Love In Alaska (The Love In 50 States Series Book 2) (8 page)

“I guess you could overpower me and just take me,” he suggested, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Absolve me of any guilt. I think I'd be okay with that.”

I felt a stab of desire. “Just pin you to the sleeping bag and have my way with you?”

“I'm not sure anyone's ever just had their way with me, but yeah.”

I tried to fight off a smile, but failed. “Fine. I will not push the issue.”

“Crap,” he said, his shoulders sagging. “That's what I was afraid you were going to say.”

“Your fault,” I said. “Totally your fault.”

“I know, I know,” he said, holding his hands up. “I'll be thinking about it all night.”

“Good.” I crawled into my sleeping bag, pleased that it might keep him awake for awhile.

He checked the zipper on the tent, tugging on it before climbing into his own bag.

“Hey, Evan?” I said into the near-darkness.

“Yeah?”

“I'll be thinking about it, too.”

NINE

The rain got worse.

Several times over the course of the night, thunderclaps startled me awake and I listened to torrents of rain pouring down on us. By the time the sun came up, it sounded like we'd been transported to the middle of the river. I glanced down at the floor of the tent, expecting to be half under water. But everything was dry.

Evan sat up and scratched at his head, yawning. He glanced at me and smiled. “You sleep?”

“A little.” I yawned, too. “You?”

“Eh.” He reached his hand outside of his sleeping bag and grabbed something.

“What are you doing?”

He held up his phone. “Wishing I had service.”

“Why?” I tried not to panic. “Is something wrong?”

His eyes lifted to the roof of the tent. “Well, it's still raining.”

“Is that a problem? Is it supposed to stop soon?”

He sighed. “No idea. We had a forty percent chance of rain yesterday, a one-day front coming through. We're now at twelve hours of precip.” He motioned to the roof. “And no sign of stopping.”

I unzipped my sleeping bag a little to free my arms. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “So what do we do?”

“There isn't much we can do,” he said.

“Could you maybe elaborate a little?”

“We're stuck here,” he said, sighing. He caught my expression and offered a small smile. “We're safe. But I have a feeling this storm is going to be here for the better part of the day. Even if it stops now, it's going to be a bitch to hike in. We're probably here until tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” I repeated.

I thought about our dwindling food and water supply; we'd only packed enough food for an overnight trip, not a three-day adventure. And I also thought about the bathroom. Because I had to go again.

It was like he could read my mind. “I have a portable toilet,” he said.

He sat up in his sleeping bag and reached into his pack. He pulled out something that looked like a thick, white Frisbee. He took off the lid and, within seconds, it popped up into a container. He fished inside of his bag again and found a plastic liner.

“I'm not using that.”

“Well, you're not going out in this,” he countered. “It's wet and it's cold.”

“I'm not going to the bathroom with you in here!”

He unzipped his bag and got to his knees. “You don't have to. I'm leaving.”

Panic gripped me. “What? Where are you going??”

“Relax,” he said. He found a hat in his bag and positioned it on his head. “I need to go grab the food. Assuming it's still there.”

I glared at him. “So you can go outside but I can't?”

“You wanna try and get it down?” he asked.

I thought about the contraption he'd built to secure the food in the tree. It probably was just a piece of rope I'd have to tug on but I didn't want to be the one responsible for losing our food.

I sighed. “Fine. Go get the food. But I'm not using that,” I said, pointing to the blue and white toilet.

“Don't be stupid,” he warned.

“I'll be whatever I want.”

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. He pulled a windbreaker out of his backpack and stripped off his fleece pullover.

“Don't you want that?” I asked. “It's freezing.”

“I don't want it to get wet,” he said, his tone clipped. He zipped up the windbreaker. “I'm gonna be a little cold when I get back and I'll need it to warm up.”

He tied on his shoes, repositioned his hat and unzipped the tent. Rain drops pelted the floor tarp and I shrank back from the entrance, surprised by the blast of cold air.

“Zip this up behind me,” he said as he ventured outside. “To keep the water out. I'll yell when I'm coming back so you can let me in.”

I nodded and yanked the zipper down. I sat back down and my bladder tightened. I crossed my legs and glared at the toilet two feet away.

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” I muttered. Louder, I said, “Do not come in until I tell you to!”

I pulled down my pants and squatted over the toilet and emptied my bladder, convinced I was going to overflow it and there would be a puddle of urine inside the tent. But when I finished, glancing at the plastic liner, I was surprised—and relieved—to see it wasn't even a quarter of the way full. I yanked the bag out of the toilet and sealed it shut. I held it for a moment, the contents warm in my hand. What the hell was I supposed to do with it? On impulse, I stashed it in my bag, fervently hoping it was leak-proof.

“I'm finished,” I called.

There was no answer. I crawled back toward my sleeping bag, wanting to burrow back inside of its warmth. But I needed to stay near the opening of the tent to let Evan back in.

I waited for what seemed like hours. There was no sound outside except the steady pounding of the rain. My imagination took over. What if something terrible had happened? What if he slipped and hit his head? What if a flash flood swept him away? What if the bear had been waiting for him and jumped out of the forest and ate him? I dug in my bag and found my phone. I pressed the home button and my heart sank when I saw the words No Service.

I wasn't religious but I found myself muttering prayers to anyone who would listen.

Finally, I heard splashing that sounded like footsteps and a flood of relief washed over me.

“Open it up!”

My fingers couldn't work the zipper fast enough. I unzipped the flap and held it open and Evan dove inside, a river of water coming in with him. His hair was plastered down and his beard looked like a sponge, droplets of water clinging to it. His clothes were so wet it looked as if he'd jumped into a pool fully clothed. I pulled the flap back down and zipped it up.

