by Lisa Plumley
Alexis, who’d been listening to this spiel since the age of eight, piped up. “In wilderness-speak, ‘energy’ means ‘calories.’ He means you’ll need plenty of calories.”
All the women brightened. He had their full attention.
“Everyone will be responsible for carrying their own food, which the Hideaway Lodge will supply.”
Carla raised her hand. “Is it Zone perfect? I’ve been eating in the Zone for two weeks now.”
“Really?” Jayne asked, looking intrigued as she turned to Carla. “How much have you lost?”
“Four pounds.”
“Wow! Good for you!”
They all applauded. Riley cocked his head in confusion.
“What about Weight Watchers points?” Mitzi asked. “How many in that packet?”
Alexis turned it over quizzically, peering at the nutrition information.
“We’re on the Atkins diet,” Donna put in. “Doris and I don’t eat high-carb foods.”
“Speak for yourself, Doris. This is the wilderness. We’ve got to eat to live.”
Kelly raised her hand. “Will there be s’mores? I went to Camp Weehawkin when I was ten, and we had s’mores.”
They all looked at him expectantly. Riley, suffering from a flashback of the lunchtime diet regime comparisons, took a minute to realize it.
“I don’t know about that stuff. We’ll be eating—” He squinted at the packages. “—old-fashioned beef stroganoff with mushroom sauce, and down-home vegetarian entrée with beans. Period. End of story. Now, as far as the rest of your supplies go….”
“Awwww.”
Refusing to be suckered by their disappointed faces into revealing the Snickers bars he always added to each pack for trailside pick-me-ups, he went on to discuss the other essentials. Firestarter. Matches. An Army knife. A first aid kit. A flashlight.
“Some of these items will be shared among teams of two—that’s how we divide each group. You’ll have a buddy, and the two of you will keep track of each other.”
The women turned to each other, excitedly pairing off. Amid the camaraderie, Jayne glanced toward Riley. Their eyes met. In hers he read curiosity, interest…and a certain amount of “how about hooking up for old times’ sake?” mischief. The same kind of mischief, he figured, that had led her to flaunt her sexy shoes, show off her cleavage, and generally make him regret he’d ever let her go.
If Jayne thought all that stuff meant he was going to want to partner with her—in every conceivable way…well, she was right.
But wanting to do it and actually doing it were two different things, Riley reminded himself. He might have to suffer through the former, but he was going to avoid the latter. He was going to be gentlemanly, helpful…an all-around good guy. He was going to show Jayne there were decent men in the world—men who weren’t packing the raw materials for relationship disaster.
“Later,” he mouthed to her, and smiled.
She nodded and rejoined the conversation.
While the group discussed trail buddies and calorific bonanzas, Riley went to the opposite side of the table and sorted through the packs arrayed there. He was feeling pretty good about things. Happy about the way this orientation was progressing, optimistic about the women’s chances for survival and good times on the trail, downright saintly about his plans to show Jayne the goodness of mankind. But as he lifted the pack he’d chosen, another, less welcome emotion pushed its way into his consciousness.
Uneasiness.
Along with it came the sensation that he’d forgotten something. Riley tried to tamp it down, but it refused to budge. He tried to ignore it, along with the uneasiness, but still it niggled at him. For some reason, he felt unsure about what was happening. And then it hit him—the realization of what was behind these feelings.
In the past, getting close to Jayne had only tempted him to change his ways, he remembered. Had only encouraged him to give up the vagabond life he’d chosen and stay—stay—with her. Would spending time with her now have the same effect?
Riley looked at her, considering. Jayne was laughing, swiveled in her chair in a classic bombshell’s pose, legs crossed seductively and dress clinging in all the right places. She looked fabulous. Warm, affectionate, funny. Exactly the way a change-your-whole-life temptress ought to look.
He waited for that old urge to strike…the urge that had whispered how nice it would be to wake up in the same place, with the same woman, day after day.
It didn’t strike.
