by T. F. Walsh
As she cooked, her eyes kept wandering toward him. He was knotting together more of his snares, the ones she’d mocked, the ones that had worked. His hands were competent and sure. She wanted them on her again.
He looked up, caught her watching him, and smiled. “Thanks for making lunch.”
“By the time it’s ready, it’ll be more like dinner.”
“I’m in no hurry.” He sauntered over, and pulled her into his arms, hugged her close. He smoothed her hair. “I have to split firewood and lay the snares.”
“Don’t go too far.”
“Why Edie, my fireball.” His lips were warm on her neck. “I didn’t know you cared.”
She cared, more than was good for her. So much so that she was thinking how nice it would be to come home every day to this.
When he left to cut wood, her neck was still tingling.
Her stew was bubbling and she was washing some of her clothes in the sink when he returned.
“Look out for the line.” She’d strung a makeshift clothesline between upper cabinet handles. “I’ll do your clothes too, if you want,” she called to him as he stripped off his outer garments.
“Thanks.” Everett came and gave her a quick hug. Definitely habit-forming. He brought out a pile of clothes and laid it on the counter as she rinsed hers. He gave her a sweet kiss, then took a sopping shirt from the sink and wrung it out with his hands. He hung it on her line, straightening it to dry better.
“You do that almost as if you know what you’re doing. Your mother?”
“Serenity Rangers International, actually. That, and many years of bachelorhood.”
“I thought you’d have a cleaning service.” Actually, she thought he’d have a succession of live-in roommates to handle domestic chores. She piled her wet laundry in the bucket then refilled the sink, adding soap and his clothes.
He kissed her hair. “Thank you.”
“For dinner? Or laundry?” Her eyes closed as he stood behind her and hugged her, her hands going still in the wash water.
“You could have blamed all this on me. Instead, you’ve done everything you can to make our stay here pleasant.” He kissed her cheek.
Her eyes opened. “It was my fault too.”
“Let’s not argue about that. In fact, let’s not argue about anything.” His mouth found hers and she turned from the wash into his arms. It felt good, right.
It felt like the first day of the rest of her life. A life that included him.
But stupid company policy . . .
Everett’s competent hands worked their way down her backside, and she forgot all about company policy.
• • •
That evening, full of rabbit stew, Edie decided she wanted a bath.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Everett said. “The tap water isn’t much warmer than melted snow.”
“I’ll add boiling.” She hauled out a couple pots. “You did it.”
“I needed a bath. You don’t.”
“On the contrary. I reek worse than the rabbit cleanings.” She filled the pots with water and set them on the stove.
“Please, Edie. You won’t like it.”
“Why, Everett. Finally admitting you took a cold bath?”
“No.” He paused. “Maybe a little cool. I’ll stoke the fire. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“How considerate. Does HHE suspect?”
“That I’m not a blood-thirsty savage in a tie? No, they’d fire me in an instant.” He opened the stove and added wood. By the time she dumped the boiling water into the white claw-footed tub, the cabin felt like a sauna.
Everett tested the water. “I’ll put more wood in the stove.”
“Everett, if it gets any hotter in here I’ll think I’ve been sent downstairs for my corporate sins.”
“Hell?”
“Accounting.”
“I don’t want you to catch cold,” he repeated stubbornly, and he left the room.
As Edie stripped, she heard the scrape of the grating and the thunk of wood. If it got any hotter, the cabin would spontaneously combust.
Then she eased into the cool water and goose bumps immediately ran up her flesh. When she sluiced water onto her head, the heat of her own scalp radiated through the river of cold. Her nipples were tight as lug nuts, and though she’d rather stuff a thumb drive up her bottom than admit Everett was right, the quicker this bath was done, the better.
She lathered and soaped frenetically. She had just dunked into the slightly brown, soapy water when Everett opened the door. “I’ll do your back.”
“Oh, would you?” She drew up her knees and smiled brightly at him, thinking go away so she could get out of this liquid ice cube and be warm. True, he’d seen all the parts before, but that was when he was blinded by lust. At this moment, he was unfortunately clear-sighted.
He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a washcloth and soaped it. She leaned forward. He ran the cloth over her back, and she forgot all about being cold, her goose bumps forming for another reason entirely.
He kissed her damp shoulder.
Edie shivered. The cloth scrubbed rhythmically up and down her back. Her eyes closed. Up and down the washcloth went, up and down and then up and over . . .
And then he was washing her front and her arms were falling away. His indrawn breath let her know she was exposed to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently.
Her eyes flew open. His gaze was blazing on her breasts, her belly. The water lapping at her thighs no longer seemed cool at all.
The washcloth adored her, stroking over her breasts, her tight nipples, caressing her skin. She wondered if he would kiss her, then decided what the heck, grabbed his head and kissed him instead.
He groaned, washing her harder, lapping her breasts and belly and between her tender thighs until she ached for him. Until her fingers were knotted in his hair and she’d tried to crawl down his throat with her kiss.
