Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 (4 page)

She switched on the grill and high-tailed it back into the cabin, belatedly realizing if his shorts were out on the picnic table, that meant beneath his jeans he was… Her gaze dropped to his crotch the minute she walked into the cabin…and ricocheted away about as fast. She wasn't the kind of girl who checked out men's crotches, especially those of a man she knew had gone commando.

"Those are quite some mounts," he said.

"W-what?" She blushed, certain he'd caught her staring at his crotch. But, he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing in the direction of the trophy heads mounted above the fireplace that seemed to define the living room area between kitchen and beds.

He strode over to a ten-pointer with a near perfect spread. "Nice," he said, read the name on the placard beneath the mount, and added, "Hey, it's yours."

He grinned at her. "So you're a hunter, too."

"Pretty much goes with being the daughter of a CO," she said, turning to the kitchen counter, picking up a fork, and poking the steak he'd seasoned; doing pretty much anything so she didn't have to face him. She was certain her cheeks were still pink.

"Here's another one of yours," he said from further back in the cabin. "And a bunch of those little antlers stuck up around the top of the walls have your name on them, too."

"I've been hunting with my dad for as long as I can remember. Started me plinking tin cans with a bb gun as soon as I was old enough to understand how to handle a gun
safely."

He nodded. "Gun safety."

Was there a hint of anti-gun sentiment in his tone? There was a lot of that in Hollywood.

She tossed down the fork and faced him, arms folded over her chest. "Yeah. There isn't a kid who grows up in these parts that doesn't know not to touch a gun until someone teaches you how to handle it safely."

He nodded, still studying the deer mounts. "There were guns all over the place where I grew up, too. We all knew they weren't anything to play with."

The fold of her arms loosened. So he wasn't one of those ultra-liberal, tree-hugging Hollywood types. Then again, there were a number of card carrying NRA actors, too. She should have noted he hadn't freaked over the dead deer heads mounted on her walls. More importantly, he'd just made another reference to a less than ordinary youth.

"Just where did you grow up?" she asked.

He faced her and gave her that maddening, winning smile that made a person want to smack him in the head at the same time as melt into a puddle at his feet.

#

Even with her arms crossed over her chest, Kelly looked like she wanted to deck him. Dane didn't blame her. He'd been giving her a hard time ever since she gave him her hand to shake upon first meeting rather than returning his smile. She'd worked so hard at being all business he couldn't help but take up the challenge to break through her façade. Besides, he'd sensed a spark of the woman behind the CO uniform.

Hell, he'd heard her chuckle when she'd teased him about taking a photo of his hornet-bitten ass. He'd also gotten a taste of
the woman
behind the job when he'd kissed her. Damn, if he didn't want to know her all the more now, and that presented an even bigger challenge.

"You really aren't a fan of mine," he said, unable to keep from giving her a verbal poke.

She huffed. "I guess with an ego like yours you expect everybody in the world to be a fan."

One corner of his mouth twitched. "I'm not
that
big a star…yet."

She groaned, grabbed the plate of meat off the counter and headed for the door. "The grill should be hot by now."

Balancing plates and silverware on top of the salad bowl, he followed her out to the picnic table. where she nodded at his drying shorts.

"And what are those things doing on the table?"

"Drying. Since they're the only pair I have here, I washed them out."

From the side of the grill, she blinked at him, her expression wavering somewhere between astonishment and approval before finally matching up with her frown and her grousing command. "Whatever, just get them off the table."

"Yes, ma'am," he said through a grin and stuffed them into his pocket.

She flipped up the grill cover and slapped the steak onto the rack. In spite of the progress he'd been making in getting past her stiff demeanor, she was still angry about something, and he'd bet his last dollar there was a lot more to it than her being stuck babysitting him.

He straddled the end of the nearest bench. "You still want to know where I grew up?"

"Sure. Why not?" she said, arranging the slab of sirloin on the grill as if she was more interested in the food than whether he told her anything about himself or not.

"Admit it," he said. "You're dying to know my background."

Her shoulders came up with a deeply drawn breath then slowly sank back to their normal squared position. Why did she work so hard to contain herself? Because she was trying to perfect the persona of a hard-ass law and order CO? Or because she
was
attracted to him and fought it?

That last was reason enough to keep nettling her. But more so, she intrigued him in a way no woman, officer of the law or not, had ever done and he wanted to find out why.

She peered over her shoulder at him, a forced smile on her lips as she responded to his challenge about dying to know his background. "Can't help it," she said. "Curiosity comes with being a CO."

She faced him, arms crossed over her chest and barbecue tongs spearing the air like some weapon. "So spill, St. John. Where did you grow up?"

Her defensive pose sliced away some of his swagger. "Mostly Europe. Eastern Block."

"Military brat?" she asked, her tone softening a tad.

He shook his head, the truth likely to chase off whatever sympathy she'd just found for him. "My parents were in the foreign service. Support staff. Mostly embassies."

And there it was, the upward sweep of the chin—the hint she was about to tell him he was full of bull. "I can't imagine embassies are all that rustic that you'd know about hand pumping water and cistern showers."

"True. The embassies weren't rustic," he said. "But, in some places, things beyond the embassy walls weren't quite up to western standards."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You telling me you hobnobbed with the locals?"

