The temperature in the Jeep rose about twenty degrees as we stared at each other silently. It was like there was some sort of pull between us, a special gravity that only he and I could feel. The air between us practically crackled with tension—but not the stressful kind, the good kind. The kind of tension that made me bite the inside of my lip and squeeze my thighs together.
After several charged moments, he broke eye contact. I was partially relieved, partially disappointed. Nathan ripped open yet another of those wipe thingies. The flash of his straight white teeth as he used them had me biting the inside of my lip even harder.
He shook out the mini towelette and looked up. Without warning, without a single word, he cupped the back of my head, his palm completely spanning the base of my skull. His warmth seeped into my scalp and sent little goose bumps racing over me. They multiplied so fast it almost felt like a million tiny ants rushed over my body.
I couldn’t hold back the shiver.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Not as cold as before.”
His fingers flexed into my hair and he reached up, using the wipe to gently dab at my lower lip. “What happened here?” he asked gently.
I swallowed. “I’m not sure.” It could have been from me biting it. It could have been from being hit. Who knew?
He grunted and pulled it away, and I caught a glimpse of the dark stain against the white. He folded it over and then returned, swiping carefully over more of my skin. “I’m not going to be able to do anything about that eye right now.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” he said, that steel creeping back into his tone. His shoulders stiffened slightly and I tensed. In that moment, he seemed like a cornered, aggressive animal. Like he was seconds away from completely losing it.
He took a deep breath and expelled it, the action seeming to calm him down. “It makes me angry he did this to you.”
“Are you friends with him?” I couldn’t keep the question in any longer.
He tossed the wipe into his lap with the other used one. “No,” he replied.
“Then how come you texted him?”
“I play poker once a week with a group of guys. Lex is one of them. He was late to the game and I texted to see if he was coming.”
“His name is Lex?”
Nathan nodded.
Putting a name to the hideous man who tortured me didn’t make him seem any more human. In fact, it made him seem like more of a monster.
“I had no idea he was a total whack job.”
“Well, he is that,” I agreed.
Nathan flashed a grin in the darkness. I longed to see him in the light. I wanted to know the angles and planes of his face. I wanted to take in his features and truly see the man who had literally saved my life.
Nathan seemed oblivious to my thoughts as I watched him tidy up the first aid kit. Before he put it on the floor, he glanced at me. “Where else are you hurt?”
“I won’t be requiring any more Band-Aids,” I quipped.
He turned to look at me fully. His hand closed over mine and he gently took the flashlight from my grasp and clicked it off. “What about your ribs?”
“I don’t think you have anything in that kit for them.”
“Let me see them.”
“Wh-what?” My mouth ran dry. He wanted to look under my shirt?
“I want to see them.”
“That’s not really necessary—”
He studied me and then thrust his hand out in the space between us. “Hey, I’m Nathan Reed. It’s nice to meet you.”
I wanted to laugh. We were a little beyond a formal introduction. But it was fun (hey, you try being kidnapped and beaten and see what you consider fun), so I slid my hand into his. “I’m Honor.”
He held my hand a little longer than he needed to, his thumb brushing over the inside of my wrist. I caught myself right before I started purring like a cat.
That would have been hella embarrassing.
“I’m a staff sergeant in the United States Marine Corps. My favorite color is green, and I like football.”
“What are you doing?” I asked, thoroughly charmed by him.
“Formally introducing myself so you’ll let me under your shirt.”
I laughed. “I usually don’t let men I just met under my shirt.”
“I’m irresistible.”
I smiled. “And so modest.”
“Now you know all about me. Your turn.”
I lifted my eyebrow. I knew all about him? I highly doubted that. In fact, Nathan Reed seemed like a guy with many layers. But I played along.
“I’m Honor Calhoun. I’m a writer. My favorite color is blue, and I also like football.”
“You like hot wings, Honor?” he asked like it was the most important thing he needed to know.