Chapter 9
Nine
BAILEY
The world comes into focus, like someone’s adjusting a blurry lens. My head’s resting on something warm and firm. Something breathing.
And something else—unmistakably firm—presses against my hip.
Oh God.
My brain catches up with my body’s position. I’m draped across Sebastian Lockhart. One of his arms curls around my back, the other rests on my thigh. And that’s definitely morning wood making itself known against my leg.
I freeze, not daring to move, not even breathing. Maybe if I stay perfectly still, we can both pretend this isn’t happening. That I’m not intimately acquainted with how impressively the CEO of Lockhart Industries greets the morning.
Sebastian stirs. His breathing pattern changes. He’s awake now, too.
The second he realizes our position, his entire body goes rigid. He knows I know. I know he knows I know. Yet neither of us acknowledges the obvious situation literally rising between us.
“Morning,” I croak, voice rough as sandpaper, pretending I don’t feel what I absolutely feel.
Bad move. Sebastian launches himself away like I’ve electrocuted him, practically tearing through our silver cocoon in his haste to escape. His face flushes crimson as he turns away, grabbing the orange emergency jacket and holding it in front of himself as he bolts outside without a single word.
Too late, buddy. I felt it. All of it. Apparently, the Lockhart fortune extends to all his assets. And now I’ll never be able to un-know this information.
“Rude,” I mutter, wrestling with the sleeping bag, trying to ignore the lingering warmth where his body pressed against mine.
My leg protests, stabbing pain shooting from ankle to knee, providing a welcome distraction from replaying what just happened.
Or more accurately, what didn’t happen but was very much there.
With Sebastian outside, I examine my leg and regret it. I slept with my boot on, but the swelling’s gone berserk overnight, pushing against the leather like it’s trying to escape.
The pain is ten times worse than yesterday, sharp needles shooting up my calf with even the slightest movement. I try wiggling my toes and nearly black out. Very, very not good.
I peel back the edge of my boot as far as it’ll go and glimpse skin stretched tight and mottled with purple-black. If I take the boot off now, I’ll never get it back on. And barefoot in the Alaskan winter isn’t a viable option. But fuck, I want it off so badly.
I stuff the emergency sleeping bag into my pack, trying not to notice how it smells like his cologne.
The thought of being carried again—pressed against Sebastian after what just happened—nope. Not happening. I spent my childhood being told I was too much, too needy, too weird. I’m not adding “too helpless” to that list.
I stuff Vegas in my pocket and grab the cave wall, hauling myself upright. “I can do this,” I say to no one. “Just a little hike. No big deal.”
The instant I put weight on my leg, black spots explode across my vision. The cave tilts, the floor rushing toward my face—
Strong arms catch me mid-collapse. Sebastian materializes from nowhere, moving faster than should be possible. His concerned face swims above mine, those blue eyes wide with alarm.
“What are you doing?” he demands, voice sharp with worry.
“Practicing my fainting technique,” I gasp through clenched teeth. “How’d I do?”
“You nailed it.” His voice is drier than the granola bars in my emergency kit. “You can’t walk. I’ll carry you.”
“I’m fine—”
“You’re literally green.”
“It’s the lighting.”
“In the white snow?” He raises one perfect eyebrow. “Either you stay here and die, or I carry you again.”
“The cabin’s two miles—”
“Two point seven.” He’s consulting his fancy watch. Of course, he has a hiking watch.
“You’re one of those guys who has all the gear, aren’t you?”
“You mean proper equipment for survival? Yes. I hike.”
“Bet you own a compass.”
“Three, actually.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking.
His arms slide under my knees, and I brace myself. He tries to position me on his back. The movement sends lightning through my leg.
“Ow, ow, ow!”
He sets me back down, gentler than I expected.
His forehead creases as he studies my face. “You’re in too much pain.”
“I’m okay.” The words come out through gritted teeth, betraying the lie. My ankle throbs with each heartbeat, and the world keeps tilting at weird angles.
“This won’t work.” He turns and walks away, his footsteps crunching in the snow.
My chest tightens as his back disappears between the trees. “Sebastian?”
What the hell? Did he leave me?
The silence presses in. I hate silence.
Five minutes pass. Ten. Fifteen. The silence presses against my ears. Where is he? The cave’s entrance reveals nothing but swirling snow.
My ankle throbs. I eye the cave entrance again. Still no Sebastian.
“He’s coming back,” I say aloud, my voice strange and small in the empty cave. But my chest tightens. My breathing quickens.
He’s not coming back.
