Impulse Control (6 page)

He hadn’t even made a token effort to cook, yet she had no doubt he would have ridiculed her if she’d served up the kind of food he’d prepared tonight. Then, he’d had the nerve to make fun of her for being creative. Her seared Spam had been way better than his flabby offering, and the cracker crumble had been inspired. He’d made his point about conserving energy, but would it have killed him to appreciate her efforts?

She felt the cold stealing into her bones and curled tighter. She’d cook for herself and the crew tomorrow and leave Donovan to his stupid fire-roasted soup. It might not be the wisest use of her energy, but it was the only enjoyment she’d gotten out of the trip so far, and she wasn’t going to let him take it away from her. Didn’t an army move on its stomach? That kitchen was now hers. The thought warmed her as she drifted, shivering, toward sleep.

…

Donovan sat on the log and stared into the fire. Nothing about this day had gone as anticipated. He’d expected to have to haul her, bitching and whining, through the snow. Hell, half the reason he’d brought the sled was in case they had to pull
her.
Instead, she was proving to be a good sport and almost too tough for her own good. He’d thought she’d be totally useless in the woods, but he’d been dead wrong. She was pulling her weight, and that turned him on as much as, maybe even more than, her damn tiger-striped fleece, which tormented him every time he looked at her.

What would she say if she knew the blister on her heel was nothing compared to the chafing in his groin? Hiking on snowshoes with a hard-on was a bitch, and it was all her fault. After their first water break, the way she strode forward with determination had nearly sent him sprawling on his ass. He was lucky only the sled had fallen over when he’d tripped at the sight of her bouncing through the snow like a sleek rabbit. He thought about how she’d bustled around the “kitchen” tonight and sighed, low in his throat. He’d never eaten better on a camping trip, and it had nearly killed him not to say so. He’d known from the minute he’d laid down the challenge he wasn’t going to win. His only hope lay in not trying, a strategy that was pure torture for someone as competitive as he was. As he’d expected, she’d totally smoked him, and he couldn’t believe she’d taken it easy on him instead of rubbing his nose in his defeat.

The flames seemed to flicker in reproach. Usually he loved sitting by the fire alone, but he didn’t feel any peace in his solitude tonight. He took care of the fire, tightened the lids on the garbage cans, and secured the rest of their camp before he unzipped the tent and crawled inside.

It was pitch black, and her breathing was even and deep. He shucked his boots and a few layers and crawled into his sleeping bag. It wouldn’t go too far below freezing tonight, and the insulating pad he’d laid on the floor of the small tent would protect them from the cold ground. Since they were both dry, they’d be fine. He panned his flashlight around the tent, double-checking that her bag was zipped, all the windows were closed, and everything he might need was within reach. The tent camera gleamed, and he grimaced. A tent cam had seemed like a genius idea when he’d thought she’d be whining all night. Now he was afraid it might record him muttering her name in his tiger-striped dreams.

How many of his plans were going to backfire on this damn trip? He’d hoped to display her as a fish out of water, but she’d turned everything around on him. She’d barely blinked when he’d pulled her pack apart, and then she’d made him look like a negligent guide. The look on her face when he’d shown her their provisions had been priceless, but then she’d gamely produced a fabulous meal. She’d also eaten every bite of the crappy dinner he’d made for her and thanked him, for God’s sake. Susannah Stone was craftier than he’d thought. From a viewer’s perspective, he must look like a prize jerk. Bergman’s support of the charity would help him meet one goal, but he still had his career to consider.
Wild Man
would become a laughingstock if he got shown up in the woods by Susie Homemaker.

Instinct told him the only way to gain some ground was to get Susie on his side, but that didn’t seem likely, considering she’d crawled into an ice-cold tent to avoid sharing a warm fire with him. Every time he got near her, she bristled like a porcupine, and when he touched her, the look in her eyes made the snow seem warm.

