Her heart.
He held tight. “I think it is.” His gaze seared her. “And so do you.” He released her abruptly, and she braced herself against the stair railing. “Just as soon as we get a few details taken care of.”
If he had kissed her then, it would have been all over for her. His appeal was too strong to resist. She was hanging on by a mere thread. One soft touch of his lips, and she would have been completely under his spell.
She drew herself up as tall as she could, trying to counter his overwhelming presence. “You're wrong. And there aren’t any details to take care of.”
He gave her a look. Disappointment. Disgust. Disbelief.
She groped with her foot for the stair behind her. “I don't have it,” she said deliberately, and turned to flee up the stairs. “So, please, leave me alone.”
And prayed he wouldn't follow.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Forty-Eight
Cooper watched Maggie bolt up the stairs, torn between running after her and running just as fast in the other direction.
In the end, he just dropped his forehead against the tower frame with a dull thud, and silently cursed himself for losing it so badly. The dream visions had invaded his head, crowding out all rational thought. And once again, he'd almost done something he would have regretted, and done it without looking back.
He needed to salvage the situation.
After several cleansing breaths, he plastered a determinedly platonic smile on his face and started up the stairs.
He cringed when he heard Maggie fling open the door with a smack and run into the cab. With his luck, she’d probably grab a gun and shoot the first thing that came through the door after her.
He wondered briefly if she even had a gun. Well, he knew she had a knife. He was watching his back.
When he reached the cab, the door was standing wide open. She had put on a khaki uniform shirt, but her fingers were fumbling with the buttons.
“I'd offer to help, but I guess that's probably not a good idea,” he ventured, propping himself against the door frame.
She whirled and backed up against the dresser.
Jeez, was he that scary?
“I can manage,” she said, but instead of buttoning it, she pulled the two sides tightly over her breasts and crossed her arms.
He studiously ignored them. “I apologize,” he said, and bowed slightly. “I came up to ask if you feel like going fishing. But I got temporarily waylaid by an acute attack of testosterone. Sorry about that.”
She blinked. “Fishing?” She blinked again.
Okay, so apparently they were going to pretend he hadn’t just told her he intended to bang her until she screamed.
He shrugged. “My article. Got to keep up appearances.”
“Oh. Well. I, um...”
Yep. He was really batting a thousand with his brilliant plans to get her to trust him.
She straightened away from the dresser. “I, um, have a couple of things to do first. How about in an hour?” She nibbled her lip, and pulled her shirt tighter.
“That works,” he said slowly, a bit surprised, but pleased by her unexpected acceptance. “An hour, it is.”
He glanced around her living quarters for the first time. He made a show of being interested in the Osborn fire spotting instrument. “Mind if I take a look?”
“Sure, I guess.”
He wandered over to examine it, carefully taking in everything else at the same time. Just in case.
Spartan, but definitely feminine. The dust ruffle on the cot and her basket of crochet yarn were dead giveaways that a woman lived here. And the lacy cotton nightgown on the bed.
His heart skipped several beats. Holy shit. It was exactly the same nightgown as in his crazy erotic dreams. Tiny buttons, and all.
Without thinking, he crossed the floor and fingered them.
Thank God. They were all intact.
Speaking of which... Maggie had buttoned her uniform shirt, and was now brushing her hair feverishly. She had the strangest look on her face. And she refused to meet his eyes.
He suddenly realized what he was doing, whipped his hand away from her nightgown, and turned abruptly to the window overlooking the lake. He searched around for the small reflective decoration he figured must be hanging somewhere against the glass.
Instead, he found a telescope. A powerful one, sitting on a tripod.
He narrowed his eyes at it, pursed his lips, and bounced a couple of times on the balls of his feet. Okay. That was interesting.
He walked over to stand next to the telescope, and looked down toward his campsite. It lined up perfectly. Okay. Even more interesting.
He could see her reflection in the window, watching him, her eyes getting wider and wider.
He cleared his throat, then casually bent over and peered through the lens. His tent filled the round frame in full, living color.
He smothered a grin. She was so busted.
When he turned back to her, he kept his face impassive. He jerked his chin at the scope. “You been watching me, pup?”
“I—” She bit her lip. “Well, I— Watch out!”
His boot landed in the middle of a shattered mug of coffee on the floor below the telescope.
He looked down at the mess with wry amusement. “Was I that awful to look at?” He lifted his gaze and their eyes met.
A pink flush washed over her face. “I...wasn't expecting you to be...naked.”
His lips curled into a half-smile. “See anything you liked?” He ran his fingers down the length of the telescope suggestively.
She followed the movement, her eyes glued to his hands.
Instantly, his mind was filled with visions from his dreams, of naked limbs and hot, sweaty bodies melding into one.
She swallowed heavily. “Yes,” she whispered. “Definitely.”
Triumph roared through his whole body, but he stayed rooted to the spot. “It's even better close up,” he murmured.
Her voice came out hoarse and breathy. “I'll take your word for it.”
