But he paused, waiting for her to respond.
“Journalist,” she finally offered, her arms beginning to ache from sawing at the fire-making bow. How long did she have to keep doing this before she got a spark? She didn’t even have smoke yet. Frustrated, she sawed it harder. “And you weren’t the only one who wanted to leave.”
“So why didn’t you?”
She was going to start throwing a temper tantrum if she didn’t get a wisp of smoke, she really was. So she just sawed harder, her teeth gritted. “Couldn’t.”
“How come?”
She didn’t answer.
He wouldn’t let it go. “Did you have to help your mother with her store? She still runs that antiques shop, right?”
That was a little too close to the ugly truth. What sort of game was he playing? Did he want her to come out and admit that the pictures he’d taken had ruined her life? Was this some sort of nasty revenge for somehow offending him? Reminding her who she was? Putting the slut of Bluebonnet back in her place? She threw the fire-making implements down and stood up. “I need to take a walk.”
“Miranda, what—”
She whirled around to face him, glaring. “Leave me alone. Understand? I need to take a walk, and not with you.” With that, she turned and stomped out of the camp.
Christ, but that woman was prickly. Dane stared after Miranda, wondering at her explosion and subsequent exit from camp. What exactly was she hiding that made her so upset? He was tempted to ask one of the other men, but they wouldn’t know anything about her either, being out of towners. Anyone in Bluebonnet could have told him the truth, he suspected. Everyone in town knew everyone else’s business.
And Miranda’s was apparently unpleasant business, at least in her mind. He stared down at the tools she’d dropped on the ground. Then he moved to go after her.
“Dane! Look! I got dinner!” Pete held a fish aloft, trotting back through the woods. “I caught something!”
Dane glanced at Pete, then back at the woods, then sighed and turned back to him. The man’s forehead was beaded with sweat and his pants were splotchy with water. He held aloft a fish, about a foot in length.
“Good job,” Dane said absently, glancing at where Miranda had disappeared one last time before turning back to Pete. “Get a flat rock and I’ll show you how to scale it.”
Pete gave him a funny look. “I have to scale it?”
He chuckled at the other man’s expression. “Only if you plan on eating it. You’re going to have to gut it, too.”
The gamer looked a bit green at the thought, and Dane wondered how he’d managed to catch the fish if the thought of touching it was so revolting. He nodded at the fish. “Here, give it to me and I’ll show you how to do it this one time, but after this, it’s on you. Understand?”
Pete seemed reluctant to hand the fish over, but did so after a moment, and Dane immediately saw the problem.
“This fish is dead,” he pointed out, angling his face away from the smell. “Very, very dead. Several days dead.”
Pete crossed his arms over his chest. “Is that a problem?”
Dane held it toward Pete’s face, watching as the other man flinched away. “Do you want to eat it?”
“Well, no.”
He held it back out to Pete. “Take this out there and bury it somewhere. You’re supposed to be catching live fish, not scavenging dead ones. Leave that for the coyotes.”
The other man suddenly looked panicked. “There are coyotes?”
“Don’t worry about the coyotes,” Dane told him. “They’re terrified of people. You’re more likely to see a unicorn than a coyote out here. Now head back out and actually fish. In the water. With line and bait. I’m going to go find Miranda.”
“Speaking of Miranda,” Pete said, his voice low and thoughtful. “You guys know each other?”
The hair on the back of Dane’s neck prickled at Pete’s question. “We went to high school together. Why?”
“She single?”
Hot jealousy speared through him. He resisted the urge to bite off that no one was going to be touching Miranda but him. They were supposed to be keeping things a secret. Clenching his hands, he reached for a piece of kindling and began to snap it into smaller pieces. “I didn’t ask her. Why?”
Pete gave him a smug look. “She was checking me out the other day. I thought I might see if she’s interested in going out when we get out of this little hellhole called nature.”
For some reason, that really irked Dane. Nature wasn’t hell. And to think that Miranda had been checking the skinny creep out…he didn’t buy it.
