He glanced at her as if to say something more. Then he seemed to change his mind. "No, not really."
"You do so! I can see it on your face! You don't want to say because you can tell it's scaring the spit out of me, but you think it could be Bigfoot!"
"It's just that we don't know who or what did it, Zoe. I tend to look for all the possibilities when I'm trying to solve a problem." He brightened. "That's a nerd trait, by the way."
"Duly noted. But I'd like to eliminate that particular possibility from consideration. The idea that Bigfoot is creeping up to the cabin in the middle of the night, to deposit bees or ... I don't know . . . strangle us in our sleep is not comforting to me. Go figure."
"Do you want to head home after all?"
"No, I want you to tell me that Bigfoot is not interested in sneaking around the cabin at night. I want you to say that he only runs through the woods howling and stinking up the place. Tell me that it was most likely bored kids playing a prank."
"Well, there's a ninety-nine percent chance that's the case."
Ninety-nine percent sounded pretty good to her. She would have preferred a hundred percent, but if she weighed going home because she was a weenie against a ninety-nine percent chance that Bigfoot wouldn't prowl around next to the cabin tonight, the odds were good enough to make her stick it out.
"I'll take ninety-nine percent." She opened her car door.
"Wait a minute. Let me scout the area before you go up there."
"To look for Bigfoot?" Maybe ninety-nine percent wasn't so great after all. "I thought he only roamed the woods at night."
"To make sure the bees are all gone."
"Oh!" She slumped back in her seat with relief. 'Thanks. I'd appreciate that." She left her door open and sat in the car while she watched his long, lanky stride carry Mm up to the porch. Nice action on that man.
After all the buff bodies she'd known over the years, Flynn's more normal build was refreshing. She understood the demands of an acting career—she had to meet those demands herself. Unfortunately, it could lead to a touch of narcissism. Flynn was free of that, which made him extremely appealing.
She wondered what he had planned for that sleeping bag he'd bought. Although she hadn't dared say so at the time, sex had come to her mind the minute he'd walked out of the trading post with it under his arm. She hadn't known what it was other than a roll of soft furry stuff, but she could tell it was exactly the kind of surface made for naked bodies.
Without realizing it she began stroking the flashlight in a most erotic way. Oops. She needed to chill. Judging from the way Flynn had defended Kristen, he still cared about her. Therefore Zoe could forget about getting naked on Flynn's sleeping bag and concentrate on learning to be a nerd.
She had a perfect opportunity to observe him right now, and she was thinking about sex instead of doing her job. Unfortunately, observing Flynn seemed to lead to thoughts of sex. Maybe she should pretend he was really a transvestite. Nope. He looked too obviously male.
Exceedingly male. He climbed the steps with firm deliberation and paced the length of the porch. Twice. Then he came back down and walked around the perimeter. Whenever he came to an opening in the latticework surrounding the porch, he crouched and peered underneath. What a thorough guy. Thoroughness would be welcome in bed. Stop that, Zoe!
Finally he returned to the car. "As far as I can tell, the coast is clear. I didn't see a single bee. I found openings big enough to shove a small hive under there, but it looks like the pest people took off a section of lattice to get them back out and then nailed it in place again."
"How could you tell?" She wondered if he could read her mind and see that she was mentally unbuttoning his shirt. She tried not to do that, but her mind had a mind of its own.
"Unpainted nail heads, shiny, with no rust."
"Interesting." She stepped out of the car. "You would have made a good detective."
"Thought about it. But I can't stand blood and I'm not crazy about dead bodies. Detectives seem to deal in those a lot." He moved around her to open the back door and haul out the groceries. "Besides, detectives are cool."
She would have thought he was putting himself down, except when she looked over at him, he was smiling. Such a sexy smile, too. "I do believe you're starting to get a kick out of this whole cool-guy-versus-nerd thing," she said.
"Maybe." He shifted the bag of groceries to his left arm and reached for the sleeping bag. "Let me carry that in."
"I can get it." He scooped it up and tucked it under his arm.
"I know." She closed both car doors. "But I want to."
