Page 46 of Risk It All
Even as she rode her climax, she opened her eyes to watch him come, not wanting to miss the moment when his impassive mask melted away completely, leaving only pleasure so intense it was almost painful to see.
They rested together, chests heaving against each other as they caught their breath. Even as limp and wrung out as she was, Cara couldn’t stop touching him, running her fingertips over his corded wrist. As her breathing eased and her skin started to cool, Henry gathered her against him in a hug so encompassing and careful that her heart filled with affection and something even stronger. Unable to resist, she pressed her lips to his, trying to convey without words how tender and strong her feelings for him were. He kissed her back with gentle ferocity, their eyes meeting when they finally shifted away.
“I hate to say it…” His voice was rough.
“We need to go.” She finished what she knew he was going to say. “I know. Our timing sucks.”
A smile flickered over his face and then disappeared. Although his impassive mask descended, this time it was different. She could still see the lingering warmth in his gaze as she reluctantly climbed out of bed. The floor was freezing on her bare feet, shocking her back to reality as she hurried over to the dresser. The previous evening, she’d thought that wearing someone else’s used socks was weird—even if they had been washed. This morning, she didn’t care about that. All she wanted was a barrier between the icy floor and her toes. Teetering on one foot and then the other, she yanked on a pair of thick woolen socks.
“Wear layers today.” Henry’s voice was closer than she’d expected, making her jump and almost lose her balance. Placing her now-stockinged foot back on the floor, she nodded, but he was facing away from her, stretching. His corded arms reached up toward the ceiling as the muscles in his back stood out in defined relief. Cara suddenly found her mouth was dry, but she was unable to pull her gaze off him. He glanced over his shoulder, probably because he was still waiting for a verbal reply.
“Right,” she hurried to say, dragging her gaze back to the open drawer. She couldn’t keep watching him without wanting an immediate repeat of what they’d just done, but Abbott wouldn’t wait for them to leave their cabin love-nest. She needed to get her head back in the game and be sensible. “Layers.”
When she looked at him again, he was already halfway down the spiral stairs, with just his head and shoulders showing. “What time do you think it is?” She hated the feeling of not knowing, of not being able to just glance at her phone and see the numbers. Once they managed to get back to Langston, she vowed to never take her phone for granted again—and to never put it down. If she had to hang it around her neck on a chain, that’s what she’d do. If she’d picked up her phone before answering the door the night she was kidnapped, everything would’ve turned out differently.
“About six.” He continued down the stairs, and Cara watched him, infatuated by the graceful way he moved and the heat and tenderness in his eyes when they landed on her. She waited for the top of his head to disappear before she shook herself out of her Henry haze and threw on a T-shirt. She slipped down the stairs after him and headed to the bathroom to clean up. Once she finished and opened the door, she immediately searched him out where he stood in the kitchen, his gaze locked on her. Even though she knew she was being ridiculous, she couldn’t tear her eyes away until she climbed the stairs again and he disappeared from view.
Without the distraction of watching Henry, the cold air of the loft was much more noticeable, so she started adding layers. When she had on so many clothes that she felt like a well-stuffed sausage, she stripped the sheets off the bed and carried them downstairs. Henry was in front of the woodstove, messing with something in a pan.
“That smells good,” she said as she headed to the bathroom, determined to act normal. The only response she got was a distracted grunt, which oddly made her smile. It was just soHenry. At the thought, she mentally caught herself.Don’t think that you know him, her practical side warned.Twenty-four hours on the run and one night in bed together are not a relationship.Even as stupid as she knew she was being, she couldn’t help but feel connected to him.
Dropping the sheets on the floor, she was hit by a pang of guilt at the sight of their dirty laundry, and she wished there was a washer in the cabin. The thought made her give an amused snort. “Bathroom’s not enough for you now?” she asked herself under her breath. “Getting a little greedy, aren’t you?”
“What?” Henry asked, glancing over his shoulder before quickly returning his attention to the pan.
