her lips and onto his. Jonathan froze, and Lucy cursed her wandering mind.
He tastes like a thunderstorm? Of all the ridiculous things.
She couldn’t quell the next burst of laughter despite her best efforts. Her giddiness multiplied as she pulled away and sat up. Jonathan also seemed to struggle with keeping it together. His amber eyes, once filled with lust, crinkled at the corners. His belly rose and fell with subdued chuckles, and she bounced on top of where she sat.
Lucy sighed as their laughter halted momentarily then burst forth from them with renewed delirium. Lucy rolled off Jonathan onto the slab beside him. Tears streamed down their faces in a bout of wild hysterics. It was hard to catch her breath as she was wracked with seemingly endless cackles.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m losing my mind.
“What happened?” Jonathan struggled to regain his composure, letting out a string of husky, rumbling laughs that sent heat to Lucy’s core. “I thought we were having a moment.” He sat up, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
“We were,” Lucy managed. “But then I started thinking about how you tasted like a thunderstorm and how they always say that kind of thing in romance novels, and then I lost it. It’s so absurd, right?”
Lucy managed to pull herself upright beside Jonathan. The weight of her pack—and the last ninety minutes—made the movement challenging. Fatigue settled in while adrenaline drifted away with the clouds. She unbuckled the straps and let the soggy bag drop behind her.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that happen.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, Jonathan sounded sincere, even with the slight smile still present.
“I’m pretty sure I started it.” Lucy waved a hand, dismissing his apology. What was the problem? The last thing they should be worried about at the moment was proprieties. Besides, if you can’t make out a little after escaping certain death, then when can you?
“Well, I should have ended it,” he said with a bit more resolve. “It was irresponsible and unprofessional, and you have my word it won’t happen again.”
Was this guy for real? They’d just survived complete catastrophe, and he was worried about professionalism. Either his priorities were way out of whack or . . .
Or he had zero interest in her, and Lucy was the one taking advantage in a vulnerable situation. Embarrassment bubbled in her chest, dousing the residual fire she’d felt a moment before. She fiddled with her bootlaces then glanced up and caught him staring intently at her. Shame played over his face.
Time for damage control.
“It was terribly unprofessional of you,” she teased, nudging him with an elbow.
“I know, I just—”
“Jonathan, I’m messing with you. You saved our lives, and I got swept up in the moment. Water under the bridge, ok?” She managed a weak smile and an awkward thumbs-up to make her point.
Teeth worrying the inside of his cheek, Jonathon mulled over her words. Then, with a head shake and a little snort, he said, “I taste like a rainstorm, huh?”
“Thunderstorm, actually.” She grinned, congratulating herself on diffusing the tension. In its wake, the reality of their situation came flooding back. What the hell were they going to do now?
Jonathan was squarely on the same page because he cleared his throat and stated, “We need to sort out a plan of action.”
All-Business-Jonathan is back in the building, folks.
He reached for the small GPS strapped to the outside of his pack. “Well, fuck.”
“What’s wrong?”
He held up the little device. “I must have landed on it, because it’s busted.” He pushed the SOS button a few times then gave up, stuck it in one of his pockets, and pulled out a water bottle from his backpack. Handing it to Lucy, he continued, “It looks like we’re gonna have to rescue ourselves. First things first, we should get back to the campsite and set up for the night. Fire, shelter, dry clothes, food.” He ticked the tasks off on his fingers. “In the morning, once the shock has worn off, we can figure out our next steps.”
Lucy wiped a dribble of water from her chin with a still-wet sleeve. “Woah, wait, wait. We’re spending the night here?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said as he took the bottle back from her and drank.
“But isn’t the car, like, an hour that way?” She pointed in the direction of the disaster they barely escaped.
“Well, it was. Until the landslide decimated our trail. We need to find an alternative route, which will take a lot longer than the few hours of daylight we have left.” He replaced the bottle, stood, and held out a hand to help her up.
You planned to sleep in the woods, didn’t you? How is this any different than what you were going to do anyway?
This was wildly different from the original plan. It would be in the same place, on the same night, with the same person, but it wasn’t the same carefree scenario. All Lucy wanted to do was make it back to her hotel room, take a hot shower, and order room service. It would be nice to call Todd and bitch about the harrowing day she’d had—Call Todd! Her phone!
Like a woman possessed, she reached into the side of her pack and pulled out her cell. A groan, rivaling that of a spoiled teenager, escaped her as she took in the shattered screen. She feverishly pushed buttons, hoping for it to turn on, but the trauma it had endured left it useless. It was bashed and soaked, and she only had herself to blame. She swore to herself that when she bought a replacement, she’d get a case to go with it—definitely the extra rugged kind.
“That wouldn’t work up here even if it was in one piece. Zero cell service.” Jonathan shrugged, still reaching out his hand.
Lucy let out a frustrated huff and considered hurling the phone down the mangled trail but couldn’t bring herself to litter. Mumbling a few choice words, she stuffed the useless brick back in her bag and reached up. Jonathan curled his fingers around hers and pulled her to her feet.
“Look on the bright side.”
“And what’s that?” Lucy asked with a sigh.
Jonathan spread out his arms and gave her a sympathetic grin. “At least it stopped raining.”
The waning sun broke through the partly cloudy sky, sending down a few final rays of warmth before its inevitable dip behind the mountains. Lucy’s jacket had dried, but because it was waterproof, there was zero breathability. The tank and bra she wore underneath were still damp and clinging to her skin, as were her pants. And underwear. And socks. Everything besides that rain jacket, clearly more adept at keeping moisture in than out, was wet. She felt miserable. The promise of a blazing campfire, dry clothes, and food were the only things keeping her feet moving.