"First you covet my flashlight, and now you're after my sleeping bag. What next?"
She met his gaze, the answer on the tip of her tongue. But she didn't dare say it, not even as a joke.
His eyes darkened. Maybe he could read minds, after all. "You can carry the sleeping bag in. In fact, you can have it along with the flashlight."
"I'm not going to steal your flashlight or your sleeping bag." But she wouldn't mind stealing a night of sweaty sex. Only her conscience stood in her way. Unfortunately, her conscience looked like Rambo.
She took the sleeping bag from Mm. "I just wanted to look it over to see if I want one myself." And she definitely did. It was even softer than she'd imagined. She rubbed her cheek against the black fur.
"Umm, maybe we should leave it in the car after all."
She glanced up and discovered his gaze had turned from dark and potent to hot and super potent. The obvious lust lurking there told her that he'd figured out how they could use the sleeping bag. It wouldn't involve sleeping.
Either she could pretend she didn't get his meaning or she could do the prudent thing and return the sleeping bag to the backseat. Her Rambo conscience made the decision for her. "You're right. There's no reason to take it in. It's not as if we need it for anything."
"We shouldn't need it."
Now there was a true statement. They really shouldn't need it. Or each other. They did, but they shouldn't.
"I'll put it back then," she said. "Once you get to the airport tomorrow night you can figure out how to ship it home." She didn't like the thought of leaving. Funny how fast she'd become used to having Flynn around.
"Good idea."
Pine needles crunching under her feet made the only sound as she walked to the car. Midday in the forest was quiet. Even the birds seemed to be taking a break. Opening the door, she dropped the sleeping bag on the seat, and closed the door again. There. One more temptation out of the way.
"I'm keeping the flashlight, though." She headed back in his direction. Let's play hide the flashlight. She gave herself a mental head slap. She had to derail this train of thought, because there was no relief in sight.
"Yeah, we need the flashlight." His eyes had returned to their normal deep gray color, as if he'd managed to recover his self-control. "That butane lighter wasn't cutting it"
"And if the electricity happened to go out we'd be SOL." They'd have to feel their way around. Hey, not a bad idea! Zoe, you're hopeless.
"I'm surprised the landlord didn't give us a flashlight, now that you mention it"
Zoe glanced around at the peeling paint and the dilapidated rockers on the porch. "The landlord doesn't strike me as a concerned individual."
"Good point. Which means the bees could have been under there long before we arrived, even though he swears they weren't."
Zoe fished in her purse and found the front door key. "Yes, but isn't that a strange place to put a hive? I thought the idea was to harvest honey. That has to be a delicate operation to start with, let alone crawling under a porch to do it." She opened the door and walked inside.
"You're right." Flynn followed her in. "I'm just trying to find some logical explanation for all of this." He sniffed. "Does it smell funny in here?"
"A little." Zoe set down her purse and tossed her orange hat on the sofa. "Maybe the pest people sprayed something under the porch to keep the be
es from coming back."
"Maybe." Flynn carried the groceries into the kitchen. "Except it's stronger in here, which doesn't make sense."
"Let's open a window." Zoe walked over to the dining nook and opened the window looking out on the forest. "It really is pretty here."
"Yeah."
Something in his voice made her turn, and the heat was back in his eyes. Poor guy, he was in serious lust with her. She wondered if he also had a bully for a conscience.
In case he did, she'd pretend not to notice his scorching glance. Food might help. She clapped her hands together like a Girl Scout leader at a cookout. "Let's warm up a couple of those microwave meals, shall we? I'm starving!"
He snapped out of his daze. "Okay," he said without much enthusiasm.
"You read the directions, since you're the directions guy, and I'll turn on this very old and decrepit stove." She walked over to it and noticed the dial was set on warm. "That's funny. I wonder if it's on already?"
"Why would it be on already?" Flynn was engrossed in reading the directions on the chicken dinner and didn't look up.
"I don't know. Maybe I did it by accident last night." She turned the dial to off and opened the oven door. The hinges creaked, and although spatters from other meals speckled the oven, it was cold. "Okay, Margo warned me about this. Be right back." She went in search of the butane tighter.
