Chapter 19
Chapter nineteen
Zac
She fell so quickly. Slipped on a damned pebble, or stick, or who the hell knows, and in a blink she was splashing into the river. Zac hadn’t stalled, but even as he sprang into action his movements felt stunted. As though he was stuck in slow motion.
She’d shrieked. Fuck, that yelp of fear sliced him in two.
He didn’t feel the cold of the water. What would have been a shocking blast to his balls, was nothing. He was numb, his body feeling nothing but the urgent need to get to Tabitha and make sure she wasn’t hurt. That nothing was broken.
Or worse.
As he reached her side, she was already standing and wiping water from her face.
With lips pulled back and teeth bared, her expression was hard to translate.
Was she grimacing? Smiling? Either way, Zac was so relieved she hadn’t hit her head and knocked herself out that he wrapped his arms around her sopping body and hugged her tightly.
She didn’t try to push away—how could she have when he had her arms pinned to her sides?
He loosened his grip, the urge to inspect her overtaking his thoughts.
He went from one arm then to the other, bending her elbows, rotating her shoulders, all the while dragging his calloused fingers over her soft, smooth skin.
Goose bumps pricked beneath his hands and his heart surged in his chest, while his pulse traveled lower.
Thank god for the icy river.
“Zac, I’m fine. What are you, woah—”
Her words cut off as he slid a forearm beneath her knees and hauled her up out of the water. Braced to his chest, Tabitha protested.
And Zac tuned her out.
Because all that mattered was ensuring she was unbroken.
The long-legged redhead squirmed against him as he carried her back to the river bank.
Lark stood at the edge, doing what she did best—snapping goddamned photos. Capturing the moment that Zac lost his mind over his woman’s possible injuries.
His woman.
That sounded nice but was ultimately wrong. Zac shook his head, dispelling the alluring thought to focus on Tabitha’s care.
“A little help, blondie?” he barked grumpily and nodded to the crash pads he’d propped against the logs earlier.
“I think she’s ok.”
“I am ok.” Tabitha sighed. “Zac, I’m fine.”
Not until I see for myself.
“Lark.” Zac’s voice changed: less bark, more pleading. “The crash pad.”
He ignored the glimmer in her eyes as she secured her camera out of the way and settled the bulky pad on a level spot on the gravel. He knelt in the rocks and, with all the gentleness he possessed, set Tabitha down.
The second her butt hit the pad, she squirmed to get up, but Zac had a firm hold on her hip with one hand while the other settled on her cheek.
“Please. I”—he swallowed the word need—“want to make sure you’re all right. You landed head first. I need to check you for concussion. Sprains. Cuts. Please.”
It was either the look of desperation he surely had on his face or the voice crack of the second please, but Tabitha nodded and relaxed a little.
Zac released her hip and cupped her jaw with both of his hands, turning her head this way and that. Her pupils appeared normal. No marks on her face or neck. Next, he pulled the band from her hair and slid his fingers into the thick, wet tresses in search of bumps or cuts.
“Anything tender here?” he asked quietly.
“No.” The single syllable was gentle, while her eyes locked on his face.
“Good.”
He released her hair and settled cross-legged.
Then carefully wrapped his fingers around one of her ankles and settled her foot into his lap.
He untied her laces and pried off the tight climbing shoe.
Released from their confines, she wiggled her smooshed toes, and Zac chuckled inwardly.
He’d nearly forgotten how short and squat they were.
While everything on her was long and slim and graceful, he’d enjoyed teasing her about the stumpy little piggies.
“Not a word,” she warned.
“Never,” he promised while manipulating each one and then moving up her leg. He held her calf aloft while testing the knee for mobility and injury. “This ok?”
“Sure,” she bit out, and his stomach dropped.
Had she hurt the joint? A knee injury would put an end to her trip. Not only did the thought of her in pain make his belly churn, but the thought of her leaving so soon . . .
After re-entering his life so recently . . .
“Does it hurt when I do this?” he asked pointedly.
“No,” she bit back.
“Tabitha,” he warned with a rumble in his chest.
“It doesn’t hurt, I promise.” She squirmed and understanding shot through him. How could he have forgotten one of her spots? The long lost memory of paying particular attention to the sensitive flesh at the back of her legs washed over him.
Lust replaced fear, thrumming strong through his veins. He cleared his throat and willed himself to focus then moved to the other leg and performed the same inspection as though it were a ritual. Shoe, toes, ankle. Knee.
“Lie back,” Zac directed gently.
“Yeah, right,” Tabitha snorted.
“I need to check your hip mobility.” Zac captured her gaze. Willing the importance of making sure she was uninjured from his eyes to her sky blue gaze. The stare down lasted ages, until finally she nodded.
“Be quick,” she conceded.
“I’ll be thorough,” he tossed back at her with stern authority. He watched as she laid back onto the crash pad and flung a forearm over her eyes.
Goose bumps crawled up her long leg from ankle to the bottom of those little shorts she wore. Zac licked his lips, grateful she shielded her eyes, because surely he looked like a cartoon coyote fantasizing about sinking his teeth into a roadrunner’s long leg.
A dainty throat clearing recalled his attention. He glanced up to see Lark standing a few steps away, holding her camera, blinking with snark. The way she batted her eyelashes was like a message in Morse code. And he read it loud and clear: Behave yourself, asshole.
Blondie was right. He’d better get that professional hat back on or else he’d make a mess of the whole situation.
Carefully, fully supporting the weight of her leg, Zac rotated it in a big, slow, outward circle.
He tested the bounds of the joint mobility and nearly blushed to see just how flexible his tabby cat still was.
Visions of him pushing both knees to her armpits and slipping into her flashed through his mind.
Overwhelming him with aching for a time long past. He lowered her first leg and conducted the same investigation with the other.
All the while scanning from her long legs and the barely there shorts that clung to her generous hips to her face for signs of discomfort.
Satisfied—perhaps that wasn’t the correct word—that she wasn’t injured, he finally lowered her other leg and sat back on his haunches.
“You’re in the clear,” he assured her.
Tabitha sat up with his help. “Like I was trying to tell you.”
“I’m not a take-someone’s-word-for-it kinda guy.” Zac rose to his feet and, taking Tabitha’s hands, helped her up too. “I’ve always needed to see for myself.”
“I remember,” she replied, though her gaze was dark, hooded like distasteful memories swarmed back in without her permission.
Zac bit his lip and nodded. “Right. Well.”
The blatantly awkward silence hung heavily in the air, muddying the freshness of the late summer day. Why, of all the moments, was them staring each other down the most intense? He’d been spreading apart her thighs to test her hips, but this . . . this . . . was heavy.
Click. Clickclickclickclick.
For chrissake, blondie.
“Lunch?” Lark asked, positively loving every second of the scene before her.