His mind churned, keeping him from sleep. Should he continue to challenge her and hope when they filmed her segment of the show, he would look as good in her kitchen as she looked in his woods? Not likely. She had threatened him with an oatmeal facial, and he could feel his balls shrinking right now. Diaper changing? Ugh. Babies were dangerous. They didn’t do what they were told and got into all sorts of trouble. Hadn’t she also mentioned a dinner party? He felt the tie tightening around his neck like a noose. He only got dressed up for meetings and other unavoidable unpleasantness.

He shook off the choking sensation. Right now, she was beating him at his own game, so he had no choice but to beat her at hers. If that meant smiling while wearing a face full of goop, he’d do it. It couldn’t be harder than jumping out of an airplane or bushwhacking his way up a mountain, and surely he could put up with her kid long enough to win the hearts of viewers. If he had to learn to cook, so be it. One way or another, he would turn this show around.

…

Russ woke completely and instantly. He eased to a sitting position as he heard the juddering sound that had invaded his dream.
What the hell?
It sounded like it was coming from the other side of the tent. He reached for the electric Coleman-style lamp and turned it to low and then unzipped his bag and crawled toward the sound.

Susannah was sound asleep and crunched into a tight ball, lips pale, shoulders shaking, teeth chattering.

“Susannah?” He put his hand on her shoulder, and she moaned. Her bag was stiff and freezing cold.
Shit.
Was it wet? He should have checked her more closely before he went to sleep. Bone-dry, her goose-down sleeping bag had passed muster for their trip. Wet, it was a disaster.

“Susannah, wake up.”

“Too cold.”

“It’s gonna get colder if you don’t get out of your wet sleeping bag.”

“Sleeping bag is fine. Your book said so. There was a whole section on goose down versus man-made fiber,” she mumbled.

Thank God she’s coherent.
“You must not have read the whole thing. Goose down won’t keep you warm if it’s wet. You zipped yourself into a freezer.”

Her eyes slitted open. “It’s all I’ve got.”

Her body was trying to warm itself up by shivering, expending energy she probably didn’t have after their strenuous day. She needed to get out of her cold bag, into appropriate layers, and warmed up. A frightening thought occurred to him. “You didn’t sneak the tequila into your backpack and have a nightcap, did you?”

“No!” Her offended tone was reassuring.

“Because you’d be even colder if you had. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.” He also wanted to see how she was moving. She didn’t seem hypothermic, but if she started stumbling around the tent like she couldn’t feel her fingers and toes, he was getting help. “Let’s head into the ranger station.”

Her eyes popped wide. “If you think I’m going to wuss out because my bed is damp, you’re nuts. I’d rather do jumping jacks all night.”

He reached for the zipper of her bag and pulled it all the way down to her feet. “Let’s see you do a few jumping jacks just to check your circulation, and we’ll go from there.”

“I’m fine.” She shuddered again.

“Out of the bag, Susie. You either get up and get moving or I’ll drag you into the ranger station. You’re not getting hypothermia on my watch.”

“Hypothermia?” She rolled onto her knees.

“What do you think happens if you shiver all night? It’s all fun and games until someone needs warmed intravenous saline. I plan to chase you to the top of the mountain tomorrow. You need to rest up.”

“What about you? Tough guys like you don’t need rest?”

“I’ve gone days without sleep at below freezing temperatures,” he said, hoping to goad her into action. “I’m the toughest man alive, remember?”

She rolled her eyes and flapped her arms. “Satisfied?”

“Not until I make sure your layers are dry.” He reached for the zipper of her coat, and she slapped his hand away. She took off her gloves, unzipped her coat, and shrugged out of it. He watched as she patted herself down.

“All dry, tough guy. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Not in that bag.” He felt a slow grin spread over his face as a thought occurred to him. Maybe he could get Susie to thaw toward him by direct application of body heat. “But there’s plenty of room in mine.”

“There is no way I’m sleeping with you.”

“You are unless you want to sleep in the ranger station. Don’t you want to get warm?” He certainly felt hot at the thought of her spooned in front of him, her fine ass cradling his cock, his arm wrapped around her sweet-looking hips.

