Wild At Heart (Wild 2)

My eyebrows arch. “You packed a lunch? Because I was fairly certain you didn’t know how.” I’ve taken to making sandwiches for him that he can grab on his way in and out for work. It’s easier than dealing with his grumpy mood when he’s hungry and standing in front of the fridge, glaring at my salads and overnight oatmeal, complaining that there’s never anything to eat.

“All right, smart-ass.” He slings his rifle over his shoulder—a reminder that, while we’re entirely alone out here, we’re never actually alone—and, taking my hand, he leads me toward the tree line.

Wistfulness flutters in my stomach as we trek through the forest, passing the familiar archway with the antlers fastened to them. Our surroundings aren’t as lush as they were in the depths of summer. Everything is still waking from a wintry slumber—the deciduous tree branches bare, the ground cover only beginning to emerge. There isn’t a sound save for the weight of our boots along the time-worn path.

“What if someone’s using it?”

“Then I’ll kick ’em out,” he answers, his eyes dancing with mischief.

The safety cabin is exactly as we left it, a quiet, rustic shack nestled among the forest, the windows boarded up, a stack of wood piled next to the door, waiting for occupants to seek shelter.

“This is so weird.” A wave of nostalgia overwhelms me as we step into the dim interior. The tiniest rays of sunlight creep through the cracks in the window boards, offering little light. But it’s enough for me to make out important details—the spot on the floor where I made up a bed, unsure who would be occupying it; the rope line where Jonah hung my clothes, soaked from the downpour; the tiny kitchen with the dry sink and the dented pots, where he ordered me to strip; the black woodstove in the corner that warmed the air and our tangled bodies well into the night. It even smells the same—like musty wood and soot.

It was the night that the tension brewing between Jonah and I erupted.

Jonah’s gaze drifts over the interior for a long moment. I wonder what he remembers of that night, and how vividly. Me? Now that I’m standing here, I remember every touch, every kiss, every shudder of my body. At least it seems that way.

He sets the cooler onto the table. “Gimme a minute to open it up a bit.” He brings my hand to his mouth to kiss it and then takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, his eyes steady and thoughtful and hinting at something—worry or fear?—as they lock on mine.

“Jonah, seriously, you’re beginning to freak me out. Are you about to tell me you’re dying or something?”

“Jesus.” He releases a breathy laugh and, shaking his head, heads out the door.

“Okay, I guess not,” I murmur, adding louder, “Don’t cut yourself again! I like this shirt too much for you to bleed on it!” I wander over to the rustic kitchen table to unzip the cooler bag, curious to see what he packed. Inside are multiple containers of grapes, cheese and crackers, a thermos of the barley soup I made yesterday. “Wow. You actually made sandwiches.” I peek under the croissant to find a tidy pile of ham. There’s a small, two-glass bottle of champagne tucked into the side. He even remembered to pack flutes.

“Didn’t you eat breakfast?” Jonah asks from the doorway. With a window uncovered on either side, there’s plenty of daylight streaming in.

“Just snooping.” I hold up the bottle. “What are we celebrating?”

He shrugs. “How about being here again?”

“Fair enough.” I smooth my hand over the rough surface of the rustic table, smiling slyly. “Remember this?”

He kicks the door closed with the heel of his boot and strolls toward me. “I remember everything about that night.” He comes to a stop in front of me, his fingers coasting over my cheek, tucking my hair behind my ear.

I hop up onto the edge of the table, allowing my legs to dangle off the side. “Feel like reenacting it?” I waggle my eyebrows.

I expect him to laugh but instead, a contemplative look passes over his handsome face. “You ever wish you could hit rewind and relive that night?”

I take in the tiny space again as I consider his question—and remembering everything that came after. I shake my head. “It was an amazing night. But so much happened after it that I wouldn’t ever want to face again.” So much pain. I found my father, only to lose him again, this time forever. And for months, I thought I had lost Jonah forever, too. That was agony of a different kind.

I hook my heels around his thighs and pull him toward me, fitting his hips between my legs. Reaching up, I let my fingers drag through his beard. I smile as I recall the night I trimmed it the first time, exacting my revenge while he lay unconscious after the crash that totaled the plane. I can still hear my father’s laughter the next morning when he realized what I’d done to his golden boy, and why.

So much has changed between us.

That night we found ourselves stranded here, Jonah was an enigma to me. That sexy but intimidating man who spoke his mind, even when it wasn’t something I wanted to hear. My father’s right-hand man, the bush pilot who would never leave.

He was temporary, as was my time in Alaska.

Now … He still steals my breath and my every thought, but he’s all mine. He doesn’t intimidate me anymore because I know him inside out. I know the origin of every scar on his intoxicating body. I know that he gets irritable when he’s grounded for too long and giddy when the propeller begins to churn. I know he hates it when freshly dried clothes sit in the hamper for too long, and he can’t stand skin on chicken. I know he’s a light sleeper and a heavy snorer. I know he likes to be in charge of most any situation, but he’ll give a stranger the shirt off his back if they need it. I know he feels guilty for not seeing his mother more often, but every time he calls her, the sound of his stepfather’s condescending voice in the background makes his fists ball up.

I know Jonah loves me. Maybe as much as I love him.

“Where we are now is perfect,” I say. Almost too perfect.

“It is.” Jonah’s throat bobs with a hard swallow, his gaze searching my face, lingering on my mouth before shifting to the small gold-and-diamond plane that sits nestled against my collarbone. I wear it every single day. He collects it between his fingers, studying it a moment. “I remember thinking that night how I was gonna fall hard for you.”

“Really?