He knew if he took one step toward her, they'd be locked together in passion in a nanosecond. But he didn't dare. Not like this. Not without getting some answers first. And coming to some kind of terms.
Otherwise, he didn’t like his odds.
He carefully lifted his boot from the puddle and went to the micro-kitchen to fetch the trash bin and a sponge.
“I can do that,” she hurried to say.
“Nah. My fault. I’ll clean it up.” Returning to the shattered mug, he crouched down on his haunches and lifted the shards into the bin.
And took advantage of her fluster. He addressed the sponge as he mopped up the coffee. “What were you talking about when you said you didn't have it? Back on the stairs.”
She straightened her spine, instantly wary.
“I already told you I saw you at the kill site,” he said conversationally. “And I know about Dinny Paxton. I want to know the rest of it. All of it.”
A shadow of panic flashed through her expression.
“Tell me what you found, Maggie. What did you pick up?”
For some reason, the question seemed to calm her. She shoulders notched down a fraction. “A battery,” she said. “Probably from the bear’s ear tag.”
He set the trash bin back into its place, rinsed the sponge, and then his hands. He dried them with deliberate thoroughness. Waiting for more. But she didn’t elaborate.
“You think the poachers dropped it?” he asked.
“Maybe. There was a fingerprint.”
He turned to her. “That’s what you mailed to Paxton?”
She nodded.
“Anything else?”
She shook her head. “You got the bullet, right?”
“Yeah. We got it.” At the reminder, he tamped down a spurt of anger. “Why would you try to remove important evidence, like that? Didn’t you realize that would jeopardize our chances of a conviction?”
She gripp
ed the hairbrush in her hands so hard her knuckles turned white. “The dispatcher said CDFW would take two days to send someone to the crime scene. I thought they’d come back for it.”
“The poachers.”
She nodded.
Ah.
She looked as if she was about to bolt. Better to end this now, while he was still ahead.
For once.
Gently, he pried the hairbrush from her fingers and tossed it on the bed. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “There. That wasn't so hard, was it?” He smiled. “See you at my place in an hour.”
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Forty-Nine
An hour later, Maggie walked cautiously into Cooper's camp.
“Wolf?” she called tentatively. “You here?”
No answer.
She stood there for a moment at a loss, then wandered over and took a seat on a smooth granite boulder. She’d give him a few minutes.
She'd changed into shorts and sneakers, and the sun felt warm on her face and exposed limbs. Coming here, going anywhere with him, was probably a huge mistake. Shocker. But despite everything going on between her and Cooper, she was actually glad she’d said yes to fishing. She’d seldom taken the time to enjoy the beautiful natural setting she was living in.
She pulled out the paperback she’d tucked into her back pocket and got more comfortable. She hadn't done a lot of fishing, but most of her memories consisted of delightful hours spent lounging in tall, fragrant grass beside cool mountain streams, reading and getting a suntan while the fish refused to bite. It worked out well all around, in her opinion.
Well. Except for the occasional male companion who was invariably under the mistaken impression that the sole reason for fishing expeditions was to catch fish.
Foolish men.
She stretched impatiently, wishing Cooper would get a move on. Suddenly, the air vibrated with a soft ringing from his tent. Must be his cell phone.
Wait. How did he have bars up here, when she didn’t even have reception in the tower? So not fair.
It rang again. She glanced over at the tent, debating whether or not to answer it.
On the fourth ring, she jumped off the boulder, rushed to the tent, and grabbed it. “Hello? Cooper, uh, residence.”
On the other end, there was a hesitation, some shuffling, and the hollow sound of the receiver being covered over for a moment.
A male voice came on the line. “Is Coop there, please?”
She glanced around. Still no sign of him. “No, sorry. He's—” Crap. What? “He’s...having a swim.”
There was that hollow sound again. This time, she caught the tail end of laughter being shushed.
“Can I take a message?” she asked politely.
“Please tell Coop to call in.” A slight pause. “When he's not too busy.”
She stifled a snicker. In her most sultry voice, she purred, “That might not be for quite some time.” She paused to let the caller absorb that, then said, “Fish and Wildlife, right?”
“Right. I assume he remembers the number.”
She giggled after she hung up. Both from her prank, and from the fact that she’d just confirmed that Cooper really did work for CDFW. Her heart felt a hundred pounds lighter.
She wondered briefly why they’d called. Maybe to tell him the battery had shown up via the FBI? Cooper would know it came from her, because she’d just confessed. And he also said he knew about Dinny...but how much? Did he know about Whitney and the trial? She doubted it. He would have said something.
But she still had to come up with a good excuse for going through the FBI instead of taking the evidence straight to Fish and Wildlife. She was surprised he hadn’t asked.
She hated lying. Invariably, lying just made things more complicated rather than solving them. She didn't want to lie to Cooper. But she would have no choice if he started asking questions about the FBI.
