Page 77 of Glass Rose
“We should go back inside,” I whisper, not moving an inch.
“In a minute.” His forehead touches mine, breath warm against my lips. “Sofia?”
I answer by placing my lips on his. They are softer than expected, contradicting the hardness of everything else about him. I brush my fingers along his nape, running them through his hair before drawing him to me. His hands bracket my waist, lifting me against the SUV until my feet don’t touch the ground and my legs are around his waist.
“Thought you needed air,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Shut up.” I bite his lower lip, earning a sharp inhale. “Just… shut up.”
He laughs—a rough, broken sound that fills my heart back up with warmth. “Yes, ma’am.”
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine in a rhythm that makes me squirm, seeking more contact, more pressure, more anything.
I gasp as his lips trace my jawline. “We shouldn’t?—”
“Probably not. Want me to stop?”
“Fuck no.” My head falls back, giving him better access to my neck. “But John?—”
“Is unconscious.” His hand travels under my shirt, calloused fingers tracing my spine. “And we’re still alive.”
That’s the thing, isn’t it? We’re alive. For now. In this moment.
I angle away to study his face. In the starlight, his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide. A muscle twitches in his jaw as he waits for me to decide. But there’s too much on my mind right now.
“Do you think Min-ji will be okay?” I ask.
His expression shifts from desire to something harder. “They won’t kill her. She knows about the virus just like you.”
A soft groan from the other room breaks the tension. John, waking up, in pain, or both.
“We should check on him.” I reluctantly ease away.
Gavin seizes my hand, squeezing once before releasing me. “We move in twenty minutes. Get what you need.”
I nod, gathering my composure as I walk back to our patient. John’s eyes are open, watching me with a knowing look.
“Ready to roll?” he asks, his voice stronger than before. The brief rest has done him good.
“Almost.” I check his bandage, relieved to see no fresh blood seeping through. “How’s the pain?”
“Manageable.” He sits up straighter, testing his range of motion. “Had worse hangovers.”
Gavin joins us with a handful of supplies scavenged from the back office—bottled water, some protein bars, and a road map. “Found these.”
I help John down from the counter, supporting him as he tests his legs. He’s unsteady but determined, jaw set against the exhaustion I know he must be feeling.
“Our destination is here.” Gavin spreads the map across the counter, pointing to a small island north of us. “We’ll need to find a boat when we reach the shore.”
“Your team has one?” I ask.
“Hidden in a boathouse on the mainland. If they’re following protocol, they’ll have maintained it.”
“And if they haven’t?” John asks the question we’re all thinking.
“Then we’ll find another way across.”
The certainty in his voice is comforting, even if it might be false. Right now, I need something to believe in, some direction to move toward instead of just running away.
