Exposed : My Mountain Man Protector(22)

I shoved him. “That’s not fair. You only showed me how to find it yesterday—how to do that and about ten hundred other things.”



Blake’s smile was indefatigable, and he urged me on. “Go on. Show me how it’s done.”



I sighed, and, throwing up my hand at a collection of stars that could have been Coma Berenices (or the Big Dipper for all I knew), I said, “Okay, so up there, you know that clump that kind of looks like a pack of hot dogs?”



Blake laughed. “Yeah.”



“So the things at the bottom, the ones that look like individual hot dogs, they’re like this Berenice queen woman’s hair, because she loved her husband so, so much and gave it to some powerful goddess woman who put it up there in the stars.”



I let my hand fall and, turning to Blake, said, “There. Happy?”



Blake’s response was to burst out laughing.



After a minute, he fell quiet and asked, “After what happened with your husband, do you still believe there’s someone out there?”



I felt his gaze on me, but I didn’t look over. I scanned the stars, the swoops and lines and clumps of constellations, where the answer was somewhere.



“I don’t know,” I said.



The truth rang loudly in the quiet, and tears came to my eyes at the bitter irony of it, of loving the wrong man and being punished the rest of my life for it.



I turned so that my back was facing him, and after a minute, Blake said, “You’re cold.”



I wiped my eyes and tried to make my voice steady. “No. I’m fine.”



Blake swept his hand across my upper arm, his fingers leaving a tingling in their wake.



“You have goose bumps,” he said.



I paused. I almost wanted to deny it and argue with him so he’d touch me again.



But my eyes were still full of tears and I was horribly, hopelessly afraid, and Blake still didn’t want me here—not really—no matter what he said.



“I guess so,” I finally said.



The next second his massive arms were wrapping around me and his warm breath on the back of my neck was saying, “Me too.”



He said nothing more, because he didn’t have to. This right now, this quiet still night, this clasped union   of us, it was enough.



As we lay there, Blake radiated more and more heat while I wiped at my eyes every once in a while. I wasn’t sure what the tears were for: happiness or sadness or fear, or all three. Because, just now, enclosed by these strong arms, excited butterflies fluttering through my veins, I knew. There was no denying it anymore.



I was not falling for Blake; I’d fallen for him. And it terrified me.



Lying pressed together here, even our breathing was in time. I wished I could roll over and see his face, see if it was wearing the same blissful expression mine was, if it was lit up by the same euphoric feeling. And yet the way he looked at me, our almost kiss last night, hell, here, now—how could he not feel the same?



I sighed.



Did it matter? How could I trust myself anymore? After Angelo, the red flag should have been when I was attracted to someone, not when I wasn’t. As my mind rang with these tumultuous worries, Blake was seemingly oblivious. After a few minutes, he rested his head on my back and adjusted his grip around my stomach.



All the while, I didn’t move. I pretended I was a doll. As it was, it was taking everything in me not to turn around and kiss him the way he had almost kissed me last night.



I didn’t know when I passed out, when my worries got swallowed by sleep, but I did know when I woke up.



Blake was shaking me, and I was freezing.



“Claire,” he said. “Wake up, Claire.”



I opened one eye and rolled around to face him.



“We should get back,” he said. “It probably isn’t safe sleeping out in the open like this.”



I nodded and then forced myself to sit up, and not without a wistful scowl. Of course it was, because of Angelo, my relentless, murderous husband. I’d almost forgotten.



Rising, Blake offered me a hand. I took it, and once I was up, he paused.



“Do you want a piggyback again?”



I shook my head, too tired for words. If I let Blake carry me, I’d probably pass out again, and waking up a second time would not be fun.



So, we made our way back, Blake moving a touch too fast, pausing every few minutes to check that I was still stumbling after him. It seemed an age before we got to the familiar red-brick house.



We walked in listlessly, made our way to our beds, and slipped under our sleeping bag halves without a word. I just wanted to fall asleep and forget. Forget Angelo, forget how I had felt back there in Blake’s arms, forget everything. The floor was cold, and even the sleeping bag felt cold. Everything was cold compared to Blake’s arms.