Baddest Bad Boys(54)

Wondered if he’d want to.

He shifted back, let her get up and out of the pool, then followed. The rain amped up to torrential by the time they’d donned their soggy clothes. He threw his slicker over her shoulders and pulled her face to within an inch or two of his own, kissed her again. “It may be just sex between us, but it will be damn good sex.”

She kissed him back, then stepped away. “I’ve had lots of good sex.” She cocked her head, gave him a challenging stare. “If I decide to do this, I’ll expect better than good.”

“Ah, a woman who raises the bar.” He ran a knuckle along her chin. “Then I guess I’d better make sure your time in my bed is as good as it gets.”

“Promises, promises.” She pointed to the hot spring. “And the way I see it, you’ve already broken one.”

He frowned.

“The touching?” she reminded.

“I was provoked.”

“You were randy.”

He laughed. “Still am.” He raised his face to the rain, let it sluice over him and cool his skin. “But we’d better get going. Mother Nature’s getting mean. And it’s going to get worse.”

They headed for the trail, neither of them certain what was at the end of it.

Tommi didn’t let go of Mac’s hand until they reached the porch, and he needed it to open the door. On the trail the wind had come up, and even within the safety of the trees, it shoved at their backs, chilled their wet clothes.

If sex was on her mind when they left the pools, thoughts of pneumonia now replaced it. She was an icicle.

“Go take a warm shower, get into some dry clothes,” Mac said. “I’ll stoke up the fire, get us something hot to drink.”

Tommi didn’t need persuading. She bolted for the stairs and in under five minutes was thawing under a cascade of hot water. When the heat of it finally reached her bones, her thoughts turned back to Mac and the sizzle between them…the weight of his sex pressing against her in the hot springs.

Get a grip, Smith. You’re salivating.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a navy blue bath sheet, determined to get dressed and go downstairs with her cool—what there was left of it—intact.

A car backfired! The sound was unmistakable.

Her throat knotted with her own breath, and she ran to the window. Peering through a thick veil of rain, she couldn’t see anything except masses of dripping evergreens and above them a dark, ominous sky.

Another backfire.

She flew out of the room, called to Mac over the railing. “Did you hear that?”

He was kneeling, prodding the fire to a full blaze. “Hear what?” He looked up at her, and it registered he hadn’t changed yet.

“A car backfire. There’s someone out there.” She kept the panic from her voice—barely. “I’m sure of it.”

She expected him to argue, tell her she was hearing things, overreacting; instead, he shot to his feet. “I’ll check it out.” He put his yellow slicker over his wet clothes. “Stay here.” With that he headed out the door.

Outside it was midstorm dismal, the mist between the trees now a deep gray, half steam, half fog. Mac ignored the rain and shoved the hood back off his head to look around. Nothing but the usual wall of soaring cedars, bush, and endless ocean. The only sound was the flapping of branches beating at the wind and the roar of the surf.

He headed toward the road, which under the onslaught of sky water was now a series of muddy pools, some of them damn near knee-deep—even his four-wheel wouldn’t guarantee getting through the sludge. He skirted the worst of the pools and checked through the dense bush on either side of the road. Still nothing.

Then he saw them. About a half-mile out.

Fresh tire marks, on the road and up the bank. Whoever it was had obviously stalled on their way out and had a bitch of a time getting out of the mud.

Maybe that * Reid was after Tommi.

His gut tightened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. He stared up the road into the deepening gloom and worked to level off his breathing, temper the blasts of raw anger.

One thing was certain: if Reid was stupid enough to try again, he’d be waiting for him—with a loaded shotgun.

In the meantime, he’d keep his eyes open and his mouth shut.

What he wasn’t going to do was tell Tommi what he’d found. There was always the chance it was some schmuck who’d taken a wrong road, and he’d upset her for nothing.

He stared at the gouged-out mud the tires had thrown up to get free, then looked at the black sky. If the second storm came as predicted, they’d be safe enough. Another few inches of water and you’d need a tank to get through on this road.

Had to be the first time Mac, now a Pacific Northwesterner to his bones, prayed for rain—and plenty of it.

6
When he got back to the lodge, Tommi was waiting, her eyes too bright, her movements agitated. “I made some hot chocolate,” she said. “And some sandwiches.”

“Great.”

When he didn’t say anything more, she added, “Did you see anything?”

“About a million soggy trees.”

“I heard something, Mac. I did.” She looked desperate to have him believe her.

“Probably a branch or two snapping off a tree. Distant lightning, maybe. Could have been anything.”