Wren’s gaze dropped to her hands. He wanted to reach out and enfold them in his. Maybe that would stop their shaking. But she had that prickly wall around her so he changed the subject back to the cut on her forehead. “Hand me that first aid kit, and let’s clean you up.” This time she didn’t argue.
She unclipped the first aid kit from where Jim had pointed out its location before they’d left King Salmon. That seemed days ago rather than mere hours.
She set the kit between them and opened it. He reached in and found the antiseptic wipes. Only problem was that he couldn’t tear the plastic to get to the wipes. She didn’t say anything when he handed her the package, but her look spoke volumes. While she used the wipe to clean the dried blood off her face, he rummaged through the kit looking for anything that would help cover the wound. He laid out bandages, gauze, Neosporin, and tape. Wren finished with one wipe and went to grab another, but he was quicker and got to it first. “Let me.”
“I can do this.” She ground her teeth.
She really didn’t want him to touch her, but he was dying to get his hands on her. Even in this impersonal way. “You can’t see everything I can. Come on, there’s a lot we need to do. Arguing is a waste of time. It’s already getting darker than I’d like.”
She glanced out of the windows, noticing the black clouds smothering what daylight remained. Night would be coming early, way before they were ready for it. He just hoped the snow would hold off until they could get things situated for the long, cold night ahead.
“Fine.” She huffed out a breath that fanned across his face, bringing the scent of mint. She must have chewed gum before getting on the plane. Did she still suffer from motion sickness? There was so much he wanted to reacquaint himself with about her.
He reached up with the wipe and began slowly cleaning away the dried blood around the cut. Since he’d somersaulted the plane, most of the blood had flowed into her hair. Without running water, there wasn’t a lot he could do about her hair. The blood melted into the dark strands, blending in. He concentrated on the cut. It was a few inches long, traveling back into her hairline. She’d have a scar, but one that would be easily hidden by her hair. The bleeding had stopped, coagulating over the cut, until he attempted to clean it, then it started to seep again.
“You really need stitches.” He glanced down at the first aid kit. It was stocked with the supplies he needed to stitch her up.
“No way am I letting you stick a needle in me.” She moved back out of his reach.
“Don’t think I could sew you up right with only one wing working anyway. See if there aren’t some adhesive strips in there or super glue.” Many a time he’d super glued a cut closed. Worked great when you were constantly around the water and not close to medical facilities.
She rummaged through the contents, as he held the wipe over the seeping cut and tried not to be distracted by the faint scent of lemon verbena. She must still use the same body wash. He loved knowing she hadn’t changed so much, gave him hope that he might be able to reach her.
“I found them.” She tore open the package and held the strip up to him. He exchanged the wipe for the strip and, using his teeth to take the covering off the adhesive, placed one over the cut. He reached for another one that she had ready and did the same with the next.
“Neosporin.”
She handed him a gauze pad with Neosporin already on it, anticipating his needs. She could always do that, knowing what he needed before he asked. He’d never been so in tuned with a woman before, or since.
That insight of hers had been amazing in bed.
He placed the bandage over the cut, reaching for the length of tape she had ready for him. Once the cut was covered, he became aware of how close he was to her. His head bent over hers, his fingers lightly stroked the strands away from her face. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide.
He was helpless not to lean in. Her breath caught, and her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, and her tongue nervously wet them.
He groaned.
The sound gallivanted her into motion. She jerked away, scampering back out of his one-armed reach.
Damn it. He’d been so close to tasting her again. Now she looked at him as though frightened. What reason did she have to be frightened of him?
“Wren—”
“We need to get things done before the storm hits.”
He wanted to say to hell with everything, grab her and yank her back into his arms where she never should have left. If she hadn’t—
No point in going down that road.
Time to get things battened down. Once their shelter was secure, and Jim taken care of, they had all night to become reacquainted.
He glanced out the window. “We’re going to need a flashlight.” He’d also need Wren’s help with Jim. One handed wasn’t going to get a two hundred pound-plus man, dead weight, out of this plane. “Did you see a tarp or anything back there?” Skip asked. They needed to cover Jim with something. Even though, the body was a shell, and Jim wouldn’t feel the cold, it went against everything in Skip to just lay the man out in the storm. He hoped Jim’s spirit was someplace warm and comfortable—nestled in the loving arms of his ancestors.
Skip was almost jealous of Jim as another blustery gust, this one carrying needles of rain, shook the plane.
Wren glanced at Jim, still hanging upside down in the pilot’s seat. She swallowed hard. “I’ll check.”
He had to give it to her. Most women would be squeamish over what they were about to do. But Wren didn’t show any signs of it, and he was watching her every move. This new, stronger, confident woman intrigued him more than his memories. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get caught staring.
“How about this?” She held up a Mylar blanket she pulled out of the survival kit. “There are four, enough for us and... him.”
“Okay.” Unconventional, since a survival blanket was beyond helping Jim, but then this was Alaska. The land of the unconventional.
Wren handed him the small folded silver blanket and then crawled back toward her suitcase and began systematically going through the contents.
