Chapter Eighteen

The final week was almost as busy as the first. Winding down an operation of this size took some manpower, of which they now had a dwindling supply. Only eight Bunnyguards remained on Hitchkin, two of which were from the original group.

Pulling down all the makeshift infrastructure they’d put in place to house all the bunnies and reloading it along with all the other equipment onto boats was hot and heavy work that took three full days. And there was still the final batch of bunnies to go.

They were leaving on the last day with Gus and the remaining volunteers. The Bunnyguards were scattering to the four corners of the country as well, leaving Gus to accompany the rabbits to Denver HQ, where she was staying for a few days. They’d asked her to help with the backlog of neutering, and she’d happily accepted.

She was looking forward to seeing the other side of what they’d been doing for the last four weeks on Hitchkin. To see the families pick up their bunnies. To see happy faces and satisfied customers.

Sadly, Thumper was still unclaimed. They’d had plenty of takers for the hot guy with the bunny. The Facebook comments had said it all. Things like—Can I adopt the dude instead? And—Forget the chubby, I’ll take the hottie.

Oh yes, plenty of women had offered to take Marshall in and house-train him. In fact, they’d had so many risqué comments on the post, describing exactly the type of domestic activities they’d like to train him in, the ABL had asked Marshall to take it down and put something more…PG in its place.

He had, but man, had that horse bolted.

Not that the ABL were complaining too hard, considering they’d had a huge increase in their membership numbers nationwide for the three days the post was live. Gus had even heard whispers about Marshall being approached for an ABL advertising campaign.

But she tried not to think about it too much, because thoughts of the photo shoot led her to thoughts of what happened in the shower later that day. And what was the point in going there when she and Marshall had studiously avoided the topic ever since?

In fact, aside from some seriously hot side-eye—something of which they’d both been guilty—they’d carried on like nothing had happened. Gus liked to think it was because he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to pass it off as therapy again. But she suspected it was more than that.

She suspected he was waiting and watching and biding his time. Not wanting to put any pressure on her while the clock ran down on their contract and he got to lay his lips on hers. Frankly, she got a little wet every time it crossed her mind, which was far too often for her liking.

By Sunday night—their penultimate evening on the island—everything was in place for the last batch of rabbits and the final equipment haul in the morning. Gus was feeling accomplished—they all were, as they gathered around one last bonfire on the beach. Eighties music blared from Ray’s Bluetooth speaker, and a canopy of stars twinkled overhead.

It was a fun night, with fresh fish from the lake and a variety of other potluck items they’d had left over from whatever food they’d brought with them and pooled together.

From Twizzlers to jerky. From canned spiced pumpkin to Twinkies. To tinned chowder and multiple packets of Oreos.

It wouldn’t win any culinary awards but had been the source of much hilarity. Between the Oreos, the Twizzlers, and the inevitable s’mores they were chomping their way through, they were all sure to wake up with a sugar hangover.

But that was the fun part of being an adult—being allowed to indulge in things you knew you shouldn’t. You knew you were going to regret.

Like island flings.

Gus glanced across the fire at Marshall, who was laughing at something Ray, sitting on the log beside him, was saying. Ray was cuddling Rambo and being his usual entertaining self, but Gus only had eyes for the island fling to his right.

Because that’s what they’d been doing, right? In a weird, non-kissing, non-fucking kind of way. A fling? Precisely the thing she never indulged in and the last thing she needed right now.

But watching Marshall’s image shimmering and bending through the flames, she couldn’t deny something was between them. Nor could she deny how very much she didn’t want to leave. How much she’d come to like having Marshall around.

Going to sleep knowing he was on the other side of her door. Waking up knowing his was the first face she was going to see. Hearing the low rumble of his voice and the deep chuckle of his laughter. Seeing his beer in the fridge and his toothbrush in the holder next to hers and his shampoo in the shower.

Apart from the dorms during college and the first couple years of her career, Gus had lived by herself. Being an only child, the solitude didn’t bother her, and she hadn’t ever missed any of those regular, everyday domestic things that living with another person entailed.

Something told her that was about to change.

Marshall chose that moment to glance up, and their gazes met and held, and he smiled at her and her heart did a funny wobble in her chest.

