Taking the Heat (Jackson: Girls' Night Out 3)

“I do.”

“And yourself.”

Okay, that was a little harder to manage, but she was working on it. She listened closely as he explained the knots and the locks and the pulley system that put traction on the rope to keep her from free-falling during a rap

pel.

He told her the calls and responses that every climbing team used, but her brain scrambled them all up as he spoke. “What if I can’t remember them?”

“The only one you need to be clear on right now is ‘falling.’”

“Wait, when do I say that?”

“When you’re falling.”

“Are you kidding me?” she yelped.

“It’s just a heads-up that I need to brace myself for your weight.”

“No,” she said again, but he just kept going through the safety lecture before he checked her gear once more.

“Show me how you use the carabiner,” he said for the second time. She showed him. “Okay. Ready?” he asked.

She stared at the rock, then looked at him, at his kind eyes and tanned skin and the strong muscles of his shoulders.

Stop being afraid.

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Take your time,” he reminded her. “Find your handholds. Make sure one foot is solid before you step again. Rely on your leg muscles, not your arms.”

“Not a problem.”

“I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He didn’t even give her another kiss before he disappeared up the rock. And that was exactly what he did. One minute he was in front of her and the next he was twenty feet up. He didn’t seem reckless, though. She could see the way he looked at every spot he used. She eased out the length of rope coiled at her feet, hyperaware that if he fell, the rope wouldn’t do anything to help him.

“This is granite,” he called over his shoulder. “It’s been here for millions of years, but there are still loose bits and pieces, so always check before putting your weight on it.”

No, her mind said. “Okay!” she called up to him.

And then he was really gone. Out of sight. He’d eased up over an edge or an angle or something, and now a big jut of rock kept him from her sight.

She held her breath for a long time, watching the spot that had swallowed him up. But then the rope tugged at her hands and she concentrated on not letting it get taut. What if she messed up and pulled him right off the cliff? What if she murdered her only source of penis-based sex?

Suddenly the rope stopped sliding. Veronica kept her grip loose just in case, but it stayed still.

She desperately wanted to shout up to him and ask if he was okay, but she just as desperately didn’t want to distract him. He wasn’t anchored in. He wasn’t safe. One wrong step and he’d die.

“This is the worst hobby ever,” she whined, stretching her already aching neck.

The other half of the rope moved, pulling up fast until it was taut and tugging at her safety belt.

“Is that you?” he called. The words floated down to her from very far away, but she nearly wept with relief. He had the rope through the anchor. He was okay.

“Um,” she said loudly, “yes! It’s me!”

She thought she heard a chuckle in response. The rope tugged lightly a few more times and then she heard the magic words. “Belay on!”

It was time. And she couldn’t remember what she was supposed to say, but she did remember what to do. She checked that her carabiner was locked, approached the rock face and took a few deep breaths until her mind started working again. The slack in the rope disappeared even though she’d moved forward only a few inches. Gabe had her.