Page 17 of Butterfly
“Let me have a look.” From her bum bag, she produces a switchblade and leans over the rim of the pit to reach the bottom.
Her shoulder and arm slide down my body, and I shudder again with emotion. Her scent, the fresh, clean green-apple scent I remember from the plane, fills my nostrils, mingled with her spicy sweat. The side of her breast brushes my arm, and something stirs in my belly. Vance’s words, ‘she isn’t just that into you,’ have a sobering effect on my rising temperature. She didn’t call me. She isn’t interested.
“Oh, I see. There’s a plant all twisted around your ankle and boot.” Her voice rings cavernous. “Stay still. I’ll cut it.”
She slides a few inches down, her fine arse at my eye level. It’s not my fault if I glance at it. It’s right under my bloody nose. My knuckles touch her thigh as she goes deeper, holding herself with one hand on a tree root. I should be holding her. It’s a safety matter.
She slips back up, blowing out a breath. “It’s deep. But I don’t need to reach your ankle to free you. If I cut the upper stems of the plant—”
“You didn’t call.” The words come out of my mouth in a rush. I can’t completely remove the hurt from them.
She lifts her head, golden eyebrows drawing together. “Were you serious when you asked me to call you?”
“Damn well I was!” I regret my harsh tone, but I’m fifteen stone of frustrated male, my muscles are a bundle of taut nerves, and the past three months have been filled with irritation and worry for her.
Frowning, she sinks upside down into the hole again. “I didn’t think you were serious.”
“We’ll have a chat about that.” Before I can blather out another harsh comment, I hold my tongue. The sharp click of the blade cutting through something comes, then she lifts herself up, her chest on the ground.
“Give it a try. You should be free to go now,” she says, her ponytail getting loose.
“Good. So we can talk.”
Something is still gripping my leg, so I raise my knee with a powerful yank until my foot comes free as I climb out of the blasted hole. The vine around my foot snaps, and the momentum propels me upward. She moves closer, but a warning dies in my mouth as I nearly lose my balance and wave an arm to grab a tree root. My knuckles connect violently with something soft and silky. A muffled whimper sounds from Sienna as she clamps a hand over her mouth. Blood drips from between her fingers and stains the ground.
Bloody hell. I punched her. Hard. The blood drains from my head, leaving me dizzy with horror. I hurt her.
“Dammit, Sienna.” I drag myself out of the hell pit as she grovels on all fours. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I lost my balance and—” I stretch out a hand to touch her, but she scurries away, her eyes showing too much white and her pupils swallowing her blue irises.
“Don’t touch me!” she hisses, scrambling away from me. Her heels shuffle for purchase on the ground, lifting dead leaves.
I hold my hands up. “Let me help you. Please.”
But she isn’t listening to me. She’s staring at her hands stained with blood, wheezing. Colour leaches from her face. She looks like she might pass out at any moment. “So much blood. There’s so much blood.”
“It’s not that much. Your lip is split. Please let me help,” I beg, worry gnawing at me. I want to kick myself. I hunch my shoulders, but I don’t dare to come closer to her. She’s like a wild animal, scared and wary. One wrong move and she’d flee. And I have no idea why.
Her breathing is coming in quick, hard pants. “Stay away from me. Don’t touch me!” Her voice rises to a strident high pitch that doesn’t belong to her.
“Sienna, you’re okay. It’s only a cut.” I take a step closer, but she springs up so quickly the movement startles me. “Listen—”
She takes off, running in the direction of the thick forest, instead of the path.
“Wait!” I start after her, but she’s faster, fuelled by fear and adrenaline.
She jumps over fallen trees and boulders without breaking her stride. My boot gets caught in a tree root, and the sudden twist of my hips I make not to fall sends freezing agony up my calf.
A sharp pain cuts through my leg, and I hop on one foot until I have to stop. I stumble, and a fresh shot of pain burns along my leg. Bloody hell. My ankle throbs when I put weight on it. I clench my teeth and scan the vegetation, but she’s gone. Only ferns and brambles fill my vision.
“Sienna!” Her name echoes in the emptiness of the forest. Only birds reply.
I bend over, gulping down air and pain. Son of a bitch. Where should I go? Go back to the starting line or complete the loop? She might head straight to the car park next to the field unless she gets lost. What the hell just happened? Bugger me if I know.
Rubbing my shoulder, I walk down the path that leads to the tents. I don’t even try to smile at the other people I meet along the track. Dirt and broken twigs cling to my clothes, and a few scratches mark my skin. The journalists want real life? That’s real life.
One of the runners hurries towards me. “Hey, Alex Knight—”
“Did you see a blonde girl running towards the start line?” I ask, cutting the guy off.