Baddest Bad Boys(50)

She sorted through her ragtag thoughts, stunned she hadn’t given Mac a good shin-kick and stormed out like the good and proper girl most mothers raised their daughters to be. Trouble was, she hadn’t had a mother, only a father who hadn’t had time for her. And she’d never quite considered herself proper, but even if there had been a man or two too many, there hadn’t been enough to put her in the running for the Susie-does-Seattle award.

Not even close.

Now here she was, in a lodge at the back end of the world, seriously considering going to bed with Hugh’s brother.

Which makes me either crazy or sex-starved.

Damn it, she liked sex. Wouldn’t apologize for that. She especially liked sex with talented lovers. Lovers at ease in their bodies, and easy with hers. That lovin’ feeling…A hard, powerful male body straining for release. Sensations of polished steel over brushed silk. The musky scent. The heat of desire in his eyes when he explored her body, stroked her warming skin…rubbed her clitoris with a deft finger. Tasted her.

The rush of coming and coming…

She crossed her legs, tight, and inhaled deeply. At least she’d been smart enough not to go to bed with Reid. She’d come close—he’d made all the right moves—but something held her back. Instincts, plain and simple.

Instincts she needed now, more than ever. Closing her eyes, she listened for those subtle whispers to tell her what course to take. But this time they weren’t so clear. In one ear they urged her toward Mac’s bed, Mac’s body. In the other they murmured, be careful.

A woman never knew when one more mistake would be one too many.

She decided to heed the be-careful signal, reminding herself she’d come here to be safe, not sorry.

If she was in the market for a fresh load of regret, all she had to do was go to bed with Mac before she’d thought it through.

He shouldn’t have kissed her—if you could call the soft meeting of their lips a kiss. She touched her mouth and her breathing stalled. She compressed her thighs against the tiny pulses playing havoc at their apex. If the barest touch of his lips to hers made her body throb—where it had no business throbbing—they’d be lethal applied to more vulnerable body parts.

She wanted that…Mac over her, in her, his mouth on her breasts and his hands—

No! She did not want to sleep with Mac. It was nothing but a sexual hum, a dark coaxing from a traitorous body. She would not listen. Hugh was her friend and by extension so was Mac—or could be if she played her cards with common sense. Better to gain a friend than a lover. She wasn’t about to mess things up to have rash, mindless sex.

She went to the closet and rummaged for a jacket. Too light, but it would have to do. She headed for the door.

A walk was a good idea. It would clear her head. The farther she and Mac stayed from roaring fires, big, comfy sofas, and even more comfy beds, the better off they’d be. Trudging over soggy earth under rain-drenched trees on a freezing November day would definitely put the thought of sex on hold.

Mac waited at the door, wearing the same yellow rain slicker he’d worn when she’d arrived yesterday. He eyed her jacket.

“Here.” He handed her a hooded fleece pullover. “Put this on under your jacket. The wind’s a killer.”

“Thanks.” She pulled it on and he helped, opening the neck area wider so she could more easily poke her head through. When the clip holding her hair came loose and fell to the floor, he picked it up, looked at her, and slipped it in his pocket.

He forked his fingers through her long hair, tucked it in the hood. “Leave it down,” he instructed.

“You planning on using it to drag me to your bed?” She asked, not sure how she felt about his caveman tactics.

“Would it work?”

“As a first move, I’d say it’s a nonstarter.”

“Too bad. Those early boys had a good thing going.” He came close to smiling.

“Do I detect the glimmer of a sense of humor?”

“Not when it comes to you, Smith. You’re serious business.”

She let that go, didn’t want to ask what he meant by it, because on some level, the idea of being Mac’s serious business made her uneasy.

Outside, the weather huddled, wraithlike and unpredictable, the clouds heavy and dark, the air salty and ocean-damp. Wind stabbed them with cold, sharp gusts, and mist, lowlying and eerily opaque, drifted among the trees.

Tommi filled her lungs with fresh air and looked around. It was so dark when she arrived last night, until now she had no sense of the property around the lodge. It was beautiful, she thought, so deeply green and mysterious. Two or three cleared acres accommodated the fishing lodge which was settled back from a deep cove protected on both sides by rocky outcroppings. With towering cedars and hemlock ringing three sides, and the broad expanse of the Pacific Ocean forming a moat on the other, the camp was a fortress in the wilderness.

She couldn’t see where they’d walk, unless it was in a circle or along the pocked and rutted road she’d come in on.

“This way.” Mac said. “I want to show you something.”

He pointed to what looked to be an impenetrable wall of trees on the far side of the camp. “Lead on.” She fastened the last button on her jacket, already intensely grateful for the fleece Mac gave her.

Closer to the trees she noticed a cave-like opening. Mac went in first, holding back a tangle of bush so she could follow. She stepped onto a narrow, rough path, a gauntlet of puddles, sludge, sodden leaves, and jutting stones. And, if she weren’t careful, enough eye-level branches to either smack her stupid or take out an eye.