Her knees slide up to her chest, her chin settling on top of them as she worries that goddamn bottom lip through her teeth. “I got scared, that’s all.”
I squat and brush the hair at her temple back over her ear. “What scared you?”
She looks up, hesitating, as if wordlessly sayingwhat do you mean?
Her brows lower, and I thumb her bottom lip, ignoring my stirring cock as she subtly leans into my touch. “What scared you, Evie?”
A small breath hitches inward, and she shakes her head. “I don’t want to talk about it. But thank you for finding me,” she whispers.
I push to my feet. “Okay, coffee’s ready.” I pull the pot from the stove as steam billows from the small spout and set it on the table while I find two enamel mugs. No cream or sugar in this old hut. Pouring two cups, I drop into a seat. Evie turns to watch me, eyeing the steaming mugs.
“One’s yours when you’re ready,” I say, not letting her gaze escape mine.
She stands and pads to the other chair, sinking into it, the blanket still wrapped around her naked body.
“Did my clothes dry?” she asks, taking a sip with one hand, the other clutched around the blanket.
“Mostly.”
“Are you staying out here another night?”
“Are you?”
She looks around the fishing hut, taking in the rustic minimalism. “It’s very similar to your other man-shack at the house.”
I chuckle. My man-shack. Nice.
“’Spose it is. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t want to intrude. You came out here for something. And I doubt it included me.” Her eyes are glued to the tabletop, as if it’s fascinating.
Always putting other people’s needs first. “This sweet, nice girl shit is getting on my damn nerves, mo nighean.”
“Mo nighean? What does that mean?”
“You’re the queen of words, you tell me.”
Her cheeks flush. She knows what it means, alright. Smart little thing figured it out. Of course she did.
“My girl,” she whispers, her eyes staring at the floor by the wonky bookshelf.
“Do you want me to stop saying it?”
She swallows, her mug resting on the table. After a beat, her eyes meet mine as she sets her shoulders back and says, “I don’t know yet.”
I drain my mug and pluck her clothes from the chair and slide them across the table. “If you’re staying, you help hunt.”
“Hunt?” Worry and anticipation mingle through her brown eyes, her lips parted.
“For food, Jane.”
She chuckles and fists her clothes, sliding them closer. “Okay, Tarzan.”
“You won’t catch a thing wearing a blanket, baby.”
“I won’t?”
The look in her eyes transforms. It’s darker, like the color I saw in them a day ago. Instead of asking for or taking what she wants, she simply stares at me.
