“You’ll find a water jug back in the cargo space.”
She shivered at the thought of using cold water. “It needs to be warm.”
His big shoulders moved beneath the bag. “Pans and the camp stove are back there, too. Knock yourself out.”
Blowing out a disgruntled breath, she turned back to the Jeep, stopping on the way to fish a stick out of her sandal. The stove he’d mentioned wasn’t like anything she’d ever seen; a regular camp stove she at least might have figured how to use. This one was little more than a propane canister with a pump and a ring. She gave up on the idea of hot water and slathered her face with moisturizer instead, wiping it off with a tissue in hopes of removing her makeup.
She was returning her toothbrush to her train case when she spotted Zach’s duffel. She reached out and pulled it to her, then guiltily dropped her hand to her side. But guilt didn’t stand up against a skinny little cashmere sweater that wasn’t designed to resist more than a summer evening breeze. She’d bet Mr. Preparedness owned something more appropriate for spring nights in the mountains. She grabbed the duffel bag, slammed the cargo door, then climbed into the backseat of the Jeep. She’d been a good girl who’d played by the rules—and just look where that had gotten her.
The first thing she did after settling in was lock all the doors. She recognized a horror flick situation in the making when she saw one, and she did not intend to be one of those stupid heroines who left herself wide open to a knife-wielding maniac or, worse, some backwoods boy looking to make this city girl squeal like a pig. Then she pulled Zach’s duffel onto her lap and opened it.
At first she tried not to disturb anything as she riffled through it. But that was absurd—he certainly wouldn’t be so forbearing if the situation were reversed. So she upended the bag, and moaned in ecstasy at all the goodies that tumbled out. Oh, man, socks. Warm, woolen socks. She kicked off her sandals and pulled on a pair over her frozen feet. The rest of his underwear didn’t offer much in the way of protection, so she tossed it over her shoulder into the cargo area. His jeans went the same way. But he had some luscious thermal T-shirts, and she peeled off her ineffectual little sweater and pulled one on. Then another. She topped off both with a wonderfully cozy Northface fleece pullover. Feeling a spurt of euphoria as she finally began to thaw, she pushed up the too-long sleeves and bent to check out the rest of his goodies in the weak illumination cast by the dome light.
She found a small zipper bag, but except for a condom whose worn and dented foil packet looked as though it had been rattling around the bottom of the bag for a while, his toiletries were pretty boring. Just a toothbrush and toothpaste, floss, a razor, nail clippers, aspirin, and a small tube of triple antibiotic cream. Oh, and wait. A small pocket knife. She pried open the latter’s various blades and implements.
As she was checking out the tiny corkscrew and wondering where a good bottle of wine was when you really needed it, she grew aware that her finally warm body had released Zach’s scent from the clothes she’d donned. Heat that didn’t originate from wearing sufficient clothing crawled through her veins, and she scowled, her momentary pleasure dissipating. Great. Just what she needed to make her day complete—sexual awareness of Gunga Din. She’d never understood women who were drawn to good-looking men who treated them like dirt, so darned if she was cheered by the thought of joining their ranks.
It was late; that was her problem. She needed to call it a day. Grabbing the fleece blanket, she folded the empty duffel to use as a pillow, turned off the overhead light, then wrapped up and stretched out on the backseat.
She couldn’t relax, though. The longer she lay there, the spookier the sounds she heard outside the car. She thought woods were supposed to be quiet. Then, as if the situation wasn’t already about as lousy as it could get, nature called. Well, she wasn’t answering. She’d let her bladder explode before she’d venture into the trees surrounding this small camping spot. Nervous, stiff, and miserable, she tried to talk herself out of jumping at every unexplained noise.
But it was only by thinking of the various ways she could make Zach pay that she eventually lulled herself to sleep.
6
ZACH WOKE UP TO SNOW. SWEARING, HE SAT UP and threw back his sleeping bag, which was weighed down with half an inch of the sloppy, wet stuff. He reached beneath the Jeep for his shoes. This frigging trip was cursed.
