Cover Me (Elite Force 1)

He went so hard, so fast, his hands shook with restraint. After all day sitting in the truck with her, catching the scent of her with every gust of air his way, he hurt all the way to his teeth from having her so close and not being able to touch her.

Now, here she was, kissing him, and as much as he wanted more he was so damn scared that if he pushed her, he would lose this much.

She inched back, her green eyes wide with… horror.

Shit.

He dropped into his chair, hope deflating as fast as his erection.

Misty scooped up her toiletries from the foot of the bed and scampered across the room and out the door as if she couldn’t get away fast enough. The door clicked closed behind her, her footsteps growing fainter as she raced down the stairs to the shared bathroom on the second floor.

Then it hit him. She had kissed him back. And while that might have freaked her out, she hadn’t slapped him. She hadn’t told him to leave. She’d left, as if maybe she was every bit as off balance as he was.

He’d meant what he said about wanting to stay with her, to help her through everything ahead of her. No way in hell could he just walk away from her once they reached the mainland. He was making progress, but he’d almost wrecked that by pushing too hard, too fast, with the kiss. He needed to take a step back.

He had a chance with Misty, an honest-to-God second chance, and he refused to screw this one up. Even if it meant sleeping on the crappy futon.

***

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, wrapped in the quilt, Sunny nibbled the edge of the oatmeal rhubarb bar. Today, she’d learned that amazing sex gave her the munchies. And since they’d had sex twice in the past hour—once against the door and again in bed—she was seriously craving snacks.>She writhed against him, scoring his shoulders with her close-cut fingernails, her motions jerky and a little frantic. “Quit thinking and start moving. I need… I want… Now…”

Didn’t have to tell him twice.

Tucking an arm under the perfect curve of her bottom, he angled her closer, thrust deeper, faster, driving them both closer and closer until… her shout of completion mingled with his, echoing around the small room along with the crackle of the wood-burning stove, the slap of the tide against icy chunks just beyond their window.

His forehead thunked to rest against the door as he panted and prayed he wouldn’t drop her. His legs weren’t any steadier than his heart rate. When he could trust his arms to work properly again, he scooped her up and carried her to the split-log bed, caribou antlers over the headboard. She reached a limp hand down to sweep aside the patchwork quilt before he placed her in the middle of the mattress and slid in after her.

Now he just needed to wait for her to go to sleep so he could make his call.

***

Flynn swung open the door to the tiny attic room at the so-called bed-and-breakfast. More like a barn-and-breakfast. The small space had sloped ceilings, tucked away on the top floor of the A-frame house. The place was probably set up by the old hunter and his wife who lived here so they could close it off when it wasn’t in use.

But it was warm and safe for Misty. Nothing else mattered.

He tossed his duffel bag and Misty’s suitcase in a corner by the only chair and walked to the wood-burning stove to get some heat moving around. And to take his eyes off the iron bed. Not that he would be using that mattress. He would spend the night on the dinky futon that had been billed as a sofa bed on the website.

Kneeling in front of the stove, he opened the grate to find a preset kindling pile. Quietly, he eyed the room while Misty unpacked things from her bag. It was a house, but it wasn’t. The cabinets weren’t made of wood. They looked like wood but it was a veneer with particle board. The rug under his boots crunched. He reached down to test the texture. Nothing like the natural fibers he was accustomed to. The only things that appeared authentic were the hand-painted nesting dolls beside the bed. They looked like some of the crafts his brother’s wife had her students make in school.

If things in this backwoods room seemed strange, how much more out of place would he be if he left the islands altogether? He didn’t even remember another way of living. His parents had been one of the founding families, coming here from Washington State. His father headed up the village community council and talked about the day Flynn or Ryker would run for election. Not that Ryker had much interest in anything other than smoking weed and sleeping with his wife.

Flynn had been the one to dream of having a simple life for himself like his parents’—a life with Misty.

Steeling himself for just how damn pretty she was, he turned to face her. Still, seeing her punched the air out of his lungs. Her silky hair brushed her shoulders as she pulled shampoo and a comb from her bag. Well-washed jeans hugged the curve of her hips. Her green flannel shirt had a little ruffle alongside the buttons that all but shouted to his fingers to slide them open.

He gripped his knee until it hurt. “Sorry there was only one room.”

“I’m not worried.” She added a bar of soap to her pile of toiletries, the scent of some kind of berries drifting across the room. “If you intended to hit on me, you would have done it long before now. It’s been four years.”

Since this was his big chance, might as well go for broke. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about you.”

“Tough not to, when we bump into each other all the time.” She slammed closed the suitcase again. “You can take the futon.”

“It’s not exactly bedtime yet.” Even to conserve energy, a person couldn’t sleep all the time it was dark in Alaska. “We should eat something.”

A tray rested on the end table, chair on one side, bed on the other. She eyed him for a second before plopping down on the edge of the bed, making it very clear he wasn’t getting near the four-poster even for supper.

He took the chair as she pulled the napkin off a plate of salmon pie and blueberry cobbler. A pitcher of ice water and pot of hot chocolate rounded out the meal, the dinner making up somewhat for the ratty futon. He draped his napkin over one knee and divvied up the meal. At least he could feed one hunger. He tucked into his flaky crust, smoked salmon and cheese oozing out of the sides. With every bite he felt the heavy weight of Misty’s gaze across the table as she pushed her food back and forth on her chipped pottery plate.