“Unless you’re planning on tapping that ass?” Pete said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ve noticed the way you’ve been looking at her.”
His jaw tightened. The urge to suddenly pound Pete’s face in washed over him, and he clenched his fists. “No, I’m not,” he lied. In that moment, he missed hockey and the ability to punch the hell out of your opponent. “She’s just an old friend.”
He couldn’t say yes—Sure, I slept with Miranda last night and she was wild. It was hot as hell, and I plan on doing it again. I want to see the expression on her face when I show her how to come again. I want to see the expression on her face when I put my mouth on her sweet pussy, and her expression when I feed my cock into her body.
He couldn’t say any of that. And even if he thought about Miranda’s sassy little thong or her curving smile or the way she’d made those soft, surprised little cries of pleasure when he’d pounded into her, as if she hadn’t been expecting to enjoy it so much. He couldn’t say a damn thing. This was business, and Miranda was business, and no matter how much he might like for it to be otherwise, it couldn’t be.
Pete adjusted his glasses and smiled. “Excellent. Then you don’t mind if I go after her?”
If his jaw gritted any harder, his teeth were going to snap. “Not during survival week.”
“Oh, after, of course.” Pete stared off into the woods where Miranda had disappeared. “I wouldn’t want to see her before she could take a nice, long shower.”
Fucking asshole. As if Miranda smelled bad. Just the opposite, in fact. She’d smelled like the woods—wood smoke and the wind and just a hint of sweat—and he’d found it incredibly appealing. This little creep wouldn’t know what was appealing if it decked him in the face. Hiding his anger, Dane pointed at the dead fish. “You need to get rid of that and catch a real fish. Got me?”
The other man gave him a reluctant nod and then headed back away from camp, muttering under his breath. He swiped at the branches as he walked, the actions of a petulant child and not a grown man.
Dane gave it two days before Pete bailed out on the class entirely. Good. The man was acting like a brat and the class would only get harder. That was one of the things he appreciated about Miranda, he thought as he turned in the opposite direction and began walking. She didn’t complain about the class, about being unable to shower or sweating in the dirt and sleeping on the ground. When he’d seen that bag full of lingerie, he’d been worried that she would be a huge pain in the ass this week. But…she wasn’t. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself in the outdoors, and he was enjoying her presence as well.
Then again, he hadn’t expected to have sex with her. It made him a little uncomfortable to think that he’d automatically assumed that she’d been a plant from Colt and Grant—she had been so offended at the thought that he knew she was sincere. He shouldn’t have slept with her. Shouldn’t have, and yet…he couldn’t resist. When her gaze went soft, he wanted to bury himself deep inside her and make love until morning.
Still, he wasn’t entirely sure Miranda’s motives were innocent. Why would a woman who liked lingerie and sexy things want to spend a week in the wilderness? Things didn’t add up, he decided. Either Miranda had a really killer dual personality—girly-girl of the backwoods—or he was missing some vital element.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.
As he contemplated the Miranda situation, he walked through the woods, idly noticing the play of footprints in the dirt. Though he wasn’t the best tracker, it wasn’t hard to see that someone had come this way. He touched a broken twig and knelt by the ground. The hard dirt hadn’t seen rain for a few days and showed the wavy lines of a boot sole perfectly. Judging by the size of the shoe, it wasn’t a man unless the guy was packing some seriously dainty feet. He followed the footprints, thinking about his small class. With one glaring exception, they’d been interested and willing to learn. The others were corporate hounds—it was easy to spot the type, as they were aggressive and driven. The desire to succeed was clear.
Tracking wasn’t on the week’s menu, but he thought of Miranda’s face and the way it lit up when things clicked and she learned something new. Maybe he’d show her a few things when he found her. After she’d cooled down, that is. She’d almost had her fire—a few more minutes of sawing and she’d have had a spark for sure. Her quick mind had picked up on the implements and had followed his instructions almost to the letter. She’d been so close…until they’d started talking about town. About Bluebonnet.
