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He let go of the boat coat with one hand to give her arse a shove in the right direction. Only, as she wasn’t expecting it, she wound up splayed on her face and scraped her chin. “Ow!”
Paul dragged the boat out of the water, then turned to her as she raised herself on all fours, and then onto her knees. “Are you okay?”
Her pride was hurt, and her emotions were wobbling all over the place after so many unplanned adventures, but the scrape hadn’t even drawn blood. Yet, simultaneously, it felt like a near mortal blow. She was messy and dirty, wearing someone else’s clothes, jobless and…
Paul flashed her one of his enormous grins and tenderly ran his thumb over the graze, making it sting. “Need it kissed better?”
She made sad eyes at him and pushed out her bottom lip. “I think I might.”
“That’s very trusting of you,” he observed, drawing closer.
She could feel the heat of him, just out of reach. His breath blew a warm sirocco against her chilled skin.
“You’ve a trustworthy face.”
“Not so long ago, you thought I looked like an axe-murder. Are you sure you’re ready for me to mend your boo-boos?”
“I’ve changed my mind. Axe-murderers have beards.” She was fairly certain they probably didn’t have the kindest, twinkliest eyes in creation, or lips like a perfect Cupid’s bow, nor an air of compassionate protectionism. If she’d flailed about before her father or her brothers in the way she just had, they’d have all stood back and laughed while she struggled. “Please, would you kiss it better?”
Paul bent his neck, tilting it, so that he could press his lips directly to the scrape. The kiss was dry and warm, over in a millisecond, and still it drew a sigh of pleasure from her throat, and sent a shiver of excitement through her chest, creating a happy glow.
“There, all better.” He drew back.
“I’m not sure it is.”
He cocked an eyebrow so high it disappeared into his hairline. “I see. This is a two-kiss graze, is it?”
It tempted her to tell him it required five, anything to keep his hands on her shoulders, and his head bent towards her. Anything to encourage more butterfly-soft caresses. “Or, you could kiss me for real. That would definitely help.”
“Could I, now?”
Was that pushing their flirting too far? They had been flirting, right?
“Or does my wound mean I’m not hot anymore?”
He traced its edges with his thumb again, while his long fingers trailed against her throat.
“Jodi,” he said, looking her right in the eyes. “You’re beautiful. Even if you do have wandering hands.”
Hers had somehow found their way into his jacket pockets. She didn’t withdraw them. He tilted his head again, but instead of a kiss, she got smacked by a kitten paw. One of the inquisitive devils had wriggled out of his coat and was trying to find a purchase on her face.
Paul gently removed the squirming gooseberry from her person and tucked it back into his jacket.
“It’s awful quiet for a pub,” he observed. “I was expecting a few more cars.”
Or in fact, any.
~*~
The pub was boarded up and, judging by the weeds growing through the cracks in the tarmac on the car park, had been that way for quite some time. They’d draped the dinghy over the remains of a former picnic table to dry out.
“I swear I didn’t know it was closed,” she apologised again.
“It’s fine,” he murmured, like it was honestly no big deal. Except that it was. They’d abandoned the bus. He had no way of contacting his friends… bandmates… whoever they were, and the kittens were miaowing in such a pitiful way that she was on the verge of tears. Although maybe that’s because her emotions were swinging about so wildly. She certainly hadn’t meant to cause this much trouble, not for herself, and definitely not for him.
You didn’t think, Jodi.When did she ever, really? She’d let her whims and anxieties rule her, which inevitably landed her in hot water. Or in this case, an icy river. Why couldn’t she just develop a nervous tic like a normal person, or learn to hide under the duvet when things went to pot? No, no, she stole cars, and apparently buses, and unwittingly took hot rockstars, who were actual sweeties with saviour complexes, hostage.
And fuck, she’d really wanted that kiss. Still wanted it.
