Page 21 of Thaw of Spring (Knife’s Edge, Alaska #2)

A nger boiled low in Christian’s gut as he sat on Amka’s front porch, jaw locked tight, hands stiff on his knees.

The wood beneath him creaked whenever he shifted, dry and splintered in the night air.

A moth batted against the porch light overhead, thumping softly with every pass.

The rest of the area lay in silence, and nothing moved except shadows and his own blood pressure.

Headlights bobbed through the dark, weaving slightly before straightening out. May’s truck came to a stop at the base of the drive and cut its engine, leaving only the ticking of the cooling block and a stretch of cold quiet.

The women didn’t move, both staring out at him through the glass.

It took Amka several long seconds to climb down from the cab.

The porch light illuminated her face, which had been smeared with mud.

Her thick hair had pulled loose of its band, and a new bruise darkened her chin.

“No. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she told May, shutting the truck door and walking toward him.

Christian stood. “Where the fuck have you been?”

She paused at the bottom step. “None of your fucking business.”

He ticked his head to the side. “That’s where you’re wrong. I left Ace on you at the bar. That means you stay within Ace’s sight.”

She lifted both hands, half challenge, half defense, muddy fingers curled, chin tilted. “I don’t need a keeper, Christian. And if I did, it certainly wouldn’t be you. Ace had a lot to drink and fell asleep. That’s not my fault.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s on his way to see May.”

“Why?”

“Because I beat the shit out of him.”

Her jaw dropped a little as she peered closer at him. “Wait a minute…are you going to have a black eye?”

“Yeah, and probably a split lip. I didn’t say he didn’t fight back. He had one job, and instead, he got drunk.” Christian’s knuckles were raw and caked with drying blood. He flexed his fingers, regretting it.

Amka looked like she’d crawled out of a ditch. She started to march past him, her nose in the air.

He clenched his jaw but didn’t stop her.

Then she paused and gently took his palm, sliding to the side so the moonlight showed his hand. Hers was small, warm despite the mud caked on her skin. “How bad are your knuckles?”

Her soft touch might kill him. “They’re fine.”

She sighed. “You need ice, you moron.”

The word didn’t even sting. Not coming from her. She stomped inside and he followed, barely leashing his temper with both hands. “Why are you covered in mud?”

“Because I fell in it,” she snapped, moving into the kitchen and yanking open the freezer. The door thudded hard against the side. She turned around with a bag of frozen peas and gently placed it on his hand. That gentleness did something to him, and his chest ached. Hard.

She angled her head to look up at his face. “Your lip’s not going to split. It’s just a little bruised. You want something for that eye?”

“No,” he growled.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

The image hit him instantly—her, naked, steam curling around her body, water trailing down her thighs—and it nearly buckled his knees. He looked away and tried to focus elsewhere. The dent in her fridge. The mud on her floor. Anything. “I’m not messing around here,” he said. “Where were you?”

“It’s none of your business.” She turned back, hands on her hips, chin lifted. Still breathing hard. Obviously spoiling for a fight. Wanting one. “We made it entirely clear that you don’t want a relationship. So why are you butting into my life?”

He didn’t answer right away since he was too busy staring at her mouth and the flash of fury in her eyes.

The temper suited her. “Because you need a keeper,” he said, voice lower now.

“And in case you forgot, you're already in a relationship.

I told you. I don't poach.” It was weak.

It was a lie. They both knew it. But it was all he had.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. She looked like she wanted to kick him. Hard. He lifted the stupid thing to his ear. “What?”

“Hey, it’s Dutch. I just got a call. A couple of kids out four-wheeling near Rascal Mountain under the moonlight found a body with its eyes scratched out.”

Christian's pulse ticked up. “Wonderful.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at Amka’s. Trying to figure out why she’s covered in mud.”

Dutch remained silent for a moment. “What’s going on with you two?”

“Nothing,” Christian said curtly, although it was a fair question to ask.

“She's covered in mud because she fell out of Jarod Teller’s window. Along with the doctor.”

Well, that made no sense. “I think she’s been drinking.”

Dutch chuckled. “Yeah, I smelled tequila on her earlier. Meet me at the turnoff to Plumber Creek in ten minutes.”

Christian shot the stubborn woman a hard look. “I’m going to need twenty.”

“All right. Make it fifteen.” Dutch clicked off.

Christian cocked his head. “Why were you seen crawling out of Jarod’s window?”

She looked at the phone in his hand. “That was Dutch? What a tattletale. It’s none of your business what I was doing. Maybe I forgot my key. Jarod’s my fiancé. Right?”

None of this made a lick of sense. Her hair was matted with mud, her clothes soaked and clinging.

She looked like she’d wrestled a bear. Her eyes still sparked with fight, and yet all he wanted to do was get her out of those muddy clothes, dry her off, and figure out what was breaking loose behind those unreadable looks she kept giving him.