At least he’d had the foresight to throw his Marine-issue poncho over his bag before going to sleep last night. Being spared the scent of wet sleeping bag was a small blessing to be sure, but he’d take his boons where he could get them.
Not that he’d gone right to sleep. He’d twisted and turned in that damn narrow bag for a good forty-five minutes after Lily had finally quit messing around and turned off the light in the Jeep. Twisted, and turned, and relived, over and over again, that brief moment he’d held her. Burned everywhere her soft weight had touched him. And didn’t that just take the fucking cake?
Cold, clammy, and pissed off, he donned his shoes, then snapped out the poncho wet-side down over the spot where he’d lain, using it as protection against the soggy ground while he rolled up his bag. Tucking the roll beneath his arm, he strode to the Jeep, shivering when a wet flake found its way down his neck just as he reached for the cargo hatch handle.
The hatch was locked, and he slapped his pants’ pockets for the keys before remembering he’d left them in the ignition. Rounding the vehicle, he tried the driver’s door handle, but it didn’t budge either. He swore under his breath and peered in the windows just as dawn broke through the trees, marginally brightening the ash-gray sky. Well, great. All the doors were locked up tight, and Lily was asleep in the backseat, covered from stem to stern by the purple fleece blanket. Wisps of blonde hair were the only part of her he could see.
He rapped on the window, and felt an unworthy sense of satisfaction when she startled beneath the blanket. She raised her head, then slowly pushed up on one elbow, glancing around as if wondering where she was. Their gazes met through the window, and she blinked and gave him a sleepy smile.
It was a friendly smile, a sweet smile, and something jerked in his gut. Something else clamored for attention in his brain. Gritting his teeth, he ignored them both. “Unlock the door.”
He saw the exact moment her mind engaged enough to remind her he wasn’t her friend. She was in the midst of stretching for the mechanism to comply with his command when she suddenly stilled. Her hand dropped to her side and she struggled upright, wrapping the fleece blanket tightly around her. What the hell—was that his Northface she was wearing? “Will you move it?” he growled. “Let me in.”
“No,” she said.
“Dammit, Lily, open the door! It’s snowing out here.”
“I can see that. Are you cold?”
“Yes!” And that was his jacket. The giveaway was the fact that it was about ten sizes too big for her.
“Well, gee, that’s a crying shame. Although as I recall it, you didn’t care that I was cold last night.”
“Hey, I offered to share my bag.” Big mistake. Not only did her upper lip curl in disdain, but his dick had a déjà vu moment of the instant just after he’d proposed the option, when the ramifications of a possible acceptance had left him in a half erect state. He rattled the door. “Lemme in!”
“There are some things we need to discuss first.”
He regarded her warily. “Like what?”
“I want a few concessions.”
“Shit.” But he knew he probably wouldn’t get in without them—not without a lot of bother on his part. Mentally calculating how far he was willing to go, he demanded, “What do you want?”
“Bathroom stops I don’t have to fight for, for starters.”
“Oh.” It caught him by surprise…then left him feeling guilty. Denying her those yesterday had been petty of him. “Okay, sure.”
“And your word that you’ll behave civilly from now on.”
Now, that was a tou
gher one, especially considering his less-than-cheerful frame of mind lately. Still, he nodded. “You’ve got it.” He watched through the window as she pulled her heels up on the seat next to her round little butt, pinched the toes of her socks—no, his socks, by God—and pulled them off her feet, trading them for her sandals. It was a sad day when a woman’s naked feet got him itching. He raked his fingers through his hair. “What else?”
Dropping her feet to the floor, she straightened and fixed him with a stern glare. “I want water so I can wash up. Hot water.”
“I’ll get right on that—the minute I have access to the camp stove.”
“Okay, then.” She stretched over the front seat to flip the mechanism that opened all the locks.
