With Every Breath (Wanderlust #1)

by Lia Riley

  I take out my frustration on screws and metal. My jaw tightens. No way will this stupid stove be my Waterloo. I’ve got to get this right, if only for the vague superstitious inclination that if I can fix this, I can fix everything.

  While no one approaches, I get the distinct feeling that I’m surrounded by a pack of African hunting dogs. Guys swivel their heads whenever I glance up, but the minute I look away, gazes bore into the back of my skull.

  The two standing beside the slackline keep nodding in my direction and snickering. Maybe I’m being paranoid and they’re simply making jokes or sharing puns. Yeah, just a pair of punny guys, and I coincidently happen to be in their line of sight.

  Or it could be the reality, which is that it’s awkward as hell to be a single girl among badly behaving testosterone-fueled guys. While I don’t feel unsafe per se, I do need to prove that I’m doing stuff, hanging out, and comfortable in my skin, not crying because my heart is threatening to split down the middle. It’s my own posturing. I tuck back my shorter hair behind my ears, and for some reason that gives me confidence.

  I’m breaking away from my old unconfident self, stepping outside my sister’s shadow and forging my own way.

  In my fantasy, Rhys will come out of that forest any minute. I’ll cradle a mug between my hands, steam lazily rolling from the top. You’re back, I’ll say casually. I know we need to put things at ease. Come sit and have this tasty, tasty cup of tea I brewed using my mad outdoor skills.

  I realized something out there. You are a good person, Auden Woods, he’ll respond in a gruff yet oh-so-tender tone. The best person. The sort who stared temptation in the face and turned away for higher moral ground. May I escort you into our Tent of Pleasure and ravish your lady parts with my tongue? And look at that stove that you oh-so-competently erected.

  His face would twist in a mix of ardor and admiration. Auden, you gorgeous, capable woman, how will I ever be parted from you?

  That’s when he’ll bend me over and plunder my mouth with his fervent tongue. My bodice (yeah, I’m wearing a bodice) rips. My bosoms heave. His manhood is turgid against my quivering swollen folds, ready to invade my womb and—

  “What’s that? A bloody modern-art installation?”

  I blink up, the sexy imaginary Rhys replaced by Psycho’s butt chin. My fantasy comes to a screeching halt, like dragging a needle across a still-spinning record. I can’t control my grimace, and my reaction only makes his leer widen.

  “I’m fine,” I snap, sitting back on my heels, studying the stove and trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong.

  “I’m sure you are,” he says. “But that stove? Not so much.”

  “I’ve never done this before.” I am forced to admit the truth.

  “How did you meet Rhys anyway?” He stretches his back muscles. “We’ve all been wondering.”

  We—as in the other guys.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit around and gossip?” I twist a screw and, shit, the whole damn stove falls apart. I swear under my breath, back to square one. “Thought you had a mountain to get ready to climb.”

  “Waiting for this weather window is boring as buggery. You’re an improvement.”

  “Rhys is my friend,” I say tightly, digging out the instructions and reading them for the fourth time.

  “Who is he climbing with?” Psycho is poking around for information. As much as I hate to play dumb for this ass clown, I’m not willing to sell Rhys down the river, despite my annoyance.

  “Don’t know.” I shrug. Himself. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t.” A barely restrained flicker of annoyance skims his features as his butt chin clenches. His lower jaw protrudes a bit. His eyes bulge like a pug. Yep, he’s a pug with a ponytail. All he needs is a snaggletooth to complete the pretty picture. He spits on the ground. “Just trying to have a little friendly conversation. You putting the stove together to make anything particular?”

  “It’s cold and windy, perfect tea temperature.”

  “Walk with me. I’ll fix you a cuppa back at my tent.”

  “That’s OK.” The last thing I want is this guy doing me any favors.

  He saunters away with a snort, and I eye the woods. Come on, Rhys. Where are you?

  I need to pee and have to locate the bathroom, or whatever outhouse passes for one in these parts.

