Page 69 of Blue Arrow Island
With Marcus, though, it’s not just sexual. He and Nova questioned me two more times, and we exchanged some information about both camps, but I still refused to tell him anything more about the knife I found.
I’m not proud of it, but I secretly like how much he wants something from me. His gaze locks onto me anytime we’re inrange of each other. That isn’t often, which makes it that much more delicious.
He intimidates me, though I’d never admit it. It’s not just his imposing physical presence, but also his intensity. There’s nothing light about him. Whatever his mood, his expression is always the same—a partial scowl. The scowl deepens when he’s angry or frustrated, but it never disappears. Even when I see him with other men on the security team, including Niran, the one he spends a lot of time with, he never laughs or cracks a smile.
While I’m gaping at him, a wheel of my cart rolls into a hole in the ground. I walk into it and bang my knee as the cart tips slightly and a few potatoes fall out.
I wish I had my hair down so I could hide my flushed face behind it, but it’s secured in its usual inferno-survival bun on top of my head.
“You okay?” Marcus stops and bends to help me pick up the potatoes.
“I’m fine.”
My knee hurts, but it’s nothing major. I just want to pick up the potatoes and get away from him. Even in the apocalypse, I’m still a woman, and I don’t like how much I enjoy his closeness.
Rationally, I know I need to keep my head down and avoid him. But when we both reach for a potato at the same time and his fingers brush mine, my heart thrums in a chaotic rhythm and any sense I had vanishes.
I pull my hand away like his is a scorching hot stove, grabbing the final potato from the ground and then standing.
He looks at my injured knee, frowning even though he can’t see it beneath my pants.
“Let me,” he says, coming around the take the handle of my cart.
“No, you don’t have?—”
He ignores my protest and I step back. The cart is lopsided, one of the front wheels half buried in a hole. The potatoes are heavy, making the cords of muscle on his arms stand out as he pulls the cart back to get the wheel free.
“Thanks.” I force myself not to look at him, because I don’t want him to see the stars in my eyes.
It’s ridiculous, feeling such a powerful pull to a man who wanted to leave me to die in the jungle. He’s not a good guy, and I need to remind myself of that more often.
“I’ll have someone fill that hole,” Nova says.
Oh, that’s right—other people exist. I had forgotten. My gaze flicks to her and I murmur my thanks.
Marcus starts moving the cart, and I furrow my brow and say, “I can get it from here.”
“Going to the kitchen?” he asks, still holding on to the cart’s handle.
I narrow my eyes, aggravated. “Yes, butI’ve got it.”
“You need that knee looked at?”
He pulls the cart with one hand, like it weighs nothing. It takes everything I’ve got when it’s full of heavy produce to move it—both legs, both arms and the occasional break to swear and catch my breath.
“No.” I fire the word at him like a weapon. “I’m capable.”
“I know that.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
I look to Nova, hoping for some female support, but she’s examining something nonexistent on her arm.
When Marcus turns, the familiar stitching on the leather sheath of the knife secured at his waist catches my eye. It makes me want to hiss like a pissed-off cat.
“That’s my knife.”
He just shakes his head, Nova jogging ahead of us to open the door to the kitchen. I despise that a man who would so openly taunt me gives me butterflies. My type is kind. Happy. Generous.
