Covet (Sinful Secrets 3)

She scowls, but it lacks its full force. She blinks around the burrow, seeming confused.

“You want to sleep some more?”

She yawns, balling her small self up. Her hand brushes her belly as she does, and she yanks the hemline of her shirt, as if she knows how hard I perved on her when she was sleeping. I give her a wink. Finley rolls her eyes and pushes up on her elbows.

She groans. “The ground. So…hard.”

I nod.

“I hate it here.” She shakes her head, and her long hair falls over her shoulders, covering her breasts until she uses something wrapped around her wrist to fasten it back.

I pass her a protein bar—one of only six left. “Fuel up. And wake me in an hour.”

She gives me another troubled frown, but nods.

“Not a morning person?” I smile.

“It’s not morning.”

“Fair enough.”

Shortly after I stretch out, she gets up without a glance my way. I watch discreetly as she works, going at it hard and feeling probably the same way I do—like every second we’re in here makes it less likely we’ll ever get out.

For a second, I consider getting up, but it’s a minor miracle I slept before. If I can get a little more, I know I can get us out of here.

Twelve

Finley

I realize while he dozes: there’s something amiss with the Carnegie. I notice him stirring as I slam the hammer into the wall. I feel badly for interrupting his rest, and my arms ache so terribly that swinging the hammer brings tears to my eyes. So it seems sensible to take a break at the stream.

I don’t like the dark rear of the cave, but I adore the running water. It may take them a bit to find us, but as long as we’ve got water, we can stay alive for quite some time. I run my fingers through it, and that’s when I hear the sound. I spin around and find him upright, holding his head and breathing in such loud huffs, I hear it over the burbling stream.

“Declan?”

The name bursts from my lips unbidden, but it doesn’t seem to reach him. I watch as he stretches out on his back, his hips twisting as one thick arm covers his face. From my angle back off to his right side, I can see his chest pump with his heavy breaths.

“Declan?” It feels strange on my tongue: such a knightly, masculine name…and somehow also delicate—almost pretty.

When he doesn’t respond, I realize he must be dreaming.

A low moan reaches my ears, and my belly tightens. I stand slowly as he writhes and starts to pant. His hands fist in his dark hair, tugging, and a gentle crest of empathy swells in my chest. I walk quickly over to him, dropping down to my knees on the ground beside him.

“Declan. Hi there,” I whisper. “It’s Finley.”

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, I reach for his shoulder. At that moment, he bolts upright. For an instant, he looks aghast—all wide eyes and open mouth. Then his eyes fix on my face, and he appears to steady. “Siren?”

“You had a nightmare,” I say gently.

He’s up quickly, stalking toward the stream, where he drops to his knees and splashes his face. I watch as he kneels there, heavy breaths still pumping through his muscled back and shoulders.

Watching panic pass through his strong body kindles my own. For a frantic, airless breath, I’m clinging to the underside of a boat’s seat, shivering in water that reaches my neck; the blood pounding between my ears is louder than the howling wind.

When he stands, I whirl away, realizing a beat too late that I’m standing by the sleeping bags with no apparent purpose save for watching him. My pulse gallops as I hear him moving toward me. In my periphery, I see him reaching for the pack. The crinkle of a wrapper lets me know he’s grabbed a bar. I hear the crack and plastic thump of his hands opening a water bottle. Then he’s moving toward the rubble pile without a glance my way.

Something heavy settles near the base of my throat. For a too-long moment as my eyes cling to his shoulders, I can’t swallow. I decide to follow his lead, sitting on my bag with a bar, of which I take only a small bite.

The next time I look up, I don’t see him. He steps out a moment later from behind the remnants of the rubble pile, his head back as he drinks from his bottle.