On impulse, I duck back into the cabin to grab Simon’s Canon. I manage to snap a few candid in-action pictures before he turns and catches me. “What are you doing?” he asks warily.

“Nothing. Just . . . I want to remember this.” I smile, setting the camera aside. As if I could ever forget it.

He makes a grunting sound, and I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just being Jonah. “I’ll have the fire going again soon.”

“What time is it, anyway?” The battery on my phone has long since died.

“Just after six.”

I make the reluctant trek toward where I know the outhouse is, unable to ignore my bodily needs and just wanting to get it over with at this point. Jonah walked me out in the rain three times last night and howled with laughter every time I ran out of the dingy, dark little box. I’ve never peed so fast in my life, and I hated every second of it.

Shockingly enough, despite the lack of other basic comforts, it’s the only thing I’ve hated about being stranded out here. Probably because Jonah has kept me well occupied.

“So, I’m guessing we can’t take off yet?” I ask on my way back, slathering sanitizer over my hands. Tall, damp weeds lick my bare legs as I trudge through the grass, leaving wet trails against my skin.

“Not until this fog lifts. A few more hours, at least.” Two halves of another log tumble to the ground with his powerful swing.

My stomach lets out a well-timed grumble. “Is there anything else besides that meat?”

“Protein bars.”

“Right.” Dried meat and protein bars. This can’t be good for anyone’s digestive system. “What would we do for food if we were actually stranded out here for a while, anyway?”

“We’d be fine. I’ve got my fishing rod and the gun.” Jonah swings the axe.

Thwack.

“Of course.” We’d just go kill our meal. Naturally.

The intimate, passionate Jonah from last night is absent this morning. He seems to be back to focused survivalist mode, much like he was when we arrived yesterday. I shouldn’t complain—he’s keeping me warm and fed—yet I ache for him to drop everything and kiss me again.

What if he’s decided that last night was a one-time deal?

It probably should be, before I get in too deep with him. Who’s kidding who, though? I’m already acutely aware of his moods and potential thoughts, and caring too much about them. Isn’t that the first sign that you’ve waded in too deep?

Diana would swear it is.

But acknowledging that doesn’t change the fact that I still want him. Badly.

I feel a pinch and slap my thigh with a hiss, squashing a mosquito against my skin. Another one lands beside the corpse, oblivious and ready to feed.

“You’re about to get swarmed. They just came out,” Jonah murmurs, grabbing an armload of wood and marching toward the cabin, his boot laces dragging through the grass.

He gets to work relighting the fire while I track down the few bugs that followed us in.

“Forget another bank job. I should just find someone to pay me to do this all day,” I mutter with grim satisfaction.

“There’s a small can of repellent somewhere in that bag. If you want to spray yourself.”

“Why not? I’m already filthy,” I mutter.

With another fire crackling, Jonah pulls his shirt off the line and slides it over his head. “Give it a few minutes and then stick one log in.”

I frown. “Wait. Where are you going?”

He gives me a look. “You said you were thirsty, so I’m getting you water from the river.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

He grabs an old dented metal pot off the wall. “I want to check on the plane anyway.”

I’m torn between a gush of warmth that Jonah’s still catering to my basic needs and utter disappointment that he might have already had his fill of meeting my other need: him.

He heads for the door.

“Wait,” I blurt out. “You forgot this.”

He pauses to look over his shoulder.

I take a deep breath and then peel off his bulky flannel jacket. The cool air skates over my bare skin as I stand there in nothing but my military red rain boots, holding my breath, waiting for him to respond.

Hoping to God he doesn’t deny me.

With a heavy sigh and a soft curse, he tosses the pot back onto the counter.

My stomach does a nervous but victorious flip as he reaches over his head to yank his shirt off. “Don’t say I didn’t take care of you out here,” he warns, stalking toward me, his hands making quick work of his belt.

I pause to grab one last picture of the safety cabin, capturing the wooden archway in front and a partially cloudy mountain range in the background.

“Come on, we’ve gotta go!” Jonah hollers.

“And the angry yeti is officially back.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I just wanted a shot of this,” I mutter, stuffing my camera into its case. He’s been in a rush ever since the fog dissipated not even a half hour ago, making quick work of camp cleanup so we could get moving. It’s like he suddenly can’t get out of here fast enough.

I’m trying to not take it personally.

He sighs heavily. “I’m being an ass, aren’t I?”