Memories flashed through his brain. "My parents encouraged it. They believed us kids should learn about different cultures and make friends with all kinds of people."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You didn't find variety enough at your private embassy schools?"

"You are one suspicious woman, Kelly Jackson."

"Comes with being a CO."

He laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, I met a lot of different kinds of kids in those well-appointed schools set up for the children of ex-patriots. I'm still friends with some of them."

He sobered. "But the friends who made the biggest impact on me are the ones I played street soccer with, pumped water with, and—" For a split second, his mind went back to a certain Lithuanian field. "—learned which fields were best not to play in because they might still contain old landmines from World War II."

The dubious slant of her mouth fell away and concern pinched a line between her eyes. "I've heard about there still being old landmines buried out there."

"So, you don't think I'm giving you a line of bull? You actually believe me?"

"I'm pretty good at reading people. Comes with the job."

"You haven't read
me
all that well."

The pale brown eyes narrowed on him again. "Jury's still out on you."

"You're a hard sell, CO Kelly."

"Just cautious."

He was about to comment that being too cautious sometimes got in the way of discovering something new when flames shot up behind her. His gaze shifted past her to the grill. "How's that steak coming?"

She wheeled about, a squeal of distress escaping her. An uncontrolled reaction from a woman who was far too controlled. Oh yes. He wanted to know
that
woman.

#

When she'd served the blackened steak to Dane, she apologized…and then they'd laughed, cut the steak in half and eaten the charred beef with the salad and garlic bread. She'd gotten him to tell her more stories about being raised as an embassy kid. Damn she was easy to talk to. Easy to be quiet with as well. Later, side-by-side at the sink doing dishes, they'd hardly spoken, yet he'd found silence with her equally comfortable.

It was getting dark when she folded the towel over the towel rack and asked, "Do you want me to drive you into town to get your car?"

"Do I look presentable enough to chance it?"

She tipped his face into the light of a ceiling-mounted gas lamp, her fingers soft yet firm against his chin.

"Maybe not," she said, releasing him. "Besides, now that I think of it, I doubt your rental has four-wheel drive and you need all-wheel drive to navigate these back roads. Is your cell charged up?"

He pulled the phone from his pocket. "Yeah, it's charged but there's not much for bars."

"Even though we're on a bluff, we're in a kind of a dead zone. Has to do with where the towers are. You should be able to get enough bars outside. Before the DNR issued us satellite phones I sometimes had to stand on the picnic table to get service."

An image of her in her CO fatigues standing on the picnic table made him laugh out loud.

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just a silly thought."

She nodded as though she understood, or was distracted by something bigger on her mind. "You sure you'll be okay alone here?"

"You brought me extra antihistamines and that pink stuff for the itching," he said. "Besides, it's been hours since I was stung and I'm still breathing. I'll be fine."

Instantly, he regretted his words. He didn't want her to leave.

"Then again," he said, "maybe you should stay the night. Keep an eye on me."

She snorted, all concern slipping from her features. "In your dreams."

"You're the one who's concerned. And now that I think about it, my throat does feel a little scratchy." He added a couple dry coughs for effect.

She frowned at him.

He shrugged, sure he'd over-acted, but hoping she'd take pity on him.

She looked at the door, her brow creasing.

"There's plenty of sleeping space," he said.

She glanced toward the double wide set of bunks built into the back corner of the cabin, still frowning. "You better not be playing me."

He grinned. "And if I am?"

Something flitted across her eyes. Hope or abject fear?

He sobered. "I'm not playing you, Kelly. But I wouldn't mind more of your company. It's been a long time since I had anyone other than family around that I could talk so candidly with."

There went that dubious eyebrow lift again.

"I'm not kidding. You
are
easy to talk to," he said.

The eyebrow settled back into place.

"Besides," he added, "I'm not all that happy about you driving out to the highway on these back-roads."

She stiffened. "I'm a highly-trained CO. I can take care of myself in the woods."

He gave himself a mental head slap. He should have stopped while he was ahead. Conceding, he shook his head. "I have no doubt you can, Bright Eyes, in the woods and just about any other place. But please stay."

#

Kelly had given in to Dane's request and now couldn't sleep, not with him just one bunk below her. She wasn't even sure he was breathing. He'd stopped snoring, not that he'd been all that loud. The sounds he made as he slept were more like heavy breathing. Not the kind that comes from the other end of a creepy phone call, either. Dane's heavy breathing had a quality to it that drew her in, not chased her away.

What the hell was she thinking?

She muttered a curse, crawled out from her tangled sheets, and dropped barefoot to the floor. Snagging the flashlight off the nightstand, she knelt on the edge of the lower bunk and shined the light on him.

He was on his side facing the wall, the sheets dipping low over his hips revealing an expanse of bare, well-muscled back, reminding her the last time she'd seen his shorts he was stuffing them into his pants pocket. She reined in her wayward thoughts and focused on what she'd come to the lower bunk to check. Dane's breathing. His lack of movement made her uneasy.

She crawled across the double wide mattress toward him.

No movement from him.

She played the flashlight beam over his shoulders and along his jawline…and a strong jawline it was. His lips were slightly parted, but…

She peered over his muscled arm at his sculpted chest looking for any rise and fall to it. She listened for the telltale whisper of breath, leaned closer when she heard none, her braid slipping over her shoulder and brushing his shoulder.