Page 16 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

T he rain hadn’t let up. It came harder now, bringing spring in with a vengeance and not a breeze. The wipers slammed across the windshield, fast, loud, unrelenting. Visibility was garbage. The wind whistled through the shattered back window.

Christian drove her SUV up the river road like he could see fine. No music, no talking. Just engine noise and rain.

Amka curled into herself in the passenger seat with the heat on full blast. Her boots were soaked, and her coat dripped where it bunched at her sides.

She couldn’t get warm. The vents blew hot against her legs, but her hands still felt like ice.

“Thank you.” Had she ever been this exhausted?

The man kept saving her, though. “For what you did earlier.”

He grunted.

Of course.

He drove past the turnoff to her house.

“Hey,” she said. “You missed my driveway.”

“No, I didn’t.”

She sat up straighter. “Christian?”

His hands stayed locked on the wheel. His eyes never left the road. Trees leaned in from both sides, wind snapping their tops.

She tried to concentrate. “Where are we going?”

“I have a place.”

The words sat between them. No more, no less.

She stared at him. His hands looked too big for the wheel. “What do you mean, you have a place?” So much for her thought that he didn’t have a home and bunked out wherever. Maybe he was more together than she’d thought. “Christian?”

Nothing.

The dark outside got thicker. The cab of the SUV shrank. Her pulse crawled up the back of her throat. “Christian.”

Still no response.

Fear hit like a wave, then anger rode in behind it, sharper, cleaner. “Answer me,” she snapped, her voice high and sharp.

He looked at her. Just a glance. “You’re safe.”

“That is so not good enough,” she said. “I’m tired of the grunting and the quiet, the whatever. When I ask you a question, I want an answer, considering you’re driving my car and taking me somewhere I don’t know. Where are we going?”

“I told you. I have a place.” He turned his gaze back to the road.

She might actually punch him. “I want to go to my house,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No.”

No? Just no? Fury actually heated her. Finally. She clenched her hand into a fist.

“I wouldn’t,” he said calmly.

Her eyes narrowed. Her hand was tucked against the door. Out of sight. “How did you know?” Maybe everybody wanted to punch him and he was just guessing.

“We’re almost there,” he said. “Just hold on.”

Then he cut the headlights.

She flinched. The dark closed in like a sealed room. Rain drilled the metal roof, and nothing but black lay ahead. “What in the world are you doing turning off the lights? There’s a storm out there.”

“I know the way and want to make sure we’re not followed.”

She stared at the windshield. No road, no lights, just movement and shape. “You can see in this?”

“My vision’s better than most.”

She turned toward him, her heartbeat echoing in her head. “Better naturally, or did the military give you something new?”

Even in the dark, she caught the edge of a smile. Barely there. “I just have good eyesight, and I know this road. Just relax and enjoy the silence.”

Was that a hint for her to shut up? “Why’d you turn off the lights?”

“Just in case. I don’t feel anyone out there. No sign we were followed. But nobody knows this mountain like I do.”

Probably true. She didn’t question that part.

He moved through sharp turns with no warning, no corrections. She tried to anticipate them but couldn’t. She gripped her knee instead of the door. The movement of the SUV felt more intimate without light—closer, quieter, full of tension she didn’t want to name.

Eventually, he pulled under a dense wall of trees and cut the engine.

She didn’t speak. The storm didn’t allow for silence, and yet, the world seemed too quiet. Somehow.

He stepped out and softly shut his door.

She followed into the cool air. Rain caught her neck and slid down her spine. She shut the door and laid her hand on the hood, trailing her fingers to the front to orient herself. “Where are we?” Wind shoved her hair forward.

“This way,” he said.

She hadn’t seen him approach. He just appeared close enough that she felt him before she saw him. His hand found hers.

Warm. Rough. Intentional.

Not threatening. But heat spiraled and landed in her abdomen anyway.

His grip stayed firm as he led her into the storm. Her steps followed, automatic, through soaked grass or gravel. She couldn’t tell. Then the boards underfoot changed everything.

A porch.

He let go of her hand.

She didn’t move right away.

“Step up,” he said.

She walked up three stairs, her boots hitting wet wood. Then he opened the door, and she slowly followed him inside. The scent hit first—cedar, fresh rain, and Christian Osprey. Earth and heat and something that lived in the wild.

He shut the door behind her, bolted it, and flicked on the light.

