Page 119 of Captivated

Lord, it feels like I’m teeterin’ at the edge of something holy ‘n’ wild.

Something that had been waiting patiently for him—foreitherof them—to say yes.

The first heavy drops fell like warning shots, plunking through the tree canopy and hissing against the fire.

Teague stood, brushing ash off his jeans. “That’s our cue, folks. Unless someone brought a boat.”

Laughter broke again, but with an edge this time. Walt stood and cursed as his beer spilled. Matt hauled the cooler under one arm as if it weighed nothing and made a break for the bunkhouse, followed by the two guests. Paul doused the fire. Butch and Sol left together, their heads ducked close under the blanket Sol held over them. Robert and Toby made a run for the path that led up to the house.

Lightning stretched across the dark sky, and thunder followed, way too close.

“You all right?”

Nate nodded, but it was a lie. The wind was up, sharp and electric, and something deep in his chest cracked like a dry branch. He hated the way storms made him feel, had made him feel since he was a boy, helpless and small. The noise only added to the fear lancing through his chest.

They jogged through the downpour, their shirts and jeans soaked through and clinging to their bodies by the time they reached Zeeb’s truck.

“We could’ve waited it out at the bunkhouse,” Zeeb said as he headed for the cabin, the wipers working at full tilt. “But I figured you’d rather get back.”

Nate nodded, his teeth chattering, his skin like ice.

Zeeb pulled up behind the cabin, and they made another run for it. The rain had gotten heavier, and Nate shuddered with relief when they reached the safe haven of the porch.

Inside the cabin, the air was close. Zeeb shook himself, droplets of water flying everywhere. His shirt clung to him, and Nate’s breath caught at the sight of muscles moving beneath the fabric, the rain sliding down his neck and across his collarbone.

Nate had to turn away. “I’ll grab some towels,” he muttered before dashing into the bathroom. He returned with two, tossingone to Zeeb who caught it one-handed. Outside, the thunder cracked, only louder this time, and Nate flinched.

“You all right?” Zeeb asked again, quieter now.

Nate nodded, then shook his head. “Ignore me. I’m being stupid. It’s just a storm.”

Zeeb stepped closer. “Not stupid at all.”

Something about the way he said it, slow, sure, and sincere, sent tiny shocks up and down Nate’s spine.

“I’m gonna light a fire,” Zeeb announced. He knelt in front of the fireplace, opening the small black stove that sat there.

“I hate the waiting,” Nate shivered. “The buildup. The noise when it hits.”

“You’re gonna catch your death if you stay in those wet clothes,” Zeeb remonstrated, his back to Nate as he got the fire going. “Soon as I’m done with this, I’ll be takin’ mine off too.”

Nate’s fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans. Peeling them off was like trying to remove a layer of skin, his legs cold and clammy. His shirt was next, until all that remained was his underwear.

The fire in the stove snapped, the only sound in the cabin besides the rain tapping against the roof like soft, persistent fingers. Nate rubbed the towel briskly over his body, not looking in Zeeb’s direction.

“Get closer to the stove,” Zeeb instructed.

Nate did as he was told, kneeling on the rug that covered the floorboards. Zeeb squirmed out of his soaked flannel shirt, then held his hand out. “Gimme your wet things. I’ll hang ’em up to dry.”

Nate passed them over, then resumed his toweling.

A minute or two later, Zeeb joined him, his towel wrapped around his waist. “If I thought I’d end up getting soaked, I wouldn’t have gone commando.”

Nate glanced at the towel, and quickly averted his gaze, his face hot.

“Your sleeping shorts are on the end of the bed.”

“So they are.” Zeeb didn’t move, however.

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