Why would he? I’m just the annoying pilot who crashed his plane and ruined his plans. The cave shrinks around me. The shadows deepen. I’m alone. Really alone. In a cave.
I’m fine with alone. Alone is my default setting. But alone with a busted ankle in the Alaskan wilderness? That’s a whole different category of alone.
My throat constricts. Tears burn behind my eyes. No. Not crying. Bailey Monroe doesn’t cry. I haven’t cried since I was eight and Tommy Westfield told the entire class I was a weirdo. Okay, maybe a few times after, too. But I don’t cry.
But a treacherous tear slides down my cheek, anyway. Then another. And another.
It’s been at least twenty minutes now. I clutch Vegas to my chest. Tears fall faster. I’m going to die here, alone, forgotten. My snow globe collection becoming a mysterious inheritance for a brother who never understood why I collected them in the first place.
“It’ll look good in a museum display,” I sob to Vegas. “‘The Bizarre Collection of the Weird Pilot Lady Who Died Talking to Inanimate Objects.’”
The crunch of snow outside jerks my head up. Sebastian appears in the entrance, arms full of branches, his expression morphing from concentration to alarm when he sees my face.
“Bailey?” He drops the branches and rushes to my side. “What happened? Is it your leg? Are you—”
His thumb brushes away a tear from my cheek. The gentle touch makes something crack inside me.
I slap his chest. Hard.
“You left!” The words explode from me. “You just left. No ‘I’ll be back,’ no explanation, just gone. I thought—” My voice breaks. “I thought you weren’t coming back.”
Confusion crosses his perfect face. “I was gathering materials for a splint. For your leg. I didn’t think—”
“That’s right. You didn’t think!” I shove at his chest, my emotions completely unraveling. “You didn’t think to tell me. You didn’t think I’d worry.” Another shove. “You didn’t think I’d assume you abandoned me to die in a freaking cave!”
Sebastian looks genuinely stunned. “I would never—”
“How would I know that?” My voice rises. “I don’t know you. You don’t know me. This whole situation is—” I hit his chest again, weaker this time.
“I’m sorry.” The words sound strange coming from him, rough and genuine. Not the polished apology of a CEO, but the awkward remorse of a man who’s realized his mistake. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I didn’t think... I’m not used to...”
Without warning, his arms wrap around me, pulling me against his chest. I should push him away. I should maintain some shred of dignity. Instead, I clutch his jacket, face pressed against the fabric.
“I would never leave you to die,” he says, one hand awkwardly patting my back like he’s never comforted a crying human before. Maybe he hasn’t. “Did you really think I’d leave you?”
I focus on Vegas, avoiding his gaze. The glitter forms lazy spirals in morning light. “People usually do.”
His hands freeze mid-motion. “Leave?”
“When I’m too much. Too loud, too honest, too... me.” I shake the globe harder. “Which is pretty much always.”
He’s staring at me with an expression I can’t read. Not pity exactly, but something else. Something that makes my chest weird.
“I won’t leave you to die.” His voice is soft, gentler than I’ve heard it before. “Never. I promise.”
He reaches into his bag, pulling out a silk tie. The deep blue fabric catches the light as he grips both ends.
“Wait, what are you—”
The sound of tearing silk slices through the crisp morning air.
“Don’t! That’s Hermès!” I blurt, unable to stop myself.
Sebastian pauses mid-tear to stare at me.
“What? I read magazines. Sometimes. When I’m bored. At airports.” The tie makes another ripping sound. “Which apparently taught me to recognize expensive neckwear while stranded in the wilderness. Great survival skill there, Bailey,” I add, mumbling to myself.
His movements remain precise as he measures branches against my leg, wrapping torn silk around the makeshift splint.
“Next you’ll tell me you took wilderness survival courses.”
The way he focuses on tying the knots, refusing to meet my eyes, tells me everything.
“Oh my God, you did.”
Turns out Sebastian’s shoulders are broader than they appear under tailored suits. I wrap my arms around his neck, searching for a position that doesn’t send agony shooting through my leg. The silk-wrapped splint helps, but every step still jolts fire up my spine.
The snow crunches beneath his steady stride. His hands are warm through my jeans where they support my thighs. Not something I should notice.
I scan the terrain, grateful for the distraction. A ridge stretches to our right, cutting a natural path through endless white. “We should follow the ridge.”
“Valley’s faster."
“Fine, Mountain Man. Lead the way.”
“I’m trying to, if you’d stop arguing every three steps.”
“I don’t argue every—” The words catch in my throat as I hear myself. Damn it.