How to Sleep with the Boss

by Janice Maynard

  She stared into the mesmerizing red and gold flames, listening to the pop and crackle of the burning wood. The scent of wood smoke was pleasant...a connection, perhaps, to her ancestors who had lived closer to the land.

  She and Patrick had eaten their meal in complete silence. Libby was okay with that. All she wanted to do now was get through this overnight endurance test without embarrassing herself.

  She cleared her throat. “So, it’s already dark. And it’s awfully early to go to bed. What do people do in the woods when they camp out during the winter?”

  Patrick’s face was all planes and angles in the glow of the fire. He was a chameleon—dashing and elegant as a Kavanagh millionaire, but now, a ruggedly masculine man with unlimited physical power and capability. Looking at him gave her a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  The sensation was no secret. She was seriously in lust with her reluctant boss, despite his arrogance and his refusal to take her seriously. He could be funny and charming. He had been remarkably patient, even when saddled with his mother’s charity case.

  But the truth was, he didn’t want her on his team. And when it came to the attraction that simmered between them? Well, that was never going to amount to anything, no matter how many hours they spent alone in the woods. She pressed her knees together, her heart beating a ragged tempo as she waited for an answer to what was one part rhetorical question and the other part a need to break the intimate quiet.

  If she had a tad more experience, or if she honestly believed that Patrick felt a fraction of the sexual tension that was making her jumpy, she might make a move on him. But despite his kiss—which was really more of a hands-on apology—she didn’t delude herself that he had any real interest in her.

  Women like Charlise were more his type. Athletic superwomen. Not timid females afraid of the shadows.

  Besides, she had to stay focused on starting her life over. She was on her own. She had to be strong.

  She had almost forgotten her question when he finally answered.

  Five

  “Speaking for myself, I suppose it depends on who I’m with.”

  Patrick wasn’t immune to the intimacy of the moment. He still reeled from the impact of the kiss. But all else aside, his mother would kill him if he played around with Libby. Libby was emotionally fragile and just coming out of a very rough period in her life. He couldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability, even if she was already worming her way into his heart.

  A part of him wanted to tell her how much fun sleeping-bag sex could be. But that would be crossing the line, and Libby Parkhurst was off-limits. He’d be exaggerating anyway. Most of the women he’d been serious about would run for the hills if he suggested anything of the sort.

  It occurred to him suddenly that his love of outdoor adventure had largely been segregated from his romantic life. He hiked with his brothers. He took clients out in the woods with Charlise. But he’d never really wanted to bring a woman along in a personal, intimate sense.

  Yet with Libby, he was tempted. Unfortunately, temptation was as far as it went. He had to keep her at a distance or this whole scenario might blow up in his face. Particularly when he had to fire her.

  He picked up a tiny twig and tossed it into the fire. “You can always listen to music. Did you bring an iPod? It was on the list.”

  Libby nodded, her profile disarmingly feminine in the firelight. “I did. But if I have earbuds in, I won’t be able to hear the wild animals when they come to rip me limb from limb.”

  Patrick chuckled. Despite Libby’s lack of qualifications for the job as his assistant, he enjoyed her wry take on life. He also respected the fact that she acknowledged her fears without being crippled by them. As if he needed more reasons to be intrigued by her. But that didn’t make her an outdoorswoman.

  “I won’t let anything happen to you, I swear.” It was true. Libby might not be the one to cover the maternity leave, but he felt an overwhelming urge to protect her.

  Eventually, Libby needed a moment of privacy in the woods. He had known it was coming. But he was pretty sure she wasn’t comfortable about the dark.

  When she stood up, she hedged. “I, uh...”

  “You need to go to the bathroom before we call it a night.”

  “Yes.”

  He’d seen her blush before. Right now her face was probably poppy red. But he couldn’t tell in the gloom. He handed her a flashlight. “Do you want me to go with you, or shall I stay here and face the fire?”

  Long silence.

  “Face the fire. But if I’m not back in ten minutes, send out the rescue squad.”

  Again, that easy humor. He sat and concentrated on the flames, feeling the heat on his face. His libido thrummed on high alert. It had never occurred to him that spending a night in the woods with Libby Parkhurst would test his self-control.

  He had forgotten to glance at his watch when she left. How long had she been gone? Now she had him hearing all sorts of menacing sounds in the forest. “Libby,” he called out. “You okay?”

  He held his breath until she answered.

  “I’m fine.” Her voice echoed from a distance, so he stayed put.

  At last she reappeared. “What time do we need to be up in the morning?” she asked.

  “I’ll get breakfast going...most importantly, a pot of coffee. You can pop out of your tent whenever you’re ready.”

  “What about our packs?”

  “I’ll take care of it. When you get in your tent, make sure to take your boots off and put them by the exit. That way you won’t get your sleeping bag muddy. The bedding I brought is warmer than the type we use in April. I hope you’ll be comfortable.”

  “I’ll be fine. Good night, Patrick.”

  He wished he could say the same. He was wired and horny. That was a dangerous combination.

