Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

“Not really.” He rolled his shoulders before snagging his own shirt and slipping it on. Apparently he was as eager as she to act as if nothing had happened. “My job consumes most of my day. I have little time to maintain friendships outside of my work. However, my coworkers and I get along well, and of course, there’s always my family. Your turn.”

For a second she didn’t understand, eyeing him blankly.

“Are you close to your family?” He stepped into his shorts.

Her mouth went dry. Averting her eyes, she attempted to swallow while listening to the rasp of the denim. “My family?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She shook her head, trying to focus on the question. The only family she had was her mother, which equaled no family at all. “I’m not. I assume you are?”

“Oh, yeah. My parents live near the west coast of Silvershire, in their dream retirement home. My brothers and sisters are all married and have children. We all get together several times a year.”

Finally, she regained her senses, though the entire conversation still seemed surreal. “I always wished for a big family.”

“I read you’re an only child.”

“Yes.” Since her mother had felt having Sydney had ruined her life, the woman had taken steps to ensure she didn’t have any more children. “But I made a lot of friends in the symphony.”

At her mention of her job, Chase grimaced. “I bet you’re glad now that you left your cello in the hotel. That thing wouldn’t have survived the crash. At least this way, you have a chance of getting it back.”

“True. If it’s still there.”

“That was a five-star hotel. I’m sure they have your instrument in their lost and found department.”

“As long as no one realizes it’s a Strad, it’s probably okay. Otherwise, they’d sell it on the black market.” She gave him a tentative smile, finally feeling normal. “Right about now I should be back in Naessa, getting ready for Silvershire’s Founder’s Day celebration. We rehearse every night for a month. This will be my third performance for your king.”

At the mention of the celebration, Chase frowned. “Given the bad blood between your father and King Weston, I’m surprised Naessa’s symphony was invited this year.”

Lifting her chin, she forced her mouth to curve in what she hoped resembled a smile. “I’ve always heard the fish bite better at dawn. Is there any truth to that?”

“Changing the subject?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice mild. “I’m still hungry.”

He gave a half bow. “Which would you prefer? Fish or rabbit?”

“Do the fish bite better at dawn?”

“Maybe. I guess I’ll go out there and find out. I take it you’d like fish for breakfast?”

Her lower back ached. Absently, she rubbed it while she pondered his question. “We had rabbit last night.” She had to smile at her words.

“What?” Chase caught the smile.

“Listen to us, talking about eating wild game as though discussing the menu at Chez Niablo.” She sighed. “I need protein, lots of it, for the baby. I feel the need for fish.”

“Then fish it is. Catch.” He tossed her the lighter. “Why don’t you see about making a fire while I get our breakfast?” Then, without a backward glance, he left.

Surprised she’d caught the lighter since she’d lifted her hand in reflex, Sydney closed her fist over it. The silver metal felt both foreign and reassuringly normal. She turned to the small pile of wood he’d brought inside the shelter and gathered an armful before stepping cautiously outside.

Though still overcast, the sky looked considerably brighter. With the light mist and soft breeze, the still-dripping forest smelled earthy and fresh. The storm had gone. Shrouded in clouds, the small hill they’d dubbed Haystack Mountain could be seen clearly.

Three tries and Sydney finally had a respectable fire going. She fed the flames dry wood, and glanced toward the beach, trying to catch a glimpse of Chase in the waves.

While she watched the fire and waited, she thought of how drastically her life had changed in a few days. Now, with her existence pared down to survival, simple pleasures like the warmth of a fire or the feel of a man’s rough stubble against her cheek seemed more precious than diamonds.

Finally, Chase returned, carrying not only two large fish, but what looked like a battered backpack.

“I went poking through more of the wreckage.” He placed the backpack on the ground. “I found this. It must have belonged to one of the pilots.”

She noticed he avoided saying their names and realized that must be his way of dealing with his grief. So instead of commenting, she focused on the fish.

“How long will that take to cook?”

He smiled. “I thought you said you knew how.”

Unembarrassed, she shrugged. “I learned how to cook gourmet meals using an oven. If cooking over an open fire is similar, then I’m good to go.”

“Let me show you.” Using the same rig he’d made to cook the rabbits, he spread the fish over the fire.

They watched in companionable silence while their breakfast cooked. Every so often, he turned the spit.

Finally, he gave her a satisfied look. “I think it’s done.”

Removing the fish from the fire, he split each in half, using a triangular rock as a cutting implement. Then he transferred her portion to a piece of bark and handed it to her.

“You’re pretty handy with nature,” she commented.

“I trained at a pretty elite bodyguard school in Carringtonshire.” Taking a bite of his fish, he pointed to hers. “Now eat.”

Aching again, Sydney complied. “It’s good.”

“You sound surprised.” He’d wolfed down his portion before she’d even finished chewing.

“I guess I am.” Chewing slowly, she savored the flavor. “Even without the benefit of seasonings or spices, this is wonderful. It’s flaky and moist.” Though she’d eaten at gourmet restaurants in both their countries, she thought she’d never tasted anything so delicious.

“It’s fresh.”

It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her. She eyed him, his rugged face relaxed, and replied in kind. “It’d be even better if I didn’t have to pick out the bones.”

Chase grinned. “Tough,” he told her. “There are some things you have to do on your own.”

Finishing her portion, she licked her fingers to get every bit of meat. When she looked up again, Chase’s lighthearted expression had vanished. His look burned her all the way to her core.

“Chase—”

“No.” He jumped to his feet and took her bark from her, dumping the fish bones in the fire. Then, without a backward look, he strode off into the forest.

After a moment of hesitation, she ran after him. “Where are you going?”

He cast a dark look over his shoulder. “In lieu of a cold shower, I’m going to take a bath in the pond.”

She practically had to jog to keep up with him. “I’d kill for some soap.”

Hefting the backpack, he kept going. “I found some.”

“Soap?” She felt like Eve, being lured with a different kind of apple. “Is there enough for both of us?”

“I’d prefer to bathe alone, thank you.” He gave her another hard look. “I’ll bring back the soap so you can have a turn.”

She stopped, letting him continue on alone. He was right. Thoughts of him emerging naked from the pond with rivulets of water caressing his muscular body was way more temptation than she was up to resisting.

And resist she must. Because, unless their rescuers made an appearance, they’d spend another night sleeping side by side in the small shelter. She had to stop thinking of him that way before they both did something they’d later regret.