He held up the wet food bag and gave me a weak smile. “Found it,” he said, huffing and puffing. “Branch broke. It floated away and I had to hunt it down, but found it.” He rolled over on his back, his chest heaving up and down. “And holy shit, is it cold out there.”

His teeth chattered and his shoulders shook with chills.

“You need to get out of those clothes,” I said. “You need to get warm.”

“I know,” he rasped. “Need to catch my breath first.”

I crawled over to him and started unlacing his soaked boots.

“What are you doing?” he asked, lifting his head up. His eyes were glazed and his lips were more blue than pink.

“Getting you out of these,” I said. “You need to get warm. Now.”

“I can do it,” he said, attempting to sit up.

I nudged him back down. “Get your jacket off,” I said. “Now.”

He blinked a couple of times, processing my words before he fumbled with the zipper on the jacket. I had his other boot off before his trembling fingers finally got the jacket unzipped. I helped him pull it off, the wet material sticking to him. I laid it next to the boots and pulled his socks off while he slowly stripped off his shirt.

He lay there, half-naked, his eyes closed.

“Get your pants off.” His eyes flashed open and he started to protest but I cut him off. “Don't get all modest now. I just peed in a bag.”

He smiled weakly.

“You need to get dry and warm.”

He didn't say anything but he unbuttoned the cargo pants and I helped him pull them off, grabbing the cuffs of both legs. I shoved all of his wet clothes in the corner, hoping to keep them away from his sleeping bag, but the damage had been done. He was shivering like crazy and his sleeping bag was soaked.

“Get in my bag,” I commanded.

He hesitated, his arms wrapped tightly around his bare chest, his teeth slamming together like tiny hammers.

“Get in now,” I said, pushing him in that direction.

He finally crawled toward the bag and rolled inside it.

I spent a minute spreading his things out, thinking they would have to dry at some point, especially his shoes and socks. I pulled those away from his wet clothes, laying the socks out next to one another at the foot of my bag and opening up his boots as much as possible.

I glanced at Evan. I could see him shaking, the fabric of the sleeping bag vibrating. I grabbed the fleece he'd stripped out of and handed it to him. “Put it on.”

“I can't,” he said, his teeth still jackhammering.

I unzipped the fleece to the midpoint and pulled the top of my bag back. He had his knees to his chest, curled in the fetal position. I tried to get the fleece over his arms, but it was nearly impossible because he was shaking so bad. I flung the fleece aside and scooted into my bag with him.

“Hug me,” I said, putting my arms around him. “Put your arms around me.”

“I'm still wet,” he stammered.

“Just your hair,” I said. “The rest of you is dry. You need body heat. Hug me.”

He untangled his arms and I moved into him, pulling him tightly to me. His chest was cold and clammy. I threw my leg over his and pulled him in as close to me as I could get him. His arms went around me, loosely, like he was cradling something delicate.

“Hug me,” I said. “I won't break. I promise.”

He grunted and his arms wrapped tighter around me.

We lay like that for awhile, until the shaking and chattering stopped. I could feel his heart beating, could tell when it slowed to a more normal rate. I moved my hand lightly against his back. His skin felt warm. Heated.

“Jesus,” he whispered, sighing deeply. “That sucked. Thank you.”

“Thank you for getting the food,” I said, still listening to his heart. “You shouldn't have gone.”

“I didn't want you to starve.”

“I can go a day without food.”

“I know,” he said. “But I didn't want you to.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Even though it was a stupid thing to do.”

“Just like not using the Pop-Up Pooper would have been a stupid thing to do.”

I couldn't help it. I laughed. “The what?”

He motioned to the portable toilet. “Great name, right? It's nice to have when the weather and your bladder don't cooperate.”

“It's a terrible name,” I told him. I shifted my hands, finding a new spot on his back. “But I think I'm glad you have one.”

“Trust me,” he said. “You wouldn't have wanted to go out in that.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” His arms tightened a fraction around me. “Your hands feel amazing.”

I froze. “They do?”

“On my back? Yes. I haven't had my back rubbed in forever.”

“I'm not rubbing your back. I'm trying to warm you up.”

“It's working.”

We lay there in silence, listening to the rain. His hands splayed against my back and, after a moment of hesitation, he began to rub me through my shirt, kneading at the tense muscles. I sighed against him, the tension ebbing out from under his fingertips. I used my own hands, gripping his shoulders, my fingers digging gently into his skin. I fitted myself tighter against him, moving my hips into his and I smiled when I felt his erection pressed up against my thigh, the thin fabric of his boxers the flimsiest of barriers.

I looked up at him and, before I could say anything, his mouth came down and closed over mine. His lips were hot and firm, more insistent than the previous night. I didn't resist, just reveled in the feel of his lips and his skin. I made a sound, a small whimper, and he pulled me closer, his hand moving to cradle the back of my head.

I tore my mouth away from his. “Evan?” I whispered.

“Mmmm?”

“We made it through the night,” I whispered. “I'm not gonna second guess.”

TEN

We wiggled out of our clothes in the sleeping bag, tossing them out. I sucked in my breath as bare flesh hit bare flesh. His thighs were solid and taut, like a tightly wound coil, his abdomen a line of lean muscle. I trailed a path from his stomach to his thigh, briefly dancing my fingers through the thatch of wiry hair surrounding his arousal. He moaned and lifted his hips, trying to find my hand, but I stayed just out of reach.