Flynn glanced at her when she came back in. "Why do you have that?"
"The pilot light's gone out in the oven, so I need to—"
"No!" He dropped the chicken dinner on the floor and grabbed the lighter out of her hand.
"What's wrong?" She frowned at him in confusion.
"The smell! It's gas! A whole bunch of gas!"
She backed away from the oven so fast she bumped into Flynn. "Omigod. You're right. What an idiot I am. I didn't even think."
"Let's get out of here." Clutching her hand, he headed out of the kitchen, stepping smack on the chicken dinner, which cracked open and spit peas and carrots all over the kitchen. "Shit."
"It doesn't matter." She pulled him away from the mess. "We need fresh air. We'll clean it up later."
"You're right." He took the lead again, tugging on her hand as he hurried through the living room. "Gas. I should have figured it out sooner."
"Me, too! But I was so fixated on the bees, and I know pest companies spray all kinds of junk around. I wasn't thinking of the gas."
Flynn threw open the door. "We'll leave it open. Between that and the back window, it'll clear out eventually." He drew her across the porch and down the steps, not stopping until they were yards away, standing among the pine trees. They were both breathing fast.
"I can't believe I almost blew us up." The blood throbbed in her temples. "Maybe I'm not cut out for country living."
Gulping for air, Flynn stared at the cabin. "Okay, let's reconstruct what happened."
"I said I'd turn on the oven while you read the directions on the chicken dinner. Which is now mushed on the floor." Zoe noticed that he hadn't let go of her hand, but she decided not to mention it. Under the circumstances, she liked his strong grip. It reminded her that she was in one piece and not burned to a crisp by an exploding oven.
"Yeah, sorry about that." He turned to her. "I'll eat the crushed one."
"No, you won't." The palm of her hand grew warm and tingly where his thumb stroked it. She shoved her conscience out of the way. She deserved to be comforted at a moment when she'd almost been blown to smithereens.
"I feel responsible. I should have identified that smell."
"Why was it your job? Are you some kind of expert on gas ovens?" Those lazy circles he was making with his thumb were getting to her. In a really good way.
"No. I've never been around a gas stove."
"Then why should you have guessed what the smell was?"
He shrugged. "Because the evidence was there. I knew we had a gas stove from cooking on it last night. We walked in and there was a funny smell in the house. I should have thought of gas as a possibility."
Zoe sighed, more from pleasure than exasperation. "Just because you're a nerd doesn't mean you have to be Mr. Answer Man all the time."
But he sure was Mr. Feel Good, even if he was only dealing with her palm at the moment. She remembered how he'd dealt with the rest of her in a previous episode and she began to heat up all over. She could probably defrost one of those frozen dinners between her thighs, no problem.
"I like having the answers." He swallowed. "You, um, said the oven was turned on."
"Yes. Very turned on." She was ready to purr from the gentle stroking. A person's hand was more sensitive than she'd realized.
"I'm ... talking about the oven."
"I know." She struggled to breathe.
"We... we should ... get to the bottom of this."
"Yes." She couldn't even remember what they were talking about.
With a groan he pulled her in tight. "I don't know what it is about you and the smell of pine trees." Then he kissed the living daylights out of her.
She'd always wondered what that expression meant, and now, thanks to Flynn, she knew. As he kissed her, the living daylights shot out of her like sparks from a blowtorch. He kissed her until her conscience collapsed into a heap on the forest floor.
Frug-a-dug! No explosion! And here they are, Tweedledee and Tweedledum, untouched. But they sure are touching each other, dammit. They 're shameless, like dogs in heat. Flynn has the self-control of a rabbit—can't keep his hands to himself for five minutes.
You can bet his tongue is massaging her tonsils like crazy. He wants to run that tongue all over the rest of her, too. You can take that to the bank. He's dreaming of giving Zoe Tarleton some massage therapy where it counts. She wants some of that stuff, too. Look at how she moves her hips! Hussy.
