Page 29 of Mistletoe and Mayday
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 goesrigid. He knows I know. I know he knows I know. Yet neither of us acknowledges the obvious situationliterallyrising 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 toallhis 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.