He caught a glimpse of black underwear and a hot pink bra before she found what she was looking for.
“I knew I’d need these.” She held up a pair of Under Armour.
“Good thinking.” Question though, was she going to strip in front of him to get them on under her clothes? She wouldn’t get the full effects of the garment unless it lay next to her skin.
Man, what he wouldn’t give to lay next to her skin.
“Could you, um, turn around?” She did a cute little circle motion with her finger.
He didn’t want to turn around. He did, though it was a struggle in the small confines of the plane, and was rewarded with her image in the broken window. He really should shut his eyes. But he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Hell, he wasn’t even close. She whipped off her sweatshirt and the sexy navy tank top underneath, her nipples hard beads against her icy blue bra. Her honeyed skin had him licking his lips. She covered up too quickly. He wanted to see more and had to bite his tongue to keep from asking. Then she shimmied out of her jeans and his mouth watered.
Hips rounded and lush, soft and creamy thighs, little dimples at her knees. He wasn’t going to make it. She wiggled into the tight black Under Armour and followed that with her jeans. He really shouldn’t have watched. Now he ached to touch.
“Okay, you can turn around.”
No he couldn’t, not with the kind of wood he had branching out. “I need some fresh air.” And the arctic wind would do the trick of settling things back down to size. What the freaking hell was he doing?
He had a broken arm.
Like that would stop him. Okay, they were in a fight for their lives. One of them was already dead, sharing the same breathing space. Well, his and Wren’s breathing space anyway. God, he was fucked up.
He should be more concerned with how they were going to get out of here instead of how
he was going to get inside her.
Chapter Six
“I still think predators are going to be a problem,” Wren said as she struggled to stay on her feet against the wind’s impressive attempts to knock her off them. Even though she now lived in Anchorage, she was by no means a city girl. This was Alaska. Predators outnumbered people.
She was cold and hungry and wet and now exhausted after dragging Jim’s dead body across the tundra. And her head pounded like a son of a bitch.
“That’s why we moved him so far from the plane,” Skip explained as though he was speaking to someone slow on the uptake. He struggled alongside her, having a tougher time against the wind as he was a bigger target and unable to put his arms out for balance. She’d zipped his jacket up with his arm tucked into his body. With the brace, it wouldn’t fit through the sleeve.
“We should have tossed his body over the bank.” It would have been a hell of a lot faster as the bank was twenty yards from the buried nose of the plane. She had no idea why she was pecking at him about this. It was done. The body was covered and secure and probably a hell of a lot warmer than she was right now. Blasted icy rain.
“It’s Jim. His family is going to want his body for burial, and the ocean would have taken him. I couldn’t do that to a friend.”
“You had no problem tossing me in jail, and I was more than a friend. Or so I thought since we were banging each other.”
He stopped cold and glared at her. Pain bracketed his face. “What the hell is your problem? Are you spoiling for a fight?”
Hell, yes. Someone needed to pay for how miserable she felt. Skip owed her for a lot of things. Crash landing the airplane and putting her in this situation was just the latest of many.
Besides, she didn’t want to get into that plane with him, be alone with him all night, just the two of them needing to keep warm.
Jim had been there before. Dead or not, he’d still been there between them, putting a damper on what could happen. Now that they’d moved Jim clear across the tundra what was going to keep her from doing something stupid?
She remembered all too well what could happen when she was alone with Skip for any length of time. That’s how she’d lost her virginity at sixteen. Not to mention her heart. She’d still like to have that back. Her heart, not her virginity. She’d been glad to lose that thing.
The icy rain suddenly turned to shards of icy snow and started to slice at their exposed skin.
“Can we at least fight inside the damn plane?” Skip spit the words through his chattering teeth. “I’m freezing my balls off out here.”
Maybe they should stay out here a little longer.
She doubted he’d be in an amorous mood if he lost his balls. But then again she was assuming a lot. He hadn’t made a move on her. What if the attraction was one-sided? Could it be just her who was still attracted? Maybe he’d moved on. No, she would have heard. The little village of Egegik had a healthy gossip line.
“Do you even remember where you crashed the plane?” She glanced around trying hard to see through the thick, and getting thicker, onslaught of sleet.
“Of course, I remember where I crash—” He huffed a frustrated sigh and trudged forward bent into the wind. “I’d forgotten how much of a pain in the ass you could be.”
Hey, now that’s something she hadn’t thought of. Skip could keep his balls, and they could get out of this storm, all she had to do was be a bitch. Yeah, surprise. She was up for that.
“And here I’d thought I’d left you with a lasting impression,” she said.
He stopped again and turned toward her. “You’re pulling out all the stops, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed, either because of the biting wind or because he was really angry with her remembering that last impression. “I’ll have to show you the scar you left me.”
Scar? She thought she’d only left him with a scratch. It wasn’t like she’d meant to hurt him. She’d only wanted to get him to release her. Wasn’t her fault he’d underestimated how high she was or the lengths she’d go to be free of him in that state. She hadn’t even known until she’d awoken, hung over but sober, and listened to the list of charges against her at her arraignment.
