Page 21 of Out on a Limb

Gripping the door frame in one hand, I thump my head firmly against the wood three times, hoping to knock some sense through my thick skull. Then I kick off my own boots and stride into the cabin, desperate to get moving again.

One lap of the room, then two. I weave my way around the furniture, aimless without Jana in the room. So lost when I know she’s upset and I’m the cause. And I should do something, should set my hands to work even if I can’t distract my brain, but I’m useless when I know that Jana’s upset. Nothing else in the universe matters.

The sounds of the shower drift through the bathroom door: the drumming spray, the click and thump of a shampoo bottle, a faint creak as Jana shifts her weight. Coconut-scented steam seeps around the door’s edges, and after the maddening rush of those kisses in the town square, that steam is pure torture.

Christ, I want her.

And Jana Kumara is naked in that bathroom. The woman of my dreams; my ultimate fantasy made flesh. She’s bare under that shower, soft and slippery and wet, and I’m completely serious when I say that I’d trade my left arm to join her in there.

To kiss her, yeah. To fuck her, obviously. Lifting Jana against those tiles and thrusting home between those soft thighs—that would be the ultimate paradise.

But not just for those things. An embarrassingly large part of me wants to score an invite into that shower for other reasons—to soap her shoulder blades, to turn the spray cold and make her squeal, to fashion her short black hair into a little Elvis quiff. To mess around and make her laugh.

My chest aches for that stuff just as much as the need to thrust deep inside her. I rub my sternum now, still prowling uselessly around the furniture.

Normally, whenever I feel restless like this, I set out for a long, hard hike with only a few pieces of kit on my back. Might come home in a few days, or weeks, or maybe even a few months. Doesn’t matter the time of day or even the season; one thing I’ve proved to myself over the years is that I’m a survivor. Whatever I throw at myself, I can take it.

Used to be so proud of that fact. And I guess I still am, but when I feel that urge now, that itch to pack a bag and plunge out of the door into the mountains, it doesn’t feel much like bravery. It feels like running.

Have I been running all along? Fleeing from myself?

Ah, shit. Don’t want to untangle all that stuff right now.

Get out here, Jana. Put me out of my misery.

The cabin is warmer than the outdoors, but not by much, so after a few more laps I set myself to building a fire in the log burner. Don’t want Jana to be cold after her shower. The wood catches quickly and the little burner door squeaks as I push it closed.

The fire pops and crackles.

I stand up straight. Stare at the bathroom door, doleful, and rub my chest again.

Christ.

Jana Kumara has me dangling on a string, and she doesn’t even know it. She could tell me to jump, and I’d ask: how high? But even with all that, even with the fact that I fucking ache for her every minute of the day, even with the way she rules my waking thoughts and my dreams in equal measure… I’ve still messed up.

Should not have kissed her like that.

When the shower stops, my heart beats harder. The soft sounds of a towel rustling float through the door. And normally, when Jana scurries out of the bathroom with damp sticky-up hair and a towel wrapped around her body, I make sure I’m looking the other way. I avert my eyes like a gentleman and keep ‘em averted, because the last thing I want is to scare her away.

This time, I’m too slow. Too dazed and unhappy.

The bathroom door swings open.

Our eyes meet.

Jana freezes, startled, framed in the doorway by big clouds of coconut steam. Need to crack a window, a helpful but mistimed voice whispers in my brain. And she’s damp and flushed and so fucking perfect, and I can’t hide it anymore, even though that’s the smart thing to do. Even though I know I should. Can’t push these feelings down for another minute.

I stare at Jana Kumara with fierce hunger shining in my eyes.

Her lips part. Her chest rises and falls.

The fire hisses and spits.

We both move at the same split-second, charging past the furniture to slam together in the middle of the floor. The towel drops, puddling at our feet, and my open mouth is on Jana’s throat.

I’m pawing, desperate. Goosebumps ripple along her arms as my teeth scrape skin, and she’s clawing at me too, yanking at my shirt until buttons ping across the room. We’re a couple of wild animals, grappling at each other with abandon. No thoughts; pure instinct.

“Stig,” Jana hisses when I pull her head back by the hair. Her honey-brown eyes burn up at me, daring me to go further. Urging me on.

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