Whew. For a second there, he’d been afraid he didn’t even have the fortitude to get through a single day—much less a whole week—with Jayne, and still keep his traveling-adventuring-exploring goals intact.
To see, to do, to conquer, to enjoy.
If he couldn’t stick to his intentions, Riley told himself, then he wasn’t the man he thought he was. And that was…unthinkable.
Boundlessly relieved, he called an end to the chatty discussion. With the ladies’ attention secured, Riley accepted a sample backpacker’s pack from Alexis and held it in his arms as he addressed the group again.
“I’ll need a volunteer to help demonstrate proper fitting of a trail pack,” he said. He grinned and delivered his standard joke. “Someone who won’t mind getting close, and won’t mind having a strange man’s hands all over her.”
Five hands shot into the air. The women waved their arms, eager to join in. As Riley had expected, Jayne wasn’t one of the volunteers.
Time for the “two could play that game” portion of our show.
Sweeping the group with a speculative look, he finally settled his gaze on…Jayne. He took his time considering her, and was forced to admire the way she sat straight beneath his scrutiny. Obviously, she refused to be intimidated—or to admit the sense of challenge playing between them.
“Jayne, how about you?”
Chapter Five
How about her? Jayne thought as Riley’s I-dare-you gaze settled on her. How about having her sense of self-preservation examined, for instance?
It looked as though she’d checked it at the doors of the Hideaway Lodge, along with her sense of normalcy and her usual city-bred certainty. Staying here where Riley could tease her with those warm hazel eyes, that devastating smile, that alert-yet-relaxed stance of his was absolutely nuts. Any sensible woman would have taken herself far away from him. Far, far, far, far—yikes. He was coming closer.
At his approach, she straightened in her chair, desperate to continue projecting a confident, you-don’t-bug-me demeanor. During Riley’s presentation, it had been hard not to fidget. She’d caught herself at it a few times—nervously crossing and uncrossing her legs, playing with her pendant, wiggling in her chair—and had put a stop to it every time…but not before Riley had noticed, in a couple of instances.
She didn’t want him to know he could still get to her. That way lay madness—and the certain failure of her Heartbreak 101 workshop. Her techniques had never faced a challenge quite like this—more than six feet of rugged male, coming nearer with every second and likely to come even closer over the next few days. Good-natured Riley, with his easy ways and drifter’s heart, probably didn’t even realize how his nearness turned her inside out.
But Jayne did. And she couldn’t afford to succumb to it.
All around her, the workshop attendees waved their arms, eager to volunteer for the duty she dreaded: having Riley’s hands all over her.
One of those hands loomed in her vision as he held it toward her, palm up in invitation. Predictably, she automatically leaned nearer. It seemed her body remembered the feel of those hands—big, strong, nimble-fingered and surprisingly gentle—and had none of the reservations her mind did.
Jayne jerked herself back. She shook her head, scrambling for an excuse. “I, um, haven’t even tried wearing a backpack before. Surely Kelly’s Camp Weehawken experience makes her more qualified for your demonstration. I’m a rank beginner!”
“You’re perfect,” Riley said
in that rumbly voice of his.
A moment later, Jayne found herself pulled to her feet, to the applause of the group. At her side, Mr. Charming Smile gave her a reassuring pat.
“This won’t hurt a bit,” he said.
That’s what he thought. He wasn’t the one who’d have to endure the now-impersonal touch of someone who’d once caressed her tenderly…someone who’d once kissed her sweetly…someone who’d once—whoa. Jayne started as Riley’s hands lowered to her shoulders and his fingertips grazed the bare skin near her neckline. That wasn’t so impersonal.
“Wearing a pack comfortably starts with what you’re wearing beneath it,” Riley said. “You want to avoid seams, tears, areas that might chafe. Pure cotton rubs when wet, but silk—” His palms skimmed her shoulders. “—is a fine choice, as are breathable poly-blends that wick moisture from the skin.”
Jayne gawped at him. She’d have sworn there wasn’t a man alive who knew the difference between silk, cotton, and rayon—much less what a “poly-blend” was. And Riley could identify those fabrics by touch, while advising on their proper use. Unbelievable. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that his expertise was probably not limited to breaking hearts while appearing unceasingly happy-go-lucky.