Until he dropped the washcloth and scrubbed her directly with his fingers, over and over until she lit up like the sun, shouting her climax.
Languid after, she murmured, “Would the company approve?”
“Who the hell cares?” Everett lifted her, streaming water, from the tub. He held her tightly against him, soaking his clothes. “I laid a blanket in front of the stove.” Red patches flagged his cheeks. “To dry you off. Not for—”
“To dry us off.” She smiled into his fever-bright eyes. “You’re wet now, too.”
With a growl he carried her naked to the main room, settled her on blankets spread before the wood burner.
He’d opened the stove’s doors and put in the grate. It was hotter than hot. Edie shivered as lush heat skittered across her skin.
He knelt over her. Their eyes met and held and the heat seared through her veins.
Bending, he kissed down her jaw and neck. His mouth opened and he tongued the notch at her throat, nibbled the tender flesh of her breast. With a sudden growl, he fastened onto her nipple and tugged.
She panted his name. “You. Let me see you.” She tugged at his damp shirt, eager to expose—everything.
“Edie, you’ll rip it.” Cuffs already open, he grabbed the hems of both shirt and sweater and pulled them over his head. Edie gazed reverently at the torso revealed. Powerful packed belly, heavily muscled chest, all covered by smooth skin and a sprinkling of chestnut hair—and, picked out on one pectoral by the flickering firelight, the faint echo of a tattoo masked by tiny silver scars.
“What’s this?” She traced the scars with one finger.
His nipples tightened. “Nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ looks a lot like a tattoo removal that didn’t quite work.” She palmed the area, exploring heated skin over hard male muscle.
“That feels good.”
She grabbed his hair and yanked him down onto the blanket beside her. To be fair, he let her. “Where did you get it?”
“A misspent
youth.”
“Like the lock picks?” She straddled his hips and fumbled with his buckle.
“You’ll leave the belt alone, if you know what’s good for you.” He raised himself on bent arms. His rapidly rising and falling six-pack and the growing bulge under her belied his words.
“Can’t.” She managed the prong and opened the buckle. Started to work on the pants. “Where did you get the tattoo?” He didn’t answer. Bending, she tongue-tickled the short hairs on his belly. “Where?” She peeked up.
His eyes were glazed. “I ran . . . I ran with a wild group for a while.”
“What group?” She licked his navel. Delicately inserted the tip of her tongue.
“Dogs.” The word sounded wrung from him. “The Street Dogs.”
“You ran with a punk band? Scary.” She peeked again.
“No,” he laughed. “My neighborhood gang.”
Suddenly he sat up, red flags on his cheeks. “It was long ago. My hitch with SRI straightened me out.”
In intimate contact with his body, Edie noticed the stiffness in him immediately, and it wasn’t the good kind. “Everett, what’s wrong?”
“Edie, if Howell ever heard of this . . . ” He gently dislodged her. “You’re cold. Put on my robe. It’s on the couch.”
He slipped out from beneath her and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her naked, overheated, and bewildered in front of the stove.
Chapter Thirteen
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Please be careful
Dear Prez,
The person trying to force you out—why? What’s his or her motive? That can give you a clue as to who it is. Does someone want your job? Or does someone hate you so much they’re trying to ruin you?
If it’s the second, watch out. That sort of person will stab you in the back.
—ED
Everett paced the bedroom. He’d handed her a fatal tool—and through her, maybe handed it to his enemy. If she told Howell about his gang connection . . . damn it, it wouldn’t even be betrayal. Just telling the truth.
Edie was his precious fireball. But as much as he liked her and desired her and perhaps felt something more, he could only trust her to be herself. She was honest, forthright, and had every reason to hang him. He was the man who stood between her and her idea of good management. If not for him to draw on the management reins, she would be a happy wild filly.
Wild. Her face, reddened by the glow of the stove, as he’d pleasured her . . . He reached into his pants and adjusted things that wouldn’t adjust. It would be a long evening.
Speaking of long evenings . . . she was out there with little to do but stew. Not a good way to leave things.
He sucked up his courage and braved the main room.
She was staring intently at the broken phone, wrapped in his kimono, the masculine garment entirely feminine when pulled snug around her sweet little body. He shifted stance. Next time he was buying baggier pants. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure.” Her face was flushed, her curls unrulier than usual. Had he raked them with his fingers that they looked so adorably mussed? “I’m missing something, to do with this phone.”
Suddenly he had to know. With anyone else he’d play the corporate game, dangle bait or lay a trap. But with Edie . . . He was constantly fighting the desire to bury himself in her, fighting the need to open himself to her. All subtlety abandoned him. “If it worked . . . Would you call the office? Would you tell them?”
Her brows furrowed. “About being stranded? Sure.”
In another person that would be fencing, making him admit his fumble, emphasizing his precarious position. Edie truly didn’t know. “About my gang connections. Management wouldn’t be pleased.” What the hell. The damage was already done. He was just assessing its depth. “Edie. You could have me fired.”
Instead of reassuring him with fake promises or heartfelt lies, she only blinked at him.
