Page 119 of Out Of A Fix

“Going now,” Griff replied, but then took a step toward me.

“No,” I directed, stopping him. “I’m covered in mud and soaking wet. I’ll hug you when I get out. I don’t want you to get cold too.”

Griff nodded and bolted from the room.

In Luke’s bathroom, he let me go in alone, which was kind of him. I needed some quiet time in my own head with my own thoughts. I put my switchblade on the sink counter, then took everything off, which was harder than I thought with the way my clothes were sticking to me like a second skin. I trudged to the shower, got under the hot water, and after scrubbing myself from head to toe, I simply stood under the water and let it warm me. It would have been nice to stand under the spray until I was heated down to my core, but I knew Luke wanted to talk to me. I was not surprised when I opened the door, with only a towel around my waist, to find him sitting on the end of his bed.

“I want to give you some space, because if it were me, I’d need that, but I’m having a hard time.”

“Hey,” I said softly, smiling at him. “It’s okay.”

“You need to put on some clothes. You have to be freezing.”

“I am,” I croaked out.

He looked…hurt, so I crossed the room quickly, and he stood up right before I reached him and took me into his arms as soon as I was close enough.

“You’re so warm,” I murmured into his hair, clutching him tight.

“And your skin is warm and smooth, and I want to sleep right next to you so I can touch you all night long.”

“Luke, you⁠—”

“No,” he whispered, rubbing my bare back, his right hand behind my head, tangled in my hair. “One second we were talking, bantering, and the next you were running off into the dark all alone. I have never been that scared in my entire life.”

“I was counting on you to keep everyone here safe and calm.”

“Which you knew I would do, and did, up until the second you called.”

“I have to add you on the biometric lock on my gun case so you can get it open. You could have used that if you needed to.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how to shoot. The gun would be useless for me to—wait.” Wrenching free of my arms, he gaped at me. “You didn’t have your gun?”

“Listen, I⁠—”

“You didn’t have your gun?” he yelled at me.

“I had to go or I would have lost⁠—”

“I don’t care!” he roared. “You could have been killed!”

“You’re wrong,” I assured him, gesturing to the bathroom. “I had my knife and⁠—”

“No,” he rasped, tears filling his eyes fast. He spun away from me, both hands on his face.

“Shit,” I muttered, stepping around in front of him, taking hold of his wrists. “I’m so sorry you were scared, but I’m trained to take down an enemy without a gun, and I⁠—”

“He could have shot you!” he shrieked at me, trying to pull free, needing, I suspected, to pace, to move, as waves of adrenaline rolled through him. “You could be dead. Right this second, you could be dead, bleeding out in the street.”

“Not from that guy,” I scoffed, which as flat as his look became, I realized was the wrong thing to say.

“So it’s just luck, then, that you’re still alive.”

“Honey, you need to understand about my training and⁠—”

“You could be dead,” he moaned.

I took him into my arms and hugged him, nuzzling his hair, loving that his hands went from fists wedged against my chest to opening and lying flat in moments. “I promise you, I am not an easy man to kill.”