Provocative Professions Collection (44 page)

"Tell me what this fast brown thing I can't spy is?" I ask in my perkiest taunt. "Was it the deer?"

"Considering he came out
after
the clue…" He smirks. "Uh, no. It was your eyes. Brown and always rolling so fast sometimes I miss it."

"Good one." My body slackens against him, relieved when his hand works its way back out of my pants. "Vaughn, what if there isn't a house?" I ask softly. "I know we can't get in it, but maybe we should've stayed by the truck anyway? That's where they'll look. Or what if there
is
a house and
Deliverance
people live in it? Did you see that movie? Because—"

Never mind.
Every idea dies on my lips when he stops abruptly, lifting me higher, and shuts me up with a frenzied kiss. His lips first take languid, whispered swipes at mine, but then his tongue snakes inside to erase all thoughts but of his taste, both of us stealing breath from the other—half released panic, half need—happy to share it with someone else.

I rearrange my upper body, digging my hands in his hair, tugging him closer. He groans in my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip harder. I whimper, unable to stifle it, when he pulls back to replenish his air supply, chest thumping in time with my own.

"As long as there's breath in my body,
no one
will hurt you. We need shelter. That's the plan. Argue with me again and I'll
fuck
you into seeing things my way." He leaves no room for argument, his tone so adamant and carnal I'm actually considering listening, his eyes fierce both from our kiss and my rattling stubbornness.

"Was that last part in the Boy Scout handbook?" I lick my lips, reveling in his lingering flavor.

He laughs with his entire body, my own shaking along, then he
kisses the end of my nose
. "Nothing Scout about me, babe. If there was, I wouldn't be hard as hell right now, looking for places to bend you over and fuck ya in ways that'd scare away the wildlife for miles." He shakes his head, chuckling softly to himself. "I'm
positive
that's not in the motto."

"Better you than the
Deliverance
gang," I grump, conceding defeat and letting my head fall back onto his chest, closing my eyes for the rest of the trek.

Chapter 11

"Is—was that
a rat
?" I know I sound like every girl I hate,
but rats
? I'd rather freeze to death. Glass
half
full, though?
The cabin
—that's what Vaughn's calling it, so I guess I will too, even though "Little Mortuary on the Prairie" seems more fitting—is shy any inbred, horny hill people.

I'm guessing the rats ate them.

"Nah, you're seeing things. Stay here, I'm gonna look around for something to clean your cuts with." He sets me down on a wooden table and starts flinging open cupboards and pulling out drawers. My body grows painfully rigid with each new, possible passageway for critters unknown to announce themselves.

Soon it'll be dark and we'll lose the dim light we have now…camouflaging the night ambush. I think I'd prefer it that way—or would I? They can smell blood, I know that. I watched
The
Bone Collector,
dammit, and I have open wounds.

"Vaughn," my voice wobbles, "rats…they like blood, and their beady little eyes work
better
in the dark and…oh, God." My vision gets splotchy as I start to hyperventilate. Bugs, stomp or swat 'em. Spiders, same plan. But disease-infested vermin with teeth? I'm tapping out!

"Hey." He rushes to me, pushing my head down between my knees. "Breathe, Paige. Where's the badass I know? We're gonna be fine, all right?"

I nod, sucking in one huge lungful of not so fresh air after another, ashamed that I'm wigging out so badly. But seriously,
is this really happening right now
? Trapped in this place with a twisted ankle and a blizzard blowing down around us and
maybe
some beef fucking jerky?

"Paige, I'll take care of you." He lifts my head, smoothing his cheek against mine and stroking my hair. "I need you to believe in that."

"I want to," I murmur on instinct.

"Yeah?" He crouches at my eye level now, wearing a hopeful, sincere smile. "You do?"

"Yes." My shoulders drop with my sigh. "I want to believe in you. And that's a lot more—"

"I know. I'll take it," he interrupts and covers my mouth with a chaste kiss then pulls off his jacket, hoodie, and even shirt—in the extreme cold—and holds up a finger. "One sec, don't move."

Again with the moving. Where is he so afraid I'm gonna
scurry off to
?

He opens the door, scoops something up, and hurries back in, squeezing the shirt he
should be wearing
around a clump of snow, melting it in his hands. Wiping off the excess ice, he gently begins to clean the blood from my head. "There," he kisses the spot, "anywhere else?"

"Just sore everywhere. What about—Vaughn!" I scowl, placing a hand gently on his shoulder, which is
clearly
out of sorts…or socket. "You are hurt, dammit! Look at your shoulder—Jesus, Vaughn!"

It's cut, already darkening into one huge bruise, and contorted, his arm distending at a very weird, obviously abnormal and painful angle, a swollen purple lump where his broad, etched shoulder should be.

"You carried me,
in your arms
, for miles with an injury like that?"

"It's nothing, I barely noticed. But," he gives me the pleading blue gaze of a puppy who wants to sleep on the bed, "you think you can reset it?"

Reset it
? What had to be at least two miles of journey here was spent with him toting my ass, further hurting himself, all so I wouldn't have to walk on a simple twisted ankle? I should continue my ranting, but instead I'm staring at him, eyes tearing up from the spread of warmth over my swelling heart.

"Shh. Don't cry, Paige." He swipes a fallen tear from my cheek with his thumb, concern tugging down on the corners of his mouth. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"I know." His arms wrap around my back and I allow myself a few seconds to cling to his embrace, careful of his shoulder. Makes me feel like shit that I didn't notice his injury sooner, though, so worried about granola bars and rats. "Ignore me. It's hypothermia hormones or something." I lean away with a forced laugh. "I can fix your shoulder."

