Well, she amended, “throwing herself at him” was relative. As she was not the best flirter in the world, she acknowledged that maybe she wasn’t doing enough to show her interest. Maybe he thought she was just being a tease? It was time to be totally straight with Dane and show him exactly what she wanted.
Sucking in a deep breath, she got up from her lean-to and approached the men’s.
They were bundled together like puppies—all neat and lined up, their feet hanging out of the shelter. She studied them for a minute, looking for a familiar form. Dane was on the far edge of the shelter, lying on his side. She approached and knelt beside him.
All was silent in the camp, and Miranda inched closer to Dane, studying him as he slept. His shoulders seemed broader than ever from this angle, his h*ps narrow and tapered. She moved in and gave him a slight shake. Nothing. She frowned and slid her hand onto Dane’s pant leg, just above the knee.
He didn’t stir.
She grew bolder. Her hand moved to his groin. She cupped his c*ck in her hand and sighed at the warmth—and weight—there. Very nice.
Dane stirred, and she felt him jerk awake. Felt him wake up below, too, just as she slid her hand away. Count on a little late-night fondling to wake a man up, she thought wryly.
“Miranda?” he whispered in a strangled voice.
“Dane,” she said, kneeling close and leaning low toward him. “Can I talk to you?”
“Everything okay?”
She waved for him to keep his voice down. “Yes. I just…want to talk. Away from camp.”
He squinted up at her, then at the campsite. “We can talk in the morning,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”
God, the man was obtuse. She was tempted to reach over and grab his c*ck again, because that seemed to be the only thing he was listening to. “Dane, I need…” she paused for a minute, thinking. Then she lied, “I need your help. Something bit me.”
His eyes flew open at that, and he stared up at her, then got to his feet. “Something bit you?” he whispered again. “Where?”
Might as well go all in, she thought. “In a personal spot.”
Dane swore under his breath and then raked a hand over his closely trimmed hair. He reached into his backpack and grabbed one of the emergency flashlights and the first-aid kit, then gestured for her to follow him out of camp.
When they got into the edge of the woods, out of the clearing and away from the camp, he clicked the flashlight on. “Now, show me where—”
She rushed forward and put her hands over the flashlight, hiding the beam. Miranda glanced over where the others slept. No one had stirred—good. “Can you turn that off? I don’t want the others finding us.”
He gave her an exasperated look. “How am I supposed to tell where you’ve been bitten if I can’t see it?”
“I’ll show you,” she said. “You can feel it on my skin. Just, please. Don’t wake up the others.” If he did, her window of opportunity tonight was going to end up a big fat failure.
A long moment ticked past, and then Dane sighed, clicked off the flashlight, and turned to her. “All right.”
She could see the silhouette of him in the moonlight, highlighting the wide sweep of his shoulders, and she felt another excited thrill pass through her. When was the last time she’d been this hyped up to touch a guy?
Answer: nine years.
“Show me, then,” he said in a low voice.
She took his hand and instead of placing it on her skin, she began to walk farther into the woods, to put as much distance between camp and the two of them as possible.
She expected Dane to protest, but he only followed her lead, his large, warm hand loose in hers. When they’d walked a good distance away and made it deeper into the woods, she stopped under a tree. “Here’s good.”
“You said something bit you?” Dane’s voice was skeptical, as if he wasn’t sure what she was up to anymore. Was that amusement in his voice? Oh, she hoped so—if he was furious, she’d never get to put her hands all over him.
And I’ll never get my revenge, she added at the last moment, a bit ashamed that it hadn’t been the first thought to spring to mind.
“It did,” she lied, pulling his hand against her stomach under her shirt. She hid the shiver of desire she felt at his fingers against her bare skin. “Let me show you.”
His chuckle rumbled low. “I’m guessing it’s not a snake, then, if we’re trekking all over the woods.”
“Not a snake,” she quickly agreed, looking up at him. God, his cheekbones looked amazing in the moonlight. She’d forgotten how incredibly sexy Dane was, how much looking at him made her wet with excitement.
“Does the skin burn?”
Oh, absolutely. Her hand pressed over his where it rested on her flat stomach, just above her belly button.
His fingers brushed against her stomach, sending a pulse of heat through her body. His whisper grew intimate, as if the fact that he was touching her and they were very, very alone had suddenly occurred to him. “I don’t feel anything, Miranda.”
“It’s lower,” she lied, her eyes watching his moonlit face, waiting to see if he’d take the bait. They stood so close together that she could feel his warm breath on her neck.
Dane paused for a long, long moment, and then gave her a knowing look. “Lower?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Touch me, she wanted to whisper. Please. Everything hinges on you touching me.
