Wildfire by Lynn Burke

Author:Lynn Burke [Burke, Lynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lynn Burke

16

Annie

Forty-eight hours on the antibiotic, and his fever stayed only slightly elevated. Enough I assured my parents he would heal up just fine. He drank plenty of water, came close to wiping out my bone broth supply, and nibbled on sourdough biscuits I decided to make.

Lighting the wood stove had heated the cabin to unbearable, so I kept the windows and door propped wide open.

In late afternoon, I suggested Roan try to get up a bit and move around. He’d become restless atop the bed, bored, I expected, since I all but refused to talk to him, speak of what had happened.

Bottling up my emotions certainly didn’t help, but I didn’t know what to think or how to feel.

I wanted him again. I wanted to hate him. Being with Roan didn’t fit into the goals of my life—no man did.

I tossed him a pair of sweats of Dads from the bin of extra clothes up in the loft I’d taken to sleeping in, turned my back, and let him handle covering up his body I’d been dreaming about. The body I’d become feverish over and cursed myself for.

The ache remained between my thighs, but for more, not because of his rough taking. I’d given in and thrummed my clit the night before, straining to listen to his breath, heavy with sleep while I bit my lip to keep from groaning his name while coming.

He woke that morning rolled toward the wall, and I fought to keep my gaze from flitting toward him when he rolled to his back with a groan, offering a glimpse of rippled abs and tented blanket.

Damn him for ruining me. Making me crave what rarely lay relaxed between his thighs. Damn him even more for making me want something that put me on the back burner.

A part of me felt sorry for his ass, being trapped up in the cabin with me, both of us silent beyond necessity, the sexual tension and unease heavy in the air. He probably ached for release as much as I did for him.

“Ready to get out of here?” I asked, my back still toward him.

“Yeah.”

I turned to find he’d already sat up on the bed’s edge by himself, something I’d had to help him do a few times in the past couple of days to empty his bladder in the old bed pan Mom kept beneath the bed.

Lips tight, I ignored his bare upper body, stepped to his side, and pulled his arm over my shoulders. “Up you go, big boy.”

He stood easily, but stayed planted by the bed’s side, the heat of him against my entire side fluttering my belly and intensifying that empty feeling deep inside me.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice tight.

“Yeah. Need a fuckin’ bath.”

I snickered, having to agree, but I doubted he’d make it all the way down to the river. “We could try getting you down to the river,” I suggested as he shuffled a few feet toward the open door.

He grunted a negative. “I’ll just wash up again with the bucket before bed.

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