An overhead light warmed a small cabin somewhere in the middle of nowhere.

A bed sat against the far wall. Straight ahead appeared a bathroom and to its right, a narrow kitchenette.

Between the kitchen and bed, a worn leather chair and sofa faced a small TV on a shelf next to a stone fireplace.

The other wall was all windows. Big enough to jump out. Egress? Definitely.

She frowned. “What is this place?”

“It’s mine,” he said. “I built it. I come here once in a while if the weather turns bad, or if I’m not staying with one of my brothers.”

She looked around. This was a freaking surprise. “You built a cabin?”

“Yeah.” He crossed the room to the fireplace. He knelt and lit the logs already stacked in place. “Nobody knows it exists, so you’re safe here.”

She gulped. The air was warm, but her skin buzzed. “Your brothers don’t know?”

“Nope.”

Wow. That made her one of one person. She didn’t want to feel special about that, but she did. Not that it changed anything. “I can’t just stay out here with you, Christian.”

“I know. But I need sleep, and I can’t watch your place all night. So we’re staying here.”

The sofa didn’t look long enough for him to stretch out. The bed was big—king-sized, and definitely built for someone his height. Right now, she was just too tired to argue with him. “All right. I’ll take the sofa.”

“Nope. You’re taking the bed.”

Her head jerked up. “I’m not sleeping in your bed while you sleep on that sofa. You don’t fit.”

He didn’t argue. “We’ll share the bed, then. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

Something about the way he said it landed wrong. Yeah, that hurt a little. “Fine.”

“Poaching’s never been my thing.”

“Poaching?”

He looked over his shoulder. “You’re engaged.”

Right. That.

The ring stayed behind at the bar because she took it off to work. Though she always meant to put it back on, she usually forgot.

“You’re still soaking wet.” He looked her over. “You need something warm.” There was one small dresser by the bed, and he opened the drawers, pulling out a faded black T-shirt and thick gray socks before turning and tossing them to her. “The bathroom's well stocked. Use whatever you need.”

Almost in a dream, she caught the clothes and then walked into the bathroom, shutting the door. Well stocked may have been an overstatement. The small room held a shower, toilet, and sink in a small cabinet.

She opened one of the two drawers to find unopened toothbrushes and toothpaste.

Okay, no hair ties. Why would he have hair ties?

She changed into his T-shirt and socks, carefully hanging her wet clothing on the one bar for towels.

She felt vulnerable and small in his shirt, but at least she felt a bit warmer.

She took one of the towels and dried her hair best she could, leaving it hanging around her face.

She looked in the mirror and then winced before wiping under her eyes to get rid of the mascara that had smeared. She was pale, and she looked lost. The bruise on her cheekbone from the explosion was turning a lighter purple now. It had been a rough few days.

Tears filled her eyes, and she instantly batted them back. There was no need to cry.

She walked out of the room to find Christian bare-chested, wearing long, dark sweats.

Holy crap. His chest was even more muscled and cut than she had imagined, and he had an actual six-pack, like a real one. Not overly defined, but more natural.

Her mouth watered.

A tattoo of an osprey looked like it was flying over his left shoulder, with its talons extended and its beak sharp.

It was beautiful work.

She swallowed.

“Get in the bed,” he said, no expression on his face.

“You’re kind of bossy,” she muttered, walking around to the other side, pulling down the covers, and slipping inside.

“When I need to be.” He flicked off the lights and slid in next to her, his big body indenting the bed until she rolled toward him.

“Sorry.” She pushed herself away.

The fire crackled across the room while the storm raged outside, lending a breathless intimacy to the cabin. Her heart fluttered in her chest. This felt unreal. She was in bed with Christian Osprey, and his body was even better than she’d imagined.

Not that she had imagined it. Okay. She’d imagined it more than once.

They both stayed quiet for a moment.

“You’re going to have to sleep, darlin’,” he said.

Did he just call her darlin’ ? Hadn’t he called her baby the other day? Her nipples peaked. Just from his low voice. “I’m trying.” But she couldn’t get warm. She shivered.

“Damn it.” He rolled toward her and yanked her against him, her back to his front, his powerful body wrapping around her completely.

Desire flooded her. She shivered again.

“You’ll warm up. I’ll let go once you do.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, bending his elbow at her stomach and extending his forearm up along her chest to her collarbone. His hand settled just below her neck.