His fingers brushed at her waistband. “Lower?”
“Yes,” she said. Her hand clutched at his shirt as she waited.
He looked up at her and his hand moved boldly down her belly. His hand slid into her shorts. “Where are your panties?”
“Some guy cut them off of me earlier,” she said, her voice husky.
His hand skimmed past the curls of her sex and slipped between the folds of her p**sy in a sudden move that had her gasping.
“Down here?” he asked in a husky voice. “Is this where you’re burning? Because you’re certainly wet.” His fingers brushed against her cl*t and her body stiffened in a hot rush of desire. He rubbed the slick bud with his fingertips. “I’m starting to think you haven’t been bitten at all.”
She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as his hand flexed in her shorts, small gasps erupting from her throat. “You—you have me all figured out, it seems,” she managed to whisper, the whisper turning into a whimper as his clever fingers gave her cl*t another stroke. Her head tilted back and she leaned against the tree, her h*ps bucking against his hand. Oh my God. That was so good. If he could just keep touching her there—
His hand started to pull away and she gave a small cry, her hand moving down to rest over his.
“What are you playing at, Miranda?” he said low in her ear, his face pressing against her neck. He didn’t move his hand from her hot, wet sex, but his fingers had stopped their rubbing of that most delicious of spots.
She could have wept in disappointment.
He stared down at her, his gaze intense. “Is this some sort of trick?”
“Trick? No,” she said, tilting her face toward his. “I’m just…I…”
What could she tell him that he would possibly believe? The words froze in her mouth. His lips were inches away from hers and she longed to move her face closer to his, kiss him, feel that tongue stroke into her mouth in each conquering sweep. But his lips were firm and hard with anger. He wouldn’t kiss her back.
“Then why don’t you tell me what’s going on? You’ve been after me ever since we laid eyes on each other, Miranda. And while I’m flattered, I have to wonder what your game is.”
Shit. Well, okay, maybe she was being obvious—too obvious.
She stared up at him, acutely aware of his hand still down her shorts. One nice squirm and she bet she could get his fingers to brush against her cl*t again—but how humiliating would that be? To try and get off against a man who wasn’t responding?
So she took a deep breath and pulled her hand off of his, placing it on his T-shirt. That wasn’t much better—she could feel the finely corded ropes of muscle in his arms, and that made her think of his hand down her shorts all over again. She was getting wetter just thinking about it. “I…”
His fingers twitched against her clit, a little prompting motion, and he leaned in toward her, pinning her between his hard body and the tree. “Well?”
“I…um…” She stalled, thinking hard. Then she bit her lip and confessed the truth—or at least part of it. “I can’t have an orgasm.”
That was clearly not the answer he’d been expecting. He frowned down at her, and then his fingers gave a little swirling motion against her clit, eliciting another shuddering gasp from her. “Really? Because you seem to be responding to my touch pretty well.”
His voice has dipped husky again, and she could have celebrated. He was listening to what she had to say. She fought a surge of excitement.
Her fingers dug into his shoulders again and she gave a little trembling gasp when he slid a finger farther down, away from her clit. One thick digit brushed against the opening of her sex. Her knees threatened to collapse. “I can’t have an orgasm. With a man. In bed.”
She was finding it hard to concentrate, his finger making small little circles against the opening of her sex, where she was wettest, tickling her in the most erotic fashion.
He leaned even closer to her, her br**sts pressing against his chest, and she lifted her face to his, startled to see his face looming so close that she could practically see beard stubble. His lips were close to her own. “Women, then?”
“What? No.” Her h*ps rocked against his hand and she whimpered. It was so hard to concentrate.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean…I can’t shut my brain off during sex. And when I heard you were back in town, I remembered…”
“That night in the closet?” he said huskily. “Back at graduation?”
She flinched, thinking of the camera.
“I remember that,” he said in a low rumble, and his mouth dipped against her neck, pressing a light kiss there. “How my hand had been on you, just like this, and you came all over my fingers.”
She shuddered at that, pleasure washing over her. “I remember that,” she murmured.
“You didn’t have a problem coming apart in my arms then,” he said, and his finger slipped deep inside her, giving a gentle thrust.
“I know,” she said, her breathing coming hard and fast. She wanted to lift her leg around his hips, to grind her h*ps against his hand, to do…something. But she was pinned between him and the tree. “But that was a long time ago. I’ve had—trouble—since then.”
Trouble was putting it mildly. More like counting tiles on the ceiling while her boyfriend of the moment tried unsuccessfully to elicit a reaction from her.
His mouth brushed against her throat again, and she could feel the hint of beard stubble scrape her skin. “So you want to try again? With me?”