Page 60 of Unveil
“And I did have protein bars for you, actually.” He peels back his fish’s skin with his knife and pushes the herbs aside, then lifts a brow. “But if you’ll recall,someonedidn’t even want the water I offered.”
“Can you blame me?” I mutter, mentally taking notes as he separates the meat from the bones in one skilled move. The last thing I want is more “city girl” taunts after royally screwing up my escape.
But I’m brutalizing the already dead fish, and when Orion takes pity on me, taking my plate, I let him.
“No. I don’t blame you. I expected it.” He makes quick work of the bones. “And I wanted it. I want my wife to stand on her own at my side, and I knew I’d get that from you.” He gathers a hefty bite of fish on his fork and raises it, eyes on my lips. “Open for me.”
My mouth waters—for the fish, obviously. I really,reallywant that bite. If I take the fork from him, then the fish could fall off. And wouldn’t that be a tragedy?
So that’s why I don’t knock his hand away.
Or maybe I like the way my belly flips and my nipples perk under his gaze as I lean forward, opening my mouth. His multicolor eyes dart up to mine as I close around the fork and take the bite before pulling away with a whimpering moan.
So. Damn. Good.
The rosemary and thyme coax the buttery, smoky smoothness from the trout, but it’s Orion’s smolder that warms me from the inside out.
Dammit, girl, stay strong.
As I sit back, shooting pain stabs up from my ankle and shin. My vision tunnels and I suck in a breath.
“Shit, Luna.” He hurriedly places the plates aside to reach for me, but I stop him with a raised hand as I breathe through it.
“I’m fine,” I lie, shifting to investigate the sprain.
My swollen ankle is as big as the massage balls we use after grueling rehearsals and bound in a makeshift wrap made of tulle, courtesy of Orion. Who would’ve guessed my kidnapper would use the same material he tied me up with to treat my sprain. How fucking thoughtful.
I grimace as I rotate one way then the other, the throb sharpening to knives between the joints. Yup.Definitelya sprain. Which blows, because even though I’ve danced on worse, any harebrained scheme to escape is shot.
“I did what I could to minimize the swelling.” Worry carves Orion’s brows, his jaw hard, and firelight sculpts his muscles into marble. “Of all the things I found here, a first aid kit wasn’t one of them.”
“Ain’t that just the way it goes,” I grumble, copying his speech pattern and looking around again. “Where is ‘here’ anyway?”
He twirls his fork, indicating the cabin. “A shine shack, if I had to guess.”
“What the hell’s a shine shack?” Parched, I grab the chipped mug of water beside him and sip.
“No, you don’t want to?—”
Fire explodes down my throat, and I cough, almost spitting it back out. He pats my back, chuckling as I catch my breath.
“A shine shack, aka amoonshineshack. Generations of bootleggers have run up and down these mountains since before Prohibition. You took the moonshine better than I thought you would.”
“Moonshine, huh?” I rasp. “Benoit and I would’ve both lost our liquor poker faces. What do they make that stuff with? It’s worse than the knockoff Hurricanes on Bourbon Street.”
He nods to a green chalkboard that saysPo’s Revenge???in chicken-scratch chalk writing, a mix of crossed-out recipes and ingredients underneath, like that’s supposed to mean something to me.
“I failed Chemistry 101,” I deadpan.
He snorts. “No, you didn’t.”
“It’sso creepythat you know that.” I groan, then smack my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “It tastes like corn and copper pennies had a three way with”—I cough again—“rubbing alcohol.”
“Yeahhh, I suspect there’s no first aid kit because they were banking on this ‘cure-all.’ Drink at your own risk.”
He sips the mug, sucking in a satisfied breath through his teeth as he places it beside him again.
Show-off.