The pack settled onto her back, its weight unfamiliar.
“This is an external frame pack,” Riley explained as he helped steady it. “Empty, it weighs about six pounds.”
“Couldn’t I just carry my purse?” Jayne squirmed beneath the awkward load. “It’s lighter. And more stylish. This feels like a gigantic fanny pack.”
The women made faces, nodding in sympathy. Jayne felt vindicated. Nothing was more unflattering than a fanny pack. Unless it was two fanny packs.
Riley shook his head. “Can you fit a sleeping bag, several days’ worth of food, supplies, and extra clothes in your purse?”
Jayne thought about it. If only she’d brought her Sak drawstring hobo instead of a handbag….
Doris held up her purse. “I think I can.”
“Nonsense. I can.” Donna raised her tote. “I once fit a nineteen pound Thanksgiving turkey in here,” she said proudly.
They all murmured appreciatively at this accomplishment.
“I saw the cutest Kate Spade bag in a magazine last month,” Carla said. “It was, like, to die for.”
“Who’s Kate Spade?” Mitzi asked. Pop.
Kelly looked dreamy. “Does anybody else think David Spade is cute? Because ever since “Just Shoot Me” came on TV, I—”
The conversation took on a momentum of its own. Amid its topic changes and laughter, Jayne was stranded with Riley right behind her. And she did mean right behind her. His warmth touched her all over. His breath tickled her ear as he spoke.
“How long do you think this will go on?” he asked.
She shrugged. Which was a mistake, because it brought her shoulders more firmly against his palms again. An inadvisable sizzle zipped through her at the contact. “I dunno. Until we’ve covered Fendi, Prada, about six other actors, and, quite possibly, gardening spades as recommended by Martha Stewart.”
He whistled again. Everyone quieted.
“Or,” Jayne amended, “until you stop it, probably.”
Riley squeezed her shoulders gently. The camaraderie they’d shared awakened at the contact, reminding her of the way they each used to know what the other was thinking without saying a word. During their time together, the two of them had created an entire language of touches, looks, laughs. Apparently, it wouldn’t take long for the Berlitz version of Riley-Jane-Speak to bring them up to speed again now.
Damn it.
She knew he was smiling at her comment even before she glanced over her shoulder at him.
He winked and nodded toward the group. “Somebody’s got to be in charge.”
He was in charge. Although he kept his voice low so the others wouldn’t overhear, Jayne knew they realized it too. The ability to lead came as naturally to Riley as broad shoulders and a wicked appreciation for a properly-fitted pack.
Speaking of which…
“The hip belt is secured first,” he said to the group. His hands skimmed down her sides to capture the dangling straps, while he leveraged his chest against her back to hold the pack in place. Murmuring encouragement, Riley turned Jayne to a three-quarters-facing position toward their audience. “It helps keep the pack’s weight here, where it belongs.”
His knuckles nudged her hips. A thousand memories rushed forward at his touch—memories of him cradling her close during a kiss, raising her hips while he entered her, tickling her while they cuddled together afterward. Didn’t he realize this position was just like vertical spooning? Didn’t he remember spooning was one of her favorite things?
Helplessly, Jayne glanced at Riley’s profile while he looked over her shoulder to fasten the hip belt buckle. His jaw held the merest hint of dark, late-afternoon stubble. His mouth pursed in concentration. His eyes…met hers as the buckle clicked into place.
He realized, all right. He remembered. And he knew exactly what he was doing to her. Unfortunately, she was trapped for the rest of it.
Her whole body quivered. Riley’s voice filled the room as he went on explaining about pack fitting, but Jayne heard almost none of it. Her mind was occupied with blocking out memories of his touch, ignoring the reawakening their contact caused now, staying the course she’d set for herself.
How could she have believed herself over him?