Worse yet, he couldn’t stop worrying about her. She wasn’t his to worry about. But there was a part of him that wanted, really badly, to change that. And that part was getting stronger. Louder. More reckless. “Get your shit. I’m taking you to my place.”

“No,” she said flatly.

One defiant word. Just one. That was it. He ducked his head and tossed her over his shoulder.

“Hey,” she squawked, squirming.

He didn’t have the right to plant his hand on her ass, so he didn’t. But he was starting to think he wanted that right, so he snatched her purse off the counter, stomped out of the house, and headed toward her SUV that he’d driven from the bar after he’d fought with his brother.

“What are you doing?” she snapped over his shoulder.

He didn’t answer and instead plunked her into the front seat and fastened her seatbelt before she could stop him.

He slammed her door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“You shouldn’t leave your keys in the rig,” he muttered, sliding behind the wheel.

Though truth be told, it had made it easier for him to borrow it.

“Why? It’s Knife’s Edge. Somebody steals it, I’ll know who they are.” She crossed her arms. “Sometimes people need to borrow it, like you just did.” She flipped her hair away from her face. “I’m not going to your place.”

He started the engine and then backed down the driveway.

“You are. Because nobody knows it’s there, and it’s the only place I know you’ll be safe while I go deal with something with Dutch.

” He glanced at her after that. She was curled against the door like a pissed-off cat.

Still muddy. Still beautiful. “Then we need to have a serious talk.”

She crossed her arms, looking huffy and cute. Too damn cute. “I’m not talking to you about anything, Christian. Right now, you’re kidnapping me.”

There was a bit of truth to that statement. Even if he did just want to keep her safe. He kept telling himself he didn’t have the right. But someone had to do it. If she stayed by herself, she could get shot. Or worse. “When’s Jarod back in town?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped.

“Isn’t that something you should know? Since he’s your fiancé?”

She huffed and looked out the window.

What was going on?

He could see the way her jaw flexed, how her shoulders tensed just enough.

Was she afraid of Jarod? She didn’t act like it.

She wasn’t afraid of much, including him.

So why was she marrying someone she didn’t even seem to like?

Or maybe the problem was simpler and meaner.

Maybe Christian just didn’t want her to want Jarod.

She ignored him as they drove.

He flipped off the lights. Once he got further away from her place and followed the path in the dark, he didn’t sense anybody following them. No headlights in the distance. No dust on the road behind. But he wasn’t taking any chances. Not with her.

She sat in the passenger seat, arms still folded, face turned toward the window like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her leg bounced once, then stilled. Mud cracked and flaked off her sleeve with every movement.

When they reached his place, he looked over at her. “Are you going to walk nicely inside or do you want another ride over my shoulder?”

“Screw you.” She released her seatbelt, opened the door, and slammed it harder than he had earlier.

His lips twitched despite himself. She really was cute.

He followed her inside and made sure the place was secure before dragging out the same T-shirt and socks from the other night.

“Here. You can take a shower and use these. Tika is roaming around somewhere, so call out if you need him. There’s a nine-millimeter CZ in that drawer, and there’s a shotgun by the door.

I don’t think anybody followed me. In fact, I’m pretty sure of it. But shoot anybody that’s not me.”

She lifted her chin. “Including Ace?”

“Definitely shoot Ace if he comes by,” Christian grumbled, heading toward the door. “Lock this behind me, and I’m not joking.” He paused at the door and turned to level her with a look. “Amka, when I get back, we’re having a talk.”

“I am not accepting this.” Her words slurred slightly. She crossed her arms, shifted her weight, and came right at him, looking up to his face. “I am not giving you permission to take my SUV.”

He cocked his head. “You can’t drive.”

“You can’t tell me what to do.” And then she shoved him. Hard. Flat palms to his chest.

He didn’t move. Man, the woman really was spoiling for a fight. He got that. In fact, he’d just had a fight with his own brother. But now wasn’t the time. “I have to go. Behave yourself.”

Her eyes flared. “Behave?” She clenched one muddy hand and aimed it right for his gut, wincing when she made contact.

He grabbed her wrists. “You wanna talk now?” His temper wanted to blow.

“I want you to stop acting like you own me,” she snapped, yanking her arms back.

He didn’t have time for this. “I’m not. I’m just trying to keep you alive.”

“That isn’t your job.” Her eyes flashed with a desperation and fear that nearly pushed him over the edge. What was scaring her so badly? She moved to shove him again, and this time he caught her halfway and kissed her. Hard.

No warning. No room for breath.

Her fists hit his chest once and then curled into his shirt.

He had no idea if she was going to slap him or climb him—and didn’t care.

Because every part of him wanted more. And for once, he was done pretending he didn’t.

Finally, he wrenched his mouth free and opened the door.

“We’re not finished with this. When I get back, we’re having that talk.

” He was done with the fear in her eyes.

He’d take care of the threat, and then he’d figure out what to do.

“Lock the fucking door.” He shut it, heading out to borrow her SUV, whether she liked it or not.