  It’s a little way past the tents, and after, as I come back into camp, guys are congregating in front of the hut, which is a perfect word for the dilapidated structure that looks like it’s that twig house the second little pig built. It must be deceptively strong because Patagonian wind does more than huff and puff.

  The three Australian climbers are there, joined by two others. They get out a deck of playing cards, and Murray opens a bottle of pisco, the ubiquitous South American form of brandy. The gaucho is still around, next to a bedroll, sipping maté from a silver bombilla. It looks like he and his son will stay the night.

  “Hey, girlie, have a drink with us,” Goonbag calls out.

  “Nah, that’s OK,” I return, still walking.

  “We’re playing Asshole,” adds another climber, this one with a thick Southern US twang.

  Asshole? I hesitate—I do love that one. But I’m not in the mood for fun and games. Plus, Psycho’s there, and even though I don’t know him, there’s a large part of me that’s put off, that senses danger, and I need to trust that vibe.

  “It’s good fun.” His pug eyes dare me.

  “Fine,” I say, and just like that I realize, as much as I want to say I’m different, that I’m changing, I’m not. Harper could always get under my skin. Push hard enough and I’ll cave.

  I need to be better at keeping my own power, letting haters hate and all that.

  But how do you let someone hate you and not care? If I can figure out that life lesson, I’ll be more than halfway to a functional adulthood.

  But for right now, I’m sitting down and being dealt a hand. When Murray passes me the pisco, I take a swig.

  I’m not drunk when Rhys finally strides back into the camp after the two-hour mark, but I have a pretty good buzz going. He doesn’t look left or right as he goes to the tent, opens it, and freezes, registering that I’m not where he told me to be.

  “Your boyfriend’s back,” Psycho says, calling out as Rhys approaches us. “You want to play, mate?”

  “Auden.” He focuses all his attention on me. “I need to speak with you… please.”

  I scramble to my feet. “Yes, of course.” I have no idea what could have happened, but he appears genuinely freaked out.

  His back is ramrod straight as he stiffly walks toward our tent. He carries himself as though if he drops control, even for a moment, he’ll shatter. And if he falls, he’ll break.

  I squeeze his hand. Can I be strong enough to hold him? I never expected to find myself in a situation where the hero clutches me, clasping tight as earth gives way, the entire world distilled to our tenuous grasp. I don’t really feel like this great bastion of strength, but right now I’m all he’s got.

  So I’ll do my best. He won’t fall. Not on my watch.

  24

  RHYS

  Auden crawls into the tent after me. “Listen, Rhys, I’m so sorry we fought. I’m sorry that I didn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter. I was taken by surprise, but I’m no’ angry. No’ anymore. I know that I don’t make it easy for people to open up to me. And the most important thing is, you didn’t stab me in the back.”

  “I—”

  “Please, wait.” I hold up my hand. “There’s something else.” The words that I need to say are hard, nearly impossible to find.

  To her credit, she sits back on her heels, patient, not grilling me with a million and two questions. Normally, I don’t mind her doing that, despite what I pretend. I like that she’s not intimidated by my attitude and blasts through my defensive walls like they don’t exist. But at the moment I’m at an honest loss.
/>   So I decide to do that, be honest.

  “I…” I clear my throat. “I took your advice and read my brother’s letter. I read what Cameron wrote.”

  “You did?” she asks, touching my knee.

  I cover her hand with mine. “You don’t sound surprised.”

  “I’m not. I knew you’d eventually get the courage. But I am happy, really happy. Do you feel better?”

  I stare at her disbelievingly. “How did you know the note would be positive?”

  “Because you said your brother knows you, right?”

  I nod slowly, still in a daze. “Aye, better than anyone.”

  “Rhys, you don’t seem to get this, but to know you is to… to…” She wrinkles her brow like she’s solving a puzzle. “It’s to care about you. You are one of the good ones.”

  “That’s almost verbatim what Cameron wrote.”

  “He knew there was no other solution after his accident. You didn’t have a choice. You thought he was dead, and if you hadn’t cut him, you certainly would have been.”

