“Let me.” He flashed her a quizzical look. “We camped a lot when I was little. I used to go with my aunt and uncle in the summers hunting things for the shop. We’d find some out of the way towns and go to auctions and estate sales. Uncle Henry would wander down back roads and we’d stop at old houses and ask if they had any old stuff.”
“Must be happy memories,” Nick said. “You’re smiling. You should do that more often.”
“We were like those pickers on that TV show. Aunt Ellen had an eye for jewelry and glassware, and Uncle Henry bought old clocks and wooden chests. Anyway ….”
Alyssa unclamped the handle, and the pans detached from each other. She set up the propane burner while he took the largest pan – a small bucket – and headed for the stream. When he returned, she lit the burner with a lighter she found in the grocery sack. In a few minutes the water was hot.
Alyssa set the bucket of hot water at the end of the picnic table and held the mirror while he trimmed his beard with the scissors. Then he smoothed on shaving cream and picked up a razor.
“Well,” he said, gazing directly into her eyes, “here goes.”
He winced at the razor’s bite, and then puffed out his cheeks and drew the razor over them. He tilted his face up to take off the whiskers under his chin. Three razors, several nicks and a few curses later he finally looked clean-shaven.
He wiped his face with the towel and grimaced at his reflection. Alyssa lowered the mirror.
“Now I remember why I hate shaving.” He turned his head back and forth. “Well,” he said, “What do you think?”
“You look … younger, not so bookish.”
His cheeks reddened. “Not an average college prof?”
“No.”
Nick picked up the scissors and made snipping motions. “Your turn.”
She eyed him. “You’re not cutting my hair. Period. Especially since I don’t think you’ve ever cut anybody’s hair before.”
“As a matter of fact,” he said with a wicked grin, “no.” He lowered his voice to a seductive whisper. “This is my first time.”
Alyssa groaned at the double entendre. “No.”
“You don’t get off lightly,” Nick said. “I shaved my beard.”
“You’ve shaved before.”
“Do you want to do it yourself?” She must have looked stricken, because he said, “I’m kidding,” and put the scissors back in the bag. He pulled out a couple of hair clips.
She took them, bunched her hair in one hand, twisted it and secured it to the back of her head with a clip.
“The cut’s healing.” He leaned toward her and ran a finger across the sutures.
Heat rose from Alyssa’s mid-section. She could not draw away from him.
“Good, good,” she said.
The pressure of his finger left her skin. His breath caressed her forehead. She was glad she wasn’t standing, because her knees felt weak, incapable of holding her weight. He held her gaze for a long moment, then turned and reached in the sack. Like a magician executing a magic trick, he produced a burgundy T-shirt for himself, a pink one for her and two Detroit Tiger baseball caps. He plunked one of the caps on her head.
“Looks good on you,” he said. He took off his denim shirt, then the holstered gun, which he discretely laid on the far end of the table, covering it with the shirt. Then he removed his travel-stained polo shirt. Alyssa stared at the scar on his upper chest. He pulled the T-shirt on. It was printed with an outline of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula surrounded by the slogan: I’m a Yooper and you’re not!
Alyssa chuckled.
“We’ll fit in.” He looked down at the T-shirt. “I wonder who first coined Yooper for Upper Peninsula natives. I suppose it’s better than being called a You Pee-er. Whoever it was probably wishes he’d trademarked it.”
He held up the pink shirt. It bore an outline of Michigan – not just the mitten, but also the Upper Peninsula, larger than it should be.
Alyssa took it and gestured with a twirling finger. “Turn around.”
He turned his back to her. She set the baseball cap on the picnic table, slipped off her shirt and pulled the clean pink tee over her head. It was cut lower than she liked and was a bit tight.
“Okay,” she said, hugging her arms to her chest.
He turned around and stared at her for a long moment.
“You look ….” He swallowed.
Alyssa donned the cap and looked at herself in the mirror. “Well, I do look different. It’s not too bad, is it?”
“Cute, you look very cute,” he said, his voice gruff. He cleared his throat.