Then she’d bailed on him.
He ducked under a tree branch and scanned the woods as he thought about their conversation. Dane had immediately steered it once they’d gotten to his personal life. He liked Miranda but he didn’t feel like sharing why he’d left the NHL—no matter what she’d heard. No one believed him anyhow. They liked the tabloid version of things far too much. That he was a pussy hound who couldn’t turn down a woman. That he was a user. He had been, once upon a time…until someone had used him. Then he’d changed. He wasn’t the old Dane anymore, and he got tired of trying to prove it to everyone he met.
Of course, Miranda had been equally prickly. She’d bristled as soon as he started asking her why she hadn’t left town. Was there a boyfriend still in Bluebonnet? Someone she’d stuck around for? A surge of jealousy tore at his thoughts. Was that the reason she’d packed all the sexy panties? Had her hands on his cock as soon as they were alone together? To make someone jealous?
Dane frowned as he spotted another set of footprints near the stream. He approached on the far bank, his movements quiet and stealthy with years of practice.
And there she was.
Miranda stood in the creek, hip deep, her back to him. She wasn’t totally naked. Under the thick, spill of dark brown hair that cascaded down her back, a thin black bra strap stretched over her shoulder. From his viewpoint on the bank, he could see the creamy small of her back, perfect in its symmetry and the way it dipped inward just above her bottom. He groaned at the sight of her rounded ass as she leaned forward, exposing the heart-shaped flesh. Definitely a thong. He barely caught it peeking between the cleft of her full, firm buttocks. Damn. Dane stared. Miranda had the most singularly perfect ass he’d ever seen.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree he was gripping for support. Hell. She was bathing. And here he was, standing on the bank and peeking at her like some sort of creepy pervert. His hand slid over the hard rise of his cock in his shorts, and he swore. He was a creepy, turned on pervert watching her bathe. She might enjoy flirting with him and their midnight trysts, but he was pretty sure she’d hate the thought of him spying on her like some hormonal teenager. Yet he couldn’t stop staring at that perfect ass, and he thought of how she’d felt last night with her sweet pussy wrapped around his cock, clenching him deeper every time he thrust. Of the cries she’d made—so turned on and so very surprised that she’d been so lost in the moment. Of the look on her face when she’d finally come, as if he’d just handed her a million dollars.
Fuck. If he got any harder, he was going to charge into the water after her and forget all about the “tonight” part of their next meeting. He’d take her on the creek bank, in broad daylight, and wouldn’t care who saw them. The heel of his hand rubbed down the front of his cock again, need surging through him.
Before last night it had been two long years since he’d been with a woman. He hadn’t missed one in all that time. There was always something to distract him—chopping wood, hunting, a ten-mile hike through the snow back when they’d lived in the cabin…and when all else failed, there was his hand. Last night should have gotten her out of his system. Quenched the urge so he could stop thinking with his dick and get back to his job. But as he watched Miranda raise her pale arms to her back and toy with the clasp of her bra, he knew that it was going to be close to impossible to think about anything but taking Miranda again.
And he palmed his cock once more.
EIGHT
S
he couldn’t do it. Miranda’s fingers trembled on her bra clasp, ruining the sensual movement she was going for. She tried again, squeezing her eyes closed and focusing on undoing that one stupid strap, but every time she came close, her fingers locked. The pictures on the Internet flashed through her mind over and over again. Her kneeling before Dane. Her breasts thrust against the camera in another shot. That triangle-shaped mole under her left breast had identified her even if her face hadn’t been in the picture…and it had been. Her expression in the photos had been contorted in rapture, and she remembered Dane’s big hand toying with her nipples. She’d loved his touch.
Nine years later, she still loved his touch, though she hated herself a little for it now. She’d recovered from her tantrum walking through the woods, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to keep Dane trotting after her if he was mad at her. So she’d calmed down and sat on the banks of the stream, staring at it as she tried to think up her next battle plan.
