Up Close and Dangerous Read online

  “We should get some sleep,” he said, closely watching her every expression. “We’ve had a tiring day.”

  The sun had set and full darkness was rapidly chasing the twilight. Soon, she thought as she stretched out and nestled under their cover. He put on his shoes to go out and feed the fire, then returned to lie down beside her. His heavy arm draped over her waist and he pulled her to him, turning her so her face was nestled against his throat. He smelled like the aloe wipes, and wood smoke, and man.

  He put his hand under all the shirts she wore, cupped her breast, rubbed the roughened side of his thumb over her nipple and brought it to tingling erection. She inhaled sharply. She’d meant to be calm, but calmness was beyond her. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe. This shouldn’t matter so much. He shouldn’t matter so much. Unfortunately, what should or should not be had no relation to what was.

  He kissed her, his mouth light on hers. She was so tightly wound that for a moment she couldn’t relax, couldn’t respond. Just as she was beginning to sink against him, return the pressure of his mouth, he moved his lips to her temple. “Good night.”

  Good night?

  Good night! She stiffened in disbelief. She’d worked herself into a frenzy of worry and anticipation, and he wanted to sleep?

  “No!” she protested, outrage in her tone.

  “Yes.” He kissed her again, his hand still heavy on her breast. “You’re tired. I’m tired. Go to sleep.”

  “Who died and put you in charge?” she demanded furiously. Oh, great; she’d descended to teenage taunts. This was twice in one day he’d destroyed her poise, she who never let turmoil ruffle the smooth surface of her life. She’d always been so careful not to let anyone matter this much to her, for this very reason…

  She went very still as she gave up on her last shred of avoidance, which wasn’t working anyway. She could rationalize and hedge her bets all she wanted, but she was wasting both time and effort. Could she have fallen in love with him in just four days? As he’d pointed out, the time they’d been together was now the equivalent of about nineteen or twenty dates. Logically, he was right.

  This was love. This was what people talked about, this painful, giddy, sorrowful, joyful, confusing explosion of emotion that didn’t respond to reason. It was like being drunk without the depressing effects that slowed thought and function. It was feeling helpless and revved up all at the same time, as if her skin were too tight for her body.

  He didn’t respond to her taunt, other than to kiss her forehead as if he understood the turmoil that gripped her. Well, why wouldn’t he? He’d been in love before. He had experience. Maybe with enough experience she wouldn’t find herself acting like a fool, either, but she hoped to hell she never felt like this again. Once was enough. If this didn’t work out, she’d join a convent or maybe move to Florida where she’d be surrounded by people old enough to be her parents and she wouldn’t be tempted again.

  She jerked his hand away from her breast and threw it to the side. “If we aren’t going to have sex, then keep your hands to yourself.” Realizing she was probably in love with him just made her angrier. Also realizing that she was on the verge of a temper tantrum was humiliating. She’d be damned if she’d beg him for sex. She’d be damned if she’d let him even if he begged for sex. She wanted to kick him. She wanted to grab his penis and twist it. That would teach him. Instead of Good Time Charlie, he’d have to rename it Corkscrew Charlie.

  She could feel him shaking, just a little, feel the ragged edge to his breathing. He was laughing, damn him, though he had the good sense to try to hide it.

  Bailey turned away from him, her fury renewed by the simple fact that she couldn’t even move so she wasn’t touching him. They had to touch; they had to lie close together, had to share their warmth.

  Just to show him how little he mattered, she would go to sleep. And she hoped she snored.

  Temptation gnawed at her. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to mangle him. Oh, hell—it had to be love.

  She’d rather have plague. At least it was curable.

  Calming herself took a good half hour, a half hour during which she felt him awake and watchful, attuned to every breath she took. How dare he be concerned about her? If he was truly that concerned, he’d have given her what she wanted.

  It was a testament to her willpower that she truly did go to sleep.

  30

  BAILEY GENTLY SURFACED TO THE PLEASURE OF HIS WARM, hard hand moving from one breast to another, massaging and stroking. There was no sense of disorientation; she knew him immediately, knew who held her so securely. He lightly pulled and pinched her nipples, his hand slow and sure as he brought them to hardness. Pleasure eddied from her breasts in lazy ripples, flowing through her, beginning to call up the heat and fullness of desire.

  She floated drowsily between pleasure and sleep. If she wanted more, all she had to do was push back against the erection that was prodding her. A simple invitation was all that was needed…

  Her eyes snapped open as memory flooded back.

  “Get that damn thing away from me!” she snapped, jerking away and trying to fight free of the heavy layers of clothes as well as his imprisoning arm. If he thought he could blow hot and cold and she’d jump to his tune, then his powers of perception sucked.

  He fell over onto his back, laughing so hard she thought he’d choke. She thought about helping him choke. Finally she managed to roll over onto her stomach and lift herself on her elbows. She glared at him through the curtain of hair hanging in her face. He must have just replenished the fire, though she hadn’t awakened when he left the shelter. The light from the fire was flickering brightly, reflecting on the rock behind him and casting enough light into the shelter that she could see him fairly well as he clutched his stomach and howled with laughter. Gimlet-eyed, she waited for him to realize she didn’t see any humor in this at all.

  “I can’t exactly take it off and put it in my pocket when I’m not using it,” he finally managed to say, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “I don’t care where you put it,” she said flatly. “Just stop poking me with it.”

  “I would ask if you’re in a better mood than when you went to sleep, but offhand I’d say no.” He was still smiling as he settled on his side again, curling a muscled arm under his head and with the other reaching to hook his hand around her waist and drag her back into position. She went stiffly, unhappy with the situation but knowing they pretty much had to sleep in that position. The only other options were to lie face-to-face in each other’s arms, which she wasn’t willing to do, or for her to spoon him, which she also wasn’t willing to do. His thighs slid against hers, her shoulders rested against his chest, and his body heat once more surrounded her—and the bulge in his pants nestled against her bottom, just like before.

  He smoothed a tendril of hair out of her face, and irritably she jerked her head away from his touch. “I’ve been trying to wake you up for half an hour,” he murmured.

  “I don’t know why. You wanted me to sleep; I was sleeping. Leave me alone.”

  His arm tightened around her. “I was trying to be considerate. You were so nervous you wouldn’t have enjoyed it,” he explained.

  Her lips tightened. “How would you know? You didn’t give me a chance.”

  “No point in taking the chance. You’d been getting more and more tense all afternoon. I don’t know what was bothering you, but I could wait until you were either ready to talk about it or you came to terms with it yourself.”

  “Stop trying to be so understanding,” she said grumpily. “It doesn’t suit you.” But she didn’t elbow him when he snuggled her closer.

  “So, are you ready to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  “Have you come to terms with it, whatever it is?”

  “No! Leave me alone, I told you. I want to go to sleep.” She wasn’t at all sleepy now, but he didn’t have to know that.

  He pushed her hair to