Catch Me If You Can

by Donna Kauffman

  “So, in summary,” she stated aloud, ticking off the list on her fingers, “You’ve lost both your lover, and your best friend; gotten dismal news from the land agent; come an inch or two away from dying; and stranded yourself in a snowstorm, with no hope of rescue.” Honestly, put like that, it was amazing she hadn’t jumped him, really.

  Could anyone blame her if she indulged in some torrid, tawdry little one-night stand? She folded her arms more snugly around her, trying to ward off the bone-seeping chill inside the car. Hardly, she thought, starting to feel a bit righteous about the whole thing now. He was a tourist, passing through. The perfect man, really. And she could give him a little Highland fling that would have him fondly recalling his trip to Scotland for many years to come. An all around win-win situation. And Lord knows she could use one of those right about now.

  The sudden rapping on the roof of the car made her jump and let out a squeal of surprise. She spun around to find her future partner in gratuitous sex motioning her to start the engine. Her cheeks warmed as she peered at him through the fogged window, wondering what he’d think if he knew the plans she’d been sitting here rationally making. Of course, she had given him several broad hints already.

  He motioned again and she quickly turned her attention to the matter at hand. There’d be plenty of time for the other as soon as they got the heat working again. She’d been about to lean over the seat to reach the keys when she realized it wasn’t an automatic. She’d have to get in the front seat so she could reach the clutch. She debated getting out and going around, but rather than face the cold wind and snow, she opted to just crawl over.

  After a few minutes, much swearing, and an altercation with the stick shift that was definitely going to leave a mark, she managed to arrange herself in the driver’s seat with a fair level of aplomb. When she finally dared look out the window, fully expecting to find him laughing, she was relieved to note he was already back by the rear of the car, apparently wanting to make sure the tunnel he’d dug around the pipe held up.

  She depressed the clutch and turned the key, doubly relieved when the car started without so much as a hiccup. The air that belched out of the vents was cold, though, and she snatched her hands off the steering wheel and tucked them in her armpits.

  Then he was there, tapping on her window, mouthing something she couldn’t make out when the windows swiftly fogged over as the fans kept pumping out cold air. She started to lower the window, but the snow had edged up the glass and would likely cave in all over her if she did.

  Which left her with the option of motioning him to get in the back—thereby giving up any chance she had of reclining with leg room—or moving across the stick shift to the passenger seat. Or attempting the ever-so-graceful crawling back over the seat maneuver. Thankfully he kept her from having to decide by rounding the front of the car and climbing in front next to her.

  “God, I’m frozen through and through,” he muttered as he quickly closed the door behind him. He’d already peeled out of his coat, which he stowed on the front dash, to the side of the vents, then he shifted so his back was to her. “Don’t take this the wrong way.” He gripped the back of his sweater and pulled it over his head, revealing a white T-shirt. Which came off immediately thereafter.

  “Not that I’m minding the show,” she said, which was most certainly the truth. He virtually filled the car. Or so it seemed to her. She hadn’t remembered him as being so tall. Or wide. Perhaps it was the tight quarters making him appear more so. She’d certainly never have assumed his shoulders were so broad. Or that he was so deeply bronzed. Even in the dark she could tell his skin was a great deal darker than her own.

  As he leaned forward to tug his T-shirt out of his pants, her gaze dipped downward, whereupon she learned another interesting fact. He was apparently tan all over. She swallowed hard. “What exactly are you doing?”

  All too soon that fine expanse of muscled back was once again covered up as he quickly yanked his sweater back on. He turned around and shrugged back into his coat. “I figured we should tie something to the antenna. As a warning.”

  She nodded to the shirt in his hand. “I’m not sure white is the way to go.” She smiled, unable, it seemed, to keep her mouth shut for more than five seconds when she was around him. “Although if you’re wanting to discuss terms of surrender…”

  Even in the dark she had no problem making out his broad grin. “Hold that thought,” he told her, then bailed out of the car, quickly closing the door behind him.

