Chapter 24
KIRA
Neither of us says anything until we’re nearly halfway back to the house. I breathe in the frosty scent of pine and try to organize my thoughts.
The taste of Boyd’s mouth is still on my lips, and my pulse hasn’t settled yet. I try to gauge what Andrew’s thinking. Is he replaying the scene like I am, or has he already filed it away with the same discipline he brings to everything else?
“I hope that didn’t catch you off guard,” I say finally.
His mouth curves slightly when he glances at me. “It didn’t.”
“No?”
“I’ve noticed,” he says.
A thin laugh slips out of me before I can stop it. “I guess I should’ve known better.”
“Known what?” He frowns at me, though a smile still plays at his lips.
“I should have known you’re never off guard.”
He shakes his head and sounds amused when he says, “Occupational hazard.”
As we walk back to the house, our arms brush against each other occasionally. Each bit of contact sends awareness skittering through me, even though it’s only our winter coats that are touching.
“I don’t want to come between you and the others,” I say. “Any of you.”
His pace slows, but maybe that’s because I sound like I’m out of breath. “I have the same goal,” he says.
The certainty in his voice has a calming effect on me. I can tell he’s not reassuring me to smooth things over. He’s stating a fact, the same way he does during morning briefings.
Our arms brush again, then our hands. When his fingers finally curl around mine, it’s intentional and unhurried. He holds on loosely at first, and when I don’t pull away, his grip tightens.
His hand is warm despite the cold, and rough in a way that tells of years of hard work. Scarred and weathered. Strong. It fits around mine like it’s meant to be there.
Even though it’s only our hands touching, the rest of my body is very much involved.
Warmth seeps from our point of contact out to my other limbs and swirls in my chest. The feeling drops lower into my core when I imagine his rough hands elsewhere on my body, touching me with the same careful confidence.
As if he senses the direction of my thoughts, his thumb rubs lightly over my knuckles and makes my pulse jump higher.
We walk slower than necessary, reluctant to break the moment. The wind tugs at my hair and cuts through my coat, but I’m not bothered.
“There’s a storm coming in,” he says. The clouds are thicker, and the air is heavy with the promise of snow. He squeezes my hand once. “You should go inside.”
He pauses before opening the door, and I’m ready for him to kiss me, but instead he glances toward the trees. There are cameras aimed all around the house, and though Viper will have surely seen us walking hand in hand, maybe Atlas isn’t ready to do more than that while someone’s watching.
That makes me wonder what Viper knows, and what he thinks about it all.
“I’m going to go top off the generators,” Atlas says. “I’ll be in later. You’d better get some sleep.” He squeezes my hand again, then opens the door for me, and closes it behind me when I’m inside.
For a moment, I lean against the wall inside the door, my heart full. Whatever happens, one thing is certain. I’m not walking into it blind.
And neither is he.
The storm arrives as Atlas predicted, and it hits with a vengeance.
I get flashbacks to the night I fled the city, and I thank god I’m here, safe and warm.
By morning, everything outside the compound has vanished under blankets of white, and it’s comforting to feel even more cut off from the rest of the world than before.
None of us is going anywhere, and that’s okay, because the men are well prepared for this sort of emergency, and every other sort of emergency.
Even though the three of them still mostly go about their usual daily routines, Atlas and I keep finding ourselves in the same rooms. My body lights up every time we pass each other in the kitchen or the hallways.
When I’m in the laundry room folding a load of clothes, he comes in and sets his hand on my hip as he reaches something down from the top shelf.
Every brush of contact lingers a moment longer. Every look we share carries more weight than it did a week ago.
There’s no urgency to any of it, only a slow, undeniable pull.
By the third evening, the storm shows no sign of letting up. Snow taps against the windows as the four of us share a hearty stew for dinner. After cleanup, Grizz and Viper disappear down to the ops center, their voices low in discussion about a project for one of Sentinel’s clients.
I sit by the fire and crochet, but after a while, I get restless. My intention is to go upstairs to find a book to read, but instead, I find myself drifting toward Atlas’s side of the hall, giving in to an unrelenting pull.
The door to his bedroom is open, light spilling out. I’ve been in the room before, very briefly, to deliver laundry and to try to find surfaces to clean. The room has always been spotless, and it appears that way tonight.
All of the furniture is solid and functional.
The only things on the walls are a topographical map of the area and a small shadowbox containing military insignia.
There are flashlights at the ready, on the nightstand and dresser, and an ever-present pair of boots near the door, separate from the ones in the mudroom he usually wears.
Atlas is sitting in a chair, boots off, sleeves pushed up, scanning something on his tablet. When he looks up, his expression softens immediately. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I just got a little achy from sitting too long.” As I stand in his doorway, I rub my lower back. The pain is new this week, but has been persistent, probably from my body carrying more weight than it’s used to.
“Would you like a massage?” The word alone sounds like heaven. “I’ve been told I give good ones,” he says.
With hands as strong as his, that’s not a surprise.
“That would be wonderful, but I don’t want to interrupt you.” I gesture to his tablet.
“I could use a break. Here, have a seat.” He gets up and offers me the chair he was sitting in. “Would it be comfortable for you to straddle the chair?”
He takes my hand and supports me as I lower myself into the chair facing the backrest.
“Is that okay?”
“Sure.” I rest my head on folded arms on the back of the chair. The room’s quiet except for the wind outside and the regular rhythm of my breathing, which hitches when his hands settle at my shoulders.
I don’t often feel small, but under Andrew’s big palms, I feel almost delicate. His hands move with tender care, exploratory and respectful, but not so gentle that they’re ineffective. It’s as though he’s listening to my body, rather than imposing anything on it.
“How’s that feel?” he asks quietly.
“Amazing.”
“You have some tight spots. I should have been doing this for you sooner.”
“You do plenty for me.”
He murmurs vague disagreement as he eases my tension with his very capable hands. Warmth spreads throughout my body, along with a vibration of restless energy I try to ignore.
“Is it affecting your work, being snowed in like this?” In the month-plus I’ve been staying here, the men have left the compound multiple times, including a trip down into the city, but they’ve never all left at the same time, except for the day we went into Moon Ridge together.
“No. Not really.” He uses his thumbs to press parallel lines from my waist up toward my shoulders.
“That’s good. How’s the project coming for the manufacturing company you told me about?”
“We’re making good progress. Viper’s knee-deep in analysis this week. How’s the baby blanket coming?”
“I had to undo a few rows yesterday for some missed stitches, but I’m back on track today.”
We talk a little more about nothing important, and I find myself leaning into his touch. No matter how I tried to distract myself by asking about his work, I can’t deny what we’re doing right now feels more intimate than a simple treatment for sore muscles.
Somewhere along the way, the conversation fades. Andrew’s hands go still, resting at my waist. I turn my head, aware of how close he is. Close enough to feel his breath on my neck.
“Kira.”
When I meet his eyes, whatever question he’d been about to ask seems unnecessary. The answer is already there.
He kisses me, and this time, there’s no hesitation. My face gently cupped in his hand, he brushes his lips against mine, tender, unhurried. He looks into my eyes again, deeper this time, and I feel completely seen.
Without a word, he crosses the room to close his bedroom door, quietly twisting the lock. He turns the overhead light off, leaving only soft light from his bedside lamp. When he comes back to me, he takes my hand, helps me up from the chair, and leads me toward his bed.