But finding civilization doesn’t come without significant risk. Anyone can get word to Matias, or his boss, about Rosalie. Piling on more concern, I’m dressed in black tactical gear, decked out with knives and the rifle slung over my shoulder. That kind of thing makes people talk.
“Well, luv, lead on.” I gesture for her to go ahead of me and breathe a sigh of relief when she reaches the trunk of the closest tree and heads down.
“So tell me about this poultice?”
We slowly make our way down to the ground. All around us, the speckled canopy teams with life. We keep conversation to a minimum. All the animals are quiet again, which makes me nervous. They’re far more attuned to our presence than we are to them, but their silence only means they sense man. That could be me and Rosalie, or men sent out to track us down.
“Hold up.” About thirty feet from the ground, I call a stop.
Rosalie looks at me, brows pinched together in confusion, but when I place my index finger over my lips, she gets the message.
That’s another thing I love about this woman. Not only is she intelligent, she’s exceptionally perceptive. Unlike others I’ve rescued in the past, she’s not catatonic—always a plus—and not barraging me with one question after the other.
Some of our rescues can’t get out of their own way when it comes to helping them out. Rosalie isn’t like that. She’s competent, resourceful, and more of a teammate than a rescue. She’s more than a breath of fresh air.
Rosalie is absolutely stunning.
We stay in place for a good twenty minutes. After the first ten minutes, Rosalie gets restless, but I make a sign, telling her to wait. Pointing to my ear and then gesturing to the forest, she gives a nod, understanding.
I listen to the forest for any sign of men below.
Other than the rustling of birds and other small mammals, nothing strikes me as out of place.
Another thing I appreciate about Rosalie, other than her self-reliance, is she knows when to speak and when to stay silent. There’s no need for me to explain why that may be.
“Continue.” I tap her on the shoulder and continue working our way down.
Two more stops—I’m careful—and we finally find ourselves on the floor of the jungle. Off to our left, there’s the sound of rushing water. I point toward the sound and Rosalie heads toward the water.
Navigating through the trees makes it a challenge to determine exactly how far we’ve come. Usually, I use stride count to mark the distance traveled. Impossible to do in the trees; there’s no way of knowing if we’ve covered one kilometer, or ten, during our climb last night.
However, that small stream—where I lifted Rosalie into the trees and we began our forest canopy adventure—is now a respectful tiny river.
Water rushes past, swirling around rocks and exposed roots. The water creates a natural gap in the trees, which allows more filtered sunlight down to the forest floor. It’s also loud enough that we can speak without the fear of others hearing our voices.
“Do you see the tree?” I glance up and down the tiny river, not that I know what we’re looking for.
“Not yet, but it’s plentiful. We’ll run across one soon enough. In the meantime…” She points to an eddy in the river. “I’m going to clean the wound. See that plant with the broad leaves?”
I follow the direction of her finger. “Yeah?”
“Can you cut three of them for me?”
“Sure.” Not knowing how much privacy she needs to clean herself, I turn my back and take my time cutting three of the cleanest, and broadest, leaves.
When I return to the riverbank, she squats on a rock and scrubs at her neck. She flinches as her fingers explore the extent of the injury. I tie the vegetation off with a small vine after I wash the leaves.
“Here, let me look.” Worried over how bad the infection may be, I want to see for myself.
She doesn’t flinch or draw away from me. Exceptionally accommodating, Rosalie turns her face and arches her neck, opening up the expanse of her throat. I bend down and give my hands another quick wash, then peer at the cut on her neck.
A clean cut. It’s an inch long, and superficial, but our night in the trees did her no favors.
“How bad is it?” She twists her neck, giving me a better view.
“Not as bad as I thought.” It’s the truth. “The edges of the cut are sharp and already healing, but the skin’s puffy and red. Definitely infected.”
“I was afraid of that.” She traces the extent of the cut with her fingers. “It’s tender but doesn’t seem swollen.”
“It’s not.” She turns her head toward me when I lean down.
That places our faces directly opposite each other, and since I’m leaning in for a closer look, our noses, then our lips, smash together in what’s got to be the worst first kiss in the history of mankind.
I jerk back, overbalancing, and crash ass-first into the cool water. Rosalie springs to her feet and trips backward over a rock. Her arms windmill in the air as she struggles to find her balance, but she fails in the end. She joins me with an ungainly splash in the water.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She thrashes in the water, trying to get her footing, while I take a moment to lick my lips and ponder the sweetness of hers. “I didn’t mean to…”
Flipping around, I’m soaked. The water’s barely knee-high, but enough that I’m the recipient of an unwanted bath.
Rosalie presses the tips of her fingers to her lips, but her expression is one of mortification, surprise, and incredible shyness.
That triad of emotions is crack to my dick. The fucker twitches and wakes up.
So fucking cute.
“Luv, it was an accident. No need to be sorry. It was half my fault. I leaned in too close.”
“It’s just…” Flustered, she can barely string two words together. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t want you to think…”
Think, what? Fuck if I wouldn’t give a million dollars for her to finish that thought. Unfortunately, I have to be a gentleman. Totally not the way I want this to continue, but I’m a professional, and she’s under my protection for now.
“Luv, if the worst thing to happen out here is an inadvertent brushing of our lips together, I’ll take it.” Standing tall, I take stock. “What’re the chances either of us is going to dry out in this humidity?”
My clothes are black on black, thick, and with the vest, heavier than I’d like. Rosalie wears dark trousers, boots, and a white blouse that’s much more see-through than she wants to know. Averting my eyes, I slog through the water and pull her in close.
After spending the night with her in my arms, it doesn’t feel weird or awkward. To my relief, she doesn’t push away. Instead, she wraps her arms around my waist and leans her cheek against my chin.
“You sure you’re okay?” Her head tilts back to look up at me. A drop of water falls from her lash as she looks at me. “I’m sorry about the kiss. I didn’t mean to… I don’t want you to think, I’m…”
Again, she doesn’t finish her thoughts, which gets me all twisted in the head. Instead of diving in to figure it out, I remind myself I’m here to rescue her, not…