  I stare into space, still seeing his words. “He said—he said he blames himself. Says that he made the error that led to his fall.”

  “Maybe he did. But more than likely no one is to blame.” She comes closer, kneels before me. “Or if you must point a finger, point it at bad luck.”

  “Here. Read it yourself.” I remove the letter from my pocket and pass it to her. Any anger I had toward her is vanished by this revelation. It’s as if an anvil has been lifted from each shoulder. I’ve memorized every word, having read it at least fifteen times in the last hour. He wanted me to know that he felt responsible for the accident, that he knew I was blaming myself and that I needed time. Da told him about my plan to come to La Aguja for the solo climb and he decided he needed to be here. We had planned on climbing in this region together since we were lads, and he wants to be here with me.

  “Wow.” Auden’s eyes scan the page. “Wow. Wow. Wow. Wow. Holy shit.” She lowers the letter. “And you are going to be an uncle? Congratulations!”

  “Aye.” I laugh despite everything, and it feels brilliant. “My brother is going to be a father. I can’t get my head around it, but I can’t think of anyone who’d do a finer job.”

  “He’s really coming here? To the La Aguja camp?”

  “So he says. You see his planned date for arrival.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you’ll hold off and wait for him?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Good. I’m still nervous about you, but I feel a lot better knowing you aren’t going solo.” Her top teeth latch onto her bottom lip. “But you guys need time to connect, and that doesn’t include me. Do you think the climbers would let me move into the hut? To sleep at night until I finish my story?”

  What she’s saying makes sense. My brain accepts it even as the realization of her walking out of my life, cutting free this connection, hits me in the gut. I lace my fingers with hers and the gesture anchors me. In mountaineering, an anchor keeps the climber and their rope attached to the rock, breaks any fall. That’s Auden. That’s what she’s done, stopped my headlong descent into self-destruction.

  That’s not what I tell her, though. The idea of saying such words out loud is terrifying, has the potential to change what’s currently an easy thing. My thoughts flash to the trail, my bravado when I said I always do the things that scare me.

  I’m a fucking liar and need to grow a pair.

  I clear my throat and say, “Please stay close.”

  Her eyes widen, the brightness increasing.

  I love her eyes, love her curves, love her thick hair.

  Shite. Panic scalds my throat. Words that start with l and end with e are dangerous.

  “I am grateful for you,” I continue, my voice rough, still clinging to her damn hand like it’s a talisman. “The last few days, since meeting you…” How do I say this? My brain spins in a mad kaleidoscope as a grand declaration builds in my chest. “Auden, I like you. No, it’s more than that. I feel like I’m… like I’m…”

  “Yes?” Her anticipatory whisper turns the blood in my veins to hot, thick lava. Sweat breaks out across my chest. She absentmindedly bites the corner of her lip, and the gesture wrecks me.

  “I like you,” I repeat more firmly, because what the fuck do I say? I am falling in love with you, Auden?

  How do I even know the first thing about love?

  “Good thing I like you, too,” she says.

  I kiss that place she keeps biting on her lower lip, soft and slow. It’s good, and I do it again and again. I’ve never had this sort of infatuation before. Kissing, for example. I could kiss her all day. My tongue slips into her mouth, and she shivers. This is also new, carrying on a silent conversation with eyes closed, heads tilted, bodies pressed flush. Our hands rove, weaving a connection that binds us closer.

  Last night I woke from a deep sleep, not a nightmare, nothing of the sort, but the simple heavy oblivion that only strong drink has afforded me during the last long months. Her deep, slow breathing filled my ears, and even as the wind blew outside, her presence kept me secure from black thoughts.

  Anchored.

  Safe.

  What the hell are we?

  We.

  Not me.

  I’ve never used that word with regard to a woman. Not even Sadie. Never given serious consideration to my plans in accordance with another. How do people do that? Go from me to we? Before Auden, it always seemed that relationships make people compromise, and that begins the slippery descent to losing themselves.

