Page 12 of Damned
“No worries,” he replied easily.
She reached one semi-clean hand up and cupped his chin. Her fingertips threaded into his beard. All those crisp, masculine hairs and the strong, square chin beneath them became another tipping point. Another step closer to the edge of her control. “I can’t save you if you won’t let me,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotions she didn’t want to feel for this man.
That earned her the boyish, lop-sided grin she had once adored. This man was still a charming sight for her sore, tired eyes. “You? Save me?” he teased. “Hmmm. I thought I was here to save you.”
He dragged the pan of soup over the floor and close to his side, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a shiny, metal—spork. Bree nearly laughed at the teasing light in his eyes. Kruze looked so pleased with himself. Without another word, he dipped the spork into the pan, and before she could protest, he began feeding her. After what little she’d eaten the past sixty-three days, that first taste of rehydrated meals-ready-to-eat was heavenly. She couldn’t help it—she moaned at the incredible salty flavor seducing her taste buds.
“I can feed myself,” Bree muttered when he refilled the spork.
“Shush. Eat,” he murmured, the heat of his body and the command in his mellow voice enticing her to relax.
“You do know it’s physically impossible to shush and eat at the same time, don’t you?” she asked, as he pressed another sporkful to her bottom lip and forced her to open wide.
It was so darn cute, the way he opened his mouth and mimicked her eating. Everything about this man had softened. She almost liked Kruze Sinclair again.
Bree let him have his way. Josephus and Berfendedidn’t seem to worry him. As prepared as he’d proven to be, maybe it was time she believed in Kruze. That he wouldn’t let Josephus drag her back to the rebel camp and stuff her into that hellish hole. That he’d fight for her the way he already had, the way she wished he’d fought for her—for them—a long time ago.
Bree lost her will to argue. Kruze insisted she drink, so she sipped the lukewarm water from the tube of his CamelBak. Dehydration was relentless at this altitude, and she was exhausted. But warm. So wonderfully, deliciously warm that, after all she’d endured at the hands of her captors, hope seemed possible again. She shouldn’t trust Kruze again, and yet—she did.
The sheer comfort of his body heat was the deciding factor. With a sigh and a lick of her comforted lips, the need to sleep tugged Bree under. She leaned into the massive wall of his chest, took a deep breath of the man she remembered, and simply let go.