“Can I save my hair if I keep it pulled up?”
“Sure, sure.” He turned away, picked up the empty bag and folded it.
Alyssa glanced at the other sack. “What else do you have?”
He withdrew a bottle of wine which he handed to her, and then a few bottles of water. He poured the remaining contents onto the table.
“Lunch.”
“Food,” she said. There was an empty chasm in her midsection.
He’d bought several plastic-wrapped roast beef sandwiches on white bread, a large container of potato salad, two plastic spoons, two slightly misshapen plastic cups and two small plastic bowls. Last out of the sack were a few packets of cat food.
“Shall we dine?” he said.
She pointed to the cat food. “No, thank you. I prefer sandwiches.”
He laughed, and the worry lines vanished from his forehead. He looked … handsome. Desirable. Good grief. Where had that come from?
While he opened the wine – he unscrewed the cap – she went to the van and fed Bella. The cat pounced on it. Alyssa left some fresh water in her bowl and returned to the picnic table. Nick handed her a cup of wine.
He raised his cup. “A toast, Mademoiselle.”
Alyssa raised hers. “To what?”
“To my new look, which is very necessary, and to your new look which is very becoming. If I do say so myself.”
Alyssa cheeks warmed. “Thank you,” she said. Why did she feel so self-conscious? Why was she drawn to him?
He took a long swig from his cup, sat down and opened a sandwich.
Alyssa sipped her wine. “Ah,” she said. “My favorite vintage. A two-month old Cabernet.” She took a bite of sandwich and swallowed. “And roast beef ala last week.”
“Sorry I forgot mayo. But it’s nourishing. People who go around in disguises have to keep up their strength. Let’s just pretend that we’re dining at a bistro in Paris. The fountains are splashing, the violins are playing, and we hear the sounds of laughing children as we gaze at the architectural marvel that is the Cathedral de Notre Dame.”
Alyssa wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry at the absurdity of the situation. She plowed into her sandwich while he continued his story between bites. “Cheese, Pierre, I will say to the waiter. Your best cheese, for the lady. And baguettes, we must have baguettes for this lovely boeuf. More wine, Mademoiselle?” He raised the bottle.
“Merci, Monsieur, s’il vous plait.” She held out her cup. “At least it makes me feel warmer.”
He raised his eyebrows. “You speak zee language, eh?”
“Je parle un peu le français. Nick, mon accent est trés mal. I said I speak a little French. In case you didn’t follow that.”
“I followed it,” Nick said. “And your accent is passable.”
She took another sip of wine. For the moment, safe under the trees, she could imagine there was no danger.
“Pierre, Pierre. S’il vous plait,” she said in the spirit of the game. “No more. Je desire, I want cakes, cookies, and chocolat, chocolat. Do you desire chocolat, Monsieur Nick?”
“Je desire ….” He coughed and cleared his throat. “Oui, I do desire chocolat, s’il vous plait.” He paused. “Did you study French?”
She smiled. “College. I always wanted to go to Paris, but I didn’t have the money or I couldn’t manage the time. Or something held me b
ack. Aunt Ellen needed my help in the summers, especially as she got older and, for a variety of reasons, I never went. I’d still like to go sometime.”
Nick’s gaze thrilled her with its open invitation. “I’d like to show you Paris, Alyssa. It’s a beautiful city. A little cheap in places, with all the faults of most big cities – slums, crime, urban decay – but still beautiful.”
Alyssa looked into his dark eyes. “How did I ever get involved with you?”
“Fate,” he said. “Karma.”
What kind of Karma?
She wolfed two of the sandwiches. Nick polished off three, while she ate the last of the potato salad. She handed him the empty container and the other spoon and started to pick up the wrappers. He waved her away.
“No, no. Mademoiselle must not clean up. Zat is zee duty of zee kitchen help. I clean.” He capped the plastic container, put the trash into the grocery sack and, along with the rest of their meager supplies, wisely put everything in the back of the Suburban, safe from bears and raccoons.
“Okay, Mr. Bond,” she said. “What’s the plan?”
