Page 25 of Heston
London’s face was a study of stern, sharp worry. Her long, jewel-toned bangs hung into her face like a tropical waterfall. The harder she rubbed the towel over his legs and thighs, the better his circulation, and the more Heston couldn’t stop watching the way the tip of her pink tongue poked over her bottom lip, then disappeared completely when she snared that lip between her teeth, her tell that she was focused. He would know. There was a time she’d been this focused on him in a different way.
Her hands and fingers trembled as she hurried. He was sure he could hear her heart pounding in her veins. Once she stopped toweling him off so roughly, she took firm hold of each of his feet and angled them through the leg holes of his dry jockeys. Embarrassing, yeah. But, despite the cold and fierce urgency with which she worked—tenderly intimate. Made freezing almost worth it, just to have her hands on him again.
There she was, on her knees in wet snow, breathing hard from the effort of getting him into warm clothes and dry—oh man, they felt good—socks. Then boots. Maybe she was a little worried, hurrying like she was. Because she cared? He hoped that was her motivation. Anything else would be so much—less. He couldn’t deal with the letdown if she were‘just doing her job.’
Before he had the chance, she’d zipped his pants and fastened the button. Asher took charge of getting him into a dry t-shirt and, over that, a gray sweatshirt with ARMY stenciled on its chest. A black, fluffy down parka followed. But damn, every move hurt. Hanging too long in the cold had done a number on his muscles and shivering wasn’t helping his joints. There’dbetter be a damned partial print on those brackets after all this trouble.
As a finishing touch, London activated several handwarmers and stuffed one in his pants pockets, two more into the mittens she was carefully working over his stiff fingers. By the time she and Asher were done with him, Heston was warmer, but dog-tired. What a day.
London kept rubbing his shoulders and arms. “London, stop,” he murmured, shivering so hard his teeth and his lower jaw hurt. “I’m okay, just c-c-cold.”
“You scared me to death, damn you,” she snapped. “Don’t you ever do that—”
Aw, what the hell. He was going to lay down anyway, and thankfully, Asher had spread a tarp to keep everything and everyone drier. Angling his shoulders, Heston tipped over onto his back and jerked London down with him. With full intent, he took hold of her head and mashed her surprised mouth over his stiff lips.
Surprisingly, she gave in, didn’t resist, just melted against him. At last. Her breath was as intoxicating as he remembered. Her lips were wet and warm, and her lush body pressing against his was all he’d ever wanted. He could breathe. He was going to live.
The kiss turned steamy for all of sixty seconds, until he felt her tears wetting his cheeks.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he murmured, shifting her length alongside his, ending their moment of passion with a fast kiss to her forehead and his hand on the small of her back.
“I’m not scared. I’m mad,” she growled. “At you. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, you big dumb ass!”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Man, I love when you cuss.”
A sob shuddered out of her. Yes, she was mad, but mostly London was scared. Heston knew the signs. Wasn’t long ago,he’d been in her shoes. Scared she’d go off to the East Coast and get herself killed in the line of duty. That the FBI would never tell him when she’d died or which country she’d been in when she’d fallen. That he’d lose her, never see her again, never hold her again, never get the chance to apologize for being a possessive jerk, or—anything.
So, yeah. Holding her now, feeling her heart hammering against his, tasting her lips and tongue—So. Damned. Perfect. Heston blinked, tears melting the icicles on his lashes. He squeezed both eyes shut, needing a minute to compose himself. Men didn’t cry, certainly not in front of their companion agent. They bucked up. They carried on.
He fully intended to lighten the mood, maybe crack a joke, make a smart-aleck comment. Instead, “I’ve missed you so damned much, babe,” whispered out of his big mouth. “And I’m sorry. So sorry for everything I said to you that night. I was wrong.”
“You were wrong, and you should be sorry,” she hissed.
For as angry as she’d been when she’d stormed out on him, she seemed fine lying beside him now. Heston thanked God for the strong-willed woman in his arms and the second chance he’d been given.
But they couldn’t stay there. “Come on. Let’s get some place dry. We brought a tent—”
“I have a camper. Follow me.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he told her.Absolutely. I will follow you forever, if you’ll have me.
Chapter Thirteen
“Where are you taking us?” Heston asked, his head up and his bleary eyes quartering the dreary landscape ahead.
With no sun in the forecast and heavy, moisture-laden clouds hanging like sopping wet blankets over the Cascades, it was important to get him warm. Somewhere London could get some hot soup into him, maybe a cup of coffee. Where she could chew him out and… and…
Love him for the rest of the day and night and—forever? Was that even in the cards for them? Yes, once upon a time, they’d been good together. Make that great. But they were both strong-willed individuals, who had higher purposes in life than just working nine-to-five jobs, owning a rambler with a white picket fence in the ’burbs, and ‘two cats in the yard,’ like that old Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young song from the 1970s.
“M-my place. I mean, my camper,” she stuttered, her voice so damned meek and weak she wanted to kick her own ass. “The Forest Service retrieved their RV. You guys’ll have to bunk with me tonight.”
“I need to report in,” he answered. “TEAM protocol.”
“Understood. You can do that from there. It’s got a queen bed and two pull-down bunks. You’ll be warm, and you can use my sat phone.”And I need to put my hands on you again, you big jerk.
London could barely keep her hands off Heston as it was, much less walk calmly beside him while she led them to her camper. He’d risked his life! And for what? A couple stupid brackets and bolts? The impossible notion there were fingerprints on those stupid pieces of hardware? Not likely.
He could’ve fallen in that white water! Could’ve been lost forever! Not allegedly lost like Kelsey Stewart had been, but the once and forever, never seen again version of lost. It was all she could do to not scream when he’d jumped under the bridge and muscled his way beneath it. By his fingertips. With his long legs dangling in the wind. One wrong move. One tiny mistake. One rotten plank. That’s all it would’ve taken. He would’ve fallen and she wouldn’t have been able to save him. She would’ve been sentenced to watching him die. The nerve! The nerve!
