The truck smells like cedar and pine needles and warm cotton dried in the sun. Underneath it all is Simon, his soap, skin, and something woodsy that makes me want to lean closer just to figure it out.
I crack open the window, allowing cold mountain air to slip inside and cool my overheated skin. It’s absurd how quickly I’ve gotten used to him hovering over me like I’m something worth guarding. Or maybe not absurd. Maybe just nice, dangerously, devastatingly nice.
“You can drop me off at any of the hotels in Bramble,” I say after a few minutes.
Simon glances over at me, his gaze filled with concern and an overwhelming amount of suspicion.
“Why would I do that?”
“You’ve done more than enough.”
He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh.
“Clover.”
“What?”
“I’m not dropping you off in Bramble.”
“But—”
“I’m not dropping you off in Crescent Ridge. I’m not dropping you off period.”
My stomach does a little flip, half nerves, half something way too warm and fluttery for a guy I met less than twelve hours ago.
“You’re kidnapping me.”
A giddy little bubble of laughter rises in my chest. This should be terrifying. Normal men don’t joke about kidnapping women. Instead, it’s making my knees weak, because I know I’m safe with Simon. If he wants to flirt and tease I’m down.
“Correct,” he replies without hesitation.
I smile despite myself.
“That seems excessive.”
“You passed out in the woods six hours ago.”
“It’s unfair to bring that up.”
“It’ll stay relevant for at least twenty-four more hours.”
“Noted.”
His grin flashes in the dark.
Streetlights disappear behind us as we climb higher into the mountains. The road curves through dense forest, moonlight silvering the tops of the pines.
I watch him drive. Strong hands wrapped around the wheel, broad shoulders stretching his black T-shirt. A profile sharpenough to make my brain short-circuit every time he glances my way.
This man carried me down a mountain, held my hand in the ambulance while I drifted in and out of consciousness and waited through my entire ER visit.
“Why didn’t you tell anyone in the group you were deathly allergic to bees?”
I slide lower into the seat.
“It slipped my mind,” I whisper, steadfastly ignoring the exact reason it slipped my mind sitting beside me.
Simon exhales through his nose.
