Kiss Me (Fool's Gold #17)(75)

“You okay?” he asked, as he set down the flashlight and touched her cheek. “Getting warm?”

She nodded, then sniffed. “I’m sorry.”

His dark eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. “It was worth it.”

“What?”

“I get to say I told you so.”

She sniffed again. “You’re not mad?”

“Because I had to go out in the rain, in the middle of the night, pull up the stakes on your tent, resecure it somewhere else so it would dry out, then cart your saddlebags over to Cookie’s wagon, wake him up and then listen to him complain?”

She winced. “Those would be the reasons.”

“I’m not mad.”

She couldn’t believe it. “But I was stupid.”

“You’re a greenhorn. You didn’t know any better.”

“You tried to tell me. I should have listened.”

He smiled. “That’ll teach you. The man always knows best.”

“That’s so not true.”

“It is in this case. So are you naked?”

The switch in topic caught her unaware. She shimmied a little deeper into the sleeping bag. “I, ah, left on my panties.”

Zane swore softly. “I guess I deserved that for asking.”

“Deserved what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Suddenly she did. Very much. But she didn’t know how to ask. So she tried a different subject.

“Are we going to share the sleeping bag?”

“I thought I’d go stay with Cookie.”

“Oh.” Disappointment flooded her way more than the river had. It was just as cold, but not as wet.

“Phoebe, we talked about this,” he reminded her. “You deserve better than a quickie out in the open.”

“We’re in a tent,” she said before she could stop herself. “And it doesn’t have to be quick.”

As soon as the words were out, she wanted to pull the sleeping bag over her head and disappear. Instead, she closed her eyes and waited for Zane to stalk off in disgust. When he didn’t move, she opened first one eye, then the other.

He was staring at her with the hungry expression of a man who has been starving all his life. The need burning in his dark irises warmed her way more than the sleeping bag.

He wanted her. She could feel his desire all the way to her toes. She wasn’t sure why he wanted her or for how long, but she couldn’t worry about any of that now.

She watched the battle rage inside of him. Base need fought his desire to be a gentleman. She wasn’t exactly sure how to influence the outcome, but she was determined to get her way in this. After considering several options, she settled on a simple, yet direct approach. She unzipped the sleeping bag and sat up.

While she was sure her hair was wet and spiky and that the flashlight didn’t exactly flatter her skin tone, Zane didn’t seem to notice any of that. His gaze dropped to her bare breasts and didn’t budge. There was an audible exhalation of air, a swearword, then a low groan that sounded very much like surrender.

A heartbeat later, the flashlight clicked off.

Phoebe blinked in the darkness. “Zane?”

“We’re gonna have to do this by feel. Otherwise we’ll be putting on a show.”

She thought about how flashlights in the tents created detailed shadows and blushed at the thought of entertaining the others.

Before she could figure out some kind of response, she both felt and heard movement. Instinctively, she pulled the sleeping bag up over her chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Taking off my jacket. It’s soaked.”

“Oh.”

There was a bit more rustling, then a warm hand settled on her shoulder.

“You okay with this?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered, nearly meaning it. Sure, she wanted to be with him in the most intimate way possible, but wanting it and talking about it were two different things.

He chuckled. “Second thoughts?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what, exactly?”

But she never got to say. Apparently he’d been moving closer as they spoke, and before she could form a word, his mouth settled on hers.

The man had great aim, she thought as firm, tender lips claimed her own. Her body melted in anticipation, which made it difficult to stay upright. Rather than puddle into the sleeping bag, she simply leaned against him.

Even as he moved back and forth on her mouth, he brought his strong arms around her. She felt the soft, well-washed cotton of his shirt and the strength of his muscles. She always felt at home in his arms, so it was only natural to release her death grip on the sleeping bag and wrap her arms around his neck. Which meant her bare chest was pressed against his material-covered one, but once he stroked her lower lip with his tongue, none of that seemed to matter.

She’d always had the best time in Zane’s arms, she thought hazily as she parted her mouth and waited for him to sweep inside. He kissed like someone who had invented the activity. If kissing was a sport, then Zane was an Olympic-class athlete.

He teased her by nipping on her lower lip before he brushed his tongue against hers. She sighed in a delicious combination of passion and anticipation.