Fresh out of the shower, he was using a white towel to rub his hair dry. It blocked his sight and muffled his words as he said, “Thanks for hooking me up with the grub, Carlos.” He lowered the towel, started scrubbing at his chest. “I couldn’t face going back out to the kitchen and— Oh. Cara. Sorry, I thought…” His eyes locked on her and he trailed off, and for a second it was like it had been earlier, with the rest of the world falling away and her perceptions coalescing to the two of them.
Play it cool, she told herself even as her skin prickled. Don’t stare. But she couldn’t stop herself.
His skin was the delicious golden color she remembered from his beach-bum days, when he’d been deadheading his way through life as a part-time surf instructor, part-time wreck diver, and full-time party animal. Now, though, he was also in fighting form, bulked up through his chest and shoulders, yet still swimmer-lean in the flat planes of his stomach and the ripped lines of the abs that arrowed toward the waistband of the sweats as if deliberately trying to drag her eyes lower.
He made a harsh noise at the back of his throat, then rasped, “What are you doing here?”
For a second her mind blanked. Then she sucked in a breath and said too quickly, “I came to thank you. Tempers got a little hot earlier and I never said how grateful I am for you and Mac rescuing me.” Exhaling and telling herself to slow down, relax, not make this into something more than it really was, she lifted the hot dogs. “These are for him.” She suddenly felt like an idiot, holding out a ten-pack of wieners as a peace offering.
He nodded, though. “He’s nosing around somewhere. I’ll give them to him when he gets back, and make sure to tell him they’re from you.”
“Good. That’s good.” She wasn’t even sure what she was saying, as if one part of her was automatically being polite while the rest of her stared at his chest, caught up in the unexpected intimacy of having him standing there in nothing more than socks and sweatpants, the resentment of knowing that he probably hadn’t given it a second thought. She told herself to leave, but instead headed for the kitchen nook, where she put the hot dogs in the fridge. Like the coyote cared if they were warm.
Then, telling herself she would make the gesture and go, she turned back to him and pulled a crinkling bag from her pocket. It was a package of Skittles, a smaller version of the ones they used to plow through during long winter nights, when she, Sven, Carlos, and her mom, Essie, had engaged in cutthroat tournaments of the patolli. The ancients had anted up with everything from gemstones and pottery to household furnishings, slaves, and sometimes even their own lives. Her family members had played for chores or a special treat, but most often, they had wagered Skittles.
Giving him the bag was a nod to the past they had agreed to leave behind, but somehow back in her quarters it had seemed like the perfect thank-you. So she held out the Skittles, grateful to see that he’d zipped his sweatshirt to his throat. “These are for you, from my private stash… unless you’ve outgrown crappy candy with one hundred percent artificial everything and zero nutritional value?”
His lips curved. “Hand ’em over.”
The almost-smile made him seem far too approachable. His chest might be covered now, but the sweats were worn soft and clung to the lines of his body, putting a twist in her stomach. And, gods, could she be more hormonal? He obviously didn’t share her problem—he was just standing there like it was no big deal for them to be alone together in his suite. Then again, for him it was nothing. And she needed to pull it together and remember that she wasn’t an idiot teenager anymore, or even the girl who had left Skywatch when he told her to go. She had status and responsibilities of her own now, and they had nothing to do with him.
Steeling herself, she resisted the urge to toss the Skittles, and crossed the room instead, putting herself an arm’s length away from him as she held out the candy. “Thanks for rescuing my ass today. I would’ve been in serious trouble if you hadn’t been there.” She paused, then said softly, “I owe you one, Sven. You saved my life.”
He hesitated, then took the bag with a brush of fingertip-on-fingertip contact and moved back to hike a hip on the edge of the sofa in a casual sprawl that put their eyes on the same level for a change. He tossed the Skittles lightly in one hand for a moment, then sighed deeply, and said, “Shit. We’re off script again.”
“We’re… what?”
