Up Close and Dangerous Read online

  He’d watched her as much as possible, though moving his head made his headache almost blindingly severe. When she was in his field of vision he’d watched her stagger around, then crawl around, and it infuriated him that he couldn’t help her, that he had to lie there like a useless piece of shit while she half killed herself trying to take care of the both of them. She had pushed herself way past the point where most people would have sat down and said, “I can’t do any more,” and in taking care of him she had seriously neglected her own health.

  He suspected she was dehydrated, because if she’d stopped for any nature calls during the day, he hadn’t noticed, and since regaining consciousness he’d paid very close attention to her, listening to her movements even when he couldn’t see her. She had allowed herself only a few sips of water, but at the same time she’d pushed herself physically all day long.

  On the other hand, he’d tried to replenish the fluid volume he’d lost. He had drank steadily, if not a lot at any one time, from the mouthwash bottle as the snow inside it melted, replenishing the snow from what he could reach. At one point he’d painfully rolled on his side and taken a leak—careful to aim away from the area where he was getting the snow—and Bailey had been so focused on accomplishing all her tasks that she hadn’t even noticed.

  She was so exhausted he’d let her sleep for a while before waking her to eat and drink. Holding her wasn’t exactly a hardship. Even with all the layers of clothing between them he could feel the firmness of her body, the resilience of her breasts. She kept herself trim, almost too slender for his tastes, but her muscle tone said she did it by exercise and not by starving herself.

  Good muscle mass would help keep her warm tonight, too, but even then she’d have a tougher time dealing with the cold than he would. That was another reason why he was letting her sleep now, while she could. As the temperature kept dropping she’d get colder; they both would, even with all these clothes around and over them. Their shared body heat might be enough to keep them fairly comfortable, but he suspected that around dawn the temperature would be around zero, with a windchill about thirty below. That was damn cold by anyone’s standard. The shelter did the job of protecting them from the wind, but it wasn’t airtight. Guess he’d have to suck it up and cuddle with her all night long.

  What a hardship.

  He wasn’t above taking advantage of the forced intimacy of the situation, at least as far as he was able to take advantage of anything. Nothing overt, though; for now it was enough that they’d spend the night in each other’s arms—literally. Even if they were rescued first thing in the morning, which he didn’t think could possibly happen, tonight would always be a bond between them. They would have slept together, used each other’s heat to stay alive, talked through the long hours of darkness. There wouldn’t be any going back to her former frostiness. He didn’t think she’d try, but if she did he wouldn’t let her get away with it.

  Cam didn’t pursue many women; he’d never really had to. Most pilots didn’t, unless they were bum-fuck ugly. Growing up in Texas, he’d played high school football, and that was pretty much guaranteed to make you popular with the girls. From there he’d gone straight into the Air Force Academy—cool uniforms, all the military machismo—so no problems there. Then he’d gone to flight school, got his wings, started moving up in rank. By then he’d been married, to the daughter of a colonel, so he’d deflected all the female attention that came his way. Later, after he was out of the military and divorced, nothing much had changed. Now he was a pilot and a business owner, and while he wasn’t a hound dog like Bret, when he wanted sex it was seldom difficult to find.

  Bailey, though, had all the signs of being difficult. She hadn’t been embarrassed by his hard-on, but neither had she shown the least bit of interest. Because she’d been married he had to assume she wasn’t a lesbian, so she was either totally, completely uninterested in him, or it was those damn walls she’d built around herself. Either way, he was anticipating a challenge. He almost smiled in predatory satisfaction.

  When he judged she’d slept about an hour, he turned on the little book light so she’d be able to see who he was and wouldn’t be startled, then gently shook her awake. “Bailey. It’s time to eat.”

  She surfaced a little, only to sink again as soon as he stopped shaking her. He shook her harder. “Come on, honey, you need to drink some water even if you don’t want to eat.”

  Her eyes opened, blinking slowly, and she glanced around for a moment as if she didn’t know where she was. Then she focused on him, and beneath the mound of clothing that covered them her free hand clenched on his waist. “Justice?”

  “Cam. Now that we’re sleeping together, I think you should call me by my first name.”

  A sleepy little smile touched her mouth. “Don’t get pushy. You can’t rush these things.”

  “I won’t tell.” He studied her face as best he could in the small light. There was no way to tell for certain, but he thought she was still pale. Her right cheekbone was a little swollen, and a bruise darkened the skin under her eye. She’d been battered, too, but she’d kept going. “You have a black eye,” he said, drawing his hand from under the covers to gently touch her cheekbone.

  “So what? Both of your eyes are black.”

  “Won’t be the first time.”

  She yawned. “I’m so tired,” she said drowsily. “Why did you wake me up?”

  “You need water; you’re dehydrated. And you need to eat something, if you can.”

  “You’re the one who lost so much blood. You need the water more than I do.”

  “I’ve been drinking some all day, as the snow melted. Come on, don’t argue. Drink.” He hauled the mouthwash bottle out from its resting place against his hip. He watched as she dutifully swallowed a couple of times, but she was so exhausted he could tell even that was an effort. The bottle tilted in her hand, threatening the precious liquid cargo, and he hurriedly took it from her and recapped it.

  “That’s good,” he said in encouragement. “What about the rest of that Snickers bar? Feel up to splitting it with me?”

  “I just want to sleep,” she said fretfully. “My head hurts.”

  “I know, honey. Remember those two aspirin we were each going to take? You need something in your stomach so the aspirin won’t upset it. Bite.” He held the candy bar to her lips and she took a small bite. He watched as she chewed and swallowed, before taking some of the candy himself. Then he made her take another bite. One last bite for himself, and the candy bar was gone.

  Next he had to open the first-aid kit, which she’d put in the shelter with them, and that necessitated lifting himself up on his elbow. Every muscle in his body protested the movement, but his head went into outright revolt. He paused a moment, fighting nausea, until the hammering pain settled from excruciating down to mere agony.

  When he could open his eyes, which were watering from the pain, he saw that she’d closed her eyes again. “Bailey, wake up. Aspirin.”

  Once again she made the effort to open her eyes. Carefully he fumbled through the kit until he found the two doses of aspirin, sealed in their individual plastic squares. Using his teeth, he tore open both squares, swallowing two of the tablets before giving the other two to Bailey. They each had another sip of water, to wash down the aspirin, then he stowed the bottle under the covers again so the water wouldn’t freeze during the night.

  Turning off the book light and plunging them once again into darkness, he settled her by touch, turning her so they were face-to-face, their legs tangled together. Remembering how she’d covered their heads earlier, he pulled one of the garments over their heads. There was still an opening for air, he could feel the frigid gap as clearly as if it were solid ice, but the air they were breathing was marginally warmer.

  “Good night,” she murmured, the words slurred, as she nestled closer and pressed her face against his shoulder.

  “Good night,” he said. He kissed her forehead, draped his arm