Page 126 of Luck of the Devil
Not the time, Harper!
I twisted again, but his fingers dug in tighter.
“If we’re gonna die,” he said, his voice softening. “I don’t want you thinkin’ I didn’t want you. Because I did.” He grimaced. “I do.”
I sucked in a breath, my thoughts splintering. Because I wanted him too, more than I’d ever wanted any man. The acknowledgment equally thrilled me and scared the shit out of me. This wasn’t just lust. It was something deeper.
Something dangerous.
Then his hand grabbed the back of my head and pulled my mouth to his. The suddenness of it caught me off guard. His hand fisted in my hair, holding my head in place as he coaxed my lips open, his tongue sweeping deep with expert intent.
Heat surged through me. I cupped both sides of his face as I kissed him back, hard and hungry, like I’d been waiting forever for this—for him.
He was desperate, like he was drinking me in.
Like this was our last kiss, not our first.
The thought cut through the haze, and I broke away, breathless. His grip on my hair eased, but he didn’t let go.
But now wasn’t the time to unpack what had just happened. For all I knew, fifty men with guns were advancing down the hill, and we’d be shot dead with me sitting on Malcolm’s lap while he devoured me.
But of all the ways to go, I supposed it wasn’t the worst.
Still, I wasn’t dying today. Not when I’d finally found someone worth fighting for.
I brushed my thumb across his bottom lip, my voice low. “In case you haven’t figured it out, I want you too.” I leaned in close, my forehead nearly touching his. “But I’d actually like this mutual wanting to last more than five minutes, so you have to let me go so I can get us out of here.”
He slightly shook his head, resignation in his eyes. “There’s no gettin’ us out of this. You can’t do this on your own.”
I sat back. “Fuck you,” I said, a half snarl/half laugh. Then kissed him again—hard and fierce—to show him I wasn’t giving up. That we weren’t done. When I pulled back, I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. Now you need to let me go so I can prove you wrong.”
I pushed up, and this time, he let me. The loss of his touch left me cold, but it cleared my head and sharpened my focus.
“I take it you have a plan?” he asked, one brow lifting, amusement edging into his voice.
“Of course I have a plan,” I said in a huff, with more confidence than I felt. “It might be crazy, but it’s better than sitting here waiting to die.”
I rifled through the bag, pulling out a cotton button-down shirt, two pairs of cotton underwear then picked up James’s T-shirt next to the bag. I grabbed the lighter, then dropped to my belly and crawled under the car.
“What the hell are you doin’ under there?” he asked, then added, “I guess it’s not a bad place to hide if they ambush us.”
“We’re not hiding under here. We’re putting on a show.”
My plan was simple. Tires made thick black smoke. Once the smoke was dense enough to cover us, I’d light the jeans in the trunk on fire and pray the heat set off the gas tank. If we were lucky, the explosion would provide enough chaos for us to make a run for it. Or a wobble, in James’s case.
I soaked the underwear with alcohol, rubbed it on the front driver’s side tire, then wedged Malcolm’s T-shirt under it. I lit the rubber first, relieved when the flames caught. The acrid scent made my nostrils sting.
I lit the underwear next and dropped them on the shirt, relieved when it caught fast.
I scooted to the back tire next and repeated the process, this time using the button-down shirt. It went up quicker.
By the time I backed out from under the car, thick black smoke was billowing up, choking the air. My eyes watered and my lungs burned. I sat up, coughing, then quickly laid out the rest of the plan to Malcolm.
“It’ll never work,” he said, his voice flat. “We’re at least twenty yards from the tree line, and I’m not sure I can walk straight. We’ll be shot the second we break cover.”
“What have we got to lose?” I said, heading for the trunk. “Staying here is a guaranteed death sentence. At least this gives us a chance.”
I rose up and peered over the trunk just in time to see dark silhouettes moving against the skyline—at least three of them, probably searching for the source of the smoke.
