Birthright

liked that kid. Even I liked him, couldn’t help myself. And I had some sympathy for the way he mooned after you. If somebody killed him, it was because he was handy. Because he was separated from the group just long enough.”
    Casually, she nudged back one of Digger’s faded curtains, looked out the grimy window. “And they’re watching. Whoever they are. The way they were watching us at the house that night. Cold. They’d have to be cold. And if I don’t let myself be misdirected, if I keep pushing, is someone else going to die?”
    “Blaming yourself is just another way of being misdirected.”
    “I brushed him off, Jake.” With a sharp tug, she pulled the curtain over the smeared glass again. “When we were clearing up, he came over, said we’re going to hang out later, camp for the night. I wasn’t even listening to him. Yeah, sure, maybe, whatever. Swatted him off like a gnat.”
    She shook her head before he could speak. “And everything you’re saying is what I’m thinking. What I feel in my gut. And if that’s right, it means he’s dead because someone wants to stop me. He’s dead, and I couldn’t bother to give him a minute of my time today.”
    “Come on, come here.” He pulled her closer. “Stretch out,” he ordered, and nudged her down until her head rested in his lap. “You should try to get some rest.”
    She was silent for a moment, listening to the night sounds, absorbing the quiet sensation of having his hand stroke over her hair.
    Had he touched her that way before? Had she ever paid attention?
    “Jake?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I had plans for tonight.”
    “Did you?”
    She shifted so she could look up at him. From this angle she could see the way the scar on his chin edged just a fraction under his jawline. She’d like to trace her finger there, or her lips. To acknowledge that tiny imperfection.
    “I’d planned to let you talk me into bed. Or to talk you into bed. Whichever seemed more fun at the time.”
    He ran a fingertip along the curve of her cheek. Yes, she thought. Yes, he had touched her that way before. Why hadn’t she paid more attention to those small gestures? Why hadn’t she realized how much they meant to her?
    Did she need words so much that she’d ignored the quieter, simpler signs of affection?
    “Too bad that didn’t work out,” he answered.
    “It still could.”
    His fingertip took a little jump, as if he’d touched something hot, unexpectedly, then it lifted away from her. “Not a good idea, for either of us. Why don’t you catch some sleep? We’ve got a lot to deal with tomorrow.”
    “I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I don’t want to think about today or next week or yesterday. I just want now.”
    “We had plenty of nows, didn’t we? Sex is a very common, very human response to death.” He played with her hair, hoping he could talk her to sleep. “It’s proof of life.”
    “We are alive. I don’t want to be alone.” She wasn’t speaking just of tonight, but of all the nights without him. “I thought I did, but I don’t want to be alone.”
    “You’re not alone.” He took her hand, brought it to his lips. “Close your eyes.”
    Instead she rose, sliding up, body to body, until her arms were chained around his neck. “Be with me.” She covered his mouth with hers, poured herself in. “Please, be with me.”
    She was trembling, he realized. Part fear, part need, part exhaustion. He gathered her closer, pressed his face to the curve of her neck. “Tell me you need me. Just once.”
    “I do need you. Touch me. You’re the only one who ever really could.”
    “This isn’t the way I wanted it to be.” He skimmed his lips along her jaw as he lowered her to the narrow couch. “For either of us. But maybe it’s just the way it’s meant. Don’t think.” He kissed her temples, her cheeks. “Just feel.”
    “I can’t stop shaking.”
    “It’s all right.” He unbuttoned her shirt, bending over to brush kisses on her throat, her shoulders. But when she reached for him, he eased back, pressed her hands down again.
    “No. Wait. Close your eyes. Just close your eyes. I’ll touch you.”
    She let her lashes lower. Even that was a relief. The soft dark soothed the headache she hadn’t been aware was thudding. The air was cool against her skin when he slipped the shirt away. His fingers were warm as they trailed over her. Warm, with that rough scrape of callus. Her belly quivered as they stroked down and flipped