“Probably,” I answer.

His eyes return to my leg. For a long minute he runs his hand up and down it. Every time his fingers move high on my thigh, I tense.

“How does a human choose a mate?” Pestilence asks, out of the blue.

Rob and Ruth clearly got under his skin.

“Well, first,” I say, “we don’t call them mates—well, not usually at least. We have all sorts of names for significant others—boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, wife, soulmate.”

His eyes narrow in a way that suggests he’s taking my words way too seriously.

All the while his hand moves up and down my leg. Up and down. By the seventh stroke, my nipples are fit to cut glass and my core is aching.

Does he know how wild his touch is driving me?

“How does one find a … significant other?”

I pat the water with my hand, anything to distract myself from Pestilence’s attention. It’s already problematic for my hormones, but in light of what we’re talking about … well, he’s reminding me that it’s a lonely world and this homegirl hasn’t gotten any in a long time.

“I don’t know,” I say, “anywhere, I guess. It doesn’t really matter how or where or why you meet. It’s more about how they make you feel.”

“And how should they make you feel?”

The tone of his voice raises my gooseflesh, and I can’t help but peer up at him.

A mistake.

His eyes glitter in a way that is decidedly not helping my heartrate. My eyes keep drifting to his naked torso, his muscled body painfully pleasing to look at.

Focus, Burns.

“Um … they should make you feel good,” I run my hands over the surface of the water. “But again, dating someone—having a girlfriend or boyfriend—is not the same as what Ruth and Rob had. They were soulmates, and as far as I can tell, soulmates bring out the best in each other.” Unlike all my exes, who’d brought out my worst traits.

“They’re the ones you’d want to spend all of your minutes with,” Pestilence adds, connecting this conversation to the earlier one we had. He’s looking at me like he’s having a lightbulb moment.

“Uh, yeah,” I agree. I didn’t realize how carefully he’s been hanging onto my words. “I think when you find the one, you’d want to spend all the minutes you have with them.”

“And how does one know when they’ve found … the one?” Pestilence probes, his gaze searching mine.

I give him a hopeless look. “Beats the hell out of me. I’ve never met a man who’s made me feel like that.”

Liar, a traitorous part of my brain whispers. This conversation is getting dangerously close to Things that Make Sara Burns Wickedly Uncomfortable.

Pestilence scowls at that answer.

Abruptly I rearrange my body, my leg sliding out of the horseman’s grip. At the action, the horseman’s gaze drops to my exposed breasts.

He looks utterly transfixed by the sight of them.

You know, it ain’t half bad, being the first woman this dude has come across. My body is riddled with flaws, yet he stares at it like it was crafted by a master hand.

What would happen if I gave into that look?

It’s alright to care about him—even to love him. Ruth’s words echo through my head.

This isn’t love, but it is something.

Acting on impulse, I move my slick body onto his thighs.

Don’t overthink this.

Leaning forward, I brush a kiss across his lips.

His hands skim up my torso, his thumbs grazing the underside of my breasts. But that’s as far as he’ll go. I bite back an impatient moan. Moving myself onto his lap should be evidence enough that I want things to progress, but Pestilence doesn’t understand cues, and even if he did, I’m not sure the noble horseman would act on this one anyway.

Going to have to spearhead this.

I take his hands, and place them over my breasts.

He sucks in a breath. “Sara—”

“You can touch me,” I say. “I would like it if you touched me.”

His hands remain unmoving.

Okay, if he doesn’t do something in the next few seconds, I might die of mortification.

“Please.” It slips out, completely by accident.

Oh, motherfuckery.

Pestilence lets out a groan.

“I shouldn’t,” he says, his eyes transfixed on my chest, “not when you fling that word at me, and not when you offer up your flesh. But I find … I do not have it in me … to resist this plea.”

Bless all the freaking saints, I nearly climax at the feel of his hands as they kneed my breasts.

“Never imagined they’d be this soft,” he murmurs. He’s looking at my breasts like he’s a thirteen year old discovering his father’s skin mags for the first time.

On what seems like a whim, he leans forward and takes one peak into his mouth. A shocked gasp slips out of me at the sensation. The tip of his cock brushes against me, and it feels rock hard. All sorts of illicit thoughts cross my mind.

What would it be like to have all of this pressed down on me? I’m almost mindless with the need to find out. The two of us are playing a dangerous game. Scratch that, I’m playing a dangerous game. Pestilence probably isn’t even aware there’s a game being played.

Take it slow, if not for your sake, then for his.

His hands are beginning to drift down when I pull away, moving back to my end of the tub. His expression still smolders, and he appears to be debating whether to prowl after me or not.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, fully aware that I’m giving this guy mixed signals. “Not here, anyway,” I add, like this place is somehow sacrosanct when a minute ago I gave zero fucks.

“What care do the dead have?” Pestilence says. “They are beyond these things.”

Good point.

Still, there’s no rush.

I pick up Pestilence’s hand and press his knuckles to my cheek. Some of the fevered want in his eyes softens. He tugs on my hand and pulls me to him, but rather than continuing our little tryst, he simply holds me close. Somehow, despite what we were doing seconds ago, the embrace manages to be affectionate, loving.

It’s hard for him too, I remember. He still has this task, but he understands the horror of it, and now, the loss.

And yet, he’s giving me comfort. I lean into him and I let him hold me. He cradles my head to him, and I feel him brush a kiss along my hairline. I didn’t even know this was what I wanted the entire time, but it is.

“Be at ease, Sara.”

And the terrible truth is that, in his arms, I am.

Chapter 36

By the time we leave Ruth and Rob’s house, there’s a stillness to the surrounding neighborhoods and a faint scent in the air. This is death settling in for a long stay. It’s unnerving as fucking hell.

It rains as we ride out—which really isn’t all that surprising considering that we’re traveling along the Pacific Northwest, the birthplace of the rainstorm.

When the horseman and I are alone, we can pretend away each other’s faults. He can be my dashing, noble knight, and I can be his strange companion, but once we’re on open road where it’s impossible to ignore signs of the apocalypse, we both remember how things really are.