He gulped, forcing his mind someplace else as the belly heat stirred once more. “We should get a sleeping bag set up for you,” he said.
But Ivy moved her hand to his bicep, urging him to stay put. He ran his gaze over her face, enjoying the way the firelight complimented her skin. “I’m having some thoughts inside,” she admitted.
Oh, no. Where was his canteen when he needed it? She was dehydrated for sure—that would explain the strong reaction.
“Why don’t you tell me about your thoughts when you wake up?”
“Of what it would be like to kiss you,” she finished.
Easton’s pulse spiked. “I think that’s the moonshine talking,” he forced himself to say. “You don’t drink often, do you?”
“No,” she admitted.
Neither did Easton, but he wasn’t affected the way she was. Of course, Ivy was considerably smaller than him.
“Listen, Ivy. I might be having similar…thoughts, but—”
A huge smile took over her face, distracting him from what he’d planned to say. Dang, she was cute. And she was nudging impossibly closer even still, as if what he’d said was an invitation.
“But,” he added, resting a hand over her grip on his bicep.
“You’re muscles are really strong,” she said.
He grinned and gave her small hand a squeeze before guiding it back toward her own lap. “But…” he started again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.” The words hovered in the air for a bit, like unwelcome insects at a picnic.
“Why not?” She blinked wide eyes at him, looking very childlike suddenly. It helped—in a sense—keep him from taking advantage of the moment. She wasn’t exactly herself right now. But Easton was and he needed to tell her the truth.
“Because I…I have a hard time believing in love.” He sighed, deflating as the truth of his reply took him back to reality in a blink. “I see it go bad so often that…that I’ve decided it’s not worth the risk.”
She blanched. “You don’t believe in love?”
He thought about his sister and Tim. About how the two of them seemed to have found something truly special. With them, he at least had hope that they wouldn’t end up like most couples did—miserable in the wake of so much hurt and destruction, their kids often taking the brunt.
“For some people, I think it works,” he admitted. “For the lucky ones. But something tells me that I’ll never be that lucky.”
A crease formed between her eyes. “I say things like that too. I say that I don’t want to date right now because I’m busy with work and I want to get my promotion and blah, blah, blah, but really I’m just scared of getting my heart broken again.”
Another admission, courtesy of the moonshine. Yet somehow it struck a chord. A chord that said, when it came down to it, Easton was scared of that very thing. Terrified, actually.
His heart picked up its pace then, escalating to a sudden restless racing that had him itching to take flight.
“I think we should get some sleep now,” he said, shooting to a stand and heading toward the sleeping bags.
Wait, wrong direction. He spun in place, bolted toward the cabinet, and secured one bag and two pillows.
“We’re going to share?” Ivy asked, coming to a stand as he neared.
Her question earned a genuine laugh, dark as it might be. That was all he needed, a night of lying close beside her, inhaling the sweet scent of her hair while she wrapped her fingers around his arm once more.
What would possibly stop him from curling up even closer? Cupping the lovely curve of her waist and nuzzling into the bend of her shoulder, her neck just a breath space away from his mouth…
“Nope,” he assured. “I’ve got a blanket in my pack. The sleeping bags, with all this heat from the fire, would be too warm for me.”
“Oh yeah, because you’re so much hotter.” This time the comment was missing the element of humor. It sounded almost…accusing. She was upset with him, he realized, for not kissing her. Well, she’d thank him in the morning.
“Not hotter, Ivy. Warmer.”
He was quick to unroll her bag, prop a pillow at the top, and unzip the side. All the while his head was spinning with the ideas that her sharing a sleeping bag question had forced into his mind.
“You’re the hot one of the two of us, remember?” he said with a wink. He’d been going for playful, but the tone was all wrong. Who cared? He just needed to get this woman in her own bag and back far, far away.
“Here,” he said, giving the bag a pat. “Climb in and I’ll tend to the fire.”
Please, Ivy. Just do what I asked.
Or ask me to kiss you again. Just once, and this time I will.
He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on her as she rather crawled over to the bag, that beautiful pout in place. “Okay…” She dragged out the word and put an edge on it.
A wave of relief poured over him, which was good. It showed he had some decency left in him still. But then a flood of disappointment crashed in, stronger than the fleeting relief. Perhaps he wasn’t so decent after all.
Easton spent a longer time tending to the fire than necessary, keenly listening, all the while, to the pace of Ivy’s breath. Only once it was slow and steady did he step away, snatch his own blanket from the pack, and park in front of the door. The only kiss he’d be sharing with Ivy that night would be in his dreams.
Chapter 8
The presents were wrapped and waiting beneath her tree. Ivy had one for everyone. Her brothers, her sister, and the in-laws too. Mom and Dad would love their new coffee maker; Mom because it would make those fancy cappuccinos she was always blowing her money on, and Dad because it would stop Mom from blowing her money on them.
She shifted from one shoulder to the next, her thoughts drifting dreamily to the items she’d bought for the nieces and nephews. She could see them now, tearing the wrapping off the gifts before a crackling fire.
Her eyes shot open. I’m in a cave. With Easton.
She sat up quickly, her head throbbing in response, and glanced about the space. A yurt, she reminded herself.
“How’d you sleep, Sunshine?” She spun to see him seated beside the table on the rocking chair, a book in his hand.
It had gotten lighter, but it wasn’t the kind of light that said there was sun outside. “Is the storm still going?” she asked.
Easton nodded. “It’s a mean one.” A gust of wind whistled throughout the structure to prove the point.
Ivy’s mind shot back to her previous musings, causing a sudden burst of panic to push through her. “My family,” she blurted. “They’ll be worried sick if they don’t hear from me today. Do you think there’s any way we can tell them I’m okay?”
Easton came to a stand, his brow furrowing while he scratched at his jaw. His short facial hair looked thicker this morning. “It’s possible,” he said while heading toward the fire, “that, if the storm lets up a bit, I could make my way close enough to the lodge to send a text.” He tossed a thumb over his shoulder.
“I can go with you,” she said, hating the idea of getting stranded there without him. “How far is it?”