His headache returned. He couldn’t do this after all. He gathered the blankets from the floor and remade the couch. “Do you want the bed?”
“No.” She was staring at that damned phone, not even realizing he was upset. “It’s your turn.”
“Of course. Good night, then.”
“Good night.”
When he left for the bedroom, she was still lost in thought.
• • •
Edie stared at the phone. Everett’s words had startled her, especially when she understood what he was really asking. If the phone worked, would she betray him?
Never.
Except . . . it might be for his own good. He was courteous, sensitive, and idealistic. Leaving HHE could be a release for him.
It’d be, not betrayal, but freedom. He’d be free to be—with her.
A thrill sang through her. Everett, tethered to the corporate rules, was sexy and capable. How much more could he be if he could kiss and touch her freely, without restriction? She nearly ran after him to find out. To tell him how she really felt. She actually took a couple steps toward the bedroom.
But while she was sure Everett the untamed mountain man liked her, she wasn’t so sure about the corporate hunter Mr. Kirk. Mr. Kirk might see her emotions as a weakness to be exploited.
Mr. Kirk could hurt her badly.
She stopped.
Everett’s secret could kill off Mr. Kirk.
She sucked in a breath. Without Kirk, Everett would be the wonderful man she’d uncovered here in this cabin.
And all hers.
All she had to do was kill off the corporate predator.
• • •
Edie woke Tuesday morning to an empty cabin again. But her big wool gloves were gone, so at least he’d dressed warmly this time.
After washing the dishes and folding the dried clothes, she spent an hour picturing what she’d do to Everett when he returned, beginning at his toes and working her way up. But after a brief sojourn in the bedroom she was bored.
So she got out her old laptop and started playing with a little open-source database engine, finally get around to creating her Christmas card list.
The communications icon caught her eye.
Too bad there was no wireless here. She’d even take a working phone line. Assuming she remembered how to use dial-up. Jack had given her the number for the HHE server, but it was so long ago . . .
Her heart beat faster, her body catching the implications a split second before her brain did.
The phone didn’t work. But the line might.
Edie leaped to her feet, laptop in hand. Her old clunker had a modem card. She ran to the phone, popped the connector tab and yanked the line out of the base, then plugged the connector into the computer. It made a small snick.
Crossing her fingers, she activated the dial-up program.
The beep-boop of her modem exploded in the still room. She pumped air. A live line! Now, if only she could connect.
The line went silent. She sat cross-legged and settled the laptop on her knees. Still no sound. The floor chilled her buttocks. Silent, too long.
The sudden hiss of a computer handshake jarred her taut nerves. A single beep and text reeled across her screen, a greeting and login prompt.
She grinned. “I’m in.”
Her grin faded. If she was going to “free” Everett, best to do it while he was out of the cabin.
While he couldn’t stop her.
Okay, good. Everett would be free, might even thank her. She got on the virtual private network, linked to her work desktop computer, and typed an email to Howell Senior.
Her fingers slowed. Stopped.
Everett would lose his job, like she’d lost hers at Broad Vistas. That had hurt. The weeks until she’d found another job had been scary. The nights worrying, the days dodging collectors’ phone calls . . . Everett wouldn’t thank her.
Blinking at the email, she remembered Philip betraying her. She clamped her eye
s shut as realization struck her.
She wasn’t freeing Everett.
She was punishing Everett because of Philip.
It horrified her. Her eyes popped open. She needed time to think. She canceled the email.
Immediately she felt relieved.
Okay, right decision. What next? Oh yeah, rescue. She switched from email to chat, and pinged Jack.
The chat window halved. Jack’s bright, “Hey, Edie, how’s sunny Californ-I-A :)” glowed on the bottom.
Edie typed in, “I’m caught in snowy UTAH!” and waited.
“You and the PRES?? Ooh-la-la!”
“Perv.” It took Edie three times to type that, her hands were shaking so badly. “We’re lost somewhere off I-70. Call the police. Trace this line and rescue us.”
Nothing more was added to the screen and Edie thought she’d lost the line. But then the bottom half cleared and Jack typed, “Are you kidding me?”
Edie typed, “NO!!”
Chapter Fourteen
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Meet?
Sorry for the long time between messages. I was tied up on business.
No, that’s a little corporate white lie. No lies between us.
I spent a long weekend with her.
ED, I don’t know what to do. You’re maybe my best friend—but she’s so damned exciting. I think about her all the time, even as I’m writing this to you.
This has got to stop. Can we meet? I’m sure that once I see you, this insane infatuation with her will go away.
—Prez
After they were rescued, Edie spent fifteen minutes with a doctor—and four hours with the company’s lawyers and their paperwork. Not until four that afternoon did she unlock the new door of her apartment, dropping exhausted into bed despite the early hour.
The one time during the whole legal ordeal that she’d seen Everett, she’d smiled with relief and jumped up to talk to him—only to have him nod curtly and walk away.
She tossed and turned for hours before being thankfully roused by her grandparents who wanted a blow-by-blow description of her ordeal.