That was easier—not to mention a whole lot cheaper—than he’d expected. He went around to the cargo hatch and popped it open just as Lily tumbled out of the jeep and trotted awkwardly toward the stand of trees, a wad of tissues clenched in one fist. The sight brought a sardonic smile to Zach’s lips, and he reached for the camp stove to heat her water. Damned if he hadn’t been out-bluffed.
His amusement fled when he saw his belongings scattered all over the cargo area, and it suffered a further downturn when he went looking for a dry shirt to put on and discovered his two long-sleeved thermal T’s were gone. It was all he could do not to glare at Lily when she returned a short while later. “Give me back my shirts.”
“Excuse me?” She cocked an expectant eyebrow at him.
Words he forced himself to swallow went down like ground glass. “Please.”
To his surprise she immediately removed his Northface, laying the jacket inside the hatch. Then she reached for the hem of his burgundy T and peeled it off over her head. When she removed the silver one beneath it, her own top came partway with it, hitching up to expose a golden slice of skin just above her jeans waistband.
“Here, you wear this one,” she said amiably, handing him the silver, waffle-weave shirt. “It does the most for your eyes. But I get to keep the burgundy one—at least until I warm up.” She put it back on, then had to reroll the sleeves several times to prevent them from flopping over her fingertips.
Without her usual sky-high heels, the top of her head barely reached his chest, and his shirt wasn’t simply long in the sleeves on her; it hung clear down to her knees. “You look like a damn kid playing dress-up,” he muttered insincerely. No way in hell would anyone ever mistake her for a child. Not with those round hips or the sweet curve of her breasts pushing against his T.
He hated it that he was so physically aware of her. But when she pressed a hot wash cloth to her face a moment later and moaned in pure pleasure, he immediately thought of sex, down-and-dirty sex, in one position after another, each one of which flashed raunchier than the last across the screen of his mind. Disgusted, he stomped away and went to stand with his face lifted to the sluggishly falling snow.
Shit. Being rude to women might not be the way he was raised, but it had sure been a dandy cushion between him and the pull of Lily’s sexuality. Now, because a deal was a deal, and he always kept his word, that cushion was gone.
Busy dealing with the nasty suspicion that this civility business just might be the death of him, he failed to notice the old Ford LTD parked behind the big wooden site map when he drove past it soon after.
Hours later Zach conceded that sometimes a man would just as soon not be right. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth as he drove through the sweeping ranch land of southern Oregon. Dammit, did I call this or what? A guy honors his word to be polite and just look where it gets him—ass-deep in sexual frustration.
It was the very thing he’d feared, and observing Lily’s feminine rituals sure as hell hadn’t helped. At the campsite earlier she’d accommodated his need to hit the road by merely washing her face and brushing her teeth, then immediately restoring order to his trashed duffel bag without him saying a word. As soon as they’d gotten underway, though, she’d balanced her train case in her lap and started doing the girly thing.
She’d applied lotions and scents and war paint with a skill and feminine appreciation for the process that was downright erotic. From the corner of his eye he’d seen her mouth drop open slightly as she leaned into the mirror to apply mascara, watched her lips purse as she stroked on lipstick. She’d combed and teased her hair, then applied something to it and mussed it all up again until it looked as if a man’s hands had just lost their grip on it in the wake of some world-class oral servicing.
Jesus, Taylor. He shifted in his seat. What’re you, a masochist? Don’t even go there.
It was the direction in which his mind kept wandering, though. A short while ago she’d decided she was finally warm enough and had peeled off his thermal T-shirt. It was a fairly utilitarian stripping, but he couldn’t have been more affected if she’d been working the stage pole at the Pussy-Kat Club. That was approximately the same time he’d begun to notice that the silver T-shirt he wore—the one that “did the most for his eyes,” for crissake—bore her scent. Man, he was beginning to lose it. But why the hell couldn’t she be a tall brunette? None of this would be an issue if she were a tall, dark-haired woman, since for some odd reason they’d never held much attraction for him.
