Provocative Professions

by S. E. Hall

  "Seriously, I can try to walk, Vaughn." I squirm, needing space between his fondling and its effect on me, but he squashes my efforts, a constrictive hold crushing me against his body.

  "Stop moving and bitching," he warns, tightening his grip. "Tell me more about how hot I am and how badly you want us to make a pit stop right over there at that log so I can—"

  "Tell me what this fast brown thing I can't spy is?" I ask in my perkiest taunt. "Was it the deer?"

  "Considering he came out after the clue…" He smirks. "Uh, no. It was your eyes. Brown and always rolling so fast sometimes I miss it."

  "Good one." My body slackens against him, relieved when his hand works its way back out of my pants. "Vaughn, what if there isn't a house?" I ask softly. "I know we can't get in it, but maybe we should've stayed by the truck anyway? That's where they'll look. Or what if there is a house and Deliverance people live in it? Did you see that movie? Because—"

  Never mind. Every idea dies on my lips when he stops abruptly, lifting me higher, and shuts me up with a frenzied kiss. His lips first take languid, whispered swipes at mine, but then his tongue snakes inside to erase all thoughts but of his taste, both of us stealing breath from the other—half released panic, half need—happy to share it with someone else.

  I rearrange my upper body, digging my hands in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans in my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip harder. I whimper, unable to stifle it, when he pulls back to replenish his air supply, chest thumping in time with my own.

  "As long as there's breath in my body, no one will hurt you. We need shelter. That's the plan. Argue with me again and I'll fuck you into seeing things my way." He leaves no room for argument, his tone so adamant and carnal I'm actually considering listening, his eyes fierce both from our kiss and my rattling stubbornness.

  "Was that last part in the Boy Scout handbook?" I lick my lips, reveling in his lingering flavor.

  He laughs with his entire body, my own shaking along, then he kisses the end of my nose. "Nothing Scout about me, babe. If there was, I wouldn't be hard as hell right now, looking for places to bend you over and fuck ya in ways that'd scare away the wildlife for miles." He shakes his head, chuckling softly to himself. "I'm positive that's not in the motto."

  "Better you than the Deliverance gang," I grump, conceding defeat and letting my head fall back onto his chest, closing my eyes for the rest of the trek.

  Chapter 11

  "Is—was that a rat?" I know I sound like every girl I hate, but rats? I'd rather freeze to death. Glass half full, though? The cabin—that's what Vaughn's calling it, so I guess I will too, even though "Little Mortuary on the Prairie" seems more fitting—is shy any inbred, horny hill people.

  I'm guessing the rats ate them.

  "Nah, you're seeing things. Stay here, I'm gonna look around for something to clean your cuts with." He sets me down on a wooden table and starts flinging open cupboards and pulling out drawers. My body grows painfully rigid with each new, possible passageway for critters unknown to announce themselves.

  Soon it'll be dark and we'll lose the dim light we have now…camouflaging the night ambush. I think I'd prefer it that way—or would I? They can smell blood, I know that. I watched The Bone Collector, dammit, and I have open wounds.

  "Vaughn," my voice wobbles, "rats…they like blood, and their beady little eyes work better in the dark and…oh, God." My vision gets splotchy as I start to hyperventilate. Bugs, stomp or swat 'em. Spiders, same plan. But disease-infested vermin with teeth? I'm tapping out!

  "Hey." He rushes to me, pushing my head down between my knees. "Breathe, Paige. Where's the badass I know? We're gonna be fine, all right?"

  I nod, sucking in one huge lungful of not so fresh air after another, ashamed that I'm wigging out so badly. But seriously, is this really happening right now? Trapped in this place with a twisted ankle and a blizzard blowing down around us and maybe some beef fucking jerky?

  "Paige, I'll take care of you." He lifts my head, smoothing his cheek against mine and stroking my hair. "I need you to believe in that."

  "I want to," I murmur on instinct.

  "Yeah?" He crouches at my eye level now, wearing a hopeful, sincere smile. "You do?"

  "Yes." My shoulders drop with my sigh. "I want to believe in you. And that's a lot more—"

  "I know. I'll take it," he interrupts and covers my mouth with a chaste kiss then pulls off his jacket, hoodie, and even shirt—in the extreme cold—and holds up a finger. "One sec, don't move."

