her ogling, it was difficult not to notice the way he filled out those jeans, especially as he bent at the waist, his legs taut, gripping the wall. His slim waist tapered up into a broad back. And it took no great stretch of the imagination to picture the muscled thighs and calves hidden beneath the denim.
Her face warmed when she felt her body’s reaction. She fumbled aimlessly with her backpack as he jumped down.
“Incredible!”
Wonder and excitement glowed in his eyes as he moved toward her, and for a brief moment Kyndal was transported back to the day they first made love, realization gripping her heart. She wanted to touch him the way she had then. A lover’s touch. One last time.
The stubble along his jaw deepened in the hazy light. She drew the back of her fingers through it a couple of times, enjoying the way the scratchy texture left a tingle on her skin.
Their gazes locked and she answered the question in his eyes. “You had some dust in your whiskers.”
She read the almost imperceptible movement in his body. The slight bend of his torso toward her in invitation. He was going to try to kiss her, but she couldn’t let that happen.
She’d loved him, and he’d left her. She wouldn’t travel that road again.
Snatching up her pack, she moved out of harm’s way.
* * *
CHANCE KICKED HIMSELF for making the move. She’d wanted him for a split second. He’d seen that look enough times to have it firmly engraved in his memory. The way she’d touched his face…
He’d have to be more careful.
Heeding the warning, he picked up his pack and went to stand beside her under the opening.
“I don’t think I can go through headfirst.” Her voice was all business again as she studied the crevice. “There’s nothing to grab on to on the other side.”
He’d noticed that also and nodded in agreement.
“So, if you’ll give me a foot-up—” she interlaced her fingers in demonstration “—I’ll get a leg through and let myself down feetfirst. Pitch me the lantern and the packs, then I can grab your hands and help you maneuver through.”
He leaned down as she placed her foot into the stirrup of his interlaced fingers. Her hands braced against his shoulders as he tried not to think about how the position brought her breasts into perfect alignment with his face, his mouth within reach of the peaks protruding through the material of her shirts.
“Ready?”
Her hand trembled slightly, and his mouth, which had been almost watering three seconds ago, went suddenly dry. “I’m ready,” he answered, then added, “You be careful.”
“One, two, three.” She pushed down on his shoulders as he straightened.
The nymph weighed almost nothing—far less than the barbells he worked out with at the gym.
She shimmied through the crevice like a kid on a climber.
He eased the lantern through first, then their packs.
“Ooooo.” Kyndal’s voice took on a childlike quality as it floated through the gap. He could hear her moving around the small cavern. “The floor is weird-feeling—kind of spongy.”
Spongy? That didn’t sound right. He jumped and grabbed the rim. This was a limestone cave. The floors should be dirt and rock. Not spongy.
His memory raced to what he’d read about vugs. Bubbles left over after volcanic activity. Bubbles. Shells. Over thousands of years, what if the limestone and dirt underneath washed away? How thick would the bubble be? What if there was nothing left to support the shell? He scrambled to maneuver his head and shoulders through the opening.
The lantern and backpacks sat in the middle of the small oval cavern. Kyndal tiptoed along the far wall, running her hand along the snowballed contours.
Instinct told him the floor might not hold his weight, but she was so small…
“Kyndal, come back to this side.” He fought to control the panic in his voice. “Come back over here, babe.” Knees braced against the outer wall, he stretched his arms toward her.
She shot him a quizzical look over her shoulder.
An ominous cracking sound ricocheted off the walls.
Kyndal spun around to face him. She took a couple of steps in his direction, then froze. “Chance, something’s happening.” Terror vibrated her voice.
“Kynd—”
Another crack brought a scream that ended all too abruptly.
Panic exploded like a bomb in Chance’s chest. He propelled himself through the opening and plunged headlong into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE SILENCE WAS DEAFENING, compounding the sound of blood rushing through Chance’s ears.
As if diving from a high dive platform, he’d somehow coaxed his body into a