Chapter 8 Allegra
ALLEGRA
The sun is sinking behind the top of the mountain when the path leads us back to the river. The torrent of earlier has slowed to a calm burble, and I scan the water hoping to catch a glimpse of bright nylon. But there’s no sign of my tent or sleeping bag.
We clamber over rocks until we reach a pebbly bank with a grassy clearing next to it.
“We’ll camp here for the night.” Marcus scans the tree line with sharp eyes.
I slide my pack off my shoulders and let out a long, shaky breath as exhaustion from the day’s events hits me.
We’re half-a-mile short of the waypoint I was aiming for, but the shadows are getting long, I’ve lost a chunk of my gear, and my legs are still shaky from climbing.
I roll my shoulders and stretch them behind my back, hoping to ease the tightness from four days of hiking.
Marcus slides his pack off, and it lands with a thud next to mine.
The wide straps and bulging pockets make mine look small by comparison.
The loss of my tent and sleeping bag is glaringly obvious.
I hate being dependent on Marcus, but the nights are chilly and I’m reliant on whatever he’s got for shelter.
He takes off to scan the perimeter or do whatever the hell he does, and I gather kindling for a fire.
By the time Marcus is back, I’ve got a fire going, and I’m typing up my notes from the day.
There’s a scrape on my index finger and dried blood under my nail, and my hand shakes as I fumble over my keyboard.
I’m more shaken up about today than I want to admit.
I could have fallen. And if Marcus wasn’t here with his climbing gear, I wouldn’t have gotten up the rock face on my own.
I glance up at him as he scans the area. He hums to himself, but his sharp eyes are alert.
He chooses a spot away from the river next to a thicket, so no one will see us from the main trail. I pretend to type on my laptop, but I’m watching him out of the corner of my eye.
He moves efficiently, expertly rolling out his shelter and tying it to the surrounding trees like he’s done it a hundred times before.
It’s not even a tent, just a camouflaged piece of nylon that he pins down on three sides, leaving one side open.
My heart sinks as I watch him pin the sides down.
It’s small for one person, but for two, it’s tiny. But it’s the only shelter we’ve got.
He tugs on the guy rope and winces as if in pain. My gaze rests on his arm, and I startle at the sight of dried blood under his rolled-up cuff.
“You hurt yourself.”
He glances at his arm, which on closer inspection I now see has a dark patch where the blood has soaked through his shirt.
“I didn’t notice.”
“Take your shirt off.”
Marcus cocks an eyebrow at me. “I usually like to be bought a drink first.”
I shake my head, trying not to laugh, but my cheeks heat as Marcus tugs his hiking shirt over his head and peels it off. It clings to the congealed blood on his arm, and he grits his teeth as he tugs it free. But it’s not the wound I’m staring at. Marcus is ripped.
His tanned body is hard muscle with rolling abs and a soft dusting of dark hair that trails down the V and into his cargo pants. There’s not a scrap of softness to him.
Marcus coughs, and my gaze snaps to his. I’ve been caught staring at his abs with my mouth popped open.
He smirks as if he knows exactly what I’ve been thinking about. Heat flares in my cheeks, and I focus on the scrape on his arm, fighting to regain composure.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“That I have abs? I didn’t want you finding any excuse to get close to me. But you already threw your tent away.”
I roll my eyes. “That you got hurt.”
The scrape starts at his forearm and goes up his bicep. It’s deep enough that it bled through his top.
He shrugs. “It wasn’t critical.”
Damn soldier, downplaying an injury that we should have stopped to clean up when it happened two hours ago.
“I’m getting my med kit. Sit on that log and don’t move.”
“Yes ma’am.” His lips tug up in a smile, and his eyes dance.
I feel that smile all the way to my bones. Marcus has spent the entire day being a hard-ass, but when he smiles, especially when he has his shirt off, it’s devastating.
I pull the first aid kit out of my pack and kneel next to Marcus, ignoring his hard, half-naked body that’s slick with sweat.
There’s grit in the cuts, and the first thing I need to do is wash it out. I’m annoyed he didn’t stop to do it on the trail. He must know how easily it can get infected.
