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Mom and Harold are asleep downstairs, in the bunker, ready to be sealed in at the slightest hint of danger.
I refused to stay down there with Ryland.
“I want to be with you,” I told him fiercely when he tried to banish me.
He pushed me up against the wall with his brawny body, his chest crushing into me. My body trembled and pulsed when he gripped my hips, squeezing possessively.
“I need to keep you safe,” he snarled. “Without you, I’m lost.”
“I can run down at the first sign of danger,” I told him, my hands on his massive shoulders, hoping he could feel some of my need through my touch.
He agreed, but I could tell from the tensing of his jaw and the pulsing of his temples, he wasn’t happy about it.
Chopper is curled up on the end of the bed, his head resting on his leash, snoring softly.
I glance from the bed back at the forest, sighing.
They could be out there already, waiting for it to get dark.
Was this a mistake?
I join Chopper on the bed, dropping down and letting him shimmy into my lap.
“What do you think, boy?” I murmur, running my hand through his fur as I look at the door to the bathroom.
It’s ajar and I hear the shower going, my body tingling with a thousand lust-fueled suggestions when I think about my man in there, the water cascading over his hard, rippled skin.
He steps out of the shower a few minutes later, wearing jet-black cargo pants and a black hoodie. He’s got a gun at his hip and a rifle slung over his shoulder.
When I held the rifle, it felt huge, but it almost looks like a toy flung over his shoulder.
He carries the rifle to the window and lays it on the table, turning to me with his eyes narrowed, his jaw going tight when his gaze flits over me.
“You’re damn distracting, Rosie,” he growls. “That was part of the reason I wanted you to stay downstairs. Those tits drive me wild.”
“You’re thinking about that now?” I say.
He smirks, laying his hand on his gun.
“You make it hard to think of anything else,” he tells me.
I bite my lip, turning away from him. I know he likes it when I capture my lip in desire like that… I can hear the growl in his voice, the way his breathing changes.
“Why did you shower?” I ask. “You had one before you left, too.”
He had one after we made love in the morning.
I was on top this time, my nails clawing down his chest, bouncing as confidence burned through me. His eyes gazing up at my bouncing body like it was the most captivating sight he’d ever seen.
Like he needed me.
Why should I find it hard to admit I’m beautiful now, at least to him?
“Mercenary work can be bloody,” he says, his voice steady, his eyes silver-blue and gazing firmly. “It makes you dirty, Rosie, and not just physically. I like to feel clean before that.”
“I thought you said that wouldn’t happen,” I gasp, laying Chopper aside as I stand up.
I walk over to him, staring up into the firmness of his jawline. His silver hair glints in the lowlight, like icy water.
“You said the FBI would arrive before you had to fight.”
“They will,” he growls. “But I’d be a fool not to stay vigilant.”
I grab his shoulders and pull him aside, away from the window.
“How is standing at the window staying vigilant?” I ask.
He smirks.
“It’s bulletproof glass,” he says. “But you’re right. We shouldn’t be advertising our position. We’ve got the cameras to watch them. Curtains—close. Lights—low.”
Suddenly, shutters slide across the regular glass of the window. It looks thick, more solid than window glass. It shimmers oddly, distorting the light.
“Blast-proof,” he tells me. “And they blind the bastards as they approach. Technology, Rosie, it’s incredible.”
“I can just about work my Kindle,” I laugh. “And half the time that’s with an online tutorial.”
He chuckles. “Trust you to find a way to make all this less grim,” he says, voice husky. “Come on. If we’re staying up, we might as well be comfortable.”
He grabs his rifle and walks toward the bedroom door. The cabin has a log style, but the logs are built over a sturdy metal structure. From the outside, it looks like a picturesque Christmas card, but inside, it’s all hard edges and sleek modern surfaces.
He leads me toward the living room. Chopper pads at my feet the whole time, the little boy grinning up at me. He’s got his leash in his mouth, dangling behind him, partly gnawed from his efforts.
The living room has a long plush couch and a large flat screen TV mounted to the wall. The fire is unlit, and the floors are covered with plush rugs. Ryland lays his rifle on the counter, out of Chopper’s reach, and then presses a few buttons on his smartwatch.