He came to the picnic table and held up the wine bottle. “More?”
“That’s your plan? Get me drunk?”
He looked so crestfallen she laughed. “No,” she said. “Two is my limit.”
He took the cup. His fingers brushed against hers, lingered, too long. Slowly, she released the cup, and he set it and the bottle on the table. Then his hands were on her arms, and he drew her to her feet. She rested her hands on his chest, felt the beating of his heart.
“Do you know you’re beautiful?” he said, his voice husky.
She couldn’t look up at his face. She was afraid if she did she would drown in the delicious sensations that swept through her. Considering the danger he had introduced to her life, how could she trust this man with her heart?
He reached one hand beneath her chin and tilted her head back. “Do you know?” he whispered. His breath was warm on her face and smelled of wine and roast beef.
Her knees trembled, and it wasn’t from lack of food. She was acutely aware of his body against hers, the hard muscles of his thighs, the movement of his chest beneath her hands as he breathed.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t know anything of the kind. I think ... I think you can’t possibly be right.”
A sudden burst of rain showered down on them.
“Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. Water dripped from the bill of her cap.
Nick released her, grabbed the towels and other things from the table, along with his weapon, and they ducked into the tent.
“Damned rain,” Nick growled, zipping the flap. He set the armload of items down on the tent floor and turned to her. “Now, where were we before the rain interrupted?” His voice was low and intense.
Alyssa swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I was telling you you’re nuts. I don’t even know you.”
“I may be nuts, but I know beautiful, and you are.”
He took her right hand and raised it to his lips, kissed her palm and closed her fingers around the kiss. She trembled. Emotional terror flooded her body and mind. Queasiness roiled in her mid-section, and she tasted bile. A tiny voice in her mind screamed “Danger.”
This could not happen, and yet she was powerless to stop.
He inched closer to her. “Cold?”
She shook her head, unable to speak, mesmerized by his eyes.
His arms circled her, and Alyssa let him pull her against him. His lips gently brushed hers. Not giving back to him, but not drawing away, she focused on the pleasurable sensations. Warmth spread through her. His arms kept reality away. His lips left hers, and he took her cap off and sailed it into a corner of the tent. His fingers entwined in her hair, sending shivers down her back. Not from cold. How could she have let this happen? She still had a vague plan to escape.
“You kissed me,” she said, breathless.
“Yeah. I did.” He sighed. “Oh, Alyssa. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Need quivered through her body. She raised her chin and found his lips with hers. The kiss began soft and tremulous, but his mouth became urgent, hungry. Alyssa responded in kind, and the heat of passion spread like fire through her.
He pulled away with a groan. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Alyssa wanted him in spite of his arrogance, despite her anger and mistrust. And with her body pressed to his, his need was obvious.
He pushed her away. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to hurt you.”
For a moment she thought he meant physical risk, then realized he meant the emotional kind.
“You could let me decide if I want to take the chance,” she said.
“I’m making the decision for you.” There was anger in his voice. “I can’t do this.” He turned away from her, leaving her shaky. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I can’t make a commitment under the circumstances.” He bent and stepped into the rain, letting the flap close behind him.
Trembling, she sank onto the sleeping bag and curled into a ball. Her mind refused to settle into coherent thought. Raindrops pattered on the tent. Tears filled her eyes, but sleep claimed her before she figured out what had gone wrong, and why she cared.
Chapter 13
Alyssa awoke sometime later chilled despite Nick’s sport coat over her. Bella snuggled against her belly. Nick must have gotten the cat and brought her to the tent. The rain had stopped. Alyssa didn’t feel exhausted anymore or on the edge of hysteria. She had no idea what she would say to him.
She stretched, and Bella leapt up and meowed to be let out.
“Where is he, kitty? Where did he go?” She ruffled the cat’s gray fur.
Bella responded with a shake of her head and rubbed against Alyssa’s legs.
“Okay, okay, I’m hurrying.” She grabbed the cat and, limping, moving somewhat easier, deposited her in the Suburban.
