“It’s in my mouth. The blood dust is in my mouth,” River wailed as she spat and flailed at her face, not that her actions were doing much to save herself. “I’m eating someone. I’ve been in the mountains of Alaska for less than a week, and I’m already eating someone.”

Picking a few spiderwebs out of her hair for her, Easton watched as she dusted herself off. “I told you it’s not safe in here. But no. You had to come see.”

“The allure was too great.” Her sigh was one of deep contentment, even as he kicked the chain aside and started herding her back toward the door.

“But…”

“Nope.”

River walked backward on her toes, still trying to peer over his shoulder. “The jars. I didn’t even see what’s in all the glass jars.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Easton and Graham had learned that particular lesson a long time ago. When the door was safely shut behind them, River fell back against the wood siding of the barn, dissolving into giggles.

“I ate person dust.”

“It really is rust.” Probably. He hoped.

Clearly, she wasn’t buying into his far less interesting narrative. “I’ll get a DNA test when we come back. Easton, that was the best thing I’ve ever seen. You’re cruel for not letting me film it, but it was awesome.”

Bracing a hand against the barn siding above her head, Easton smiled down at her. “Nothing scares you, does it?”

“Lots of things scare me.” Inhaling a deep breath, she reached above her head, looping her slender fingers around his wrist. “Going somewhere with you isn’t one of them.”

It had been a long time since he had wanted to kiss a woman this badly. Eyes flickering down to her mouth, he tried to tell himself this was a bad idea. Maybe it hadn’t been rust…

“You’re going up a mountain with me,” he reminded her, hating his own words. “We should probably keep this professional.”

“Agreed. You’re filming a movie with me.”

“I’m not—” he started to protest, but River’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Technically, you’re the male lead.”

Easton grimaced. “You promised it would only be my feet.”

“We’ll start with the feet and move up.”

Easton shifted closer, not because he wanted to but because he had to. Resisting her arm slipping around his waist wasn’t in the realm of possibilities.

“Thank you for showing me your torture barn,” she whispered.

“Thanks for not running screaming.”

When her fingers hooked into his, still above her head, and her other arm tightened around his waist, Easton took that as permission. The curve of her hip felt good beneath his palm, and when he tugged her closer, she came willingly. When she licked her lower lip, he started to dip his head down.