  Her heart tripped over itself. Had he really just said—

  “Och, what are you doing here, Maura girl?” But she was already leaning forward and rubbing a spot on the windshield, trying to clear the fog so she could watch him. But the fog was actually caused by the snow piling up on the outside of the glass. She fumbled a bit around the steering wheel until she found the knob she was looking for. Only to hear a yelp from outside before the blades had finished two complete swoops.

  “What are you doing!” came his shout.

  She immediately flipped the knob back off, then glanced through the now clear windshield. He’d been tying the shirt to the top of the antenna… which put his stomach in direct line of where the wiper blades had deposited most of the snow. “I’m sorry,” she called out, not sure if he could hear her.

  He said nothing, but when he got done tying the shirt, he turned and stalked off, quickly disappearing into the swirl of the night storm. “Where are you bloody going?” she called out, knowing he couldn’t hear her. The whip of the wind tossed the T-shirt about, catching her eye. It was then she realized that it wasn’t a whole T-shirt any longer. How the hell had he torn the thing? With his teeth?

  She shivered a little again. And again it had nothing to do with the cold. Of course, she might have just blown any chance she had with the guy. Not that there was much they could do in the close confines of the tiny car anyway. Besides, she hadn’t been much for backseat wrestling as a teenager, and no matter how bad the past few days had been, she sure as hell wasn’t horny enough to cram her body—

  Just then the door was yanked open and he climbed back in, bringing a swirl of snow inside the car with him, and all over her. Something she now realized he’d been careful not to do the first time around. She supposed she deserved it.

  In the narrow pool of overhead light, she watched as he doffed his coat once again and hung it around the back of the seat. Only this time she didn’t have to imagine what his body looked like beneath that worn sweater. The light blinked off as she was squeezing her thighs together at the mere thought of him stripping again. She couldn’t help but wonder what the front of him looked like. Was he truly golden… all over?

  Okay, so maybe she wasn’t wanting to try full-out shagging in such a tiny space. But she might be up for a bit of snogging in one. He was a good kisser, that she already knew, even from that brief brush of lips.

  His hair was a shaggy mop of dark curls, which had been one of the first things she’d noticed about him, and had found herself surprisingly attracted to. She typically went more for the well-groomed, which did limit her choices around home, what with most of the men being farm lads or construction workers of some sort. Still, there was a difference in being a bit moppish and the shag of curls this man sported.

  Of course, the farm lads did have a boundless enthusiasm when it came to sex—likely being around all those barnyard animals and seeing nature take its course as a purely natural thing. But she noted that outside of bed, conversations didn’t go much beyond the latest technique in sheep shearing. And though she wasn’t much for long-term arrangements, she did want her relationships, however long, to engage both brain and body. Which of course didn’t begin to explain Jory’s presence in her life for the past six months. Apparently she wasn’t immune to that baby-of-the-family charm of his either.

  But Jory had been natty about his appearance. Something about this one’s shaggy curls had struck her differently, though. Maybe it was that
awareness in his gaze she’d noted earlier. The overhead light had stayed on lone enough to illuminate other details she hadn’t picked up the first time around. His hair wasn’t nearly as dark as she’d thought. In fact, it was a heavily sun-bleached brown if she wasn’t mistaken. Had she found herself the stereotypical California surfer boy, then?

  He certainly fit the physical mold. Yet, that intensity of his, along with the educated pattern to his speech, said otherwise. There was a brain beneath that mop of curls, she’d bet on it. Lord knows her libido already had.

  “Where’s your coat?” he asked her, shifting so he faced her.

  She would have answered him, but she was too busy staring at his neck. Even with the brief flash of light, her eyes had long since acclimated to the dark. Enough that, at this close range anyway, she could more than make out the shape, or she should say shapes, tightly circling his neck. Even the gloom couldn’t disguise the long pointy teeth, interspersed with what looked like short, skinny bones, all woven into some kind of choker.

