Dead of Eve (Trilogy of Eve 1)

I lay on my back with my feet on the door and clicked the bullet on and off with my thumb.

The teasing, I could endure. But I knew under every tease lay a reciprocated truth. I heard it in his cracked voice when he whispered good morning in my ear. I felt it when he touched my hand as he passed. I saw it when I caught him watching me from across the room. And I dreamed about it when he snuggled at my back every night.

I wet the bullet with my mouth, clicked it on and eased it over the throb inside me. My mind was crowded with fantasies and they all fed an impossible hope. Jesse was gone. Roark was celibate. And a battery-operated apparatus was no replacement for the real thing.

But I closed my eyes and let copper ones fill my vision. Jesse’s body pressing mine into the floor, lips parted for ragged breaths. The music of his Texas drawl moaning my name. I found my release with my imaginary lover and emerged from the bathroom, both hurting and feeling better at the same time.

Time toiled by under the freeze line. Snow and bitter temperatures shut us in for weeks. Roark’s stores of food and supplies could last months. But I could not.

“I made a list of travel supplies.” I took a steadying breath. “I’d like to move on in the next couple days.”

He eyed me from the opposite end of the couch, our legs intertwined. “You’re off your bloody nut. Ye want to travel now? In January? It’s the coldest feckin’ month of year. Ye den’ even have a plan. Ye den’ even know where you’re going.”

I turned a page in The Hound of the Baskervilles, my favorite in Roark’s collection. I lifted the frayed hardback until it blocked his face.

He knocked a knee against mine.

While the bunker offered us secrecy from the threats prowling above, we had little privacy from each other. I palmed the stone that lay on my chest. I managed to keep my healing wound concealed from his probing eyes and he stopped asking about it. The scabs and stitches were gone, leaving my chest puckered under a hideous pink scar.

He tapped my knee again.

I sighed and closed the book. “What?”

“Where’d ye get that necklace, temptress?”

The nickname had to go. I dug a toe in his ribs.

“Ackk,” he shrieked.

“You scream like a girl, fickle priest.”

“One of us should play the part.” He caught my foot and kissed it, his smile flashing around white teeth. If only his playfulness could loosen the tension within me.

I traced the veins that webbed the stone. “It was a gift.”

“Tell me.” He massaged my toes.

I told him about my time with the Lakota. About the Great Mystery, the circle, my healing and my peculiar interactions with Jesse. “Besides Ian, the Lakota are the only men who have shown me civility since the outbreak.”

He crooked a brow. “Wha’ about your fickle priest?”

“Hmm. Jury’s still out on that one.”

He locked an arm around my thigh and attempted a hyperextension on my knee. I rolled, twisted out of it and into his lap. He released his grip but kept his arms around my waist. His throat bounced around a swallow, eyes mirroring my hunger. I wanted to close the inches between us. I wanted to find out if he tasted as good as he smelled.

His brogue rumbled from his chest. “Temptress.”

“Prude.”

“Opinionated heathen.”

“Brainwashed god-fearer.”

His gaze drifted over my face, returned to my eyes. “Bugger, you’re so beautiful.”

I swallowed past a tight throat. My self-control was no match for his. I leapt off his lap and ran toward the workout room, the farthest place I could get.

He caught my arm in the hallway. My back hit the wall, held there by his hip.

My thoughts were everywhere and no where they should be. “We need to stop this.”

“It doesn’t have to be like this.” His breath was hot on my temple, his accent thicker than usual. “Trust me, lass. Den’ bolt. Close your eyes.”

Put some faith in me discipline.

I took a shaky breath and did what he asked. A few heartbeats later, his fingers brushed my cheeks. My pulse raced. My clothes felt tight and itchy. He pressed his forehead to mine and inhaled through his nose. His fingers sank in my hair as he whispered at my mouth, “Can we show each other affection without making it about shagging?”

I opened my eyes. “Impossible.” For me, at least.

“We’re both lonely. We have no family and friends to hold or care for. But we have each other.”

Deep breaths. “What kind of affection?”

He cupped my face. His lips touched my forehead. My heart thundered. He tilted my head back and dropped a kiss on the bridge of my nose. Then the tip. I held my breath. His mouth swept over mine, soft and warm. He lingered on my bottom lip.