  Again with the moving. Where is he so afraid I'm gonna scurry off to?

  He opens the door, scoops something up, and hurries back in, squeezing the shirt he should be wearing around a clump of snow, melting it in his hands. Wiping off the excess ice, he gently begins to clean the blood from my head. "There," he kisses the spot, "anywhere else?"

  "Just sore everywhere. What about—Vaughn!" I scowl, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, which is clearly out of sorts…or socket. "You are hurt, dammit! Look at your shoulder—Jesus, Vaughn!"

  It's cut, already darkening into one huge bruise, and contorted, his arm distending at a very weird, obviously abnormal and painful angle, a swollen purple lump where his broad, etched shoulder should be.

  "You carried me, in your arms, for miles with an injury like that?"

  "It's nothing, I barely noticed. But," he gives me the pleading blue gaze of a puppy who wants to sleep on the bed, "you think you can reset it?"

  Reset it? What had to be at least two miles of journey here was spent with him toting my ass, further hurting himself, all so I wouldn't have to walk on a simple twisted ankle? I should continue my ranting, but instead I'm staring at him, eyes tearing up from the spread of warmth over my swelling heart.

  "Shh. Don't cry, Paige." He swipes a fallen tear from my cheek with his thumb, concern tugging down on the corners of his mouth. "I'll be fine, I promise."

  "I know." His arms wrap around my back and I allow myself a few seconds to cling to his embrace, careful of his shoulder. Makes me feel like shit that I didn't notice his injury sooner, though, so worried about granola bars and rats. "Ignore me. It's hypothermia hormones or something." I lean away with a forced laugh. "I can fix your shoulder."

  I don't tell him how I know exactly what to do, my mother asking the same of me more times than I can count after boyfriend number whatever used her as a punching bag. Gulping down the nauseating memories and shame, I guide him with a gentle touch. "Turn around and back up to me."

  He spins, bare back an inch from my face. Without thought, my finger finds his skin, tracing the beautiful cross depicted there. It's compellingly bold, a gorgeous black outline with gray shadowing, the four points sharp and meticulous. "Why do you have this?" I whisper.

  "My dad. He drove long haul. Died. I like to think he's watching out for me and keeping me safe."

  "Well he certainly did so today, didn't he?" I lean in, placing a soft kiss on each point. "Thank you, sir."

  He sighs, and then with one sinister growl he's facing me again, grabbing my hips and pulling me to him, grinding his hardness against the crotch of my jeans. "You too hurt to let me in? Need to feel you, Firecracker," he moans into the skin of my neck where his lips do splendid things.

  "What about your shoulder?" I pant out my best attempt at diversion, loving the feeling of his hair between my fingers even though I shouldn't. If they find us—no, when—when they find us, it'll be the same as it was before…one dousing of the flame between Vaughn and I for whatever reason away from messing up everyone's life.

  "Hurry." He turns again and backs up to me. "Do it fast."

  I brace one hand in the slope between his shoulder and neck, then with the other, grip his hand. "On three. Don't tense against me. Go limp."

  "Not a chance." He laughs. "Always hard for you. Can't—fuck!" he howls, breathing in rapid spurts through the pain.

  "All done," I boast, having capitalized on him being distracted with talk of his di
ck. It is distracting. "Now let's check out the rest of this place." I hop down from the table before he can stop me, my ankle a forgotten casualty until a spike of excruciating pain zings up my leg. I swallow my scream, clenching my hands tight, and take off limping around the tiny place.

  "Paige? Where you going? You shouldn't be on that ankle, and I thought we—"

  "Really need to pee," I cut him off, talking back over my shoulder. "You called this a hunter's cabin, right? Well, hunters piss, so where do you suppose they do that exactly?"

  "Hey, turn around and look at me, please." His voice is calm, but not vacant of disappointment and knowing. "Paige?"

  That's the ironic catch to all this—the only person who sees through my smokescreen and is man enough to fight me tooth and nail on it is the one I have to try and bullshit the hardest. Dammit.

  "What?" I forfeit and turn to him.

  "Come sit down. Put your foot up. I'll check things out and get a plan going for a bathroom and heat. All right?"