Christ…no. Not him. Please not him. It was too soon and she’d never recover when they drifted apart like all his other relationships.

Suddenly the music cut out and Ray, who’d voted himself emcee for the evening, stood, handed Rambo to Marshall and clapped his hands. “Okay. As this is our last night, I feel we need a speech from our fearless leader.”

Everyone whooped and hollered, and Gus reluctantly rose to her feet. Marshall’s steady gaze watched her through the flames and she felt like a total fraud. She hadn’t been fearless with him—she’d been chickenshit.

But that wasn’t what Ray had meant and it was the night for thank-yous and acknowledgments.

“Enough, enough.” She laughed at the loud carousing, and cheers continued.

Ray clapped again and said, “Hush now, the Bunnycorn has the floor.”

Gus laughed as Ray referenced the cartoon bunny with a horn on its head stamped across the front of her T-shirt. “Thank you, Ray. I’m looking for a personal husher if you’re ever interested in moving to Chicago.”

Somebody whistled cheekily as Ray feigned a horrified expression. “Honey, I don’t do blizzards. I’ll stick with The Castro.”

More laughter bolstered Gus’s confidence. She wasn’t a stranger to public speaking. As part of her role she often spoke to different organizations about the work of the ABL—from groups of a few people up to several thousand—and she’d stopped feeling nervous about it years ago.

Certainly talking amongst people who were essentially friends had never been much of a hardship. But Gus hadn’t ever spoken under the steady, almost brooding now, stare of a man who’d been intimate with her in ways that no other man had been.

Who’d reached past her defenses.

A man who’s gaze alone could tie her in knots and made it hard for her to breathe. Who made her want to strip her clothes off and run and hide under the bed all at once.

A man who looked so goddamn hot cuddling a bunny there should be some kind of law against it.

Deliberately moving her gaze around the circle, she avoided Marshall altogether. “Okay, well…I don’t have to tell you this is our last night. Nor do I have to tell you how successful this project has been. Over two hundred bunnies and kits rescued and either placed with wildlife carers or adopted by families and in varying stages of being re-homed.”

Whistles and cheers temporarily drowned out the sounds of the lake, the insects, and the crackling fire.

“None of this would have been possible without you guys. The Bunnyguard network is incredible and your expertise in these rescue and re-homing projects is amazing. You guys are nationally recognized for your work, and so you should be.”

“Cheers to us,” Ray said, raising his beer above his head. Gus raised hers, too, as did everyone else, muttering, “Cheers to us,” and then swigging their drinks.

“Yes, cheers to each and every one of you,” Gus reiterated. “Those here tonight and those who have already left us. Every contribution to this project, big and small, has lead to the success here on Hitchkin. I’m not sure I’ll ever eat pumpkin anything again, but that’s a small price to pay.”

More laughs. Except for Marshall, who stayed broodingly intent as he absently stroked Rambo’s fur.

“Anyway, thank you. All of you. Any of you ever need a recommendation for a job or career advice or a reference, don’t hesitate to contact me, and I hope if you’re ever in Chicago, you’ll drop into the ABL shelter.”

“Going to hold you to that,” Ray butted in.

The Bunnyguards laughed, and Gus smiled and said, “Any time, guys. Any time.”

“How’s Tuesday?” someone asked to more laughter.

The tempo of Gus’s pulse picked up as she waited for the gaiety to settle. She knew she couldn’t stand up here and thank the Bunnyguards and not add in a special thank-you to the one person who knew jack shit about rescuing bunnies but had opened up his island and the cabin to the ABL and thrown himself into the fray, too.

Sure, the court had ordered him to do it and he’d been prickly and doubtful at first, but since then he’d gone above and beyond. He’d taken time out of his work and his life to lend a hand, and the way he’d taken over the adoption side of things had been a godsend.

Gus might not know what to do with the confusing feelings she was developing toward Marshall Dyson, but she hadn’t forgotten her manners.

“Lastly,” she said, as the group came back to order, “I need to thank Marshall.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her from across the fire. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and there was no doubt in her mind where his mind had gone.

Yeah, not for that, you deviant.

It didn’t matter, though, her nipples responded as if he’d flicked a switch, so now she was high beaming the entire group. Great. Teach her to be so goddamn equitable in her praise.

