Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“So what happened with Brandon?” Jack asks, spooning out the last mouthful of lasagna from his ready-to-eat meal. I finish my food before telling him everything, starting with the hand sanitizer fail and ending with Brandon cornering me against the wall.
“I’m not one hundred percent certain what he was talking about, but he and Chad have both been acting way too sketchy for me to think they’re innocent.”
Jack grunts. “All we have is two sleazy guys who have a thing for you, a very valuable artifact, and a handful of increasingly violent threats. The plan right now is to make it through tonight as uneventfully as possible. Tomorrow, I want to hike to the archaeological site. My colleague there said that aside from a few things going missing, nothing suspicious has jumped out at them. But I’d like to see for myself. ”
“Your colleague is the only one who knows about Marigold’s little dagger?”
“Yeah.” He lifts his eyes and lets go of a smirk.
“What’s that look for?”
He chuckles, his mouth splitting into a wide grin as he tips his face to the sky. “It’s cute that you named your bag. And you make me smile.”
Well then.
I’m officially ninety-nine percent Jell-O.
“I get the feeling you haven’t done a whole lot of that lately…” I venture.
Don’t push too hard, Willow…
“I haven’t,” he admits quietly, and to my surprise, his infamous scowl doesn’t return.
The mountain walls are starting their evening shift, transforming to lilacs and mauves as they exhale with a welcome coolness. It’s the calm before the next act, lending a bit of courage and perhaps a sense of safety in this place of vulnerability.
“Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before,” I say.
Jeez, Willow. Subtle much? Why don’t you just ask the man how many kids he wants?
He turns his head, lifting one dark brow.
“Come on, humor me. I’ve spilled all my dirty laundry in front of you—literally. Give me somethin’.” I nudge his arm with my shoulder. My heart is hammering in my chest because this could go either way. He still looks like a skittish puppy.
He makes me wait another two agonizingly long minutes while the sky competes with the canyon for the most brilliant display of cool hues.
“This case scares me.”
I’m fighting not to crawl into his lap as he looks up, the rugged edge of his Adam’s apple highlighted against the pale sky.
“Why?”
“‘Cause of you.”
“I—”
“It’s not anything you’ve done, Lo. But I’m already a little messed up in the head.” He laughs without humor in his voice. “And for some reason, meeting you has stirred up all the crap I’ve tried to ignore for the past three years.”
“I’ve heard that talking about it helps,” I offer and soften my smile, nudging him again and praying to God he doesn’t develop a vulnerability hangover and clam up.
His brows are low, eyes roving over the valley but looking nowhere in particular. He looks mildly panicked, like he’s already said too much, so I turn my face from him and look up at the splendor above us, resting my cheek against his shoulder.
He’s obviously not ready to share more.
Leave it for now, I remind myself.
“Wanna know my deepest, darkest secret?” I volunteer.
“With everything in me.” He chuckles, and his shoulder lowers a fraction.
“I find the fox from the animated Robin Hood movie attractive.”
He snorts, and in my peripheral I can see his cheeks lifting.
“I know it makes no sense,” I continue, “It’s the swagger.”
He lazily hoists himself to stand. “I never had a chance, then,” he mutters with that bewildered glint in his eyes like he thinks he has no swagger. And I think that’s part of what makes him even more attractive. He’s not even trying.
He offers me a hand before pulling me upright. “Time for bed.”
I cock an eyebrow at him. “Shouldn’t you offer to buy me a drink first, Cowboy?”
“Let’s get ready to sleep,” he drawls and releases my hand, turning his head to hide the smirk that’s creeping onto his face. It must be so hard for a seasoned grump like him to find himself surrounded by all this adorability.
We have no tents, so setting up for bed takes a whole three minutes.
Jack hangs our backpacks on a tree growing out of the rocky overhang above us.
I make him walk with me to a brush-covered spot where I can regretfully take care of business, but have him turn his back and plug his ears while I hum the tune from Robin Hood.
Back at our little outcropping, we each pull out toiletries, making use of the last glow of light before the stars claim their place as brightest wonder for the night.
Brushing my teeth in front of him is a strangely intimate act. No words are spoken, but things we’re both too scared to say dance in our eyes, toothbrushes in our mouths, no mirrors to hide behind. Every cell in my body is reaching out to him, charging the molecules around us.
I’m very aware that I look like a rabies-infested rat with foam pouring out of my mouth. Being in my wild-woman era is turning out less aesthetic than expected. But he doesn’t seem to mind this version of me.
Jack breaks eye contact first, and we finish rinsing our mouths with the mountains as witnesses to the tension prickling between us.
I don’t feel like three days is too short a time to know someone before kissing them. I’ve kissed guys sooner. And I really want to kiss him. Does his aversion to touch extend to lip contact, too? I’m prepared to argue the case against it if I need to.
My hands tremble as I pull out my jacket, the one with the tear in it. Our current elevation is higher than before, and the cooler temperature means my already pathetic sleeping bag will do a sloppy job of keeping me warm tonight.
Zipping the jacket up isn’t easy with my fingers shaking, and Jack turns to me when I huff out an exhale. His hands gently push mine away, stepping close enough that his breath tickles my skin while he drags the zipper up.
The things he said about himself earlier won’t stop tumbling around in my mind. The fact that this man thinks he’s messed up in the head is both maddening and heartbreaking. I still don’t know his story, but there’s not a whisper of a doubt that he’s being too hard on himself.
He slides the zipper up to my neck, his steel-colored eyes sending every butterfly in my stomach into a frenzy.
I’m aching to kiss away the anguish I see in the depths of those eyes, yet I know no kiss is that powerful.
At best, it’ll let him know I care, and hopefully he’ll feel safe enough to let me in.
I’m afraid this obsessive need to control his surroundings and keep me safe is at war with the part of him that’s probably beginning to realize how little power he has over any of that.
My hands rest on his chest as he trails the back of his fingers along my neck, settling his hand on my jaw.
Okay, so forget everything I’ve thought over the past few minutes, because this kiss is happening.
Jack leans forward, teasing me by leaving a mere inch of space between us, and I allow my eyes to fall closed.
The warmth of his mouth barely brushes against my lips before we’re startled apart, and a scream rips from my throat.