I take up my water bottle and, without warning, pour it over the wound. He hisses through his teeth but doesn’t flinch.
“I need to get underneath. Is it okay if I touch you?”
When I glance up, he’s watching me, and his expression is unreadable.
“Like I said, I prefer to be wined and dined before letting a lady touch me.” He lets out a theatrical sigh. “But you’re insistent…”
His eyes dance with mirth, and I shake my head. The humor makes it easier to take his arm and hold it up to inspect the scrape.
I dab antiseptic on the length of the cuts.
I sense his eyes on me, but I don’t dare look at him.
I focus on what I’m doing, trying not to get distracted by how hard he feels, how solid he is underneath my fingertips, and the musky scent of his perspiration and earth and something that’s so masculine it makes my head swim.
My hand trembles, but I tell myself it’s from the shock of the day. Not the proximity of a half-naked man with abs of steel. It’s irritating, this unsettling feeling. It shouldn’t feel this intimate to tend to someone’s cuts.
“I’m going to wrap it to keep the cuts from reopening in the night.”
He doesn’t say anything, and when I glance up, he’s watching me intently. The orange light from the fire flickers across his face, and his dark eyes appear black in the firelight.
I want to ask him what I’ll do for shelter tonight, but I don’t trust myself with the inevitable answer. Not when we’re this close.
I fumble in my haste to wrap his arm, and the end of the bandage rolls out of my grasp. He snatches it before it hits the ground and holds it out to me.
Our eyes lock, and there’s a zap of electricity through my body. He’s too close, so I stand up quickly.
“You can finish it off.”
I turn to my pack, needing to put distance between us. I take my time checking my samples and storing the laptop before retrieving a meal in a foil pouch. When I look back, Marcus has put on a shirt and has his own pack and meal heating in the fire.
I don’t ask him to back off. After today, the ten feet rule no longer applies. I’m stuck with him no matter what, and that’s strangely comforting.
He tears into his pack, and we eat in silence as the night deepens around us. We’re higher in altitude tonight, and there’s a chill in the air that I haven’t felt before.
I shiver and then stand up quickly, not wanting Marcus to see. I’m supposed to be independent out here, but I’ve lost half my gear, and if he wasn’t here I’d be in real trouble.
Marcus stands up and stretches like he’s got all the time in the world.
“I’ll do a perimeter check, then it’s time to bunk down.”
His gaze finds mine, and he doesn’t have to state it. We both know what the sleeping arrangements need to be, unless he’s got some gear tucked away he’s not telling me about.
“I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare tent?” I ask hopefully.
“Nope.”
He washes his fork out in the river.
“Or a spare sleeping bag.”
“Nope.”
I scan our surroundings, looking for any other option but the obvious.
“I could lay some clothes on the ground and bed down in the undergrowth.”
Marcus shakes his head, but when he speaks, his tone is gentle. “I’m sorry you lost your gear, Allegra, but it’s not just an inconvenience. It could be dangerous. We’ll share the sleeping bag.”
My pride bristles at his words, even though I know it’s the only logical option. With the temperatures dropping, hypothermia is a real risk. There’s no choice.
I swallow my pride and nod. “Okay.”
Crawling under the shelter and into Marcus’s sleeping bag is crossing a line I never intended to cross. He slides in next to me, and the fabric pulls taut around us.
I roll onto my side, and Marcus rolls onto his, facing away from each other.
We shuffle to find a position where the fabric covers us both.
I try to keep my distance, but our backs brush up against each other.
Every touch is amplified as we shuffle for position.
I stop fighting it and let my back rest against his solid one.
The heat from his back radiates against mine, and I let out a long, slow breath, relaxing for the first time today.
The sleeping bag smells like him—earthy and masculine.
A shiver runs through me, and I tell myself it’s from the cold, not from the hard body pressed up against mine. In response to my shiver, Marcus moves closer, and the heat from his body warms me in places it shouldn’t.
I lie for a long time staring at the wall of the makeshift tent.
This is just survival, I tell myself. Nothing more.
His breathing steadies, and mine relaxes with him. Surrounded by his scent, his heat and the steady rise and fall of his breath, I drift into a dreamless sleep.