  Not an axe murderer, she thought. Just a cannibal.

  He smiled then, his own teeth a white beacon in the dark. A slash against his tanned skin, which sent a thrill coursing through her that was only partly fear.

  “Sharks?” she asked, thinking it might be some kind of surfer thing. Praying.

  He looked confused for a brief moment, then his smile widened as he realized the direction of her gaze. “Crocodile. This was made for me about five years ago, as a good-luck charm, at the request of a tribal shaman. It’s supposed to ward off those with evil intent. Considering it kept me from being an appetizer later that evening, I figured he might be on to something."

  She didn’t quite know what to say to that. Had it come from just about anyone else, she’d have thought they were having a go with her. Something in the easy, comfortable way he related the story, yet so directly holding her gaze at the same time, had her believing he spoke the truth. “I don’t suppose I’d take it off either, then,” she finally managed, unable to pull her gaze away from it. Or him.

  “It was actually woven around my neck as I sat there. By six of the tribe’s prettiest women. All the chiefs daughters.” He grinned. “Virgins of course.”

  “Of course,” she echoed, still trying to wrap her mind around his fantastical story.

  “I wasn’t quite sure of their intent at the time,” he went on, quite casually. “I thought they were going to chain me to a leash or do something else with it. The whole process took hours.”

  “That would explain the fit.” She could understand his trepidation. It was like a collar of sorts. And given as she had absolutely no taste for kink with her sex, that didn’t remotely explain why she had to fight the urge to squirm. In a good way. Something about the way it served to make his neck look thicker, stronger. Daft, she was, of course, but she couldn’t shake the image of him in some kind of tribal loincloth, paint streaking his face, as a circle of women bent around him, their slender fingers flying as they wove him into his choker. It made even less sense that the whole visual only served to stimulate her more.

  “It’s a long time to spend wondering about your fate,” he said. “Especially given as the hut I was in directly faced the central fire pit. And they had a big enough one going to roast an ox. Or me.”

  “My God,” she said, truly unable to imagine it. Of course, for all she knew, he’d bought the thing in some odd trinket shop. But she had to admit, if he was having a go, he was being awfully convincing about it. Must be the way those light eyes of his gleamed, shining out like twin beacons from his dark face. She caught herself rubbing her arms, and hoped he thought she was merely warding off a chill. And not nervous. Or trying to scrub away the twitchy tingly effect he was having on her. It was only serving to make that part worse anyway. It felt like her skin was screaming for contact. Preferably with him.

  “It wasn’t my best day, that’s for sure.”

  “Five years ago,” she said, scrambling to re-establish some kind of normalcy in this conversation. Which had started out pretty unusually earlier, so why this should come as a real surprise, she didn’t know. From the moment her life had flashed in front of her, the whole night had taken on a rather surreal feeling anyway. “And yet you still wear it?”

  “I’d have to cut it off. Which, according to tribal legend, would render my soul ripe for the plucking by any number of evil spirits. And trust me, if you’d seen the drawings of those spirits on the inside of their dwellings, you’d be in no hurry to get rid of it either.” He shifted and leaned his weight back against the door, smiling easily. “Occupational hazard, I’d guess you’d say.” Welcome heat was now pumping from the vents and her toes and fingers tingled as they began to thaw. Might as well join all of the other tingling body parts, she thought. She’d worried earlier that they might not have enough petrol to see them through until morning, when someone was bound to come across them and hopefully ferry them into town.

  Now? She wasn’t so concerned. Somehow, as long as she was in close proximity to the man presently studying her, body heat was going to be the least of her worries. “So you’re not so much Moondoggie, as Indiana Jones then, I take it”

  He barked out a laugh. “Moondoggie?”

