Page 68 of Damascus & The Wildfire
I’d been terrified to lose Hatchet. Even though whatever romantic feelings I thought I might have for him had dissipated, he’dbecome one of my closest friends since moving. I had no words for the terror that shot through me when I heard he’d been in an accident and the lingering fear that choked me as I continued to worry. The thought of losing him—of another funeral, another goodbye, another hole in my heart—clawed inside my chest.
By the time the water began to cool, my body felt wrung out. I wrapped myself in a towel and cursed under my breath when I realized I had nothing to change into. A quick rummage through the dark oak dresser turned up a soft, worn T-shirt. I slipped it over my head, the hem falling mid-thigh. It smelled faintly like Merrick.
I padded out to the kitchen. Merrick stood, staring out the window into the night sky.
“Hey,” I said softly, brushing my hand on his back.
He turned, and for the first time all night, the mask was gone. The guarded control he’d worn at the hospital had slipped, letting me see the worry lining his face.
“Hatchet’s going to be OK,” I assured him.
He scrubbed his face with his palm. “The man has cheated death more times than I can count. One of these days Merci’s going to call me from the ER to tell me I have to bury my best friend.”
I couldn’t bring myself to tell him it wouldn’t happen. Because we both knew it could. We’d both watched accidents rip away people we loved in a heartbeat.
I yawned as the heaviness of the night settled over me.
“Let’s go to bed,” I suggested.
He led me toward the back, into the bedroom. “Not exactly how I pictured our first night,” he grumbled as he pulled back the covers.
I slid in, the sheets crisp against my flushed skin. He stood at the edge of the bed, pulling his shirt over his head. In the soft light, his tattoos looked darker. The strong black lines coiled over muscle and scars. His jeans hit the floor, and my breath hitched. Despite my exhaustion, every nerve in my body lit up as he slipped under the sheets beside me.
His arm circled my waist as he pulled me flush against hischest. His nose tucked into the curve of my neck, warm breath feathering my skin. The scent of leather and his cologne clung to his skin.
And despite everything—Hatchet’s accident, the fear, the adrenaline—I fell asleep fast, surrounded by the solid weight of him.
I woke to cool sheets and an empty pillow where Merrick had been, his faint scent filling the air around me.
The kitchen was still. A lukewarm, half-drunk cup of coffee sat abandoned beside the carafe. I dumped it in the sink, filling the cup with hot coffee, and carried it to sit at the table beside the large picture window.
Outside, a squirrel darted across the wooded yard, scattering a few startled birds from the rustic feeder. Their chirps and flutters were the only music in the quiet lodge. I sipped the bitter coffee and let my mind drift.
The low rumble of Merrick’s truck cut through the stillness. I stayed seated, watching the door as the sound of a code punching in echoed, followed by the creak of hinges.
He filled the frame of the doorway before stepping inside, holding a hot-pink polka dot duffel bag.
My brows rose, but I kept sipping. “Is that mine?”
“I thought you might want a change of clothes,” he said casually. “Found it in your closet.”
He set it on the table like it was no big deal. I stood and unzipped it, sorting through the clothes. Jeans. T-shirt. A dress. Then?—
I held up a lacy black thong by one finger and grinned. “You went through my panties?”
“They were the first ones I grabbed,” he claimed.
“Liar.” I laughed. “Those were at the back. I never wear them. That lace is so uncomfortable.”
He didn’t flinch at being caught. Instead, hereached in and pulled out a set of silky red boy shorts and—fuck—a pair of cotton panties patterned with tiny T-rexes.
“I grabbed a few that I want you to wear for me,” he said with a half grin. “I’ve never seen a woman in dinosaur underwear.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. I snatched them from his hands. “I’m still deciding how I feel about you going through my clothes before you’ve even seen me out of them.”
I went to walk away, bag in hand, but he caught my wrist and spun me before I could take a step. In one move, I was seated on the table before him, the wood cool against my thighs.
“We can change that,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. His hands skimmed up the bare skin beneath the oversized T-shirt I’d borrowed. He traced my curves as he pressed his lips to mine. The air shifted with the promise of pleasure as he ran a hand up my thigh. He paused when he realized I was bare.