The memory silenced her inner bitch.
What else would happen to him because of her? He already had a broken arm. Granted, she hadn’t done that, but she was nagging him when he obviously hurt. They were both wet and cold and probably hungry. She certainly was. Hunger could explain her bitchiness. She hadn’t had breakfast because her nerves had been too jittery knowing she was going home, and there was a good chance she’d see Skip. Lunch had consisted of the measly peanut mix and a small glass of artificial punch the airline from Anchorage to King Salmon had given everyone.
God she hoped he knew where the plane was. Her feet were so cold, and she was in danger of losing digits. Then suddenly there it was. So close she almost ran into the door Skip opened for her.
“Hurry. We don’t want it wetter inside than we can help.”
She scampered into the upside down plane, having to crawl around the seats in the cockpit. Skip struggled to follow her. He shut and latched the door, but the wind whistled through the broken front window.
“Get out of your wet clothes,” Skip said, following behind her, shrugging off his coat. “See if you can find my bag. If we don’t get dry, I don’t have to tell you how much trouble we’ll be in.”
Hypothermia. Number one killer in the state of Alaska.
She headed into the tail of the plane. “What does your bag look like?”
“Blue and gold.”
She should have known. Trooper colors. Also the colors of the state flag. “Eight stars of gold on a field of blue.” She bet his uniform was in his bag. Damn he looked good in his trooper uniform. She’d never admit it, but her good intentions would weaken to mush when he was all gussied up. Hell, who was she kidding? She’d never had good intentions back then. She barely had them now.
She found his bag, and under it were boxes of food. Lots of food. Someone had gone to Costco!
“There’s food!” Her stomach growled. She turned and tossed Skip’s bag toward him and then swiveled back to the food.
“Change your clothes first,” Skip said.
She glared at him from over her shoulder. “You knew there was food?”
“Yes.” He bent, and one-handed, unzipped his bag.
“You couldn’t have said something?”
He paused and looked at her from under his brows. “Been kinda busy with other things.”
“But I’m hungry.”
“You’re cold too. You’re probably so cold that you don’t feel it anymore. Now, get out of those wet clothes, or I’ll have to warm you up myself. And there will be nudity.”
A fiery blush heated her cheeks. She shivered, and hoped it was the cold and not the image his words invoked. She knelt, or fell as her knees gave out, next to her suitcase and rummaged through her clothes. She needed layers. Lots and lots of layers. She didn’t care that he was watching her this time, didn’t even ask him to turn around. The blush must have jumpstarted her thermostat because her body started to shake, and her teeth to rattle. She was freezing. Thinking of them naked, next to each other, started to sound very appealing. And not just in a survival nature.
She whipped off her jacket, tossed it aside, and lifted her sweatshirt. Her Under Armour felt dry so she went to put on another sweatshirt.
“Take it off,” Skip said.
“It’s dry.”
“If any part of it is wet, your body won’t warm up. So, be safe and take it off.”
Was it wrong that there was a big part of her who wanted him to say that in a less impersonal way?
“Fine.” She struggled out of the Under Armour. The cold sucked the breath out of her. She shivered into a long-sleeved t-shirt and followed that with another sweatshirt. Her jeans were next, and the Under Armour pants. Goose flesh was red and splotchy on her legs before she covered them up with a
pair of black heavy sweats with Bristol Bay printed down the side of one leg. Wool socks followed. She was feeling much better when she turned to face Skip.
He was a mess.
Much like a two-year-old who’d just learned to change himself, his jeans were off and he was struggling into another pair. They weren’t going on easily with only one good arm and his skin being wet. He still had on his soaked shirt. She should have thought how hard changing his clothes would have been before she’d changed her own. Now she felt like mud on the bottom of his boots.
“I’m sorry, Skip.” She reached out to help pull up his jeans. He sighed with what she assumed was relief and let his good arm drop away, letting her take over.
She buttoned the jeans and went to pull up his zipper. Well...he hadn’t lost his balls out there in the freezing sleet. Hello. Her fingers jumped away, and she swallowed. “Uh . . . you’re going to have to zip up your pants.”
“I can’t,” he said. Was there laughter in his tone? “Not one-handed. If you hold onto the crotch, I can pull up the zipper.”
“I’m not grabbing your crotch.” Fire flamed in her cheeks. She wasn’t cold anymore. “Your jeans are too small to zip up anyway.” Oh God, had she pointed that out? She wanted to die.
“It’s the crotch talk.” His words didn’t have laughter in them now. She recognized that tone. It jumpstarted areas of her body she thought had been put on the shelf.
“Listen. I’m not touching that. You’ll just have to leave your pants unzipped until... things are back down to size.”
“Things haven’t been down to size since I first saw you in the airport.” His nostrils flared, and he took a step closer to her.
She backed up, her shoulder bumping into the top of the seat hanging above her. “Not my problem.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He reached out with his good arm and hauled her against him, making sure she felt exactly how she affected him. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been not touching you?”
Impact (Wild Men of Alaska) Page 3