They wouldn't chance it out in the open in the middle of the day, would they? Sure looks like that's what he has in mind, though. And she's stuck to him like a magnet to a refrigerator door. They're plastered together so tight I can't tell if his salami is ready for the oven, but I'll assume it is, from the heavy breathing going on. Now he's got both hands on her butt. What cojones, doing that where anybody can see.
I can't believe they're out here sucking face and rubbing bodies like nothing happened. It wasn't supposed to turn out that way. Where was the damned explosion?
* * *
Winding both arms around Flynn's neck, Zoe moved in closer so she could feel that big old flashlight of his. She knew exactly where she wanted to hide it, too. Judging from the restless motion of his hips, he had similar ideas.
He lifted his mouth from hers. "I want you." He was panting. "I want you every which way there is to want a woman."
"Same here. Switching genders." She went back to the glorious business of kissing him.
He pulled away again, his breath hot against her face. "But we're in the middle of the forest. And the house is full of gas."
"There's a backseat nearby."
"And the sleeping bag ..." He kissed her throat and nipped at her earlobe.
"Yes, the soft... furry ... sleeping bag."
"I want you naked on that fur. I want to—damn it."
"Damn what?"
"No condoms."
She knew he could go get them, even with the gas in the house, but once he left, her conscience would spring to life faster than Flynn's erection. Doggone it.
She couldn't leave him in this condition a second time, though. That was criminal. "Let's improvise," she said. "Last night's offer is still open. I'll be glad to—" She stopped when she realized he was no longer gazing into her eyes in eager anticipation. Instead he was staring at a point beyond her left shoulder.
She tensed as all the possibilities ran through her mind—bees, Bigfoot, Kristen with a butcher knife. "What... what is it?"
"A living, breathing chastity belt."
Zoe turned to find Luanne leaning against the rental car's fender, her arms crossed and a hug
e grin on her face. She pushed away from the car and flipped her braid over her shoulder. "It's taken me a while, Vera, but I've finally figured out who you are."
Chapter Seventeen
As Flynn studied precocious, pata-ta-the-butt Luanne, he wondered how much money it would take to bribe an eleven-year-old to keep her mouth shut for twenty-four hours. Maybe Zoe could promise to get her an audition or offer a trip to Hollywood for a makeover or a VIP pass to the Golden Globes or dinner with Justin Timberlake. Whatever it took.
Zoe untangled herself from Flynn and turned in place, shielding him with her body. Man, did he appreciate that. The woman had class, not to mention the hottest mouth he'd ever had the privilege to stick his tongue into. Ergo, he had a little problem that he didn't want Luanne to notice.
"Who do you think I am?" Zoe asked, cool as could be.
And that, Flynn concluded, was why Zoe Tarleton was on top. She had poise and presence. And speaking of Zoe on top, he wouldn't mind seeing how that worked out, horizontally speaking. He knew it would only be a fling. As of now he was okay with that.
But he and Zoe needed to have a heart-to-heart about their significant others. Kristen was fading fast in his mind, but he didn't know how Zoe viewed Trace at this moment. Taking her recent reaction into consideration, she might be ready to forget about Trace.
Earlier in the weekend, Flynn had been concerned about poaching on Trace's territory. He was no longer quite so concerned. A couple of kisses from Zoe could alter a person's viewpoint. Also his physical reactions. Fortunately, Flynn's most obvious physical reaction had begun to subside.
"I've thought and thought about it," Luanne said. "Your hair is exactly like Zoe Tarleton's hair, and your body looks like her body, too, except it's hard to tell for sure with the clothes you wear."
"But you do realize I'm not Zoe, right?"
Flynn thought Zoe was whistling in the wind. She'd been made, and that was that. Time to see what kind of price Luanne put on that info.
Luanne seemed to be enjoying the drama of the moment. She gave every indication of drawing it out as long as possible. "Well, as I walked back from town I was convinced you were her. Every once in a while I'd stop and look at the picture in People." She gestured toward the hood of the car, where the magazine lay, its pages flipping in the breeze.
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