  With moves he had practiced a million times, he scattered the coals and made sure the fire was not in danger of spreading while they slept. Then he took both packs and hung them from a nearby treetop.

  After crawling into his own tent and taking off his boots, he zipped the nylon flap and got settled for the night. His sleeping bag was high-tech and very comfortable. The temperature outside was perfect for snuggling into his down cocoon and sleeping.

  Which didn’t explain why he lay on his back and stared into the dark. The noises of the night were familiar to him. Hooting owls. Sighing wind. The click-clack of bare winter branches rubbing together.

  Libby’s tent was no more than four or five feet away from his. If he concentrated, he thought he might be able to hear her breathing.

  He was almost asleep, when a female whisper roused him.

  “Patrick. Are you awake?”

  “I am now.” He pretended to be gruff.

  “What am I supposed to do if a bear tries to eat my tent?”

  He grinned, even though she couldn’t see. “Libby. People camp out in this part of the country all the time. We’re not far from the Smoky Mountains. It’s perfectly safe, I swear.”

  “I was kidding. Mostly. And I’m not being a wimp. I just want to be prepared for anything. But people do get attacked by bears. I went online and did a search.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t reading stories about grizzlies? We don’t have those in North Carolina.”

  “No. It was black bears. A woman died. They found her camera and she had been taking pictures.”

  “I remember the story you’re talking about. But that was a long time ago and the woman, unfortunately, got too close to the bear.”

  “But what if the bear gets too close to me?”

  He laughed. “Would you like to come sleep in my tent?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He hadn’t consciously meant to flirt with her, but the feelings were there.<
br />
  Long silence. “You mean with you?”

  “Well, it doesn’t make much sense just to swap places. If it will help you be more comfortable, I’m sure we can manage to squeeze you in here if we try.”

  Another, longer silence. “No, thank you. I’m fine. Really.”

  “Your choice.” He paused. “Tell me, Libby. Did your family never vacation outdoors? National parks? Boating adventures? Anything like that?”

  He heard the sound of rustling nylon as she squirmed to get comfortable.

  “No. But I have a working knowledge of all the major museums in Europe, and I can order a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant in three languages. I’ve summered in the Swiss Alps and wintered in Saint Lucia. Still, I’ve never cooked a hot dog over a campfire.”

  “Poor little rich girl.”

  “Not funny, Patrick. I happen to know the Kavanaghs are loaded. So you can’t make fun of me.”

  “Can’t or shouldn’t?”

  She laughed, the warm sound sneaking down inside him and making him feel something both arousing and uncomfortable.

  “I’m going to sleep now,” she said.

  “See you in the morning.”

  * * *

  Aeons later, Libby groaned. Morning light meant the dawn of a new day, but she was too warm and comfortable to care. For the past hour, she had actually been sleeping peacefully. Now, however, she had to go to the bathroom. And unlike any normal morning, she couldn’t crawl back into bed afterward, because she would be completely awake.

  She felt as if she had barely slept all night. Every noise was magnified in her imagination. She would doze off finally, and then minutes later some ominous sound would wake her up. It was an endless cycle.

  To make matters worse, Patrick had fallen asleep almost instantly after their “bear” conversation. She knew this, because he’d snored. Not an obnoxious, chain-saw sound, but a quiet masculine rumble.

  How did he do it? How did he sleep like a baby in the middle of the woods? Her hips were sore from lying on the ground, even with the pad, and she didn’t know how anyone could manage restful slumber without some white noise.

  Hiking enthusiasts talked about the peace and quiet of nature. Clearly they had never actually spent a night in the outdoors. The forest was not a silent place.

  Though the temperatures were supposed to hit the sixties again this afternoon as the February warm spell lingered, this morning, there was a definite nip in the air. She shivered as she sat up and fumbled her way into her jacket. She could already smell the coffee Patrick had promised.

  She rummaged in her pocket for the small cosmetic case she’d brought with her. A comb and a mirror and some unscented lip balm. That was it. Fortunately, the mirror was tiny, because she didn’t really want to see her reflection. She had a feeling that her appearance fell somewhere between “dragged through a bush backward” and “one step away from zombie.”

  Putting on boots was her first challenge. Then, after struggling to tame her hair and redo her ponytail, she shook her head in defeat. She didn’t need to impress Patrick with her looks. Why did it matter?

  When she unzipped her tent and climbed out, she didn’t glance in Patrick’s direction. Instead, she headed off into the relative privacy of the forest. After taking care of her most urgent need, she returned to the campsite. Patrick looked rested, but his hair was rumpled and his jaw was shadowed with dark stubble.

  Still, he looked gorgeous and sexy. Life wasn’t fair at all.

  He looked up from his contemplation of the fire when she sat down. “Mornin’,” he said. The word was gruff.

  She nodded, unable to come up with a scintillating response. The mood between them was undeniably awkward.

  He poured her a cup of coffee. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “Thanks.” Adding sugar and a packet of artificial creamer, she inhaled the steam, hoping the diffused caffeine would jump-start her sluggish brain. So far, the five-word conversation between her and her boss was taxing her will to live.

