Page 81 of Over the Edge

“Talk to me Trev. I can’t read your mind.”

“I’m thinking that I don’t have the kind of civilian family or friends that would lead to love or laughter.”

“Then you need to get better family and friends.”

He snorted.

“Or maybe have a little faith in yourself,” she added.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a great guy. You could have any woman you want. Have some kids. Meet your neighbors. Put on weekend barbecues. Relax.”

“Now there’s a word I have no idea the meaning of.”

“Maybe it’s time you learn.”

He fell silent once more, and this time she let him stew. She folded the map and tucked the light under her sleeping bag.

A soft calm filled the darkness inside while the wind howled distantly outside. Gradually, the tension drained from Trevor’s shoulders. She would love to know what was going on inside his complicated noggin, but she sensed that now was not the time to ask. He was chewing on something, and she knew from experience that he would talk about it when he’d worked it out.

She murmured, “Sleep now?”

He made a sound she couldn’t interpret.

“What?” she asked.

He answered reluctantly, “Did you know our sleeping bags zip together? In severe cold, two guys can share body heat. They take turns sleeping and waking each other up so nobody freezes to death.”

“It’s not going to get that cold tonight, is it?” she asked in alarm. She would place the outside temperature at around thirty degrees. It was the wind chill that was a bitch. They were tucked inside a tent made of material designed to trap heat, and it was actually reasonably cozy in here.

“That wasn’t my point,” he replied dryly.

“Oh.” And then what he was suggesting hit her. “Oh!” An embarrassed giggle escaped her. “Sorry. I’m a little slow on the uptake, tonight. I did warn you that I suck at the whole flirting thing.”

“You may be a hopeless case.”

She leaned into him, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Aww, c’mon. I believe in you. If anyone can teach me to flirt, it’s you.”

He lifted his arm in invitation and she cuddled up against his side while they each drank another bottle of water. Dehydration was a serious danger in dry, cold climates like this.

“Thanks for snagging me on that scree field,” she murmured.

“Like I said. I’ll always have your back.”

She lifted her chin to look up at him, and he tucked his chin to look down at her. Slowly, they leaned toward each other, and their lips brushed together. As one, they shifted weight and turned until they were lying on top of the sleeping bags, facing each other. It felt as if they were the only people in the world.

“What am I going to do with you?” he sighed.

“Hold me. Or kiss me. Or make love to me.”

“Is there an all-of-the-above choice?”

“I like the way you think, Mr. Westbrook.”

“I like the way you taste, Ms. Marlow.”

His arms were an immovable fortress against the world, and here, above all other places, she felt safe. It was so odd for a man to make her feel that way, when for all her life, she’d associated men with danger.

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