Page 34 of Surrender to Me
For long, fraught moments, we remain in place, eyes scanning the terrain, listening. Waiting.
There’s another sound—smaller this time. A rustling in the underbrush.
After about ten seconds, he speaks. “Probably just a racoon.” But he doesn’t sit back down immediately. Instead, he pulls out his phone that appears to be open to a security app. He scans through various images of the property.
Then he strides away to perform a physical inspection of the nearby area, his body coiled, ready.
When he returns, we both settle back into our chairs. I hadn’t even realized I was standing, gun in hand.
“You’re always on guard, Allie?”
“Who isn’t when you’re in the middle of nowhere at night? When people have been chasing you?”
When he studies me in the firelight, I quickly add, “Especially when you have no idea why they’re after you.”
“And that’s why you had a go bag stashed?” He nods. “And carry a gun? Because you’re not expecting anything bad to happen?”
Do you ever stop?
To end the conversation, I stand again. “We should probably head inside.”
The fire crackles between us, and tension hangs suspended
Finally Stryker also stands and starts banking the fire. I watch him work, efficient and thorough, making sure no embers remain. Safety first, always.
Inside, the cabin feels smaller, more intimate.
Physically and emotionally, he’s gotten closer to me than any man ever has. And that scares the hell out of me.
He locks the door, resets the alarm, and checks the windows while I rinse my wine glass.
When we’re both standing in the living room, awkwardness shrouding the atmosphere, he tips his head to one side. “Want a shower? Rinse off the smoke from the fire?”
Anything to get away from him.
“Thanks.” I grab my duffel and head for the bathroom. Once I’m inside, I lock the door and breathe deeply, grateful for a few minutes alone.
The bathroom is relatively nice, with a shower and a deep clawfoot tub that calls to my aching muscles.
I turn on the faucet.
Then I tuck my gun and holster inside my bag along with my hoodie, shirt, baseball cap, jeans, and the fob that people are ready to kill for.
Inviting steam rises from the bath, and I do my best to secure my hair before sinking into the welcoming warmth.
Aware of his movements in the cabin, I soak until the water begins to cool, letting the heat and privacy work their magic.
When I finally get out, I feel more human than I have all day. My sweatpants and T-shirt are cozy. And because of the mountain chill, I add a pair of socks.
In the distance, I hear the low rumble of Stryker’s voice.
Talking to Hawkeye?
Towel drying the damp ends of my hair as best I can, I return to the living room, carrying my duffel.
Stryker is standing by the fireplace, his back to me, and he immediately ends his call.
When he turns, I have to bite back a sound of appreciation.
