“My passion?”
“Your passion for life, sweetheart. I swear you actually glow with energy when you get involved in something.” He turned to face her, his expression almost eager. “So what first attracted you to me? Be honest, now.”
Good Lord, he really didn’t have a clue, did he? No guy in his right mind asked a woman that. “Honestly?” she clarified.
He nodded very seriously.
“Your size.”
It apparently took a moment for that to assimilate before he suddenly turned away and started messing with the fire again.
“Hey—you asked for my honest answer, and I was first attracted to your size,” she told his broad, muscular back. She rolled her eyes, since he couldn’t see her. “It’s not like you’re puny or anything. You’re just not supertall. Why are you so sensitive about your height, anyway?”
“I’m not. Or I wasn’t until I met your family,” he muttered. “With your gene pool, my son will be looking down his nose at me by the time he’s twelve.” Megan immediately wiped the grin off her face when he glanced over his shoulder at her. “You little brat,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “You’re laughing at me.”
She immediately shook her head, then ended up nodding. “But in a sweet way. And only because I don’t get why you’re being so sensitive.” She rolled her eyes right at him this time. “What sort of guy asks a question like that, anyway?”
“I thought women liked sensitive men. Aren’t you always complaining that we don’t talk about our feelings?”
Well, he didn’t seem frozen to death any more. In fact, he looked rather hot. And sexy. And desirable. “I think we should go to bed,” she blurted out without thinking.
He pretty near fell in the fire, scrambling to his feet. “I’m going to get some more firewood. Hit the bushes if you need to, then go to bed.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Damn, I forgot you don’t have any boots.”
He walked over to the pile of gear he’d brought back from his own sled, and tossed her a pair of socks. Megan noticed that he’d also brought the two full bottles of beer as well as one of the empties. He picked up an empty bottle and shoved it in his jacket pocket—his hand re-emerging with her bra straps.
“Okay,” she finally admitted. “If you must know, I destroyed my bra to tie my pants closed at the bottom so I could walk.”
He tossed the straps at her with a laugh. “Good idea. At least your little swim didn’t freeze your brain,” he said. “After you put on the socks, go ahead and tie the pants closed. That should keep the socks dry while you to go to the bathroom. I might be gone a few minutes, but I’ll stay within shouting distance. I need to find a spring for drinking water.”
“That’s about as easy as finding a needle in a haystack, especially in the dark.”
“I have a hunch there’s one close by,” he said, walking out of camp.
Once again left staring at the spot where he disappeared, Megan decided that Jack’s hunches were starting to annoy her. Ninety percent accurate, her ass. She was lucky if her hunches were right half the time.
She didn’t bother putting on the socks or tying her pant bottoms closed, since she was going to have to take off the damn suit anyway. She walked a couple of yards past the tree while staying within sight of the fire, which only served to create more treacherous shadows than light her way. She stubbed her toe, cursed a bit, and hopped from foot to freezing foot with gritted teeth. She’d give her right arm for male plumbing for just five minutes!
She did her duty and ran stumbling back into camp without bothering to put the ski pants back on. She crawled up on the sleeping bag and stuck her feet in front of the fire, again gritting her teeth when they started to prickle as they thawed.
She finally put on Jack’s socks, hung up his ski pants, and checked to see if her own pants were dry. They weren’t, but she hadn’t intended to put them on yet, anyway. She balled his slightly damp shirt up for a pillow, lay down, and pulled the edge of the sleeping bag over her bare legs.
She finally closed her eyes with a smile, listening to branches snapping and rotten logs quietly breaking as Jack gathered their night supply of fuel. So he liked her passion, did he? Well, she’d show him some passion. The man had to go to sleep sometime tonight.
He returned twenty minutes later, set down the wood, and surveyed camp. “You’re not wearing the ski pants,” he said, eyeing them on the branch.
“I thought it would be warmer if we don’t wear much clothing, so our body heat can transfer to each other.”
He sat down beside her and took off his boots, placing them within reach. He then pulled a compact revolver from the back waist of his pants and tucked it inside one of the boots.
Megan scooted over to make room for him to lie down. “You should take off your pants. They’re damp.”
He hesitated, eyeing her over his shoulder. “We’re going to have to snuggle.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re a very good snuggler.”
His cheeks flushed deep red. He quickly stood and dropped his pants but left his long johns on. “Scoot toward the fire. I’ll sleep in the back.”
“But then you’ll get the edge of the sleeping bag to cover up with.” It was only a single bag, and opened up, there wasn’t enough material to both lie on and cover up with.
He picked her up when she didn’t move fast enough and set her down closer to the fire. “You’ll have me covering you,” he said, crawling in behind her and on his side so they were spooned together.
He wrapped one arm around her waist and cupped her belly protectively, tucked his legs over hers, and settled down with a tired sigh. Megan stared into the roaring fire, listening as his breathing slowly evened out, and she knew he had fallen asleep. What was it with guys, that they could simply sleep on demand?
She wasn’t so lucky, as her mind kept flitting from one thought to another. She thought about Kenzie and the creature they’d seen, and about Mark Collins and her samples he apparently wanted. And she thought about Jack’s proposal, her heart telling her to go for it, and her practical left brain cautioning her to wait until she got the report from the investigator.
But then she thought about the two months she’d shared with Jack on the tundra, and how they had been the happiest two months of her life.
Megan finally turned in his embrace and whispered, “Make love to me, Jack.”
Chapter Sixteen
J ack woke with a start, unsure if he had dreamed the words or if Megan really had said them. Either way was trouble. When he opened his eyes, Megan’s face was mere inches from his, her expression expectant. Before he could say anything, she cupped his cheeks and touched her lips to his—not with her usual damn-the-torpedoes-full-speed-ahead urgency, but with endearingly gentle determination.
His arms automatically tightened around her. “This isn’t wise, sweetheart,” he whispered, even as his lips moved of their own volition across her jaw toward her ear. “You’re just restless and edgy right now.”
“No, I’m horny,” she said, her hands gripping his hair to better direct his exploration of her throat. She tossed back her head to expose her neck, and arched into him with a shiver.
When in hell had she removed all her clothes?
“I want you, Jack. I want to feel you inside me.”
It sure as hell didn’t get any more direct than that, did it? And she hadn’t called him Wayne, so she was fully aware of what she was asking. Having as little willpower as a bear in a honey hive when it came to Megan, Jack locked his mouth over hers before she could change her mind.
She rewarded him with a soft sound of approval and released his hair to slide her hands up under the hem of his shirt, not stopping until she reached her target. Jack knew she was particularly fond of his chest, since she’d told him often enough.