“Nothing. Just telling my inner princess to chill.” He gave her another look, but she just smiled and shrugged. “I wish we didn’t have to leave the very nice cabin owners a pile of dirty laundry.”
His own shrug wasn’t at all concerned. “The cash’ll make it all better.” Wrapping a dish towel around the handle of the pan, he carried it to the kitchen counter where two plates were waiting. He dumped a huge pancake onto one of the plates. “Here. Eat.”
She watched him return to the woodstove with the pan and a bowl of batter before turning to the beautifully browned pancake that covered the plate. “Did you actually cook on that thing? I’m impressed. I mean, heating soup is one thing, but how’d you even regulate the temperature to not char the outside and leave the inside raw?” There was a bottle of syrup—the fake, sugary kind that had a reassuring amount of preservatives in it—on the counter, and she spread it liberally over the pancake. Using a fork, she cut out a bite-size piece, realizing that she might have spoken too soon about the insides not being raw, but it was cooked and fluffy and perfect all the way through.
“Dumb luck,” he said, making her laugh. She pressed her fist to her mouth to keep from sending chewed bits of pancake flying across the counter.
“Well, your luck is on point today,” she said once she’d swallowed. “Which is a good thing, considering our situation.” The reminder made her stomach lurch, but she ignored her worries and shoved another bite of pancake in her mouth. She’d need all the fuel she could get before they headed out.
He made a sound she took as agreement as he worked a spatula underneath the half-cooked pancake currently in the pan and flipped it with a competence she found strangely attractive. Shoving another bite in her mouth, she poured them each a glass of water as she glanced around the kitchen.
“I don’t suppose you found any coffee?” she asked hopefully. When he shook his head, she sighed and took a long drink of water. “Oh well. That’s just my needy princess side again.”
Since he was turning toward her, pan in hand, she saw the quick flash of his smile. He dumped the newly cooked pancake onto his plate and left the pan on one of the kitchen stove burners to cool. They finished their meal in silence, although it was surprisingly comfortable. After the kiss and the bed-sharing and the unconscious cuddling and then the very conscious and intense sex, she’d expected more awkwardness, but it was as if they’d settled into their own weird routine, in which they cooked and ate and ran from kidnappers and sometimes kissed and did…other things.
The memory of that moment—well, several long moments—in bed with his head between her legs made her cheeks heat, and she ducked her face to hide it, concentrating on her last bite of pancake.
“Something wrong?” he asked, because of course he noticed the exact thing that she wished he wouldn’t see.
“No.” She grimaced when the word came out too quickly to be believable. “Except for, you know, everything outside this cabin.” Waving her empty fork in a circle above her head, she indicated the mountains around them. As beautiful as the wilderness was, she couldn’t forget that they were being pursued by potentially murderous thugs.
As if he’d needed the reminder as well, his mouth hardened, and he reached toward her empty plate.
“Nope.” She snatched up her plate before he could take it and then reached for his, catching it at the same time he did. They both held on in a polite sort of tug-of-war. “You cooked, so I clean up.” When he didn’t yield, she gave a little tug and added, “Besides, you’ll know better than I do what would be useful to bring with us.”
At that, he released the plate, and she took the dishes to the sink. As she washed, he prowled the cabin, creating a pile of supplies on the table. Steam rose from the hot water filling the sink as Cara scrubbed a plate and watched him dig through the closet by the front door. She couldn’t seem to get enough of watching him, and she was pretty sure the feeling was mutual, judging by the way his gaze kept returning to her. The scene felt strangely cozy, and she hurried to say something to break the too-comfortable silence before she was overwhelmed with warm and ill-timed thoughts.
“I don’t suppose there’s a backpack somewhere in here?” She refocused on the sink so she could rinse the plate without dropping it. “That’d be useful to carry all of the supplies.”
“Not really.” There was an odd note in his voice that made her turn to look at him. Henry held up a dark-green pack by one strap.
“What is that?” Cara felt her eyebrows draw together as she turned her head to the side to get a better look. When she realized what he was holding, she started to laugh. “A fanny pack?”