Turning into camp, she flung her heavy pack to the ground. It must have taken on water or rocks during the landslide because she swore it was heavier than it was this morning. She collapsed onto the log bench and began untying her laces.
“You may want to wait on that,” Jonathan said, noticing her intent to remove her boots. “I need your help setting up camp so we can settle in before dark.”
Lucy looked up and attempted to glare, but fatigue kept her from flashing anything beyond subtle annoyance. “My socks are wet.” She heaved one boot off, and it landed a few feet away. “I have blisters.” The other followed with a thud. “I don’t care if I have to help while barefoot; these fuckers are coming off.”
A moan escaped her as she peeled off her sodden socks and draped them on a branch within reach. She stretched out her legs, flexing and unflexing her sore toes. Despite the crinkly whiteness of the damp skin and a couple of small blisters on her heels, her feet weren’t completely ravaged. Surprisingly, her sparkly coral nail polish held strong. She made a mental note to tip her pedicurist a little extra on her next visit.
Eyeing her bare feet with irritation, Jonathan crossed his arms. “You can’t go barefoot. That’s how you impale yourself on a stick or sharp rock. Rest for a minute then put your boots back on. ”
“I’ll compromise with you.” Lucy pulled her pack into her lap and rummaged around in the surprisingly dry main compartment. At least she bought the right backpack. With a sly grin, she pulled out a pair of day-glow yellow flip-flops. “I’ll wear these.” She slipped them on and set her bag to the side. Wiggling her toes, she tossed a triumphant grin at Jonathan.
“Fine. Just don’t trip on anything.”
“Deal.” Needlessly dusting off her pants, Lucy rose. “So, what’s the plan?”
“Divide and conquer. We gather dry—well, as dry as we can find—wood. Then I’ll build the fire, and you can put up your tent.”
With a nod, they set to work collecting branches, sticks, and dry bits of moss. The canopy of branches overhead acted as an umbrella during the storm, and Lucy quickly found enough kindling around the camp perimeter. She made a pile next to the driest firepit. Her attention zeroed in on Jonathan as he hacked away at a larger chunk of wood with a small hatchet. Jacket removed, he had rolled the sleeves of his flannel up past his elbows. With each swing, the corded muscled of his forearms flexed. Veins popped beneath a dusting of light brown hair and tanned skin. Could forearms be sexy?
Watching a few more chops, Lucy felt the need to wipe the drool from her lip. His forearms were definitely sexy. What did his upper arms look like? Or his back . . .
“Can I help you with something?” He hadn’t looked at her but paused his movements.
Lucy jumped at being caught ogling the sexy guide-turned-lumberjack. “Huh? What?” She croaked, the words stuck in her throat.
He turned, eyebrows raised. “You’re just standing there.”
“Oh, I . . . finished collecting sticks and stuff.” Gesturing to the pile, she hoped Jonathan didn’t notice the swath of pink climbing her cheeks.
“Great. Your tent? Can you manage?” he asked, sounding like an exasperated middle school teacher trying to redirect his students. Reaching up, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his decidedly sexy forearm.
“Oh yeah, on it.” She pivoted and scurried to her pack.
Lucy was grateful that she’d bought an easy-to-erect tent for the trip. She remembered going camping with her family as a kid. Her dad and older brother, Oliver, would struggle for half an hour to get their behemoth of a tent set up. She and her younger brother, Garrett, would sit and watch, giggling at the nonsensical words that would pop out of their dad’s mouth in place of the big four-letter expletives.
Why are there so many brick-a-bracken rods for this darn thing? He would grumble while trying to organize each element of the tent. Oliver would try to help but never understood their dad’s system. So, he’d join Lucy and Garrett until he was summoned to hold this or steady that . Without fail, the tent would be ninety-five percent set up and then collapse before the stakes could be hammered in. On one trip, the tent managed to stay up on the first attempt, only to implode once her family had retired for the night. What the flibbity-gibbet?! Her dad hollered in surprise while her mom took the less creative route and dropped the F-bomb.
Lucy smiled at the thought of those camping trips, longing for a simpler time and the safety of her loving family. She resolved to set something up with all of them once she got back home—if she survived this trip.
She shoved the morbid thought away.
Roving the campsite, tent under her arms, she searched for a flat spot to set up. Once found, she held the edge of her tent in both hands and flipped it out in front of her. With a stiff fwomp, it popped into shape. Grinning ear to ear, she positioned it on the ground and returned to her pack for her sleeping bag and pad. Having set up her quarters, she turned to Jonathan, who was arranging the wood in the firepit.
“Tent’s up,” she chirped, feeling mighty proud of herself.
“You better hope it doesn’t rain,” Jonathan tossed back absently, not looking away from the miniature log cabin he seemed to be building.
“Why’s that?” Lucy settled her hands on her hips and tilted her head.
“Because those things aren’t waterproof. Quick and easy to put up, but without a rain fly, it’s useless in a storm.” He stuffed some moss and twigs in the middle of his structure then topped it off with shavings from a silvery block he held in one hand and a tiny flat saw in the other.
“Well, it’s all I’ve got, so it had better hold.” The wind out of her sails, she noticed the sun was starting to set. “I’m going to change.”
“Good plan.” Flipping the block, Jonathan struck the flat end of the little saw against the edge, creating sparks. After a few attempts, the tinder ignited, burning brightly. With haste and a trained eye, he added more bits to the growing flame, being careful not to snuff it out.
Leaving the caveman to his fire, Lucy grabbed her backpack and retreated to her tent to change into dry clothes.