She was, Jayne told herself firmly. The touch of any good-looking man would have caused this reaction. Especially after the several nearly-celibate months she’d recently spent. Her night-table companion Mr. Buzzy, she had to admit, just wasn’t the same as a real live—geez, his touch felt good. She was only human, Jayne struggled to convince herself further, with a woman’s natural susceptibility to a sexy man’s—
Was that what she thought that was, grazing her backside?
Was Riley as affected by their nearness as she was?
A trickle of hope filled her. So long as he wasn’t as unruffled as his carefree expression suggested, Jayne still stood a chance. She still might escape this week as confident as she’d entered it.
Having adjusted the pack’s shoulder straps, Riley stepped from behind her. Something swung free as he did. Another buckle, Jayne realized as she eyed it dispiritedly. What she’d mistaken for helpless ardor had merely been…a rogue fastener.
Sigh.
Waitaminute. She wasn’t disappointed. Riley could keep all his…buckles to himself, for all she cared. She didn’t care if she ever saw his…buckle again. Ever.
Unwanted, a risqué vision rose in her mind. Riley, wearing nothing but a pack. Riley, gloriously naked save some strategically-placed belts. Riley, wearing a smile and a come-and-get-it grin as he proudly showed off the part of him that had made so many erotic adventures possible between them. Riley, Riley—no.
Oblivious to her stupidly wandering thoughts, he fastened the pack’s shoulder straps. His movements stirred the air between them, making her too aware of his clean masculine scent. His familiar scent. If she didn’t free herself from this demonstration soon, Jayne realized, she just might crack.
There were only so many sensory memories a person could be expected to withstand, especially when they were all, in combination, so delicious. The strength of Riley’s arms around her. The expertise of his touch. The surety of his stance as he stood nearby to explain the process. She examined his face. Any minute now she’d lever upward on her toes, purse her lips, and—
“Finished,” he announced, stepping back with a flourish.
Blinking in surprise, Jayne found herself arrayed in a fully-outfitted pack. Straps comfortably crisscrossed her torso. Slippery nylon whooshed softly when she moved.
“Hey! It’s lighter!” she said.
He nodded. “A well-fitted pack hugs you close as a lover.”
A lover. The kind of lover that love ‘em and leave ‘em Riley Davis would
never be, for her. Not since he’d broken her heart. Indignation cleared her head. How dare he stand there, casually tossing around words like “lover?” Like “hugs”, for that matter?
The breakup-ees leaned nearer, “oooh”ing and whispering.
At the sound, Jayne glanced at them. To her relief, the sight of their interested faces—the sight of all the women who were relying on her for help—solidified her goals. Those goals did not include melting at Riley’s every touch, but they did include showing her breakup-ees how to cope with the challenge of an ex. Starting now.
“A lover?” she repeated, arching her brow.
Riley folded his arms over his chest. He nodded.
“Well, let’s hope it’s more reliable than a lover,” Jayne chirped. With an expertise she hadn’t known she possessed—apparently, some part of her hadn’t been absorbed in mentally undressing Riley and reliving their steamiest moments—she rapidly unfastened the buckles and straps. “Let’s hope this pack is much more reliable. Not prone to bailing out, for instance, just when things get good.”
Riley frowned. Jayne felt justified in giving him her most dazzling smile. It was hard, but she did it.
“Come on, ladies,” she said. “We have things to do. Broken hearts to get over. Post-lunch primping to be done. Who’s with me?”
A chorus of “me!“s rang out. Leopard-print compacts were waved in the air. Before Riley could so much as pick up the pack where it had fallen, Jayne had gathered her group. The women—including teenaged Alexis—headed for the door.
“Hey!” Riley gestured toward them.
She paused in the entryway. “Oh, I’m sorry. I trust you’re done with the orientation? You did say the pack-fitting was the final part, didn’t you?”
Looking perplexed, he nodded.
“Then we’ll just get on with our day.” They trouped onward.
“Wait!”
She did.
“Typically, I dismiss the group,” he told her.
Feeling stronger, Jayne considered this. “You might as well get used to something,” she said at last. “We’re not typical.”