She dragged her eyes off him and addressed the group. “We may have had to take him to court, and he is, I think we can all acknowledge, not unlike a certain hapless cartoon hunter, really crap at catching rabbits—”

“Really crap,” one of the original Bunnyguards piped up, confirming Gus’s assessment.

Cue more laughter, from Marshall as well. Plenty of the Bunnyguards had heard her calling him Elmer from time to time, so the joke was well-known.

“But he’s been a jack-of-all-trades for us the past month, not to mention an internet sensation, which is sure to result in a whole new career for him.” Several wolf whistles pierced the night. “We’ve turned his island into a campground, his jetty into a port, and the cabin into Grand Central Station.”

Sure, he hated the cabin and everything it stood for, and it’d soon be a pile of rubble, but there were ghosts here for him on Hitchkin and confronting ghosts was never easy.

“He could have been an obstructive jerk over losing in court. He wasn’t.”

Finally, she looked at him. The fire created an aura around him, bathing his strong, masculine features in a warm glow, accentuating the scruff on his jaw line and gilding the wavy tips of his hair. She sucked in a breath as their gazes locked, and for a moment everyone else faded away until it was just the two of them.

Her heart beat a little faster; her breath came a little quicker. Her throat got a little tighter.

The fire crackled a little fiercer.

Consciously pulling herself back to the ring of people and the multiple eyes upon her, Gus raised her beer to him. “Thank you, Marshall.”

He raised his beer in acknowledgment, his firm lips pressed together, his gaze dark and intense despite the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.

“Here’s to not being an obstructive jerk,” Ray added, breaking the sudden tension she hoped no one else could sense. Everyone laughed, including Marshall, who finally broke their eye contact as they all drank to non-obstructive jerks.

“Okay.” Ray turned to Marshall, relieving him of Rambo. “Your turn.”

The cry of speech, speech echoed around the circle and didn’t let up until Marshall rolled his eyes and stood to thunderous applause.

“All right, all right,” he grouched. “Settle down. It’s not going to be any yes we can.”

Gus tried not to look at him as he stood but he was a compelling sight standing directly opposite her, filling her vision. Not to mention that the jetty was to one side of him and Rambo to the other, both of which held highly distracting memories of the man about to speak.

She settled on staring at the fire instead.

“I guess I owe you all an apology.”

Gus was so startled by his opening admission she jerked her gaze to his face. Thankfully his was busy roving around the circle, making eye contact with every Bunnyguard.

“I didn’t think any volunteers could do the task more efficiently than a paid contractor, but I was wrong. Gus was right.”

His gaze flicked to hers for a beat or two, and Gus’s breath cut off somewhere just below her vocal cords as more applause and calls of, “Go, Gus!” rang out.

Glancing around again he said, “I’ve been utterly impressed with how you go about this job, and the fact you guys do it out of a sense of duty and commitment to animal welfare is a credit to you all and the ABL.”

Despite the warmth of the night and the fire, goose bumps broke out on Gus’s arms at Marshall’s obviously heartfelt statement. He was right, the Bunnyguards were amazing. She was being paid for this work on Hitchkin; they were not. Their dedication was remarkable.

“Also, thanks to you guys, I’ve expanded my employment opportunities to bunny photography, animal adoption screener, and social media guru, which just goes to prove you’re never too old to learn new skills.”

He laughed and her breath hitched at his deprecation. At the low, deep noise of his chuckle vibrating into the night. At the way his eyes crinkled.

“This place…” He lifted his head and looked around him, and Gus held her breath as he got lost for a moment. “Well…” He returned his gaze fireside to resume its slow sweep of the circle. “Let’s just say, it doesn’t really hold a lot of happy memories for me.” His gaze settled on her, light as a caress, heavy as a secret. “But it does now. I’ve learned a lot this past month and that’s thanks to you.”

Gus’s belly looped the loop. She didn’t think he was addressing all the Bunnyguards now or that he was talking about rabbit rescue and adoption practices.

It felt very personal.

He’d learned a lot about what? Himself? His grandfather, the island, his mother? About how to exploit loopholes in contracts?

About her?

