He brushed them again but didn’t close the distance separating them. Oh, what a dangerous game she’d started. One she didn’t think she could win, not with the way she wanted to grab his shirt, yank him to her, and kiss the living daylights out of him. She remembered what he’d said earlier in the forest.
“Is there anything we can do to warm them?” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down.
He erased the space between them faster than she could take a breath. Smiling against his lips, she kissed him without inhibition, letting her love and their undeniable connection lift her spirits even higher. If she was going to be trapped in a mineshaft, she couldn’t imagine a better person to be stuck with. Or a better way to pass the time.
He lingered through the touch, her temperature rising with each tender moment. His love made her feel powerful and precious at the same time. He said she brightened his darkness, but he incinerated all her own loneliness and doubt in a burning wildfire.
How much time had passed when he slowed the kiss? Did it matter? She held his cheeks, spearing her fingers through his beard he’d grown since the wedding the fall before, and pressed another fervent kiss before pulling away.
His cocky smile lifted one side of his mouth, tempting her to go back for seconds. Or would that be thirds? Who cared? She wanted more.
He chuckled low, the elusive sound rolling in her stomach, and rubbed his thumb across her lips again. “There. All warmed.”
“For now.” She kissed his thumb, then turned back to the supplies. “They might get cold later, though.”
“And I will be more than happy to remedy that problem.” He nuzzled her neck, and she squealed at the way his beard tickled.
“Geesh. I’m trying to focus here.” She bumped him with her shoulder.
“Right.” He squeezed her in a tight hug before letting her go with a sigh. “Back to seeing how long we have before we die.”
She rolled her eyes, determined not to let him drag her down. She lined her food out, adding the few supplies he’d had in his tent as he handed it to her. Five minutes later, their evaluation calculated to two more days of water if they consumed the bare minimum. Their food that didn’t need rehydrated could last them five days, so at least they wouldn’t starve first.
Davis’s dark cloud of despair settled back over his countenance and radiated off him to her. The melancholy trumpets of Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness” played on her phone, and Otis’s soulful voice crooned about weariness that matched Davis’s mood more than hers. Maybe the singer’s advice would work on men too. She stood and extended her hand to Davis.
“Dance with me?”
He tore his gaze from the paltry supplies and looked at the phone like he just realized it was playing music. His expression when he finally looked up at her was so full of longing and sorrow her throat ached like she’d swallowed sharp ice. He took her hand and slowly stood, wrapping their clasped hands behind her back. As he moved up her, he swayed to the music, his forehead trailing up the center of her body until he tucked his head against hers.
She took her free hand and spread it across his slumped shoulders. Pressing her fingers into his muscle, she prayed he’d just release the weight he carried there and trust that the two of them together could figure a way out. As the music built, he squeezed her fingers still clutched in his behind her back and rolled her into a languid dip. He kissed the spot on the base of her neck where her collarbones met and, just as slowly, pulled her back up.
Next, he slid his other hand up her arm, grabbed her fingers, and twisted their arms over her head so she was tucked into his side. He rested his forehead to hers and swayed side to side for a couple of beats before he spun her back around.
She’d discovered he could dance at Lena’s reception, but that had been different, more robotic, even though he’d spun her dizzily around the dance floor. The way he clung to her now, each move keeping her close, even through the complicated arm motions and spins, opened her heart to more fully let him in. He cherished her in a way no one had ever done before. Needed her as much as she needed him.
The song ended, changing over to Etta James’s hopeful song, “At Last.” He placed her arms on his shoulders and spread his hands up her back, pulling her flush against him. His fingers trailed up her spine, across her shoulders, and along her arm.
“‘…a dream that I can call my own,’” he added his smooth baritone to Etta’s, and Sunny gasped in pleasure.
“You know the words?” She whispered the question against his cheek.
“This amazing person introduced me to a great music era, and now I’m hooked.” He did another rolling dip and murmured in her ear when he locked her to him. “Now, no more talking. I’m singing to my girl.”
He crooned the rest of the song, kissing her neck, her lips, her cheeks as he bared his soul to her. She knew music held emotion. That’s why she loved the oldies. She just never knew it could splay her open and lay everything bare. The song ended and a jaunty swing came on, but Davis kept the pace slow.
“I love you, Sunny.” He gazed down at her in the pale green light the glow stick cast.
“I love you too,” she whispered around the boulders clogging her throat.
His lips twitched into a smile before he pressed a soft kiss to hers. Then he tucked her against his chest and swayed. He never picked up the pace, but she didn’t care. He pinned her right where she wanted to be.