Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (e novels to read TXT) 📕

up, they would tense, as if expecting they would need to dive to catch her, and then when she’d walk from one side of the cave to the other and back again, they would watch her for several moments and then turn and stride from the cave.

She was relieved at first that they’d decided to leave her alone and let her work out her muscles to strengthen them, but she couldn’t help but notice that all of them were tense and on edge when they watched her and then would disappear for hours.

She didn’t have a mirror, which was probably a blessing, but she didn’t need one to know she must look awful, and unattractively awkward when she tried to walk. She hadn’t seen anything to groom with since the crash and knew her hair must look like a rat’s nest by now. She bathed the best she could, but she never felt clean because she didn’t have soap and nothing to dry off with afterward or to cover her nakedness except the same dirty blanket they’d recovered from the crash almost a week earlier and that was beginning to smell badly enough she would’ve considered burning it if it wasn’t all she had to cover up with.

They still looked as fresh and well groomed as ever! Either they’d found fresh water and were taking advantage of it, or they were bathing in the sea and maybe finger combing their hair while it was wet, because it didn’t look as wild as hers felt.

As soon as the men returned and settled to putting together a meal, Bronte pushed herself up with the crutch and hobbled over to the fire. “I need a bath,” she announced baldly, addressing Gideon since she knew damned well it wasn’t going to do any good to ask either Gabriel or Jerico. They’d just go ask Gideon themselves and tell her no if that was his verdict.

“Gabriel, bring water for Bronte.”

Bronte frowned. “No! I mean a real bath, like getting in water, not slopping it over me!”

He gave her a look. “There is no bath.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then where have you been bathing?”

“In the sea.”

“Well, that’s where I want to bathe.”

“No.”

She would’ve stamped her foot if she’d had more than one good foot to stand on. “Why not?”

He looked her over. “With the sun on it, your hair will be a beacon for any trog within seeing distance. And the water is cold and rough. It will beat against you and you are not strong enough to stand against it. Until I am sure you are ready to travel, I will not risk you being seen.”

It was almost more irritating that he had a reason for denying her than it would’ve been if he’d been unreasonable about it. If he was just being a tyrant, she could’ve at least had the satisfaction of telling him he was an asshole. “It’s almost dark,” she pointed out instead. “Once the sun is down....”

“The water will feel more cold because there will be no sun to warm you and the sea will still be rough.”

She fumed. “I’d be alright if you carried me out. It’s only rough close to the shore.”

He gave her a look that was a mixture of amusement and irritation. “It will still be cold.”

She curled her lips in a half smile. “But you can warm me.”

The look he sent her that time warmed her on the spot. He dismissed the interest her comment had sparked almost at once, however, shaking his head. “You are a stubborn woman, Bronte.”

“But you’ll take me?” she asked, unable to hide her excitement.

“Yes. I will take you … And then I will beat you if you get sick from it!”

“Yes!” she exclaimed happily.

He looked amused. “You like the idea of me beating you?”

She gave him a look.

And then it dawned on her that he was teasing her!

She stared at him a long moment, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. “That depends on what part of my anatomy you were thinking about pounding on.”

He looked confused for a fraction of a second, then enlightenment dawned. His gaze slid over her with heated speculation. “You are not that well,” he said finally.

“Bathe first and then eat?” she asked hopefully.

He rolled his eyes, but glanced out the opening of the cave. The sun was just setting. He set what he was doing aside. “Gabriel, you and Jerico will stand guard on the beach,” he said decisively. Moving to Bronte and taking her crutch, he set it aside and then lifted her into his arms and carried her out.

“We should wash the blanket, too.”

“Tomorrow. You will have nothing dry to wrap in if we wash it now.”

She wrinkled her nose. “It’s starting to smell like something that’s been in an animal pen.”

“You will not mind that when you are cold.”

She would. On the other hand, he was right. Even with the almost constant wind off the sea it probably wouldn’t dry before she was ready to sleep and a stinky blanket was better than no blanket.

The water was cold. She sucked in an involuntary breath when he’d waded out far enough that it began to lap at her buttocks. He sent her a piercing look at the sound, but she resolutely clamped her teeth together. She was beginning to get uneasy about how deeply he was walking when he finally stopped and began to lower her slowly into the water.

It was sheer torture. At first it was hard to decide if she was colder beneath the water or above it. He held her against his body, though, once her feet had finally touched the soft, shifting sand beneath the water and after a few minutes she began to feel warmer. Pushing at him until he gave her a little more room, she began to rub her hands over her body, wishing she had soap so that she would feel cleaner. “I will be so glad when we get home,” she