Kiss Me (Fool's Gold series) (22 page)

If getting into her snug sleeping bag was difficult, getting out of it while both of them were drenched was nearly impossible. She shimmied and shoved and squirmed and swore. Finally, she freed herself. Dressed only in a shirt, panties and socks, she stepped out into the rain and found herself more than ankle deep in water.

She could feel her hair plastering to her head and the shivers rippling through her body. Grabbing the tent with both hands, she tugged and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. Giving up on it, she ducked back inside and dragged out her saddlebags and duffel, her jeans and boots. Then she slogged through the rain and muddy ground to the closest tent.

“Z-Zane,” she said, her teeth chattering as she stood there in the darkness. “M-my t-tent is f-flooded.”

She heard a heavy sigh, then his voice. “You’re just standing out there getting wet, aren’t you?”

She nodded before she realized he couldn’t see her. “I was wet b-before. There’s a river in my tent.”

A flashlight clicked on, then the tent flap opened. “Leave your gear and get in here.”

Phoebe hesitated, not wanting to abandon her belongings, but the sight of Zane holding a large, dry towel was too much for her to resist. She dropped everything and ducked inside.

The tent was slightly larger than her own, but still a pinch for two, especially when she was soaking wet, on her knees and trying not to drip on everything. Zane wrapped the towel around her and grabbed his boots.

“Is your tent still standing?” he asked.

She nodded because her teeth were chattering too much for her to speak. Though the sight of him with his shirt unbuttoned was doing a lot to warm her up. His chest had just a smattering of hair at the top that veed over his flat stomach toward his jeans.

He gave her a quick glance. “You’re soaked to the bone, aren’t you?”

She nodded again.

He muttered something that sounded like “Figures” or maybe it was “damn fool woman”—she wasn’t sure. He fingered her dripping shirt, then shook his head.

“Take off your clothes, get dry, then crawl into my sleeping bag. It’ll warm you up. I’m going to put your gear into Cookie’s wagon where it’ll have a chance to dry off by morning. After I take down your tent, I’ll be back.”

He closed his shirt and put on his cowboy hat. As he started to crawl outside, he paused and looked back at her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay out of trouble between now and then.”

“O-okay,” she managed between lips numb with cold.

When Zane was gone, Phoebe did as he’d told her. She peeled off her wet socks and stretched them out by the flap. She hesitated over her shirt, but the dripping cold material sucked the heat from her already chilled body. Abandoning modesty, she wrestled the buttons open and pushed off the garment.

As her panties were only slightly damp and she couldn’t imagine actually getting completely naked under circumstances like these, she left them in place. She wrapped the towel around her wet hair and slid into Zane’s sleeping bag.

Instantly warmth enveloped her. The soft material was toasty and smelled of Zane’s body. It was like being in his arms...sort of. She imagined nestling her cheek against his muscled chest.

She curled up into a ball and willed herself to stop shaking. The towel fell off, but she couldn’t unfold her arms long enough to put it back in place. Then she decided to just leave it because it would protect his pillow from her damp hair.

There were noises from outside. The faint sounds told her Zane was dragging her tent to safety. She felt really bad for getting him up in the middle of a stormy night, and more than a little stupid for not listening when he’d told her not to put her tent on a dry streambed.

She was well into her course of self-recrimination when he returned. The flap parted, and a very wet Zane crawled in beside her.

“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.

Heat flared, chasing away the last of the chill. His hands rubbed against her bare back, one going lower, one going higher. She ran her fingers through his hair, then squeezed the muscles in his shoulders. Wanting grew until it was uncontrollable. Fortunately he read her mind.

He broke the kiss. He was still close enough that she could feel his warm breath on her neck, which was all the warning she had before he pressed his mouth against the underside of her jaw. Shivers rippled through her. She arched back her head, even as she wanted to get closer.

As he kissed and nibbled his way to her ear, he lowered her onto the sleeping bag. There was more movement. She wasn’t sure what he was doing because he never stopped kissing her.

When he took her earlobe into his mouth and sucked, she had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying out. When she felt the weight of him as he stretched out next to her, it was all she could do to stop her legs from falling open in a shameless invitation. It didn’t matter that she was still wearing panties, or that he was fully dressed. She wanted him...all of him...on top, inside, pleasuring them both into madness.

Thoughts of what they would do later faded when his kisses moved lower and lower. Her breath caught as he neared her breasts, then came out in a hiss as his lips closed over her tight, sensitive nipple.

She was drowning in pleasure, she thought, clutching his head and holding him in place. It was good—too good.

“More,” she breathed.

He sucked and licked and teased her nipple with his mouth and tongue, then shifted to her other breast and repeated the erotic torture.

She could feel herself swelling for him. Between her legs there was heat and dampness. Her panties were too much of a barrier, and the sleeping bag was a straitjacket. She fought to find the zipper, then tugged it lower.

When she was able to kick free of the covering, she reached for his shirt. He continued to pleasure her breasts, which meant after a couple of halfhearted attempts with his buttons, she had to let her hands fall back to her sides while she reveled in what he could do to her.

“This can’t be legal,” she whispered.

He raised his head. “Why not?”

“It feels too good.”

He chuckled. She heard the sound, felt the soft exhalation of cool air on her bare, damp breasts, but she couldn’t see anything. Not him, not herself. It was strange, but in a good way. The darkness gave her courage.

“Take your clothes off,” she said, knowing that she would never have managed the words in the light.

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was rustling, then nothing, then the distinctive sound of a zipper being pulled down.

Her heart thundered in her chest. She tried to imagine him naked. What would he look like? Thinking about him naked made her imagine him standing in front of her—erect. And thinking about that made her think about him pushing inside of her. Filling her. Making her—

“Condom,” she gasped.

A movement stopped.

“What?”

Phoebe felt the earth open up in preparation of swallowing her. How could she have not mentioned this before?

“I’m not on anything right now,” she whispered. “Birth control. I’m not on the Pill.” She gestured helplessly.

“Shit, fuck, damn.”

Disappointment tied her in knots. “I was really only interested in that middle part,” she joked.

There was a second of silence, followed by a low chuckle. “You’re never predictable, Phoebe. I’ll give you that. Cross your fingers.”

“What?”

“Cross your fingers. I might have a condom in my shaving kit.”

There was movement and rustling, then the sound of a zipper being opened.

“I’m going to have to put on the light.”

She briefly debated being polite and closing her eyes, but who was she kidding? She wanted to see Zane naked. In preparation, she raised up on one elbow and stared in his general direction. When the light came on, she saw all she wanted and more.

He was kneeling at the end of the sleeping bag. Naked, aroused and more physically perfect than any man had a right to be. She saw the definition in his arms, the broad strength of his chest and his flat stomach before lowering her attention to his large, hard penis.