Page 75 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
It was so instinctual, it scared me. I hadn’t felt half this strong for Lily, and when she’d left, she’d destroyed me. The thought of Charlie leaving made me feel like I couldn’t breathe. And we weren’t even together. I was traversing dangerous territory. Entering a torrential gale at sea without a life jacket. I knew better than this.
Yet I didn’t know how to stop it.
“Are you okay?” She worried her lip with her teeth.
I answered her worry with another gentle kiss that she leaned forward for … and she pulled away from just as quickly. Charlie was the queen of mixed signals, and I didn’t think she even knew it.
Our quick kisses over the next week did nothing but make me hungry for more. It was like smelling Thanksgiving dinner cooking all day and sneaking a taste here and there. It was a delicious preview, but I wanted the entire feast.
I held a grouse at my side, one I had just shot with the bow and arrow for dinner. After two full weeks of eating the bare minimum, every bit of food we caught made me emotional. On my way to find Charlie, I picked the few remaining wildflowers the morning frost hadn’t killed and gathered them into a colorful cluster.
I found her near the lake, kneeling over a pool of water with her head bent low, forest foliage all around her. Her cameras were faced away from her. She was humming a song, another one of the ones we were making up. This one was the ode to warm showers, hot tubs, and electricity.
I grinned as I realized she was attempting to scrub her hair clean. She’d been complaining that she hated how dirty it was, but this water was freezing cold. She must have hit her breaking point.
I came around the foliage and sucked in a breath when I saw her. Charlie was wearing only her bra and underwear, her other clothes discarded on a rock beside her. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen her like this—we’d cuddled all night long after she’d injured herself—but I’d had the injury to think about then.
Now, all I could think about was the wide expanse of skin on her back and down the backs of her legs. I swallowed. Hard.
“Need some help?” I asked.
She let out a shriek and whipped her hair back, spraying me in the process. She folded her arms over her dripping torso andglared. Goose bumps popped up along her skin. The cut on her ribs was mostly healed, though a red scar remained. “Why are you sneaking up on me?”
“I didn’t. I swear.” I tried to bite back my smile, but I couldn’t. She looked hot—all fired up and ready to eviscerate me. “I brought you flowers and dinner.” I held them both out as proof.
Her eyes widened. “You picked me flowers? You didn’t have to do that.”
I set them down and motioned for her to put her hair back in the puddle. I could see where she was struggling to rinse toward the very back of her scalp, probably because the water wasn’t deep enough here.
“I’ve got this,” she said, her teeth starting to chatter. It was way too cold to be wet out here for long.
“Let me help you. Please.”
I knew she didn’t want to be needy. Which went directly against my need to be needed. We faced off, but then her eyes flickered to the flowers in my hand, and she softened. My attempts at romantic gestures out here had been met like this each time: surprise followed by acting like she had no idea how to respond.
“Okay,” she said, sounding unsure. “I can’t tell if I’ve got all the soap out.”
Our homemade soap made of animal fat, ash, and water (with crushed honeysuckle for scent) was primitive, but felt luxurious after being dirty for so many days. If I was out here alone, I would never have made soap, but Charlie took on the project after I’d caught our first rabbit.
I dug my fingers into her scalp to rub in the soap more, and she moaned in pleasure. Her hand came up to cover her mouth quickly.
“I heard that,” I said, not even bothering to hide my grin.
“Just rinse it out,” she said, trying to sound grumpy, but failing.
I scrubbed my fingers through her hair and then cupped water to rinse it out. She was shaking more from the cold, and as much as I wanted to prolong this, she needed to get dressed. I finished, then grabbed her shirt for her to put on.
“Turn around,” she said.
I spun around on my heel, giving her my back as requested. “I’ve seen you in a bra before.”
“Well, this one’s wet,” she said, clearly having zero idea what she was doing to me by plantingthatimage in my head. I heard the rustle of fabric, and then, “Okay, I’m decent.”
I turned to see her dripping hair landing on the shoulders of her shirt. I shrugged my coat off and put it around her from behind, folding the ends close together. She leaned against me, and I kissed her temple, breathing in the flowers from the soap.
“I don’t want to take your coat from you.”
“You’re shivering.”
