Hostile Ground (The Arsenal #7) - Cara Carnes Page 0,79
against her.
“Kristof.” She severed the kiss. “You shouldn’t lift me.”
“Nothing matters except for this. Us.” He nibbled her earlobe, then trailed kisses down her neck. “Fuck, I could spend an eternity just like this.”
So could she. She ran her fingers through his hair and claimed his mouth. Tingles awakened her skin where his hands ran along her waist upward, beneath her top. Tingles ignited along her skin in tandem to the circles he traced along her stomach, across her ribs. He cupped her breast and squeezed. She moaned.
He licked her lips one last time, then gently set her down. She leaned forward, against him.
“If we keep going, I won’t stop, and I refuse to take you like this.” He rested his forehead against hers. “You deserve better than this.”
“Don’t be a cock tease.” She pulled back and kissed his throat. “We should’ve done this a long time ago.”
“You’re worth the wait.” He took her hands and kissed them. “I’m going to go take a cold shower. Enjoy your escape from reality.”
Addy could use a cold shower or two herself. She swallowed back the argument lodged in her throat. “Thank you. I…I haven’t crafted in a few months. We’ve been pretty busy.”
“You have a space at The Arsenal?”
Addy nodded. “I took over the empty room beside mine. I…no one knows.” Except you.
“Then it’s our secret until you decide to share.” He smiled. “I look forward to seeing what you create.”
She knew exactly what she’d make. The creation formed in her mind, a gift for the man who’d given her a safe haven despite the chaos. They’d fantasized about a lot of things as kids while locked away in the camp, but there was one thing she’d always wanted to make for him.
She tracked his exit. Then she turned and moved to the table. Her mind numbed to the chaotic thoughts that’d become her constant companion the past few weeks.
She powered on the blowtorch and picked through the vast assortment of possible colors and sizes he’d gathered. For her.
“Addy?”
Addy startled and glanced over her shoulder as Zoey entered the shed. Her wide gaze took in the table as she approached.
“What are you doing? Are you okay?”
How much time had passed since Kristof left? She looked down at the worktable and realized it’d been at least a couple of hours, possibly more. Time always disappeared when she was working with her figurines.
“I’m good.” Addy smiled, glancing down at the small figurine she’d made. She set it next to the others she’d made. “Better than good, actually.”
“What is this?” Zoey touched the table.
“I-it’s a hobby of sorts.” One she’d never shown anyone except Kristof. It was a connection to him, one she’d protected through the years. An escape.
“I didn’t know you did this.” Zoey held out her hand. “Can I see?”
Addy slid the figurine over. Embarrassment crawled across her face in a burst if heat. “It’s nothing special.”
She hadn’t made any in a few months and hadn’t realized how much she missed her hobby until she’d seen what Kristof had set up. For her.
He’d remembered.
“Ads, this is beautiful.” Zoey crouched beside the chair. “A phoenix. God, the detail. It’s…I’ve never seen anything this gorgeous. How did you learn to do this? Why haven’t I ever seen it?”
She’d wanted to share her craft with her friends but explaining where she’d learned had always been a hurdle she hadn’t wanted to navigate. They’d understand her need for escapism—they had their own ways of unwinding and retreating into themselves to mentally reboot.
“An old man I met in the camp taught me.” Addy looked at her friend. “Late at night after everyone went to sleep. Kristof and I would sneak out to the old shed and Pasha would teach me while Kristof stood guard.”
“Oh. My. God.” Tears shimmered in the woman’s gaze. “Did he…did he set this up for you?”
Addy nodded. Her eyes burned as she looked down at her hands. “No one else knows I do this. I don’t even know how he figured out I still did.”
“It was your calm. Like Vi with her quilling,” Zoey said. “You wouldn’t abandon that.”
Addy picked up the small turtle and laughed. She swiped at a stray tear on her cheek and held it out. “This is the first one I ever did. You would’ve thought I painted the Mona Lisa with how proud Pasha was that night. Kristof too.” She shrugged. “All I see are the mistakes.”