Page 22 of The Hang Up
“No, I’m fine. A little rattled.” She cleared her throat in the darkness, and something told him she was having second thoughts about the wisdom of making out in a cave.
Jason could relate.
Hell, it was his fault she’d whacked her head. If he hadn’t been kissing her, this wouldn’t have happened. What was he thinking getting distracted like that? He was supposed to be taking care of her down here, not groping her like some horny teenager.
He let go of her waist and reached for her hand instead. “Look, I’m really sorry?—”
“It’s fine, I’m okay,” she said. “Just—could you help me?”
“You need a Band-Aid? I have one in my pocket, or some ibuprofen or?—”
“I’m not hurt, Jason. I just need a hand getting my bra hooked again.”
“Oh.” He slid his hands back around her waist, trying to execute the move in the most professional, respectful manner he could muster. He should probably turn the headlamps on to make this easier, but part of him didn’t want to break the spell of intimacy. “Sorry,” he said, still fumbling with the bra clasp. “Just give me a sec.”
“I really can dress myself, I promise. It’s just that I usually put it on with the clasp in front and wiggle it around to the back before putting my arms through, so I don’t usually hook it when it’s already on my body or when I’m wearing four layers of clothing.”
“Huh. I guess I never really thought about how women get a bra on.”
She laughed. “You mean you focused all your attention on learning to get the bra off?”
“Pretty much.”
He had it hooked again now, so he should probably stop touching her. Any second now. Okay, just one more second?—
“Look, Jason?—”
“You’re right, I know.” He slid his hands out from under her shirt and found her hands again, ready to catch her if she was still shaky on her feet. “Absolutely, this was a bad idea.”
“I wasn’t going to say that, exactly.”
“No?”
“Well, not exactly.” She gave a breathy little laugh. “I didn’t plan to use the word ‘bad,’ anyway.”
“But you don’t disagree with the sentiment?”
“No,” she admitted.
He kept reeling from the sensation of her body pressed up against his, every atom in his body screaming at him to touch her again.
Stop it. That’s how she got hurt.
He took another step back and let go of one of her hands so he could reach up and flick on his headlamp.
He’d hoped the wash of light would douse his raging libido, but it had the opposite effect. The sight of her tousled and blinking in the glare of yellow light just made him want her again. She smiled up at him, her helmet adorably askew, her lips plump and luscious, and his need for her surged again.
Then he noticed the gash on top of her helmet.
“Wow.” He reached out to touch it as a fresh wave of guilt socked him in the gut. “You really whacked it hard. You sure you’re okay?”
“Positive,” she said, then rolled her eyes upward like she could see the top of her own head. She lifted her hand to feel the dent in her helmet, and her fingers grazed his again.
He jumped back, feeling guilty for the rush of lust, for the ding in her helmet, for the fact that he’d let himself get so distracted. Hell, how long had they been down here? What if Ellie and Henry needed to reach him? There was no phone service in the cave, and they’d been down here for an hour at least. What if something happened?
A flash of light brought him back to the present, and to Miriam. She’d flicked on her own headlamp and stood there blinking, holding her arms around her as a shield against cold.
She smiled at him and gave a little shrug. “Hey, no harm, no foul.”