  She was thankful for the dark, as it hid the blush she felt climb into her cheeks. Some women looked delicately abashed with flushed skin. With her fairness and freckles, she generally managed to look as if she’d just come running from a fire. “I suppose I must confess my addiction to your corny American beach movies. And your less-than-corny adventure flicks.”

  “Have you ever been?”

  “To the beach? Or cutting a swath through the jungle?”

  He shook his head and the shaggy curls rustled about his head. The abundance of snow outside created its own sort of night glow. But though she could make out his smile, or the gleam of his eyes, she couldn’t make out the details, such as gauging his thoughts or reactions, in anything but a general body language sort of way. It disconcerted her. She was unabashedly curious about the man, but then who wouldn’t be, given the few details he’d shared so far? And yet there was this sense she had about him that he didn’t need any sort of light to be able to detect her thoughts or feelings. It had her feeling a bit edgy.

  Well that and the fact that he’d just folded his arms across his chest. Shallow though it may be, the play of muscles in his forearms and the way this new pose showcased just how broad of chest and shoulder the man was again, admittedly affected her. Her mind jumped back to that kiss they’d shared, what seemed like eons ago now. A mere brushing of the lips, but the thought made her body hum all over again.

  Her gaze was drawn to his hands, and her thoughts turned to what it would feel like to have them on her. All over her. He’d tucked them next to his body, precluding her from adding more detail to her little fantasy. She wasn’t really that big a sucker for brawn, but she had to admit that a tall man with big hands could get her attention quite readily. Everyone had their own preferences after all.

  She realized she was staring, but then, he’d been studying her, had he not? Of course, it had been more the way a scientist studied a specimen, or so she’d felt, than the lusty notions that were presently filling her apparently empty head. She shifted and settled her weight back against her door, letting her gaze drift in what she hoped was a casual manner, away from him and out the front windshield. Not that she could see anything. Snow had once again coated the glass. But if he’d noticed the direction of her gaze before, much less the direction of her thoughts, he mercifully didn’t let on.

  “Have you been to America?” he reiterated, as if there hadn’t been an awkward gap in their conversation. His voice was deep, but there was a pure tone to it. No raspiness, no huskiness. If he sang, it would probably be a rich, full baritone, with pitch-perfect clarity.

  The very idea of hearing that voice in her ear had her rubbing her palms up and down her arms again. It took damn little to send that quiver
y sensation rippling through her. The slightest provocation and she was all twitchy and damp. Just by existing in her personal space, he effortlessly plucked at every nerve ending she had.

  And yes, she was aware that maybe this was all just a knee-jerk reaction to, well, everything. All she had to do was decide if that mattered. “No, I’ve never been to the States,” she told him, pleased at her casual tone. “Nor have I surfed, or searched for treasure, for that matter.” She hugged her knees to her and tried to find a comfortable position in the little bucket seat. Would it be terribly rude of me to move to the backseat, she wondered? With the stick shift between the seats, stretching out fully up front was going to be difficult at best. He was the larger of the two of them, and he had done the work clearing the space so they could run the heater. She supposed if anyone was due the back bench seat, it was him. Of course, they could stack themselves up back there, conserve body heat and be more comfortable…

  She debated mentioning that, but for all her forward suggestiveness earlier, she felt oddly reticent to make that first move now. So she tried not to think about it as she shifted around once again. “So,” she asked, thinking it best to keep her mind off the backseat altogether. “What is it you do that brings you into such close contact with cannibals?”

  “I’m an anthropologist. Right now I’m working for a museum that is co-sponsoring a dig in conjunction with a university program out of New Mexico. My focus is mostly on Mayan history. They currently have digs in Mexico and Central America.”

  “Not the most stable place in the world. Sounds dangerous in all sorts of ways.”

  “Yes, though we generally have more to fear from the local political and drug factions than we do the aboriginal tribes.”

  “So what does an anthropologist do? I mean, I gather the archaeologist’s job is to dig up the actual artifacts, right? What role do you play?”