She took a deep breath, only a little comforted that his own breathing was harder and faster than usual. “No, I think this is as far as we should go,” she said. “Thank you. Asshole.”
He levered himself to the side but remained propped on his elbow, leaning over her. His expression took on a slight smugness. “Feeling a little tempted, huh?” he asked, lightly tracing her lips with one fingertip.
Denying it would only make her a liar. “Enjoying kissing you doesn’t make the issues go away.”
“Exactly what issues are we talking about? Everything looks pretty cut and dried to me. You either like me or you don’t-on the evidence, I’d say you do-and you either want to stay here or you don’t.”
“You’d be my boss,” she pointed out.
“I don’t think that would stop you from telling me off if you thought I needed it.” His tone was wry. Then his gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you think I’d use that to pressure you into sleeping with me?”
“No, I’m thinking more what it would say about me if I slept with the boss.” She scowled up at him. “And that would mean I’d decided to sleep with you, which I haven’t, so you can see why I need to think this out.”
He fell over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. “God save me from a woman’s way of thinking. What the hell kind of logic is that? One has nothing to do with the other.”
“Maybe not to you, but let’s face it, you’re plankton, and I’m a higher life form. Details matter to me.”
His lips quirked and, without turning his head, he cut his gaze to her. Sounding a tad disgruntled, he said, “Plankton?”
“Maybe algae.”
“How about a fucking amoeba?”
“Amoebas don’t fuck, they just divide.”
“Hummph.” He made a growly noise and lay there looking annoyed. “That would be me, then, because evidently I don’t fuck, either.”
Angie turned onto her side facing him, smiling. Lying here like this with him was way, way too intimate, but in a completely unexpected way just talking with him was even more enticing. He was funny and sexy, grumpy and profane, and she didn’t think she’d ever get bored listening to him. “Not right now, anyway. So, ruling out getting naked, what are we going to do all day? Did you bring any books with you? Cards? You weren’t planning to sit up here for a week with nothing to entertain yourself, I hope?”
“I have books
“Your sense of fair play.”
“You’re way fucking off-base there. I play to win.”
“Wouldn’t that be ‘fay wucking’?”
“Never heard of her.”
He made her beg for the books, but he wasn’t serious so she didn’t mind. Then he pulled the books from his saddlebags and she could have hit him, because if she’d known what they were beforehand she definitely wouldn’t have begged. One was an extremely dry and technical book on custom-loading your own shells, and the other was a geological study of the earth’s tectonic plates. She gave him an appalled look. “Couldn’t you at least have some popular fiction?”
“I do, but it’s at home. I figure the only way I’ll read this shit is if I don’t have anything else to read, so this was the perfect time.”
She laughed and put the books aside, picked up the deck of cards. “What do you want to play? Blackjack, Texas Hold ’em, rummy?”
“Not rummy. That’s a sissy-ass game.”
“Ah ha. That means you’re afraid I’ll kick your ass at rummy, so you don’t want to play it.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “You think?” He moved so he was sitting cross-legged on the mattress, facing her. “Game on, Powell.”
She should have remembered his years in the military. He played rummy as ruthlessly as if it were war, but she was pretty good herself, if she did say so, and once she realized how good he was she buckled down, concentrated, and won two out of four. He wanted to go for a tie-breaker, of course, but she refused. “What good is that? If you beat me, you’ll crow about it, and that would lower my opinion of you. If I win, you’ll pout, and that’ll lower my opinion of you. Trust me, you won’t come out looking good no matter what happens.”
He chuckled as he shuffled and dealt. “You hate losing, don’t you?”
“Like poison.”
“Good to know. So when we fight, I should let you win at least half the time?”
“
“You’ll never know, will you?” He gave her that smug smirk and began dealing out the cards. “Texas Hold ’em. What’s the bet?”
“Bet? We’re playing for funsies.”
He stopped dealing. “I don’t play for fucking funsies. Cards are serious.”
“You just played rummy for fun.”
“No, I played rummy to prove to you I could beat you at it.”
“Is everything a contest to you?”
“I’m a man. Even pissing is a contest.”
The easy bantering continued over several games of Texas Hold ’em-he was definitely better at that game than she was-then they moved on to blackjack. They got tired of playing cards after a while, and with a sigh of resignation she picked up the book on loading her own ammunition and began reading; at least that was some information she might one day be able to use, while she was certain she’d never be able to influence tectonic plates one way or the other. Dare didn’t fuss about her choice, just picked up the other book, moved the lantern so they both had sufficient light, and settled back with his legs stretched out.
The day was slow and lazy. There was chilly gray rain outside, companionship and laughter and an underlying sexual attraction inside. After reading a while she got drowsy, so she stretched out and took a nap, feeling relaxed and safe. When she woke, they each had soup and a protein bar for lunch.
He went down the ladder without explanation and out into the rain, then came back up the ladder carefully holding the bucket, which was three-quarters full of water.
“If you can get your foot in this bucket, it may be too late, but the cold water might help the swelling a little and soreness in your ankle.”
Angie unwrapped her ankle, folded up the hem of her jeans, and eased her foot into the water. She hissed as she lowered her foot into the bucket; the water wasn’t icy, but it was close. Because the bucket narrowed at the bottom she couldn’t just set her foot into it, but by carefully bending her toes she managed to get the water over her ankle. “How did you collect this much water so fast?” The rain had slacked off enough that no way was it coming down hard enough to fill this bucket this much.
“I set the bucket so it caught what’s coming off the roof. I did that thinking about getting water for washing up tonight, but then it occurred to me you could be soaking that ankle. There’ll be time enough to catch more fresh water for later.” While she soaked her ankle, he settled down again with the evidently fascinating subject of plate tectonics.
She propped her chin on her knee, watching the way he furrowed his brow as he read, liking that he sometimes turned the book sideways to look at charts and maps. She wouldn’t have figured him for a reader, but then what had she really known about him? She’d resented him so much, been so angry, that she hadn’t let herself see him as anything other than a thorn in her side.
Oh, she’d known from the beginning-those damn butterflies were a dead giveaway-that on a sexual basis she was deeply affected by him, which was why she’d given him such a wide berth. But she hadn’t known that he could make her laugh. She hadn’t known that just being with him would give her this sense of comfort, of lightness, as if things that had weighed her down were no longer quite as heavy.
Did she love him? She didn’t trust the suddenness of her emotional flip-flop-if it was indeed a flip-flop, considering the presence of the butterflies. Still, she couldn’t make a decision like that based on roughly thirty-six hours of close acquaintance, no matter how momentous those thirty-six hours had been, or that she’d spent about half that time sleeping in his arms. Survival had forged lifelong bonds between them, so she understood exactly
