Page 72 of Carved Obsession

I turn and go to look for my phone too. I slip several times on the mud and drenched gravel, but thank the gods my car is still the right way up.

“Fuck.” Carter’s swear filters through the battering rain.

“What?” I call out.

There’s a pause before footsteps near.

“No signal.”

Fuck indeed.

That’s not good. Not good at all.

A faint thread of unease snakes around my guts, and I take one controlled, deep breath to dissolve it.

It’s fine. It’s. Fine.

Finally, I find the device under the passenger seat. The screen is cracked, but it still allows me to see the unfortunate situation we’re in.

“Scarlet . . . what is—”

“Oh, no. Oh no! I don’t have any signal either.” I clutch the phone tightly in my hand, that thread of unease coming back with a vengeance, morphing into panic, multiplying, and gripping my insides.

I’m already pacing, feet slapping through the mud as I bite my lip, pressure forming in my temples.

“Scarlet.” Carter’s tone is nothing but wind weaving through the thick raindrops.

“We’re stuck here. No cars. No phone. In the middle of the woods,” I mutter to myself, pacing from one end of the car to the other. “Fuck. And there’s this damn storm. The cold. Oh god, what will—”

“Scarlet!” He’s on me. Strong hands clutch my shoulders as he turns me to face him.

But I don’t see him. Only a smudge of his beautiful, brutal face. I did this. I brought us here. Caused the crash. Forced us into this situation. I doomed us.

“Look at me!” With his guttural bellow, my focus snaps.

I see him, his eyes shadowed as he looks down at me. My cheeks almost warm as he holds them, forcing my full attention on him.

He doesn’t add to the command, yet I don’t falter either, because it lingers in my mind. My muscles. Somewhere deep in my soul too.

There’s an intimate quality to this moment. Our silence carries through the deafening storm, leaving room for a truth I didn’t allow myself space to acknowledge before. I am obsessed with this man, yes, but more than that...I like him. Really like him.

His thumbs move, brushing slowly, his gaze charged with a restraint that might crack soon, as he forces them away from where his digits reach dangerously close to my lips.

“Scarlet . . .”

“Yes . . .”

One second, I’m convinced he might feel the same, and the next, he blinks and the slight spark I saw through the darkness snaps out of his gaze.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” I have to blink away the stupor I’ve been trapped in, because his words don’t fully register.

“You’re bleeding.” He looks between us, then lets go of me, taking half a step back before he drops to one knee.

I could get used to this. I snicker to myself.

He fumbles with his phone, the flashlight too bright as he turns it on and aims it at me.