Page 61 of Burnin' For You
She scrambled to the edge and put a hand on his shoulder. “Shh.”
They stilled, waiting as Patrick looped once again around the outside. Gilly watched him pass then slid out, checking. “We’re clear.”
Reuben wasn’t a quick man. Strong, yes, solid—but not quick. He lumbered out of the crawl space so slowly she thought he might still be half in by the time Patrick returned.
She grabbed his arm to help, and it slipped out of her grip. So she settled on the scruff of his shirt, pulling him along.
He seemed woozy, his head a bloody mess now, and when he got to his feet, he nearly fell over.
She looped his arm around her shoulder. “Run with me.”
She couldn’t look behind her, just started off in a staggered sprint towards the woods, but she refused to crumble under his weight, gritting her teeth.
They reached the forest line, and she half pushed him into a thicket of brush, falling down beside him. He lay on his back, groaning and she clamped a hand over his mouth, as Patrick circled the house again.
Patrick stopped just feet away from their hiding place, watching the flames lick out through the windows, curl the roof shingles, a dark outline of bitterness against the glow of the fire.
He’d torched his own family cabin with the hope of killing them. She couldn’t imagine a pain, an anger that burrowed that deep.
The house exploded—a massive burst of yellow, white, and orange, ripping through the night, blowing off the roof, turning the house to an inferno. Splinters of wood, glass, and debris rained down into the yard, spilling into the forest.
Gilly ducked her head, and then suddenly, Reuben rolled over, covering her body with his, his arm over her shoulders, his leg across hers, his face next to her own.
He smelled of dirt and blood, sweat and strength, his body a blanket, long and powerful, protecting her.
She searched for the fear, the revulsion that should be radiating out from her core, that should push him away, but felt nothing.
No—she felt something. A lot of something—the crazy urge to roll over, tuck herself in his arms with the hope that she’d stop shaking. Maybe even curl her hands into his shirt, lift her face, let him kiss her again.
This time, a kiss they both might participate in.
Heat emanated off the blaze, even from thirty feet away.
“What happened?” Reuben asked in her ear. “I think I might have blanked out for a bit there.”
Which meant his protection of her—him rolling over to throw his body between her and danger—emanated from pure instinct.
She didn’t know why a shard of disappointment sliced through her. “The house blew up,” she said quietly.
“And we’re not in it,” he said. He finally lifted his head, rolled onto his back. He found her eyes in the dim light. “You saved my life, again.”
She lifted a shoulder. “It’s what I do.”
But she didn’t know what to say when he reached up, touched her cheek. A soft, kind gesture that had her turning away.
“He cut your cheek,” Reuben said.
“And he shot you,” she countered.
Reuben’s voice hardened. “And now that he knows the team is out there…”
Patrick’s outline had disappeared. “I wonder if Patrick was killed in the explosion.” Despite all he’d done, she couldn’t deny a twinge of sadness.
“But what about Brownie?”
She shook her head, glanced out at the flames, now two stories high, curling around the cabin roof. Sparks ignited the night sky and cinders fell into the nearby forest.
“We need to get out of here,” Reuben said. He pushed himself up, then groaned, leaned forward, holding his head. “The world is still spinning. I think I have a concussion.”