  Two cups later, she began to feel slightly human. Even so, the fact that she had been wearing the same clothes for twenty-four hours made her long for a hot shower.

  “What next?” she asked. The sooner Patrick taught her the drill, the sooner they could go home.

  “We break down camp. With a group event, we’ll have the camp stoves set up right over there. The guys that packed in the food and supplies will be your assistants. The meal is simple, homemade oatmeal with cinnamon and brown sugar for those who want it. Precooked bacon that we crisp up in a skillet. Whole oranges. And of course, coffee.”

  “Will I have to cook the oatmeal?”

  “No. Only warm it. It’s mostly a matter of being organized and making sure everyone gets served quickly. They’re always eager to get started on the rest of the day, so we try not to drag out the meal process.”

  “I can handle that.”

  “You ready to head out?”

  Gulp. Of course. She noticed he didn’t say “head home.” Clearly there was more to be learned.

  She paid close attention as Patrick showed her how to break down the tents and put out the fire. Once they reloaded their packs, the site was pristine. It went without saying that a company like Silver Reflections would respect the sanctity of the natural world.

  Patrick wasn’t very talkative this morning. Perhaps he was regretting their momentary lapse. Or maybe he had other issues on his mind. Losing Charlise’s expertise for six months had to be frustrating for him. Maybe everyone would have been a lot happier if Patrick had simply stood up to Maeve and told her he would find his own, far more qualified, temporary employee.

  Still, even given the circumstances far beyond her comfort zone, Libby realized she really wanted this job. Beneath the physical challenges she was experiencing lurked exhilaration that she was facing her fears and conquering them...or at least trying to...

  This morning’s hike was shorter, no more than three or four miles. And Patrick’s pace was more of a stroll than a death march. With the sun shining and the birds singing, it was almost easy to dismiss her sleepless night.

  When they stopped for a snack, Patrick didn’t take the time to unpack any kind of seating tarp. Instead, they leaned against trees. Recent rains had left the ground damp, particularly beneath the top layer of rotting leaves. He fished salted peanuts and beef jerky from his pocket. “This will give you energy,” he said.

  “Do I look that bad?”

  His lips quirked. “Maybe a little frayed around the edges. Nothing to worry about. But it will be several hours before we get home, so you have to keep up your strength.”

  She bit off a piece of jerky, grimacing at the taste. “That sounds ominous. What’s next? Building a canoe from a tree? Making blow darts from poison berries? Killing and skinning a wild animal with my bare hands?”

  Patrick chuckled. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’re going underground.”

  Her stomach fell somewhere in the vicinity of her boots. “Um, no. I don’t think so. I got locked in a closet for several hours when I was a little kid and I’ve been claustrophobic ever since. I don’t do caves.”

  It seemed as if he were baiting her, but she couldn’t be sure.

  “No caves in these mountains,” he said. “It’s the wrong kind of geology. You might find some large rock overhangs that provide shelter...but not the places where spelunkers investigate tunnels deep into the earth.”

  “Then what?”

  “A mine.” He didn’t smile. In fact, his face was carefully expressionless.

  Was this the part where she was supposed to throw up her hands and say “I quit”? “What kind of mine?” she asked, thinking about every Appalachian horror story she ha
d heard about shafts collapsing and miners being buried alive.

  “Years ago, it was one of hundreds of silver mines in the area, but it’s long since been tapped out.”

  “Then why go in?”

  “The claustrophobia you mentioned is a very real fear for many people. When we bring groups out, I go down into the mine with three at a time. Usually, the participants have been prepped in advance about what to discuss. Something simple, but work-related. We sit in the dark as they try to carry on a conversation without panicking.”

  “And if someone does freak out?”

  “Their colleagues talk them through it...part of the team-building aspect. You’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s the tough macho guys who can’t handle it. It’s an eye-opener all the way around.”

  “Well, thanks for telling me about it,” she said, her voice high-pitched and squeaky. “I’ll do absolutely everything you want me to do aboveground, no questions asked. But I think I’ll take a pass on the mine thing. I hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

  Patrick took her hands, staring into her eyes like a hypnotist. “You can trust me, Libby, I swear.”

  She exhaled, an audibly jerky sigh. “This might be a good time to mention that my childhood was spent learning how to be scared of everything. My mom wouldn’t take me into Central Park because of muggers. No Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade because of lurking kidnappers in the crowd. If a spider ever had the temerity to invade our apartment, things went to DEFCON 1 in a hurry. She didn’t want me to have a boyfriend, so she told me I could get pregnant from kissing.”

  “You and I are in trouble, then.”

  She ignored his attempt at levity. “I was afraid of drowning in the bathtub and being exposed to radioactivity from the microwave. My Halloween candy had to be checked for razor blades, even though it was all a gift from our neighbors across the hall, people we had known for years. I could go on, but you get the idea.”

  “You know that your mother had serious issues.”

  “Yes.” It was hard to admit it out loud.