Chapter 45
Saffron
Saffron waited for Roarke outside the apothecary cabin. She knew he hadn’t spotted her, she was too well camouflaged in the greenery. She leaned against a tall tree and watched him descend the porch stairs in long loping strides. Everything he did crackled with energy. Even when he seemed lazy or relaxed it was a mask, his own form of camouflage. His shirt was ripped, a neat bandage tied around his left bicep. He was lean and strong, as if he always knew exactly what his body could do.
Enough thinking.
She pushed away from the trunk, just as he stopped and glanced in her direction. “Saffron.” She was mildly impressed. He shrugged his uninjured shoulder, reading her expression. “I grew up around Green Jacks, remember?”
She nodded at his arm. “So they didn’t have to chop it off?”
“Couple of stitches. Just a graze, no big deal.”
She remembered the burst of the bullet, his body being flung through the rain. “Does it hurt?” He shrugged again. She took that as a no, or close enough anyway. “Good.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him deeper into the forest, away from the camp, away from expectations and recriminations and duties.
He followed, perplexed but curious. “Where are we going?”
She had no idea actually. But this spot by the lake was as good a spot as any. And private, which was all she wanted. She turned, tugging him forward with a fistful of his shirt. She kissed him hard, hungrily, and after a very brief startled pause, his arms wrapped around her. His tongue slid over hers in tiny hot licks. He tasted like rain. When he eased back, she blinked at him. Everything inside her hummed. “What was that?” he asked softly.
“Does it matter?”
“Maybe,” he nipped at her mouth. “Maybe not.”
“I don’t want to think,” she slipped her hands over his hips, his leather belt digging into her fingers. “And I don’t think you want to either.”
“So I’m convenient.”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” There was too much talking, too much thinking again. “Are you going to take off your clothes or chat me to sleep?”
“Is everything a dare with you?” She just widened her eyes impatiently at him. “Challenge accepted.” His grin was wicked. Something sparked inside her belly.
His mouth found hers again but this time the kiss was slow and lazy. She was suddenly no longer sure whose idea this was in the first place and she didn’t much care. She wanted him to keep kissing her like this forever; like they were both drowning or flying—like they needed each other to survive. Somehow they found themselves lying in the ferns, all ragged breaths and desperate hands. His body pressed against hers and she arched to meet it. He dragged open-mouthed kisses across her throat until dandelions bloomed in her hair. She smoothed her palms over the hot skin of his back, pulling his shirt up when it got in the way. His knee pressed between hers. She pulled at the rest of his clothes, he at hers.
The ferns closed over them as he closed over her—and there was no thinking, no thinking, only the wild voice within, finally allowed to sing.
Green Jack Page 45