I don't tell him how I know exactly what to do, my mother asking the same of me more times than I can count after boyfriend number whatever used her as a punching bag. Gulping down the nauseating memories and shame, I guide him with a gentle touch. "Turn around and back up to me."

He spins, bare back an inch from my face. Without thought, my finger finds his skin, tracing the beautiful cross depicted there. It's compellingly bold, a gorgeous black outline with gray shadowing, the four points sharp and meticulous. "Why do you have this?" I whisper.

"My dad. He drove long haul. Died. I like to think he's watching out for me and keeping me safe."

"Well he certainly did so today, didn't he?" I lean in, placing a soft kiss on each point. "Thank you, sir."

He sighs, and then with one sinister growl he's facing me again, grabbing my hips and pulling me to him, grinding his hardness against the crotch of my jeans. "You too hurt to let me in? Need to feel you, Firecracker," he moans into the skin of my neck where his lips do splendid things.

"What about your shoulder?" I pant out my best attempt at diversion, loving the feeling of his hair between my fingers even though I shouldn't. If they find us—no, when
—when
they find us, it'll be the same as it was before…one dousing of the flame between Vaughn and I for whatever reason away from messing up everyone's life.

"Hurry." He turns again and backs up to me. "Do it fast."

I brace one hand in the slope between his shoulder and neck, then with the other, grip his hand. "On three. Don't tense against me. Go limp."

"Not a chance." He laughs. "Always hard for you. Can't—
fuck
!" he howls, breathing in rapid spurts through the pain.

"All done," I boast, having capitalized on him being distracted with talk of his dick.
It is distracting
. "Now let's check out the rest of this place." I hop down from the table before he can stop me, my ankle a forgotten casualty until a spike of excruciating pain zings up my leg. I swallow my scream, clenching my hands tight, and take off limping around the tiny place.

"Paige? Where you going? You shouldn't be on that ankle, and I thought we—"

"Really need to pee," I cut him off, talking back over my shoulder. "You called this a hunter's cabin, right? Well, hunters piss, so where do you suppose they do that exactly?"

"Hey, turn around and look at me, please." His voice is calm, but not vacant of disappointment and knowing. "Paige?"

That's the ironic catch to all this—the only person who sees through my smokescreen and is man enough to fight me tooth and nail on it is the one I have to try and bullshit the hardest.
Dammit.

"What?" I forfeit and turn to him.

"Come sit down. Put your foot up. I'll check things out and get a plan going for a bathroom and heat. All right?"

"K." I nod and hobble toward him. "Vaughn, I—"

"No, you don't. Just…" He sighs, but helps me get situated, ankle feeling better the instant it's elevated on a chair. "Stay put and let me figure shit out while there's still a little light out."

"
You
got a fire started?" he asks in blatant disbelief when he comes back inside, shivering and shaking off the snow.

"
No,
Santa slid down the chimney and after I explained what a
really good girl
I've been, I told him all I wanted for Christmas was a fire. Viola!"

"Glad to see you're feeling more like yourself." He winks and sets down the two buckets he's holding. "I'm impressed. What'd you use to start it?"

The tip of his nose is bright pink, and I can tell he's trying to disguise the chattering of his teeth.

"Come warm up in front of my award winning fire and I'll tell ya."

He takes his boots, probably soaked through, off at the door. The jacket joins them, leaving him bare under his hoodie, his shirt soaked and laid out from earlier, before hurrying across the room to sit down beside me. He holds his red hands up to the flames and leans in. "Damn, this feels good." If he sits any closer
he
will, in fact, be on fire.

"You got any feeling left in 'em?" I ask, taking his hands in mine, holding them close to my chest, and rubbing them together for added heat. "They're freezing!"

His eyes glitter, lip quirking up. "I bet they'd feel nice inside your—"

"Not happening." I shove his hands away before he can finish, shaking my head at his laughter.

"Right." He holds his hands back up to the flames, his attention there as well when he adds, "We'll see."

"Vaughn, I don't think it's a good idea—"

"Just tell me about your fire building skills, babe."

I stare at the side of his head, partly relieved he doesn't want to discuss what can't happen between us, but also needing to get it out. That is, until he glances my way and smiles. It's charming and playful…and a complete reminder that we
can
be friends.

"The wood was stacked in that corner," I point, "and apparently, even hunters
must
have matches and newspaper in the can. Which doesn't come with running water, by the way."

"I owe you a good ass spanking for not staying off your ankle." His eyes glance at the swelling that's evident through my sock. "I could rip up my shirt or something and wrap it."

"Waste of a shirt. It's fine."

The fight leaves him on a heavy exhale. "Whatever, just promise me to take it easy. We could be stuck here for days."

"Yes, sir!" I mock salute, earning the grin I was hoping for.

"Smartass," he grumbles through his chuckle.

"So what's with the buckets? Cause there's no way that's where I'm peeing!"

"This isn't the Four Seasons, so you'll take what we got. Luckily, though, I have a plan. I found the buckets on the porch and filled 'em with snow. We'll melt one and pour it in the tank for flushing, the other for drinking when our bottles run out. Or," he waggles his brows, "we can heat it up to bathe each other."

"Down, boy. As soon as the blizzard breaks, we'll be outta here. I can do a day or two of grime." I shoot him a pointed look. "And why exactly can't we bathe ourselves if we're trapped here longer, huh?"

"Can you scrub while holding and pouring a bucket over your head?"

"No," I admit defeat on a grumble.

He laughs, fully unzipping his hoodie. Why, I have no idea. Looking to sharing body heat maybe? I mean, if I'm absolutely forced to get naked and snuggle with the man in the interest of survival, there are worse ways to spend time.

"Didn't think so." He wraps his good arm around me and hauls me closer. "You're not the only one who had a lil' chat with Santa."