Chapter 14: Nine Feet Away

Her hand came over my mouth before I could laugh.

Astrid's palm was warm and smelled of woodsmoke, and I felt her smile against the back of my neck.

Nine feet away, Tom turned over in his bag, and all three of us went still.

The dogs sighed, and Tom's breathing evened out again.

Astrid moved her hand from my mouth to my hair and began, very slowly, to undo the end of my braid.

Her fingers worked up the plait one loop at a time, and each loop was a held breath.

I turned in the bag until we lay face to face in the dark with our foreheads touching.

I could not see her, but I could feel the shape of her smile.

Her hand slid under the hem of my flannel and spread flat on my ribs.

It was cold for half a second, and then it was not.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste copper.

She found the buttons one at a time, and she undid them in the dark with a patience that made my knees shake.

Every sound mattered.

The soft rasp of cloth, the tick of the stove, the small pop of a button, all of it seemed loud as gunfire.

Astrid waited after each one, listening for Tom, and the waiting was worse than anything she did.

When my shirt hung open, she laid her mouth on my breastbone and stayed there.

I pressed my fist against my own mouth.

She moved lower by inches, tucking the bag over her head.

Under the green nylon the air was close and hot and smelled of both of us.

Her lips found the soft place below my navel, and I arched before I could stop myself.

The bag rustled.

Astrid froze, and I froze, and we both listened.

Tom said something unintelligible in his sleep and settled.

I felt her shake with silent laughter against my stomach.

"Behave," I mouthed, though she could not have seen it.

She answered by sliding my jeans and underwear down over my hips with one slow pull, and I forgot what I had meant to say.

Keep reading free with an account. Start Snowed In With the Park Ranger Who Hates Rangers from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.