After a moment, the solution had become glaringly obvious, of course. Strip naked in the stream until Dane ran across her, then seduce him again. Keep the control firmly on her side. Never let him get the upper hand in their relationship. Keep him guessing, above all else.
Except…her hands weren’t cooperating. Her subconscious had a strict sense of modesty even if Evil Miranda was trying to shed it. Last night she’d been able to provoke and flirt with Dane, and hadn’t thought twice about shedding her clothes. In the daylight? It was different—more exposed. And knowing that Dane was on the bank watching her? Made her even more nervous. Last night it had been dark and he’d only been able to get quick glimpses of her body in the moonlight. They’d kept some of their clothes on even as they’d had sex. Standing here in the stream in nothing but a thong and lacy bra in broad daylight felt…naked. Was he looking at how much her body had changed in the past nine years? Comparing her breasts to that old photo?
Her fingers twitched and she opened her eyes, blowing her long bangs off of her forehead in frustration. Why was this hard? She’d hit on him last night and he’d given her the screwing she’d asked for. He’d made her come so hard that her eyes had nearly crossed. This was just a stupid bra and striptease. Why was it such an issue for her? You’re being a baby, she told herself, even as her fingers clamped down on the front of her bra, clutching it to her chest protectively. Anyone could be watching her, not just Dane. What if someone else had stumbled upon her bathing and it wasn’t Dane at all? What if he had a camera, too? Oh God. What if—
A noise to her left got her attention—had Dane moved to the other side of the bank? Or was there truly another watcher here at the stream? Miranda’s hand slid forward over her the cups of her bra, protecting her breasts from prying eyes, and she turned.
A gigantic bird stood on the bank, about two feet away from her. It looked like a giant ostrich with enormous, round black eyes and a nasty beak. It ruffled its feathers in alarm at the sight of her, the long neck rearing back as if it were about to peck her eyes out.
It squawked at her, the sound angry and strident.
Miranda yelped.
She stumbled backward. She lost her footing and skidded into the water up to her neck. Gasping, she struggled to regain her balance and then continued to slide away as the bird squawked again and ruffled its massive black wings. The thing p
aced on the bank, storklike legs twitching nervously.
Shit! Could birds swim? Did emus attack people?
“Miranda,” Dane said in a low voice behind her. “Careful.”
Screw careful. She turned and vaulted for the opposite bank, toward Dane. Forgetting about her state of undress or the fact that she was in danger of losing her wet bra, she plowed toward him. When he extended a hand to help her out of the water, she grasped it and hauled herself onto the bank.
The thing across from them trumpeted in alarm, and Miranda yelped again. She didn’t stop at climbing out of the water, and began to climb up Dane himself.
She leapt onto him, her legs locking around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. Her only thought was to get away from that damn bird, and Dane was safe. Dane wouldn’t let it eat her.
Once she’d climbed on top of him, she squeezed her eyes shut, breathing hard and waiting for the stupid thing to attack. A long moment passed in which she could only hear her own rapid panting, and then she heard a disgruntled cluck from the bird, a ruffle of feathers, and then nothing else.
Daring greatly, she peeked across the bank, and sure enough, the bird was leaving. She exhaled loudly in relief.
“Miranda?” Dane said in a weird voice. “Are you all right?”
She looked down at him.
Dane’s face was pressed between her breasts. Her bra straps had fallen low on her shoulders, the entire garment slipping down several inches. Her nipples were barely covered by the damp cups and were clearly outlined. Worse than that, she was clutching his head to her breasts in an effort to anchor her body on the high point that she’d climbed in her distress…aka, him.
As she took stock of her body parts, she realized that her legs were still wrapped around him. She was pretty sure those were his hands all over her ass, too. “Hi there,” she said brightly, trying not to blush. “Guess what? I found an emu.”
“Looks like it,” he said in a husky voice, his hot gaze on her face.
The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting Page 10