If his jaw gritted any harder, his teeth were going to snap. “Not during survival week.”
“Oh, after, of course.” Pete stared off into the woods where Miranda had disappeared. “I wouldn’t want to see her before she could take a nice, long shower.”
Fucking a**hole. As if Miranda smelled bad. Just the opposite, in fact. She’d smelled like the woods—wood smoke and the wind and just a hint of sweat—and he’d found it incredibly appealing. This little creep wouldn’t know what was appealing if it decked him in the face. Hiding his anger, Dane pointed at the dead fish. “You need to get rid of that and catch a real fish. Got me?”
The other man gave him a reluctant nod and then headed back away from camp, muttering under his breath. He swiped at the branches as he walked, the actions of a petulant child and not a grown man.
Dane gave it two days before Pete bailed out on the class entirely. Good. The man was acting like a brat and the class would only get harder. That was one of the things he appreciated about Miranda, he thought as he turned in the opposite direction and began walking. She didn’t complain about the class, about being unable to shower or sweating in the dirt and sleeping on the ground. When he’d seen that bag full of lingerie, he’d been worried that she would be a huge pain in the ass this week. But…she wasn’t. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself in the outdoors, and he was enjoying her presence as well.
Then again, he hadn’t expected to have sex with her. It made him a little uncomfortable to think that he’d automatically assumed that she’d been a plant from Colt and Grant—she had been so offended at the thought that he knew she was sincere. He shouldn’t have slept with her. Shouldn’t have, and yet…he couldn’t resist. When her gaze went soft, he wanted to bury himself deep inside her and make love until morning.
Still, he wasn’t entirely sure Miranda’s motives were innocent. Why would a woman who liked lingerie and sexy things want to spend a week in the wilderness? Things didn’t add up, he decided. Either Miranda had a really killer dual personality—girly-girl of the backwoods—or he was missing some vital element.
For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.
As he contemplated the Miranda situation, he walked through the woods, idly noticing the play of footprints in the dirt. Though he wasn’t the best tracker, it wasn’t hard to see that someone had come this way. He touched a broken twig and knelt by the ground. The hard dirt hadn’t seen rain for a few days and showed the wavy lines of a boot sole perfectly. Judging by the size of the shoe, it wasn’t a man unless the guy was packing some seriously dainty feet. He followed the footprints, thinking about his small class. With one glaring exception, they’d been interested and willing to learn. The others were corporate hounds—it was easy to spot the type, as they were aggressive and driven. The desire to succeed was clear.
Tracking wasn’t on the week’s menu, but he thought of Miranda’s face and the way it lit up when things clicked and she learned something new. Maybe he’d show her a few things when he found her. After she’d cooled down, that is. She’d almost had her fire—a few more minutes of sawing and she’d have had a spark for sure. Her quick mind had picked up on the implements and had followed his instructions almost to the letter. She’d been so close…until they’d started talking about town. About Bluebonnet.
Then she’d bailed on him.
He ducked under a tree branch and scanned the woods as he thought about their conversation. Dane had immediately steered it once they’d gotten to his personal life. He liked Miranda but he didn’t feel like sharing why he’d left the NHL—no matter what she’d heard. No one believed him anyhow. They liked the tabloid version of things far too much. That he was a p**sy hound who couldn’t turn down a woman. That he was a user. He had been, once upon a time…until someone had used him. Then he’d changed. He wasn’t the old Dane anymore, and he got tired of trying to prove it to everyone he met.
Of course, Miranda had been equally prickly. She’d bristled as soon as he started asking her why she hadn’t left town. Was there a boyfriend still in Bluebonnet? Someone she’d stuck around for? A surge of jealousy tore at his thoughts. Was that the reason she’d packed all the sexy panties? Had her hands on his c*ck as soon as they were alone together? To make someone jealous?
Dane frowned as he spotted another set of footprints near the stream. He approached on the far bank, his movements quiet and stealthy with years of practice.
And there she was.
Miranda stood in the creek, hip deep, her back to him. She wasn’t totally nak*d. Under the thick, spill of dark brown hair that cascaded down her back, a thin black bra strap stretched over her shoulder. From his viewpoint on the bank, he could see the creamy small of her back, perfect in its symmetry and the way it dipped inward just above her bottom. He groaned at the sight of her rounded ass as she leaned forward, exposing the heart-shaped flesh. Definitely a thong. He barely caught it peeking between the cleft of her full, firm buttocks. Damn. Dane stared. Miranda had the most singularly perfect ass he’d ever seen.