She started to put the phone back in the tent, then had a sudden inspiration. She punched the phone’s on button, and then the icon for the Internet. Letting the power drain would buy her a little more time. So she could figure out what to tell him, if he asked.
Annoying him as much as he’d annoyed her was just a nice bonus.
Back on the boulder with her eyes closed and face tilted up to the sun, she still had a mischievous grin on her face when a sexy masculine voice said, “You thinking about me, or the trout?”
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Fifty
Coop laughed when Maggie bolted straight up in the air, startled.
“I wish you'd stop scaring me like that!” she groused, and started to tumble off the boulder she was perched on.
He snaked an arm around her waist and grabbed her. “Sorry. Occupational hazard of being a sneaky redskin.” There were definite advantages to having a hunter's stealth.
She rolled her eyes. “Of being a macho egomaniac, more like.” She pulled away from him and straightened her shorts. “I'm sure you're used to every woman you see throwing herself at you, but that is not what I was doing.”
He gave her a look. “Yeah. You've made that abundantly clear.” He slid the wide strap of the shotgun he'd just fetched from his camper off his shoulder, and cradled the gun in his arms.
She gasped and jumped back.
“But don't worry,” he added. “I'm not taking it personally. I know we have a few issues to resolve.” He smiled. “After that, you're welcome to throw yourself at me, too.”
She made a face, then eyed the shotgun warily. “Expecting trouble, or do you always shoot your trout?”
He laughed. “You’re funny when you’re not insulting me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you if you take that thing along,” she said, planting her cute pink sneakers in the dirt.
His lifted a brow. “Is that a fact.”
“That”—she crossed her arms—“is a fact.”
He didn't want to leave the gun. There were already too many wild cards in this case, and he had an uneasy feeling things were about to start heating up.
Yeah, yeah. Again, with the instincts.
But he wanted her with him more. Fool that he was. “Okay. I'll leave it here.” Not that it mattered. His Glock was in the fishing creel.
She frowned. “Why the sudden desire to carry a weapon?”
“You really have to ask?” he said, and headed for the tent. “I'll just get the fishing gear.”
She was watching him uneasily and worrying the edges of a paperback when he backed out with a rucksack, two rods, and a pair of waders. He’d left the shotgun under his sleeping bag.
“Sorry, I only have one set,” he said, holding up the waist-high rubber boots.
She looked puzzled. “You need more than one?”
He surveyed her legs, and she tugged self-consciously at the hem of her shorts. “The water might be a little chilly, dressed like that,” he said.
“Water?” She looked at him askance. “Surely, you didn't think I'd actually fish?”
He set the fishing rods carefully aside. “No?”
“Fishing's a guy thing.”
He gave her an amused look. “Like riding motorcycles, you mean?”
Her return gaze was sharp as a dagger and smug as a princess. “For your information, our male ancestors only hunted animals because they were too lazy to do the hard work of gathering fruits and berries and herbs and nuts. Oh, yeah, and because they were too impatient to have seven snotty kids hanging off their furs. So, they took off with the boys and did a little fishing, or killed a mammoth or something.” She waved an arm. “It's got nothing to do with motorcycles.”
Momentarily stunned into silence, he rocked back on his heels. Then he almost choked with laughter. “Wow. I'd love to hear what Nimosom would say to your theory. The aurora borealis would have nothing on the sparks that would fly between you two.” He snorted out a final chuckle. “So, Ms. Anthropologist, you're saying this inborn need to go fishing is in my genes, but not in yours?”
“Ah.” He nodded. “So that's it. Not to worry, I'm not into worms myself. I prefer flies.” He held up a tackle box with rows of clear square compartments. Each one contained a different tiny, colorful, insect.
“Oh, Coop, they're beautiful!” she said, and reached out reverently to touch the box. “They look like they'll fly away when you open the lid. How in the world can they make them so lifelike?”
He smiled with pride. “I'll show you how, sometime.”
She looked at him in wonder. “You made these? Yourself?”
“It's not so difficult.” He winked. “Just takes a little hard work and patience.”
She grinned. “Touché.”
Their eyes met and locked for an endless moment. He had an almost overwhelming urge to lean over and kiss her. It nearly killed him not to.
Instead, he reached back into the tent and pulled the box of condoms he’d bought at Tommy’s out from his duffle.
Her eyes got big as saucers as she watched him take out a foil packet and rip it open. “Cooper...uh—” She swallowed.
He slid a hand into his front pants pocket—
“What do you think you’re—”
—and pulled out a box of matches.
Her mouth dropped open.
He waggled his brows. “I like to be prepared when I take a woman out in the forest.”
Her scandalized expression was priceless.
Slipping the matchbox into the end of the condom, he unrolled it over the box and tied the end loosely. “In case we get wet.” Depositing it in his fishing vest, he grinned wickedly. “Never know when a lady will want to light a fire.” He held up another foil packet and stuck it in his back pocket. “In case we tear the first one.”
Her tongue skittered across her lower lip. “Coop—”
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