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Chapter 719:
June’s heart stopped. Started again, hammering. Panic, cold and absolute, seized her. She thrashed in his grip, an elbow aimed for his ribs, her voice a choked gasp. “Get off me!” The rational part of her brain was screaming that he had just saved her, but the deeper, wounded part knew only that she was caught, held, by a predator in her one safe place.
She was turned, finding herself face to face with Crawford Love in a five-thousand-dollar hunting jacket, his hair damp with fog, his eyes the color of amber in the gray light.
“What—” she started, her voice cracking, her body still processing survival, still refusing to accept that she was safe, that she was held, that Crawford Love was standing on a mountain trail at five in the morning with his arm around her waist.
“Coincidence,” Crawford said. His smile was easy, practiced, absolutely false. “The Love Foundation sponsors the restoration. I was reviewing the stonework when I saw—” he gestured, vague, “—movement on the trail. Thought you might be a deer p>
“I’m not a deer p>
“No.” His arm tightened, just slightly, just enough to remind her that she was off-balance, her ankle throbbing, with no leverage, no escape. “You’re much more interesting p>
June pushed against his chest. Felt the muscle beneath the expensive fabric, the absolute stillness of a man who was letting her push, who could stop her anytime he chose.
“Let go p>
“Your ankle,” he said. “You’re putting weight on it. That’s going to hurt p>
She became aware of it then. The pain, sharp and insistent, radiating from her right foot. She tried to shift, to find a position that didn’t involve leaning into him, and her knee buckled.
𝖮𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝖻𝗋𝖺𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝗇
Crawford caught her. Of course he did. His other arm came around her, lifting her slightly, redistributing her weight against his hip.
“Don’t,” she said.
“Don’t what? Don’t help you? Don’t make sure you don’t fall down a mountain?” He was smiling still, but there was something else in his eyes now—something hungry and patient and absolutely certain. “June, I’m many things. Most of them you don’t approve of. But I’m not going to let you get hurt. Not when I can prevent it. Not when—” he paused, let the silence stretch, “—not when you’re finally within reach p>
She looked at him. Really looked. At the perfect stubble, the calculated dishevelment, the way his jacket was already marked with mud from catching her.
“How long?” she asked.
“How long what p>
“How long have you been waiting for me to come here p>
The smile flickered. Just for a moment. Just long enough to confirm everything she suspected.
“Your phone,” she said. “In your pocket. It’s warm. You’ve been holding it. Checking the trail cameras, maybe? The ones you had installed as part of your restoration?” She watched his eyes and saw the confirmation there, the unwilling admiration. “There’s no coincidence, Crawford. There’s only you. Watching. Waiting. Planning exactly how to make yourself necessary p>
He laughed. It was genuine, surprised—the sound of a man who had been caught and didn’t particularly mind.
“You’re extraordinary,” he said. “Do you know that? Most people would be grateful. Would say thank you. Would let themselves be helped without interrogating the helper’s motives p>
“I’m not most people p>