The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(44)

I want her upright until her breathing is stable, so I move behind her and pull her against my chest.

“Here is our absolute worst-case scenario,” I tell her. My voice is measured, certain, almost bored. My heart is ticking like a bomb. “If you have an asthma attack and we can’t get it to stop, we call for help. If help is taking too long, I do an emergency tracheotomy. It’s not the ideal situation, but I have what I need. I’d just be placing a small hole in your trachea, and I’d use a hand vent to push you oxygen until help arrived.”

She laughs and sobs at once. “Having you perform makeshift surgery on me on the beach is a pretty bad worst-case scenario.”

“Nah,” I reply. “Believe me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

And I have, but it would terrify me because it’s her. I couldn’t live with myself afterward if something went wrong.

“I’d go with you in the helicopter,” I continue, “even if we have to go to Oahu because—I don’t know if you’re aware of this—medical care on the island isn’t great.”

She laughs, and this time I don’t hear any tears. She’s breathing again. I push our sleeping pads together and spread my open sleeping bag over them like a sheet.

“Come here,” I tell her, lying down and pulling her against my chest. She does, her small hand grasping the fabric of my shirt unconsciously, as if for comfort, while her body tucks perfectly into my side. She rests her head on my chest, just below my shoulder. I pull one of the other sleeping bags over us both.

“And then, once we’re back in Oahu and I’ve secured you a cappuccino and some Sour Patch Kids, I will ask you why the hell you’re dating my brother and you’ll explain it to me. I’m assuming there must be sorcery involved, as there’s no other logical explanation.”

The rain pelts the tent and she nestles closer. “Assuming I operate logically was your first error.”

Not checking to make sure she had her inhaler was my first error. Maybe she still has lingering faith in my brother, but I have none. I should have known he’d do something like this. I reach up and click the lantern off.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

My hand moves to her hip. “I’m not molesting you,” I tell her. “But I can’t sleep with my arm straight at my side.”

“That surprises me,” she says. “Not what I pictured.”

“I didn’t realize you pictured me sleeping.”

“It was only when I wanted to creep myself out. Mostly, I saw you posed like a corpse.”

I smile in the darkness. “So wishful thinking, then?”

She laughs. “Precisely.”

Sloane was wrong about her. Maybe my feelings for her are messy, but she isn’t. She’s a tiny little fighter, resilient and perfect just as she is.

It doesn’t take long, with my breath against her hair and rain lashing the tent, for her to fall asleep. But I lie awake for a long time.

I will never forgive my brother for this. I’m going to stay calm tomorrow, until I get her home, and I’ll probably put a good face on things for my mother’s sake. But I’m never going to fucking let this go.





28





DREW





January 31st





There’s a warm, hard body snuggled up against my back and an erection the size of the Washington Monument pressed against my ass.

It wakes me. Because I know what it feels like to be nestled against Six, and that is not Six. Jesus Christ, that’s not Six.

There is obviously no longer a safe distance between us, and Josh’s arm is tight around me, his hand pressed flat to my stomach, his breathing still slow and even in sleep. I never would have assumed he was a cuddler. I would have assumed he had a sizable appendage if I’d thought about it, simply because, well, he’s a big guy.

Who am I kidding? I’ve thought about it.

But how do I proceed now? I don’t want to wake him because then we both have to deal with the awkwardness of this. How do you make an erection die? Other than talking about my feelings, nothing comes to mind.

I know when he wakes because for half a second he curls closer, and then I hear him say “shit” far too close to my ear and feel him roll away.

I suppose I could pretend to be asleep but that’s really not me. “Happy to see me this morning?” I ask instead.

“Don’t get too flattered,” he says moodily. “I just need to pee.”

“I wasn’t flattered. I assumed it was one of your robotic parts malfunctioning. Though I find the idea of a malfunctioning sex robot weirdly titillating.”

“Drew,” he says between his teeth, “that really isn’t helping.”

I like the idea of Josh with a raging erection he can’t get rid of slightly too much, but he was nice to me last night so I decide to be a decent human being for once. “What would help change the mood?”

“You seem to enjoy talking about death,” he says. “That should do it.”

“Hmmm,” I say, trying to think of something death related. “I really only enjoyed discussing Sloane’s death, to be honest, but let me think. Oh, got it. When was your first funeral?”