17

ZOEY

“Zoey! Where the hell are you?”

I don’t know if I’m more elated at the sound of another human being looking for me or terrified that they might come face-to-face with the very creature I’m hiding from.

“Here!” My shout comes out desperate and high-pitched, turning it into more of a screech.

“Zoey?” A few seconds later, Warner crashes through the bushes. He’s so determined in his searching that he’s about to pass right under my hiding spot.

“Wait! I’m up here!”

He whirls around, blinking rain out of his eyes as he gazes up at me. “Thank fuck.”

I couldn’t convince myself to climb down before when it was only my safety at risk, but for Warner, I accept the danger.

My descent is just as ungainly as the initial climb, plus a few uncoordinated slips because of the wet surfaces. Finally, I’m standing on solid ground, but that lasts only a second before I’m swept up into a pair of strong arms.

“What the hell, Zoey? Do you always climb trees in thunderstorms?”

“N-n-n-o.” My answer quivers out through chattering teeth.

“Damn it. You’re soaked.”

His one arm goes tighter around my waist as the other hand lifts to push wet strands of hair off my face. The warmth of his body seeps through my drenched clothes, and I’m powerless against a happy groan. Hugging Warner after sitting cold and wet in a tree is equivalent to slipping into a sulfurous hot spring.

“You can’t make those kinds of noises around me,” he grumbles, even as his lips threaten a smile. But it drops away again. “What were you doing?”

“Tr-trying to stay safe.” The chattering of my teeth begins to slow as more of Warner’s body heat soaks into my chilly limbs. I worry that I’m stealing it all, but my concern isn’t enough to detach from him. “I w-was being stalked b-by a wolf-bear.”

“What’s a wolf-bear?”

“A demonstration of m-my inability to d-distinguish animal noises.”

“Zoey.” At the tone of his voice, I glance up at Warner, noting that he seems to be battling amusement and frustration. “Normally, I would find your roundabout answers adorable. But right now, you need to be very clear. Why were you up in that tree?”

“That’s as clear as I can b-be! I heard something growling. It m-might have been a bear. It might have been a w-wolf. I didn’t want to hang around to find out. So, I climbed the t-tree.”

“You think it could’ve been a wolf? Did you see any of it? Do you know what color it was?”

Color?

“If I s-saw it, I wouldn’t be referring to it as a wolf-bear, would I?”

He nods, but his attention isn’t focused on me like it was a moment ago. Right now, he’s more concerned with scanning the trees, as if my animal stalker might still be lurking in the shadows, even now.

I really hope not.

Despite the warmth of him, another shiver quakes through my body, approaching a ten on the Richter scale. The rattling is enough to regain Warner’s attention.

“Let’s get you home and warm.”

No argument here.

He shelters me under his arm, and we dive back into the underbrush.

Time drags on longer with rain pouring down, every footstep a squelching mess. The cold numbs all the edges of me. My fingers, the tip of my nose, the tops of my cheeks, and my toes.

Hell in a handbasket, my toes . They ache terribly before all sensation disappears.

This is how trench foot starts.

When we break through another cluster of trees, Grandma Minnie’s cabin finally comes into view. A few tears might leak out at the sight, but there’s no way Warner will notice with my face already drenched with rain.

Once we’re on the porch, the overhang blocks most of the rain.

“Do you see B-Bruce?”

My big, dopey dog isn’t waiting by the back door like I hoped, and as I stare out into the yard, I can barely make out anything as sheets of rain tear down.

“Is that why you were out there?” Warner’s arms come back around my shoulders, guiding me toward the door.

“Y-you don’t think the w-wolf-bear g-got him? D-do you?” My chattering teeth are back and won’t let me get out a full sentence without stumbling over my words. But I don’t care.

No matter how cold I am, Bruce will be equally bad, still stuck in the storm. I pull away from Warner’s arms, needing to make another round of the yard.

Did I check under the car?

“Damn it, Zoey. Bruce is inside the house.” Warner wraps his warm hands around my chilled ones.

How is he not morphing into an icicle like me? His clothes are just as soaked as mine.

“W-what?”

“Come inside. Bruce is inside.”

Despite not fully believing him, I still allow myself to be led out of the cold, wet evening into the warm cabin. But even as the door shuts behind us, I don’t see my dog.

“H-he’s not?—”

“He is. Come on.” Warner heads to the guest bedroom, and I follow, stumbling on my numb feet.

Still no Bruce. That is, until Warner gestures I should circle to the other side of the bed.

There, sticking out from under the frame, is a big, beautiful dog butt.

I fall to my soggy knees to peer under the bed, and as I do, I hear a comically loud snore.

“You f-fucking asshole. I almost got eaten for you.” The words should come out angry, but I’m too relieved that he’s here and safe to be mad.

At the sound of my voice, Bruce snorts himself awake. He does a funny roll-shimmy to get out from under the bed before sniffing at my drenched clothes. Shivers still hit me in random bursts as I scratch behind his ears.

“You went searching for him?” Warner asks as he leans on the doorframe, dripping on the hardwood.

“I guess I forgot I let him back in. And when he didn’t come when I called …” I shrug and push myself up from the floor. My shoes squelch with every movement, and my waterlogged clothes cling to my chilled skin. I imagine Warner feels the same discomfort I do. “I’m going to change.”

He nods and makes to move back.

“Do you want to stay? I mean, you should. It can’t be safe to drive in that.”

Rain assaults the windows, and more thunder rumbles.

“I would …” Warner gives me a rueful smile before glancing down at his own soggy state.

I grimace. “Sorry. I don’t think Minnie has anything that’ll fit you.” I bite my lip as I brainstorm, coming up with a solution that I might like a little too much. “If you want, I can stick your clothes in the dryer. You can work some toga magic with a couple of towels till then.” Maneuvering past him, I open the hallway linen closet to pull out an armful of towels.

“Are you trying to get me to strip, Zoey Gunner?”

I hide my smile by pushing him toward the bathroom. “Technically? Yes. But with fully innocent intentions.”

Liar.

Warner chuckles and goes where he’s directed. When the door closes, I head to the master bedroom to peel off my damp layers. Painful pricks jab into the soles of my feet and pads of my fingers as I regain feeling. I towel off the cold droplets still clinging to my skin before pulling on a set of flannel pajamas. I’m hugging the soft material close, loving the warm feel of it fighting off the chill, when I hear the bathroom door creak open.

The second before I turn around, I realize I’ve chosen some of the most shapeless, least sexy garments I own. Then, I do turn, and the regret of my choice doubles.

Triples.

Multiplies by a million.

Because I get a gorgeous view of Warner—damp hair, chest bare, towel hanging low on trim hips, grinning wickedly at me.

And I am not dressed for seduction.

It’s hard to remind myself that I decided against getting flirty with this biker when he’s one tug of a towel away from being naked.

So. Deliciously. Naked.

And oh, the things I could do with a naked Warner. Like spread him on my bed and lick his?—

“See something you like?” he asks with sin in his voice.

I shove my lust away, the task akin to Sisyphus struggling with his boulder.

“Yes,” I mutter, ignoring how Warner’s grin grows wider. “Grandma Minnie has very nice towels.”