Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,42

meat on as he slices it into long strips. I’ve been here long enough to know that the next thing to do will be to cook the meat, so it doesn’t spoil as fast.

I scrounge up some long twigs that can be used to hold the meat over the fire and then grab some of the harvested pieces and set them to cooking.

It isn’t long before the scent of cooking meat has my mouth watering. He finishes the job then drags the carcass away from our shelter. When he returns the first pieces of meat are cooked and ready for eating so I offer him one. He smiles and takes the strip as he sits down next to me.

We eat in a silence that is unexpectedly comfortable. Perhaps the good thing about not having a fully shared language is he can’t berate me for hitting him over the head. I watch him out of the corner of my eye and more than once I catch him looking at me the same way.

It’s such a strange situation. I’m safe, I know it, but at the same time I’m antsy. The comfort is there but boiling beneath it is an awkward sensation. That feeling that I don’t quite belong, or don’t deserve what I have.

He’s sweet, nice, and honorable. He keeps a bit of distance which, in honesty, I wish he wouldn’t. I think any human male would have made a move by now. If he were a human guy who hadn’t tried to have his way with me yet, I’d be wondering what was wrong with him, or with me, but I don’t feel that with him.

There’s desire boiling beneath his cool exterior and every once in a while, I see it. No, with him it’s something else. He’s restrained, stiff even. I could be wrong. Maybe he’s that way because he’s not interested, at all even. What if he’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye to make sure I don’t hit him again? Maybe he thinks I’m crazy, dangerous even.

No, I can’t be that wrong. Oh hell with it.

I scoot closer, sliding my butt across the semi-dry leaves until my hip is resting on his. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t lean in either. That’s as about as noncommittal as he could possibly be.

I get another piece of meat, tossing it between my hands until it cools enough to hold it. I chew on it absently while sorting through my thoughts. Eating with my right hand, my left rests on my leg, next to his. I could touch his leg. That would be a sign, no doubts between us that touching his leg would mean I’m open, right?

Butterflies flutter in my stomach as I nervously move my hand from my thigh to his. His leg is cool to the touch. He doesn’t move but his head drops and he’s staring at my hand on his leg. I wait, chewing my meat.

Nothing happening here. My hand on your leg, it’s a sign, if you want it if not well it’s nothing then isn’t it?

No stress, nothing to worry about. I like you. I like you enough I’d be happy to kiss you, maybe more, but only if you’re interested. I can’t put myself out there too far.

Nothing. He doesn’t react, and sure as heck doesn’t make the move I’m hoping for. Slowly, I slide my hand up his thigh. Casually, not moving fast. No diving for the main event, this is still friendly, but not for much longer. Another inch or two and we’re well past friendly and right into the I’m committed zone.

He stiffens and I freeze. Turning my head in slow motion, I meet his eyes. They burn, an inferno rages inside of them, they reflect the firelight, and I see my reflection outlined by the yellow flames. He wants me.

His hand moves, slowly, forward until he touches my shoulder. Yes!

His fingers close over my arm. I’m breathing quicker, face flushing, and mouth getting drier as I get wetter in places much lower.

We lean towards each other, desire creating its own gravitational pull, dragging us inexorably closer to each other. His lips part so I part mine as well. We’re so close, his breath passes warm over my skin.

He blinks then pulls back. He moves my hand from his leg, grasping it in his, staring at it instead of me. Confusion swirls around me. I don’t get it, we were going to…

“What?” I ask,