“I was going to come find you, maybe get you to walk out to the back of the canyon with me.” Still staring at the Skittles, he tipped his head toward the window. “It’s a nice night.”
Baffled, she followed his nod. The storm had passed without shedding a drop, leaving a high, dusty haze across the sky. It furred the stars and blurred the outline of the nearly full moon. “We can go if you want.”
But Sven shook his head. “Nah. You’re here; I’m here…” A sad, tired smile twisted his lips. “Maybe the gods are trying to tell me to stop stalling.”
Earlier, she had noticed the new lines between his brows and the seriousness in his storm-sea eyes. Now she saw shadows and an intensity that was nothing like his old chilled-out vibe. It brought a skim of surprise and nerves shivering through her, along with the reminder that she needed to stop thinking of him as the guy he used to be. Like her, he’d been through some serious crap over the past few years—heck, even the past few months. By all accounts, his and Rabbit’s efforts to contain and then eradicate the xombi virus had been gruesome work, and she had no doubt that he carried new scars, on the inside if nowhere else.
Her inner winikin wanted to reach out and soothe him, feed him, take care of him. Her inner warrior, though, had her keeping her distance as she asked, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know if I’m fine or not right now, only that I’m better than I was before. Being down in those jungles, seeing things through Mac’s eyes as we tracked the xombis, and then making myself cut them down no matter what they said or did…” He scrubbed a hand across his face, though the move did nothing to erase the grimness. “Hell, Cara, those nights got long. And lying there, smelling the blood on me and Mac no matter how hard I scrubbed to get it off… Shit, it really made me think about my life and the mistakes I’ve made.”
Nerves coiled in her belly, coming from the knowledge that she wasn’t in any shape to deal with this. “Okay, now you’re scaring me. Do you want me to get someone? Sasha, maybe?”
“I don’t need a healer. I need you to listen. You said you owe me, but what happened today doesn’t even begin to balance things between us.” And the look in his eyes said he wasn’t talking about the here and now anymore.
Oh, no. Please don’t go there. Face flaming with a blush that pulsed higher with each beat of her thudding heart, she said, “We said we were going to move forward and not worry about the past, remember? A deal’s a deal.”
But he shook his head. “The deal was a bad idea. And I’m the one who owes an apology.”
“I don’t want…” She trailed off when her throat tightened and her eyes prickled with the threat of tears. “Damn it.”
He shifted as if to go to her, but then settled back and offered a hand, eyes darkening with remorse. “Shit, Cara. Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not. I won’t.” She waved him off. “Give me a second here.” Because the thing was, she did want an apology; she always had. She’d just taught herself not to wish for things that weren’t likely to happen. And now… damn it, she was tired, her defenses low. Swiping at her eyes, she fixed him with a watery glare. “Do me a favor? Don’t do this unless you really mean it.” Because as much as she didn’t want it to matter anymore, it did.
“I mean it, I swear.” His words were low and fervent, and carried the force of a blood oath. “I’m sorry, Cara, for all of it. I get it now. I see how I fucked things up, not just with you, but with Carlos too, creating this sort of three-way mess labeled ‘shit we don’t talk about.’”
Her head spun and her feet felt far, far away from the rest of her, putting her into a very unreal this-isn’t- happening sort of place. But maybe after all these years it was happening. Maybe he was finally turning into the better man Carlos had always said he could be. “It hurt him badly when you left, you know.”
“I know. I was going to go see him first, but…”
Her lips twisted on a strange-feeling smile. “I blew the script.”
“Yeah. So I’ll start with the things I need to say to you, instead.” He reached out and took her hand, tugging her closer. The warmth of his skin and the solidity of his grip steadied her, bringing her back to reality as he said, “I’m sorry about what happened that day in the barn, Cara. I should’ve seen it coming, and I should’ve handled it better.”
Reality screeched to a halt around her. Wait. What?
She frowned. “I don’t—”
“When you kissed me, my mind… I don’t know, it blanked. Shock, I guess.” His thumb rubbed across her
