She shut off her cell phone and looked up. Dillon stood in the doorway, wearing a fresh pair of jeans and a blue flannel shirt, his wet hair slicked back and his grooming kit in hand. She felt an unexpected frisson at the thought of him in the next room, bathing. Naked.
"The shower's free," he said.
"Did you reach your dad?"
"Yes. He's worried about me."
The softness in his voice squeezed her heart. "Do you have somebody," she asked, "family somewhere, worrying about you?"
"Not anymore." Harsher this time. Another off-limits topic. "We've got an early morning ahead of us. Try to get some rest." He made to move away.
He paused, his eyes settling on her. Frisson. Undeniable and too strong to ignore. She tossed her phone onto the bed and crossed the room, stopping only when she was certain he must be able to hear the rush of her pulse. "In case there isn't a chance tomorrow," she said, and kissed him.
He tasted of mint toothpaste, his mouth welcoming and gentle. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and closed the space between them until she could no longer distinguish her heartbeat from his. Her equilibrium tilted. She felt unguarded tenderness in the way he held her, needed her.
She kissed him until her tears threatened to return. Drawing back, she caressed his smooth-shaved cheek and whispered, "See you in Nome."
"That's a promise."
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish