Instant Temptation (Wilder #3)(28)

Harley smiled, but reached out and squeezed his hand. “So that trick was hard earned.”

“Yeah.” Leaning back, he looked up at the sky. Perfectly clear now, it was littered with stars like diamonds on a blanket of black velvet. Not a single cloud, which meant no more rain—and boded well for sleeping in the open. “You sure you’re not frozen solid? You really should change.”

“I will.” Harley pulled out a can of soup. “I know you intended to be back home by now, so you probably don’t have food. I’ve got chicken noodle.”

“I’m okay.”

“TJ, I’m not going to eat if you don’t. And besides, I’m still in charge. You’re eating.” She’d been rifling through her backpack as she spoke. “Uh oh.”

“What?”

“Might have spoken too soon. Can’t find my can opener.” She began to unload her pack, pulling out the maps, her GPS tracking unit, a bottle of lotion, a hairbrush, a pair of pink bikini polka-dotted panties that just about gave him heart failure, and a paperback. The cover was a scantily clad woman in the arms of a soldier, whose shirt was wide open.

“A camping handbook?” he teased.

“It’s a historical romance, from Skye. She said I need to read it and broaden my horizons.”

“Read it out loud and broaden both our horizons.”

She eyed the cover. “You’d have to put me in chains to get me to read that out loud to you.”

He held out his hand for the book. She winced, clearly not wanting to hand it over, but she eventually did. He read the back cover copy. “‘He’s been released from his bonds to the government, but she’s only just begun her servitude—willingly.’” He looked up and grinned. “Turns out that chains might be the perfect accessory for this book.”

“Ha.” Face flaming, she yanked it out of his hands and stuffed the thing back into the bottom of her pack. “I’m sure I have a can opener in here somewhere.”

TJ pulled out his utility knife, opened the can, and set it in the middle of the flames to heat up.

“You’re good.”

“Just practiced.”

Harley eyed his backpack with envy. “What other magic necessities do you have in there?”

Condoms, he nearly said, but he was fairly certain she wouldn’t consider that a magic necessity. He pulled out an apple, which they shared with the soup.

TJ had spent a myriad of nights just like this one, out in the open, a fire crackling, the wind rustling the trees, the night insects humming. It always brought him peace. Tonight, however, he wouldn’t have labeled his mood peaceful. More like…revved up. “You warming up?” he asked, knowing she was because her cheeks began to go from pale to rosy.

“Actually, yeah, and it’s making me tired. I know it’s early, but I’m going to hit the sack.”

He stood and added wood to the fire while she opened her sleeping bag and spread it on the ground.

“Going to sleep now means you don’t have to talk to me,” he pointed out.

“And that.”

Saying nothing, he watched as she crawled into her sleeping bag. He opened his bag and spread it on the opposite side of the fire. He’d just slid into it when Harley asked, “How come you even have your sleeping bag when all you were planning was a day trip?”

“I like to be prepared.”

“That’s pretty prepared. That’s almost…overly prepared.”

“I told you about Sam. You know there’s a lot that could happen out here. Even a sprained ankle could lead to me being stuck overnight. Or a rockslide could hold me up, or having to go straight to a rescue, anything.”

“Or a childhood acquaintance coming out here alone, making you feel that you have to keep an eye on her.”

He said nothing to that.

“I imagine you’ve seen and heard it all, and rescued half of them,” she said.

“Probably.”

She was quiet a minute, then began rustling about like she was having a wrestling match with herself.

“Everything okay in there?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

Of course she was. She had “fine” down to a science. She was quiet for all of two seconds. Then he heard her swear softly.

“Problem?” he asked.

“Yeah.” A bare arm appeared, her shirt dangling from two fingers. “This needs to dry.” She tossed it to the log they’d just vacated.

Then she did the same with her pants.

He found himself holding his breath, hoping her underwear was coming next, praying her underwear was coming next.

But his luck wasn’t that good.

Finally she seemed to settle down, and he spent the next few minutes picturing her in the sleeping bag in only her bra and panties.

He wondered if they were silky.

Or lace.

Maybe she wore a thong…

God. He had to stop the self-inflicted torture. “You okay now?” he asked, hearing the huskiness in his own voice.

“Yeah.”

Her voice was husky, too, as if she knew what she did to him and maybe, maybe he did something to her, too.

“Good,” he managed. “Glad you’re okay.”

Because he wasn’t.