Before her belly could do one more loop, he glanced away and smiled at the circle. “I hope you all come back for the grand opening of the new and improved Hitchkin in a few months. You’ll always be welcome on this island.”

He sat to much applause and promises of return, and then Ray was on his feet again. “Look what I’ve saved for last,” he announced, holding aloft a bag of fortune cookies. “I propose, this being our last night, that we all grab one then take turns to stand and talk about what the best part of our stay was, and then we read the fortune aloud?”

Gus’s dirty mind went to a very bad place just thinking about her best part, and she glanced across the circle at the jetty before sneaking a sideways look at Marshall. Unfortunately, he was watching her, his brow kicking up as their eyes met. Her gaze skittered away and she opened her mouth to protest Ray’s suggestion, but everyone was enthusiastically on board.

Damn it.

When Ray stopped in front of her, with Rambo under one arm and the cookie packet in the other, Gus shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t believe in fortune cookies.”

Ray rolled his eyes. “Believing in them isn’t the point.” He rattled the packet at her. “It’s just a bit of fun.”

“It’s okay. You guys go ahead. I’m happy to listen.”

A boo came from somewhere behind Ray. She was almost certain it was Marshall. A chorus of boos followed, and Ray grinned. “C’mon boss.” Another shake of the packet. “Let your hair down.”

Gus, whose hair had been secured in a messy knot at the back of her head, did not have a good feeling about this, but she bowed to Bunnyguard pressure and plucked one out.

In the end, it was a good exercise. The anecdotes the Bunnyguards told about their favorite moments on the island were insightful and funny and such a wonderful way to reminisce. The fortunes were pretty damn funny, too.

From you will unleash your life force which resulted in a lot of Star Wars jokes, to don’t play leapfrog with a unicorn which elicited quite a few winces from the guys around the circle, to it is never wise to kick a skunk which lead to a skunk story that had everyone holding their sides by the end.

“Your turn, Marshall,” Ray announced.

Gus was almost too afraid to breathe as Marshall got to his feet. It was totally preposterous. She didn’t believe that a few woo-woo words baked inside a damn cookie meant a single freaking thing, but her pulse still skipped madly in her veins.

What if he got something like the love of your life is sitting opposite? It’d be just her luck.

“What’s been your favorite part?” prompted Ray.

“Apart from Gus’s T-shirts, you mean?”

The Bunnyguards dissolved into laugher. “That is a given,” Ray said with a grin.

“Hmmm,” Marshall said, looking around the circle as if searching for the answer. “My favorite part of this month.” His gaze landed on Gus and held for a moment before he glanced at Ray. “The jetty, I think.”

Gus actually did stop breathing for a second. Oh, he did not just say that. Her eyes dropped to the sand as warmth flooded her face, and she thanked God for the cover of the fire.

“What about it?” Ray asked.

Gus knew exactly what. She couldn’t even look at him. How dare he even hint—he was in serious shit.

“I remember jumping off it as a kid during one of the best summers of my life.”

Gus’s eyes flicked up. Oh, God no, please. She couldn’t be pissed at him if he was going to pull the evil grandfather/ruined summer vacation card. She wanted to cry every time she thought about those two bewildered little boys and their shattered mother.

“But this month, I’ve just liked sitting on it and staring out over the lake as the sun set on a long day. It’s peaceful and quiet. A good spot for calm and contemplation and…”

Gus’s Spidey-sense went on high alert. They’d definitely moved on from evil bastard–grandfather territory. If he said cunnilingus next, Gus was going to be seriously pissed off.

“A cold beer on a hot day.”

She let out a breath and almost sagged to the sand at his answer.

“Or…” He paused, his low voice drawn out. “Night time munchies.”

Gus went very still. What. The. Fuck? He’d actually gone there. Hinted, in front of the Bunnyguards, at their nocturnal adventures—misadventures—on the jetty.

Sure, everybody was oblivious to the innuendo, but she wasn’t and he knew it. Gus narrowed her eyes.

“Lots of good memories,” he said, a smile kissing his mouth before he dragged his gaze off hers and turned his attention to Ray.

Oh yeah. She was going to kill him for this. In fact, if she didn’t think it would cause comment and consternation, she’d get up from her log right now and slug him in the kisser.

“Okay then,” Ray said. “Open the cookie.”