And why didn’t she say something? Yesterday he’d been perfectly content to spend the entire drive without exchanging a word, but today he needed a distraction from all this awareness. Hell, at this point he’d even welcome a dialogue about David Beaumont, sister-hustling, money-grubbing little pissant that he was. But although Zach’s body kept hearing the whisper of come on and get me, big boy from Lily’s lush curves, except for a single request for a pit stop about forty minutes ago, she hadn’t uttered one word in the three hours they’d been on the road.
To be fair, she was probably waiting for him to demonstrate good faith and start the conversation himself. But he couldn’t think of a thing to say.
Then, almost as if she could read his thoughts, Lily suddenly shifted in her seat to look at him. “Glynnis once told me she was born in Africa.”
All right! This is more like it. “Yeah, she was.”
“She said she was too young to remember it, but that you actually lived there for quite a while?”
“Yep.” Not exactly chatty, bud. He’d better improve on the monosyllabic responses or he’d be right back where he’d started—and that was a situation he wanted to avoid at all costs. “I lived in numerous small villages on the veldt of south and east Africa until I was eleven.”
“The veldt of Africa,” she repeated dreamily. “It sounds like something out of a Karen Blixen novel. That must have been so fascinating. And your parents! Your sister mentioned they were doctors whose specialty was working with the natives. I know she’s terribly proud of them. You must have been, too.”
“Proud? Yeah, I suppose so.” Mostly, though, an unsatisfied yearning was the feeling that came to mind when he thought of his parents. Their grand passion for each other and for their work hadn’t left much over for anyone else, and the benign neglect that had been his childhood had taught him early on that you couldn’t rely on others for your emotional well-being. But if he’d often felt left out, even forgotten, at least he’d had the freedom of the veldt. Running with the nomadic Maasia tribesmen in the high open grasslands had given him his first taste for adventure and gone a long way toward alleviating his loneliness.
Then, that too, had been denied him shortly after Glynnis was born, when his mother and father, who’d claimed to love them so much, had shipped him and his infant sister back to the states. “Glynnis never actually had the opportunity to know our parents,” he heard himself admit. “I might have romanticized them a bit for her benefit.”
“How so?”
He had to hand it to her; she was all big-eyed curiosity. Yet even the cynical suspicion that she couldn’t possibly be that interested didn’t prevent him from responding to all that intense attention being focused on him. “They were rabid about the
plight of the natives, which made them excellent doctors. But they weren’t exactly the most attentive mom and dad in the world. They packed us off to our grandparents in Philadelphia when Glynnie was less than six months old, and they only ever bothered to come see her a handful of times after that. Yet I could hardly tell her that other people obviously mattered more to them than she did, could I? They were the only parents she had.” He shrugged to make clear his supreme indifference. “So I emphasized the great demands put on them by their humanitarian deeds.” He shot her a quick sideways glance, then turned his attention back on the road. “For Glynnis’s sake I always hoped the situation would someday change, but as you already know, a fever swept through the village where they worked when Glynnis was eight, and it killed them both.”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
He shrugged again. “Given the conditions they routinely worked in, it was bound to happen.”
But Lily watched a flash of pain come and go across his face, and her stomach performed a funny little somersault. Okay, so maybe he’s not the demon spawn I pegged him to be. Observing his profile from beneath her lashes, she deduced that his hopes for a change in his parents’ situation probably hadn’t been merely for Glynnis’s sake. And Lily had to wonder: Where the heck had he come into the equation? He’d talked about other people mattering more to his parents than his sister, but what about him? He’d lived with them for eleven years before Glynnis was even born—what had happened during that decade that their only son seemed not to expect any attention for himself? For the first time since clapping eyes on him in his Laguna Beach kitchen, she found herself regarding him not as a gorgeous hunk or an insulting Neanderthal, but as an intriguing puzzle she’d very much like to figure out.
Getting Lucky Page 7