  When Sadie indicated she wanted to settle down, that’s all I could think. She’d want stability, to quit high-altitude medicine and take a solid job back in England, a position where she could have kids, and that makes sense. I get why she’d do that. But for me, I couldn’t imagine giving up so much of myself.

  But what if love doesn’t have to be losing yourself? What if instead it’s about realizing that here is one person who I can be real with, who can see me in all my good and more important, my bad, and realize despite my flaws, I’m worth being connected to?

  I tell her all this with my kisses, easing her against the ground, her pants tangling around her ankles, and I’m between her legs, flooding my senses with her sweetness. I work over her wet, sensitive slickness like a man consumed, because that’s exactly what I am.

  When Cameron arrives, he’s going to take one look at me and laugh his fucking ass off.

  I told you, brother, he’ll say.

  He was right. When it happens, you do know. The first moment I heard her voice outside my tent, a part of me knew that my life was about to veer off course. I didn’t want to admit it then, but when she crawled inside, smelling like rain, with those big blue eyes, I felt I’d known her forever rather than five minutes.

  She comes in that quick, sudden way of hers, no slow, rolling climax, but the sudden ferocity of a mountain storm, and I’m shaken bare at the realization.

  I am falling in love. I am falling in love. Fuck, I am falling in love.

  Terror and peace make strange bedfellows. She should be the last person I let in, and yet there isn’t a choice. She’s already inside me. Her legs wrap around my neck, and I rest my cheek on her stomach, her navel in my line of sight, my hands splaying her inner thighs, still damp from her and my own mad kiss.

  “Wow.” She laughs this low, delighted sound. “That’s not enough of a word, but seriously, wow is all I’m left with.”

  “Glad it was good.” I trace the outline of her hip. What am I going to do?

  “Good?” She caresses the top of my head. “That’s like calling the Sistine Chapel a pretty picture.” Her fingers sink into my hair. “It’s never been like this for me before, with anyone.”

  “We’re…” We. The word has a rightness, a certain mouth feel that’s almost as delicious and addictive as she is.

  “We’re pretty good together, ar
en’t we?”

  “We’re bloody brilliant.” I rise up over her, bracing my weight on my forearms, resting my forehead against hers.

  The truth is, I’d rather be here, with her, than on the mountain. If the weather cleared this very moment, I’m not sure I could leave her.

  None of this makes any sense, but then Mum always has said I had as much sense as a chocolate teapot. Here I am, crazy in a crazy moment. Auden’s got this pink-cheeked look; a wayward lock of her hair rests diagonally across her forehead.

  Go on. Don’t be an arsehole. Get up the nerve, lad. Tell her how you feel. That she’s more than a shag. She is… She is…

  “Hey, Mac, get out here,” comes a voice. Murray, by the sounds. “New report came in. Weather window should begin tomorrow.”

  Shite.

  Auden glances toward the door, breaking our gaze. Mac? she mouths. “That’s the best nickname they can give you?”

  “Looks like it,” I say, rolling free of her and turning to the tent entrance, feeling less alive, less vital, with every inch that separates us. This is too much, too quickly. There is almost a purity in the pure hopelessness taking root in my chest. She has her own dreams to chase, and I have mine. These last few days are the kind of magic I’ll get only once in a lifetime.

  A brief light in the long dark.

  25

  AUDEN

  After Rhys leaves to speak with Murray, I lie, panting, the tent smelling of sex, of my need. I press my palms into my closed eyes as each thought bleeds into the next. How has this guy filled me so utterly, to the point where my heart is close to bursting? This is crazy. And it’s crazy to be mourning the idea that soon, all too soon, I’m leaving here, him, and this alternate world we’ve existed in the past three days. Might as well be three lifetimes.

  Rhys entered my bloodstream. The effects are mind-altering, and the idea of detoxing cold turkey makes me a little woozy. How am I expected to return to real life after this? I’ll be back in a familiar landscape, everything unchanged, except me.