Man, he was big.

She shivered against him, acutely aware of the hardness of his chest pressed into her back. She felt small. Delicate. Desire coiled low in her stomach. “Um.”

“I know,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re engaged. I’m just warming you up.”

She hated that she was engaged. She liked that he was warming her up. “Christian,” she murmured.

“No.” His mouth stayed close to her ear, and his heated breath brushed her earlobe.

She shivered again and nearly groaned from the feeling of him behind her.

Holding her. All strength and heat and honed muscle.

They lay together, her back against his chest, his arm a solid band holding her in place.

Neither moved. The fire snapped and shifted across the room. Time crawled. Her thoughts didn’t.

When had she last felt safe and protected? She sure wouldn’t feel like this with Jarod Teller in the bed with her.

“Why?” Christian asked, voice quiet, grip firm. Was he reading her mind?

She didn’t need clarification. She knew exactly what he meant. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

She stared into the dark. The shadows moved more than the answers.

“You don’t love him.”

She tried not to move against his hard body, but hers wanted to explore. Now. “How do you know?”

“I’ve watched you for years. You’re not in love with Jarod.”

Holy crap. What did he mean? He’d been watching her? For actual years? “Why do you care?” she whispered.

He said nothing.

She waited. Nothing came except a warning in the back of her head. “I might be ready to settle down,” she muttered. “I want kids. I want a marriage. Why can’t that be it?”

“You deserve more.”

Three words. Honest. Unflinching.

Yeah. She did.

But she couldn’t tell him the truth. Couldn’t risk it.

If Christian knew, if he went after Jarod and didn’t get what he needed—if that video still made it to the press—Flossy would end up in jail, and Christian might, too.

He could get himself thrown out of the wildlife troopers before he even got started.

She didn’t know how she knew he’d fight for her, try to protect her, but she did. Deep down.

The risk wasn’t worth it.

Her throat tightened.

He held her like he’d keep holding her. “Let me help you.”

“You can’t,” she answered, no hesitation.

He turned her and pressed her into the mattress, rolling over her with full weight and control.

She gasped. He was hard. Her body responded before her mind could catch up. She widened her legs without meaning to. Her pulse kicked. Every part of her screamed to reach for him.

“I can,” he said. His voice stayed low, calm. “I have skills, Amka. Tell me what you need me to do.”

Her voice felt raw. “What? Skills? What are you saying?” The breath heated in her lungs.

“Whatever you need. No questions asked. Tell me.”

Holy crap on a cracker. She couldn’t deal with this. “I don’t need anything,” she managed.

“Tell me why you’re engaged to him.”

“Because I am. It’s what I want.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just looked at her as the firelight caressed his rugged face, dancing over hollows and shadows. Over hard cut bones and tight skin. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She said it fast. Too fast.

He dropped his head. Their noses nearly touched. “I think you are.”

“I said I’m not.”

Then he kissed her.

No warning. Just heat and pressure and those firm lips on her mouth. The kiss hit hard. She gasped into it, heart thudding, mind blank. For one second, she froze. Then her mouth moved. She kissed him back.

His hand slid into her hair and held her there, allowing her no space to move. The kiss deepened. He kissed with hunger and control, frustration folded into every motion. He didn’t push. He took. Deliberate. Sure. Focusing on her like nothing else existed.

Her body reacted first—hips arching, breath catching, skin hot.

He broke the kiss slowly, pulling back an inch at a time. His hand stayed in her hair. His breath touched her lips. “Tell me the truth.”

Her mouth opened. No words came out. She stared at him. Her body still burned from one kiss.

He hadn’t even taken off his clothes.

She hated how much she wanted him. Hated how fast it unraveled her. “It’s what I want,” she said again. Not true. Not even close. But it was something.

His jaw twitched. Just once. His eyes stayed locked on hers. Anger flickered there. Not rage. Not possessiveness. Just a clean, sharp frustration she hadn’t seen from him before.

He rolled off her.

Not away. Not distant. He shifted to his side and pulled her with him, curling her back into his chest, locking an arm around her ribs.

“Go to sleep.” His hand stayed flat against her abdomen.

“I’ll give you tonight,” he said, voice in her ear.

“But not forever. You’ll tell me the truth.

” The calm, absolute confidence in his low tone conveyed a threat much clearer than if he’d shouted.

She shivered again, not from cold this time, and in response, he held her closer.