No Nick. The Suburban keys were a prominent lump on the otherwise empty picnic table. She could drive away, stop at the nearest telephone, and call the police.
She moved toward the table and stood for a long moment, staring at the keys. She could not run away. Against her rational judgment she felt something for this man. She wanted to believe it was genuine, not something she could callously leave behind. She believed he was a good man caught up in perilous circumstances, trying to make things right for himself and for her. She had to stick around and find out if his feelings for her were more than he admitted. She conceded the possibility their situation might be hopeless. That either he would not survive, or he would simply go back into his manufactured life as a protected witness. Either way, she would have to go on without him
Had he already left her? She sank to the picnic table bench. Maybe she was a liability. She really didn’t know him. Maybe through some twisted idea of chivalry, he’d left to avoid endangering her. Or worse, he didn’t care about her at all.
She jumped to her feet. Tracks, maybe he’d left tracks. She moved around, staring at the ground, searching for signs. What kind of shoes was he wearing? Some kind of hiking shoe. Perhaps they had a distinctive pattern on the sole. Of course, she didn’t know what that pattern was.
She stopped, realizing she had circled to the back of the tent in her search.
“Nothing,” she muttered. “This is stupid, Alyssa, stupid.”
“What’s stupid?”
She whirled, fist raised, and swung, landing a glancing blow on Nick’s left ear.
“Ow,” he yelped and ducked away from further punishment. He was wearing only jeans, and his hair was wet. Both towels were draped around his neck. He held his shirt partially wrapped around his holstered gun.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Alyssa said. “I didn’t see you, I mean, I didn’t know it was you. It was a reflex –”
“You have excellent reflexes,” he said, holding his ear. “Who were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. You just startled me. I’m reall
y sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, no, don’t worry.” He flexed his jaw. “My hearing should return eventually.”
“Oooh,” Alyssa raised a fist, but he caught her wrist before the blow landed.
“I’m kidding,” he said, and released her. “What are you doing back here talking to yourself? Misplace the cat?”
She stiffened. Somehow it seemed wrong to blame Bella.
“I thought you left. I thought you might have taken off, maybe to spare me.”
“Or because I’m a jerk?”
“Maybe. But if you were a jerk, you would have taken the Suburban. So I thought you’d walked off and I could follow your ... tracks.”
“You thought you could track me?”
Alyssa could not fathom the look he gave her. “I wanted you to know that I didn’t want you to leave. That you don’t have to spare me. That you’re … that I’m … I don’t know how to say this.”
“Don’t say anything, Alyssa. Maybe ….” He cleared his throat. “Maybe it’s better if you don’t. I can’t make promises.”
“I’m not asking for promises.”
“You deserve them. I wish I could make them. But I can’t.”
He leaned toward her as if to kiss her.
She held her ground. “If you kiss me, I’ll box your other ear.”
For a long moment he gazed at her. He reached toward her, and before she could flinch away, he brushed back an errant strand of hair.
“All right,” he said. “I won’t.”
She stepped back from him. “Where have you been?”
“Checking up on me?”
“No, it’s just that you’re wet.”
“I went for a swim. There’s a place you can dive if you don’t go deep.” He handed her a half empty travel size bottle of shampoo. “It wasn’t ideal, but I feel a lot cleaner.” He handed her the towels. “Sorry they’re both damp. Want to try it?”
She took the shampoo and towels. “After being shot at, riding in the car for two days and sleeping in a tent, it sounds wonderful.”
“It’s cold.”
“I don’t care.”
She went through the trees where Nick pointed and found the swimming hole. With a wary glance back, she shed her clothes, unwrapped her ankle and eased in. The water was cold. She ducked under in one motion. After the initial shock, it felt wonderful. She drifted a few yards to a sandy area where she stood in waist deep water and washed her hair, then used the shampoo to soap her body. She dunked the lather away and climbed up on the grassy bank. Shivering, but glad to feel clean, she dried herself as best she could. She dressed and fluffed her hair with her fingers.
Double Danger Page 14