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Couples scurry past us to their tents for the night, and I blush, thinking of Penelope and the man who carted her off.
“What about your cousin?” I ask.
The night air shifts, cooling my cheeks the closer we step to the forest’s edge.
“I think you’ll be waiting on her for a while,” he says suggestively, making my belly flutter. “Unless, of course, you’re into voyeurism.”
“Voyeurism?” I repeat the word curiously.
The carnal twist of his lips spreads a blush to my ears. “It means you like to watch.”
The idea of giving in to that type of kink electrifies my sex drive, but his purposeful goading has my eyes rolling. “You’re impossible.”
He gives me a naughty wink. “So I’ve been told.”
I carefully dodge tree branches and rocks jutting from the forest floor as we step inside the tree line. The forest blooms with life as beams of full moonlight cascade through the canopy. Ribbiting frogs and the noise of a bubbling brook blend with the ongoing celebration.
“I’m sorry if I ruined your evening,” I say, reaching my hand toward a swarm of blinking fireflies.
He walks beside me, quietly watching the creatures zip around my hand. “You didn’t ruin anything.”
I peer up at him, trying to level my tone. “I’m sure there was someone you were waiting for.”
“You’re right,” he says. “There was.”
Of course there was.
He bumps my shoulder before stopping us in front of a giant tree cradling a small house in its branches. One of the thicker limbs extends over a pond below, with an old rope swing dangling from it.
“This was my hideout when I was younger.” He walks to the base of the massive trunk and gives it a thoughtful pat.
Stairs made from thick blocks of wood are hammered into the thick bark. And when Marcus grips the first few, testing each with a rough tug, I rise on my tiptoes to get a better view of the structure suspended above our heads. “You want me to climb upthere?”
Two sections of the tree protrude through the base of the house, which has been carefully shaped around them. The unit is no bigger than three hundred or so square feet, and although the wood is timeworn, it has a sturdy, well-executed build, unlike a flimsy neighborhood treehouse.
Already on the fifth step, Marcus twists back and extends a hand. “Come now, Heather. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
Heather
Iglare at the palm he holds out to me expectantly.
Challenge accepted, vamp.
My hand fits snuggly into his as he helps me up the first couple of steps, and one at a time, I follow him to the top.
At twenty feet above the ground, the sky-scraping trees encircle us in a fortress of solitude, and fireflies flit in and out of the shadows dancing on the ground. I gingerly step across the creaky deck to brace my palms on the handcrafted railing. The wood has been sanded smooth, and even left to the elements as it has been, the sealant has held surprisingly well.
I trail a finger over each individual notch, wondering why I’m not more terrified to be out in the wild, where no one can hear us. Marcus’s boots clip across the floor as he enters the room behind us, and I realize it’s because I’m with him. And when I’m with Marcus, there are plenty of things I feel, but afraid isn’t one of them.
The molding which frames the door to the main cabin is littered with a series of hand-carved doodles, ranging from tiny hearts, scrolls, and flowers, big and small.
And then there’s Marcus, leaning against the doorframe, bathed in a soft yellow glow that illuminates the night through the small windows on either side of him.
“You built this, didn’t you?”
He nods, watching me with that ever-present curiosity and an unusual pinch of sorrow.