  "K." I nod and hobble toward him. "Vaughn, I—"

  "No, you don't. Just…" He sighs, but helps me get situated, ankle feeling better the instant it's elevated on a chair. "Stay put and let me figure shit out while there's still a little light out."

  "You got a fire started?" he asks in blatant disbelief when he comes back inside, shivering and shaking off the snow.

  "No, Santa slid down the chimney and after I explained what a really good girl I've been, I told him all I wanted for Christmas was a fire. Viola!"

  "Glad to see you're feeling more like yourself." He winks and sets down the two buckets he's holding. "I'm impressed. What'd you use to start it?"

  The tip of his nose is bright pink, and I can tell he's trying to disguise the chattering of his teeth.

  "Come warm up in front of my award winning fire and I'll tell ya."

  He takes his boots, probably soaked through, off at the door. The jacket joins them, leaving him bare under his hoodie, his shirt soaked and laid out from earlier, before hurrying across the room to sit down beside me. He holds his red hands up to the flames and leans in. "Damn, this feels good." If he sits any closer he will, in fact, be on fire.

  "You got any feeling left in 'em?" I ask, taking his hands in mine, holding them close to my chest, and rubbing them together for added heat. "They're freezing!"

  His eyes glitter, lip quirking up. "I bet they'd feel nice inside your—"

  "Not happening." I shove his hands away before he can finish, shaking my head at his laughter.

  "Right." He holds his hands back up to the flames, his attention there as well when he adds, "We'll see."

  "Vaughn, I don't think it's a good idea—"

  "Just tell me about your fire building skills, babe."

  I stare at the side of his head, partly relieved he doesn't want to discuss what can't happen between us, but also needing to get it out. That is, until he glances my way and smiles. It's charming and playful…and a complete reminder that we can be friends.

  "The wood was stacked in that corner," I point, "and apparently, even hunters must have matches and newspaper in the can. Which doesn't come with running water, by the way."

  "I owe you a good ass spanking for not staying off your ankle." His eyes glance at the swelling that's evident through my sock. "I could rip up my shirt or something and wrap it."

  "Waste of a shirt. It's fine."

  The fight leaves him on a heavy exhale. "Whatever, just promise me to take it easy. We could be stuck here for days."

  "Yes, sir!" I mock salute, earning the grin I was hoping for.

  "Smartass," he grumbles through his chuckle.

  "So what's with the buckets? Cause there's no way that's where I'm peeing!"

  "This isn't the Four Seasons, so you'll take what we got. Luckily, though, I have a plan. I found the buckets on the porch and filled 'em with snow. We'll melt one and pour it in the tank for flushing, the other for drinking when our bottles run out. Or," he waggles his brows, "we can heat it up to bathe each other."

  "Down, boy. As soon as the blizzard breaks, we'll be outta here. I can do a day or two of grime." I shoot him a pointed look. "And why exactly can't we bathe ourselves if we're trapped here longer, huh?"

  "Can you scrub while holding and pouring a bucket over your head?"

  "No," I admit defeat on a grumble.

  He laughs, fully unzipping his hoodie. Why, I have no idea. Looking to sharing body heat maybe? I mean, if I'm absolutely forced to get naked and snuggle with the man in the interest of survival, there are worse ways to spend time.

  "Didn't think so." He wraps his good arm around me and hauls me closer. "You're not the only one who had a lil' chat with Santa."

  Christmas passed almost a month ago, but it's still funny. When I said it.

  Chapter 12

  "What do we do now?" Stiffness is settling in my banged-up body, I'm hungry, and the ambiance of a bare-chested Vaughn holding me in front of a crackling fire is fast becoming intoxicating.

  "You check if there were any beds?" he asks, his breath whispering over the side of my neck.

  "Yeah. There's not."

  I can't turn my head to look at him, so I sit unmoving as his finger trails over my shoulder and moves my hair aside.

  "Any blankets in the closets?"

  I need space, fast, and shove him away. "Psshh," I scoff. "I started a fire, don't push it. If I was a giant, hungry rat, the first place I'd hide would be a closet. Ergo, I did not explore those."

  "All right," he stands up, soaking in a second more of heat, "I'll see what I can find. You good here?"