He closed his eyes and leaned against the tree he was gripping for support. Hell. She was bathing. And here he was, standing on the bank and peeking at her like some sort of creepy pervert. His hand slid over the hard rise of his c*ck in his shorts, and he swore. He was a creepy, turned on pervert watching her bathe. She might enjoy flirting with him and their midnight trysts, but he was pretty sure she’d hate the thought of him spying on her like some hormonal teenager. Yet he couldn’t stop staring at that perfect ass, and he thought of how she’d felt last night with her sweet p**sy wrapped around his cock, clenching him deeper every time he thrust. Of the cries she’d made—so turned on and so very surprised that she’d been so lost in the moment. Of the look on her face when she’d finally come, as if he’d just handed her a million dollars.
Fuck. If he got any harder, he was going to charge into the water after her and forget all about the “tonight” part of their next meeting. He’d take her on the creek bank, in broad daylight, and wouldn’t care who saw them. The heel of his hand rubbed down the front of his c*ck again, need surging through him.
Before last night it had been two long years since he’d been with a woman. He hadn’t missed one in all that time. There was always something to distract him—chopping wood, hunting, a ten-mile hike through the snow back when they’d lived in the cabin…and when all else failed, there was his hand. Last night should have gotten her out of his system. Quenched the urge so he could stop thinking with his dick and get back to his job. But as he watched Miranda raise her pale arms to her back and toy with the clasp of her bra, he knew that it was going to be close to impossible to think about anything but taking Miranda again.
And he palmed his c*ck once more.
EIGHT
She couldn’t do it.
Miranda’s fingers trembled on her bra clasp, ruining the sensual movement she was going for. She tried again, squeezing her eyes closed and focusing on undoing that one stupid strap, but every time she came close, her fingers locked. The pictures on the Internet flashed through her mind over and over again. Her kneeling before Dane. Her br**sts thrust against the camera in another shot. That triangle-shaped mole under her left breast had identified her even if her face hadn’t been in the picture…and it had been. Her expression in the photos had been contorted in rapture, and she remembered Dane’s big hand toying with her n**ples. She’d loved his touch.
Nine years later, she still loved his touch, though she hated herself a little for it now. She’d recovered from her tantrum walking through the woods, realizing that she wouldn’t be able to keep Dane trotting after her if he was mad at her. So she’d calmed down and sat on the banks of the stream, staring at it as she tried to think up her next battle plan.
After a moment, the solution had become glaringly obvious, of course. Strip nak*d in the stream until Dane ran across her, then seduce him again. Keep the control firmly on her side. Never let him get the upper hand in their relationship. Keep him guessing, above all else.
Except…her hands weren’t cooperating. Her subconscious had a strict sense of modesty even if Evil Miranda was trying to shed it. Last night she’d been able to provoke and flirt with Dane, and hadn’t thought twice about shedding her clothes. In the daylight? It was different—more exposed. And knowing that Dane was on the bank watching her? Made her even more nervous. Last night it had been dark and he’d only been able to get quick glimpses of her body in the moonlight. They’d kept some of their clothes on even as they’d had sex. Standing here in the stream in nothing but a thong and lacy bra in broad daylight felt…naked. Was he looking at how much her body had changed in the past nine years? Comparing her br**sts to that old photo?
Her fingers twitched and she opened her eyes, blowing her long bangs off of her forehead in frustration. Why was this hard? She’d hit on him last night and he’d given her the screwing she’d asked for. He’d made her come so hard that her eyes had nearly crossed. This was just a stupid bra and striptease. Why was it such an issue for her? You’re being a baby, she told herself, even as her fingers clamped down on the front of her bra, clutching it to her chest protectively. Anyone could be watching her, not just Dane. What if someone else had stumbled upon her bathing and it wasn’t Dane at all? What if he had a camera, too? Oh God. What if—
A noise to her left got her attention—had Dane moved to the other side of the bank? Or was there truly another watcher here at the stream? Miranda’s hand slid forward over her the cups of her bra, protecting her br**sts from prying eyes, and she turned.
A gigantic bird stood on the bank, about two feet away from her. It looked like a giant ostrich with enormous, round black eyes and a nasty beak. It ruffled its feathers in alarm at the sight of her, the long neck rearing back as if it were about to peck her eyes out.
It squawked at her, the sound angry and strident.
Miranda yelped.
She stumbled backward. She lost her footing and skidded into the water up to her neck. Gasping, she struggled to regain her balance and then continued to slide away as the bird squawked again and ruffled its massive black wings. The thing paced on the bank, storklike legs twitching nervously.
Shit! Could birds swim? Did emus attack people?
“Miranda,” Dane said in a low voice behind her. “Careful.”
Screw careful. She turned and vaulted for the opposite bank, toward Dane. Forgetting about her state of undress or the fact that she was in danger of losing her wet bra, she plowed toward him. When he extended a hand to help her out of the water, she grasped it and hauled herself onto the bank.
The thing across from them trumpeted in alarm, and Miranda yelped again. She didn’t stop at climbing out of the water, and began to climb up Dane himself.
She leapt onto him, her legs locking around his waist and her arms around his shoulders. Her only thought was to get away from that damn bird, and Dane was safe. Dane wouldn’t let it eat her.