Gus did not want to look as he cracked the brittle crescent open, but she couldn’t stop herself, either. She actually held her breath as he pulled out the fortune and skimmed his eyes over it. A slow grin breaking over his face ratcheted up her tension even further.

Oh God…what did it say?

He lifted his gaze to Gus briefly before turning to Ray and reading it aloud. “Your tongue is your ambassador.”

Gus almost choked on her tongue as she tried to breathe and swallow all at once while everyone ribbed Marshall good-naturedly, and he said, “Well, a gentleman never tells.”

Christ. She had intimate firsthand knowledge about that tongue and its ambassadorial attributes. It could go all the way to the freaking United Nations it was that good.

Gus—her brain and her underwear in an uproar—refused to make eye contact with Marshall.

The laughter settled and they pushed on around the circle, leaving Gus to last. The fortune cookie felt sweaty in the palm of her hand as she rose to her feet, the knot of nerves at the base of her spine spooled tighter.

“The best thing about the last four weeks?” Ray prompted.

“That’s easy,” she said. “All you guys.”

Except for the one smiling smugly at her from the other side of the fire, looking like he knew exactly how much shit she was packing about what was inside her fortune cookie.

“Boo,” Marshall called from the opposite side of the circle, a broad grin on his stupid sexy face.

“Yes, boo,” Ray agreed. “You have to say that. It doesn’t count. Try harder.”

Gus blinked. She wasn’t sure when she’d stopped being the boss around here, but clearly, as the circle took up the try harder chant, she was not in charge tonight. She glared at an impervious Marshall across the fire.

What did he expect her to say?

My favorite bit was when you made me come on the jetty, Marshall?

Or, I loved watching you jerk off in the shower, Marshall?

What about, you rocked my world that first day when you barged into my room buck naked, Marshall?

Did he seriously think she was going to devolve into hints and innuendo like he had?

“All right, all right,” she agreed. The Bunnyguards settled as Marshall’s gaze zeroed in on her like a hawk stalking prey. “My favorite part was the moment I was confident we had all the bunnies accounted for.”

Which wasn’t remotely true. It had been a great day, but not her favorite moment on the island. And it hadn’t been any of the sex—near sex—stuff, either. It had been when Marshall had said he’d adopt Thumper if nobody else would.

That offer had slammed straight into her heart like a bullet. Not that she’d dared admit it to herself at the time.

Ray made a snoring noise and said, “Borrring,” to which everyone laughed. So did Gus.

“What can I say? I’m a dedicated ABL employee.”

More laughter, but it settled again as the circle—including Marshall, who hadn’t taken his eyes off her—looked at her expectantly.

Gus’s hands actually shook as she tore the wrapper off and broke the cookie. Dear God, let it be something innocuous. Something the guy across the fire with his heated stare couldn’t use against her in the twelve hours she had left on this island. Like, you’re going on a long journey. Or, do or do not, there is no try.

Gus read the message quickly, her heart sinking. Crap. Nothing innocuous about the black words printed on the white strip of paper.

In fact, they seemed fairly fucking pointed. If she didn’t know better, she’d have accused Marshall of planting the damn thing.

“Well?” Ray demanded.

She took a steadying breath and didn’t dare look in Marshall’s direction as she read in a halting voice. “A contract you signed isn’t worth the paper it’s written on.”

“I hope that doesn’t mean your employment contract,” Ray quipped. “You’re their most dedicated, employee.”

“Me too,” Gus said with a weak laugh as everyone except Marshall joined in the merriment.

His gaze just grew more intense, and even though she refused to look at him, she could feel the hot burn of his attention reaching inside her and squeezing her ovaries. It was a relief to sit down and knock his gaze off course.

“Okay.” Ray, who was clearly taking his role of emcee seriously, stood. “Who’s up for some Bohemian Rhapsody?”

A general cheer went up. “Are we ready to paaaaartyyyy?” Ray called. Another cheer as the music played and everyone got to their feet.

But as soon as she was able, Gus grabbed Rambo and snuck away from the beach, hightailing it to the cabin. She had less than twelve hours left on Hitchkin, and it was probably best she spent them way the hell away from Marshall Dyson.

And his damn tongue.