Uncharted(25)

My senses return one by one as I push to my feet. The unique, earthy smell of the rainforest — dirt and decay, greenery and growth. The gorgeous sight of dappled sunbeams all around me, filtering through the thick canopy above my head. The soothing sound of…

Hacking?

My gaze follows the incongruous noise to Beck. He’s a few dozen feet away, biceps straining as he slices his way through a thick hanging vine with a tiny utility tool blade. I think he’s going to pull a Tarzan and start swinging but when the ropey end falls free, he catches it in one hand and inserts it into the wide mouth of his water bottle, filling it drip by drip. A natural hose.

Smart.

I was so busy sucking down leaf droplets, I didn’t even consider there might be an easier water source hanging right overhead.

Sensing my eyes on him, Beck glances my way. He gives a small start, as if caught off guard by something.

My brows lift.

He clears his throat roughly and lifts the slow-filling bottle. “For Ian.”

I nod and wipe my damp brow before glancing down at myself. I suck in a breath of mild alarm as I realize the humidity has coated my limbs in a thin sheen of sweat and moisture. My dress clings to my body like a second skin, hugging my chest and hips in a way that leaves little to the imagination. With each labored breath, the white crests of my breasts rise and fall too rapidly to ignore, straining against the confines of my neckline. The feeling of two green eyes lingering on my exposed skin only makes my heart pound faster — especially when I look up to meet them.

Even from across the glade, he towers over me. We’ve spent so many hours horizontal in the raft, I’d almost forgotten how tall he is. How powerfully built, even without the benefit of proper sleep or sustenance. How magnetic those eyes can be when they lock on yours, learning your every detail, memorizing your every curve…

We both avert our gazes at the same time.

I cough to break the sudden tension. “We shouldn’t leave Ian for much longer.”

He grunts in agreement.

“We’ll have to drag the raft up to the tree line.”

Another grunt.

I stare at the chipping polish on my toes, still afraid to look at him directly. Now that I know what his hand feels like in mine, my fingers itch to twine once more. The desire is unwelcome, but unshakable. My need for human contact burns violently within me. My fingernails cut crescent moons into my palms as I do my best to curtail it.

“It’ll be dark in a few hours. We need to find somewhere to spend the night together.” My eyes widen as I realize my suggestion, while innocent in intent, has conjured an unexpected question in regard to sleeping arrangements. “I mean we— I didn’t mean together—” With effort, I bite my lip and put an end to my babbling.

His brows arch in amused speculation.

“Shelter. We need to find shelter,” I clarify needlessly, feeling blood rush to my cheeks.

He doesn’t answer.

With a huff, I turn on one heel and stalk back in the direction of the beach without waiting for him. I’m not sure what I expected — another grunt, perhaps, or a chiding remark. Instead, his tone is full of barely-leashed laughter as he calls after me.

“You’re going the wrong way, you know.”

My cheeks blaze ever brighter as I pivot a hundred and eighty degrees. I don’t look at him as I stomp toward the beach, but I can feel his eyes lingering on me the whole way back.

Ass.





Chapter Eight





S P A R K S





I sponge water between Ian’s sunburned lips with a wet cloth, supporting his head so fluid doesn’t collect in his lungs. Pneumonia is the last thing he needs to deal with, right now. His leg wound has worsened greatly over the last few hours. Angry red streaks of infection stretch from his shattered femur down to his toes. I recognize them.

Sepsis.

Blood poisoning.

Gangrene.

Ugly names for an even uglier reality.

Cut off from blood flow, the tissues in his leg are dying. If there’s any chance left at saving the limb, we have no choice but to take action — and soon. I know that. I just wish I felt more confident about actually doing it.

Thankfully Ian is still unconscious; I hope that means he’s been spared most of the pain of this ordeal. He looks paler than ever in the shadows of the small shelter we’ve set up at the edge of the trees. The raft is suspended at an angle several feet above our heads in a makeshift lean-to, one flank resting on the ground, the other tied to the highest branch we could reach on a nearby palm tree. It doesn’t offer much in the way of cover, but night will be here soon. Until we can rig up something more permanent, it’s better than nothing.

Ian shivers violently despite his proximity to the small fire we built using twigs, coconut husks, and the waterproof matches from our emergency pack. The temperature has dropped several degrees in the past few hours. As the shadows grow, so do my worries about hypothermia and exposure. If my years of hiking and camping have taught me anything, it’s that even the warmest summer days can drop off to become the coldest of nights. Especially if you’re sunburned, malnourished, injured, or dehydrated.

Not to mention all four at once.

I ignore the goosebumps covering my own chilled skin and focus on Ian. I’ve already layered both foil blankets over him, along with the sweatshirt from Beck’s duffle bag. Still, he shakes and shivers with fever.