The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea (The Devils #2)(46)

“What’s the first thing you’ll do when you get to the hotel?” I ask him, as if we are soldiers who’ve long been at war.

“Eat,” he says. “I don’t care how filthy I am, I want the biggest steak you’ve ever seen in your life. And a potato. And maybe another steak.”

I laugh. “I just want a shower. God, I want a hot shower so bad.”

“And then what?”

“Another shower.”

Thirty minutes into our slippery descent we all hear it: the sound of rushing water. Kai’s shoulders sag. “That creek from yesterday?” he says. “It’s now a raging river.”

When we reach the valley, we discover the campers who stayed down here last night are gone. Kai tells us the guide who helped them with dinner last night had the foresight to move them across the river before the bad weather started. But we have no such luck, and are forced to set up our tents inside a covered shelter near the creek’s edge. It’s so tight that we’re practically on top of each other—I could reach outside of our tent and right into someone else’s—but it’s better than trying to set up in the rain, and I don’t care where we sleep as long as I’m dry.

Josh lets me change first. I groan aloud as I remove layer upon layer of wet clothes.

“Are you okay?” Josh asks from outside the tent.

“So good,” I moan, peeling off my sports bra and my socks at last. It’s cold today and I’m in here butt naked and it’s still so much better than being covered in soggy fabric. “Ecstatic. Most importantly, I’m almost dry.”

He grunts. “I’ve never heard someone make dry clothes sound so sexual.”

I use a spare t-shirt to dry off. “It’s better than sex, believe me.”

He gives a low laugh of disbelief. “Then you’ve been sleeping with the wrong people,” he says, and I freeze in the middle of drying myself off, my stomach suddenly twisting with want. I picture him in here with me, pressing me flat to the floor, caging me in with his large body, those perfect arms braced on either side of me. And that’s probably nothing I should be picturing when we’re spending another night together, alone.

Once we’ve both changed, we hang our wet things at the other end of the shelter with everyone else’s. We eat the food we should have had for lunch, and then, though it’s barely dark, we retire. There’s not much else to do and it’s not like it was going to be a late night anyway—I think everyone is as physically and emotionally drained as I am from the day we’ve had.

Anna stops by each tent, delivering pieces of chocolate. I dig into a side pocket and discover that Six stashed enough mini-bottles of booze to share with the group, which certainly wouldn’t help my reputation if anyone knew who I was.

Chris plays a few songs on the ukulele and then reaches out through the tent flaps to the couple beside him. “Pass it along until it reaches someone who can play it,” he says.

Dietrich takes a turn and gives up, passing it to us. I start to hand it over to Kathy and Samantha, but Josh stops me.

“Play something,” he demands.

“What makes you think I can play the ukulele?”

“If you can play piano and guitar, I guarantee you can do this too.”

“It’s different,” I tell him. “It’s tuned differently.”

He leans back with his hands behind his head. “I wouldn’t start pissing off the only guy here who can keep you warm tonight.”

“I suspect Chris and Kai wouldn’t mind keeping me warm,” I suggest, and I laugh at his quiet growl before settling the ukulele in my lap.

I try a few chords to get a feel for it. Each string is tuned about a quarter note higher than a guitar, but otherwise, it isn’t so different. I start slowly with Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, which my father taught me to play long ago, and though I refuse to sing in case I give myself away, Kathy starts singing and soon everyone joins in.

They clap when the song’s over. “Holy shit, Lina,” says Kai. “Why didn’t you say something? Now I feel like an asshole.”

I play Ryan Adam’s version of Wildest Dreams, and then let it morph to the song I’ve been working on.

“I like that,” says Samantha. “Who is it?”

“No one,” I reply. “Just this Russian girl I knew back home.”

I try to hand the ukulele over, but no one is willing to follow me. “Keep playing, Lina!” they shout.

“Sorry,” I call back. “I’m too cold.”

“Liar,” says Kathy. “You just want to snuggle with your hot boyfriend.”

I laugh and Josh does too.

“Come here,” Josh says quietly. “Come snuggle with your hot boyfriend.” He’s joking but I thrill at the idea anyway. I lie down with my back to his chest and once I’ve stretched out, he takes my sleeping bag and the extra one and pulls them over the top of us both.

He angles himself so his crotch is not against me, but the heat of his chest is plenty, and after another hesitant moment, his hand—broad, possessive—lands on my waist and slides to my hip.

The shelter grows quiet as tent flaps finally close for the night. I can feel his breath against the top of my head.

“Tell me something, Josh,” I whisper. “Tell me something no one else knows.”