  "Dandy." I smile up at him with condescending sweetness.

  It doesn't take him long to return from his search down the short hall, carrying a lone sleeping bag. I'm half tempted to steal it for myself, but like the strangely generous person I'm somehow becoming, I only shake my head and ignore his suggestive chuckle.

  "Feel free to snuggle," he taunts, unrolling our makeshift flannel bed onto the floor a little too close to the fire for my taste.

  "Do I have another option behind one of those doors back there?" I stand, hands perched on my hips. "You know, one that doesn't involve me freezing overnight or sleeping with you?"

  He places his finger to his chin and looks skyward in mock thoughtfulness, then very slowly moves his gaze back to mine, that damn grin creeping over his gorgeous mouth. "Nope. Now get your stubborn ass in there."

  Unable to admit defeat without being a bitch, I bend and tug the bag further away from the flames. "We already escaped death once today," I remind him. "Let's not tempt fate with the option of a fiery death."

  With only a small smile, he climbs inside the sleeping bag and murmurs, "One day."

  Removing my socks, something I refuse to sleep in no matter how cold it gets, I take the bait. "One day what? You'll get us out of here and go find some new skank to get you off?" I mock.

  His smile grows wider and cockier as he scooches over for me to join him. "Jealousy looks good on you," he drawls. "Real good."

  "Goodnight, Vaughn," I grumble, ignoring the flare of arousal in my gut as I brush along his hard frame. I turn away from him, attempting and failing at not smashing our bodies together, since his groin is now firmly pressed against my ass. "Keep your hands and other parts to yourself or they'll be missing by morning," I hiss, closing my eyes tight and begging my pussy to calm the hell down. After a few painful minutes of silence, I add, "By the way, you have to care about someone to be jealous. And no man is worth the trouble."

  "One day…" I hear him repeat, voice stern and suddenly distant. "One day you'll see. Night, Firecracker."

  The witches of the woods are testing me. It's the only possible explanation for our current arrangement. The morning sun's still not up and somehow we're tangled together, wrapped around each other like strands of DNA.

  Can't be in need of body heat, the overabundance of it evidenced by my racing heartbeat and his accelerated deep breathing a
nd unfailing erection poking me in the ribs. My head rests in the nook of his arm, the one curling up to repeatedly stroke my hair. I have no words to spill, no unnecessary niceties or jabs. Maybe it's the camaraderie of isolation or the sinewy bare chest on which I'm half sprawled over weaving a seductive spell, but I'm utterly entranced.

  If we were still safe at home, I'd never stray from plan Keep the Peace, but here…like this…

  "I know you're awake," he whispers against the top of my head, his mouth resting there.

  It catapults my undeniable desire for him to new heights.

  "Maybe," I answer in a labored breath.

  "We could blame it on boredom," he suggests, as if joking, which we both know he's not.

  The resentment of my need surfaces with a bitter sigh. "Vaughn—"

  He rolls over me, hissing in pain I know is from his shoulder, but not deterred in the slightest. He traps me under him, bracing himself on his elbows. "Don't waste your bullshit on me. You want it as much as I do."

  I shove against his chest. "Don't flatter yourself!"

  He doesn't budge, instead lowering himself down, our bodies flush with sinful sensations. "You saying no?" He gazes down at me, his breath mingling with mine, eyes bright and blazing enough to shame the ones in the hearth.

  "No," I whisper.

  "No, what?" he whispers back.

  "I'm not saying no."

  "Then I'm just getting started." The delicious weight of him disappears as he unzips the bag, shooting pangs of anticipation flaring in me at the sound. "Shirt off," he demands, sliding up onto his knees, already working my pants open and down my legs.

  "It's cold."

  "Won't be an issue." He winks.

  I'm heating up just from the sexy way he said it, fuck me eyes raking over every inch of my skin, stopping to burn into the spot I need him most. "Vaughn," I plead, panting and searching desperately for a hold on his firm ass.

  He zips us back inside our fortress, bringing us closer again. "Love you moaning my name, Paige. You want me here," he glides a finger through my wetness and into me, rubbing my clit with the pad of his thumb, "bare? Tell me yes and I'll give it to you."