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“We’d be fine. I’ve got my fishing rod and the gun.” Jonah swings the axe.
Thwack.
“Of course.” We’d just go kill our meal. Naturally.
The intimate, passionate Jonah from last night is absent this morning. He seems to be back to focused survivalist mode, much like he was when we arrived yesterday. I shouldn’t complain—he’s keeping me warm and fed—yet I ache for him to drop everything and kiss me again.
What if he’s decided that last night was a one-time deal?
It probably should be, before I get in too deep with him. Who’s kidding who, though? I’m already acutely aware of his moods and potential thoughts, and caring too much about them. Isn’t that the first sign that you’ve waded in too deep?
Diana would swear it is.
But acknowledging that doesn’t change the fact that I still want him. Badly.
I feel a pinch and slap my thigh with a hiss, squashing a mosquito against my skin. Another one lands beside the corpse, oblivious and ready to feed.
“You’re about to get swarmed. They just came out,” Jonah murmurs, grabbing an armload of wood and marching toward the cabin, his boot laces dragging through the grass.
He gets to work relighting the fire while I track down the few bugs that followed us in.
“Forget another bank job. I should just find someone to pay me to do this all day,” I mutter with grim satisfaction.
“There’s a small can of repellent somewhere in that bag. If you want to spray yourself.”
“Why not? I’m already filthy,” I mutter.
With another fire crackling, Jonah pulls his shirt off the line and slides it over his head. “Give it a few minutes and then stick one log in.”
I frown. “Wait. Where are you going?”
He gives me a look. “You said you were thirsty, so I’m getting you water from the river.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
He grabs an old dented metal pot off the wall. “I want to check on the plane anyway.”
I’m torn between a gush of warmth that Jonah’s still catering to my basic needs and utter disappointment that he might have already had his fill of meeting my other need: him.
He heads for the door.
“Wait,” I blurt out. “You forgot this.”
He pauses to look over his shoulder.
I take a deep breath and then peel off his bulky flannel jacket. The cool air skates over my bare skin as I stand there in nothing but my military red rain boots, holding my breath, waiting for him to respond.
Hoping to God he doesn’t deny me.
With a heavy sigh and a soft curse, he tosses the pot back onto the counter.
My stomach does a nervous but victorious flip as he reaches over his head to yank his shirt off. “Don’t say I didn’t take care of you out here,” he warns, stalking toward me, his hands making quick work of his belt.
I pause to grab one last picture of the safety cabin, capturing the wooden archway in front and a partially cloudy mountain range in the background.
“Come on, we’ve gotta go!” Jonah hollers.
“And the angry yeti is officially back.”