She pointed at the camera above them. “I’m sure the viewing audience would love to watch that. Did you set this up? I wouldn’t put it past you to pour water on my sleeping bag to make me look stupid again.” Her furious words were clear but spoken through chattering teeth.

He looked up at the camera. “I’m the one who put your bag in a waterproof pouch.” And the one who didn’t make absolutely sure it was zipped, apparently. This
was
his fault.

He bent until his lips brushed her ear. “Shh.” As long as they were quiet, the camera wouldn’t record.

She shoved him away and moved to the center of the tent. He waited to see what she had planned before he turned his back on her. Last time he’d dropped his guard, she’d pulled him into the snow. She put her coat back on and flapped her arms again. The tent was too low for standing, so she bounced her feet, knees bent.

He crawled over to his pack and felt around for his roll of duct tape. “Knock yourself out, Susie. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said loudly. Keeping his back to the camera, he ripped off a large piece of tape and covered the lens. Stan was going to kill him for getting it sticky, but maybe Susie would be reasonable now.

He crawled over to her and leaned close to whisper, “I duct-taped the camera lens. You can take off a few layers and zip up with me or we can head into the ranger station and call it quits. You can’t spend the rest of the night bouncing up and down and then climb a mountain tomorrow.”

“Watch me.”

“Don’t be an ass.” He pressed his mouth to her ear, speaking barely above a whisper. “C’mon, Susie, it’s freezing. I was nice and toasty before your clacking teeth woke me up. This is a matter of necessity. I know you don’t like me, but you do like your job. Get in my sleeping bag or we’re going into the station and to hell with Bergman’s show.”

He felt her tense. “How about I get into your sleeping bag, and you go into the station?”

“I’m not leaving you alone to freeze. You’ve just proved you’ll turn into an ice cube before you come in out of the cold.” That was half the reason. The other half was much less noble. He wanted to feel her body pressed against him, even if it was for purely medicinal purposes. “Come on, what’s the big deal? Didn’t you share a bed when you were married?”

“That was totally different.”

She shrugged out of her coat, her dark gaze so sharp he was surprised it didn’t draw blood. His cock stiffened as he counted the layers she had over that tiger-striped fleece. He stifled a snort. She
was
drawing blood—right to his crotch.

He watched her struggle out of her wool sweater, and a groan rose in his throat. He swallowed it. “Keep going—too many layers will keep out my body heat.”

The snow pants went next. Finally, she stood in the thermal underwear he’d purchased for her. Through the thin white material he could see the faint outline of tiger stripes. His breath caught.

“What?” The word whipped out of her mouth.

“Nothing.”

Another shiver shook her, and he pulled her toward his sleeping bag. He leaned toward her again. “Get in, Susie.”

“If I didn’t love my job, I’d tell you to shove your sleeping bag in your ass,” she hissed quietly. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Too late.
“I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

She lowered herself onto the edge of the sleeping bag, slid inside, and turned her back to him. He climbed in behind her and zipped the bag. Her body was stiff, and he felt the cold of her seeping into his skin. She’d probably hug the edge of the sleeping bag all night. He wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her closer, making a half dozen fast adjustments to their position before she could protest. When he was done, they were as close as they were going to get without him crawling inside her. He could feel her shoulder blades digging into his chest, her soft ass against his groin, and the backs of her thighs against the front of his.

“This is gentlemanly?”

“Cuddling up to an ice cube is the very definition of chivalry.” She jerked away from him, and he pressed closer. “Relax. You’ll warm up faster.”

She shivered, and he couldn’t resist running his hand over her side. He
was
trying to warm her up, but he was also enjoying the swell of her hip beneath his palm. His fingers curled. Heat built, filling the space between them. He wrapped his arm around her again.

With a soft sound of surrender, she grabbed his arm and hugged it to her chest. Her breasts pressed against his wrist, and her hair tickled his nose. The scent of apples and woodsmoke went straight to his cock, and he tried to think of something other than his overwhelming desire to cup her breast and thrust his hips against her ass. He didn’t want to blow it just when she was beginning to warm toward him.

“Everything okay at home?” he asked quietly, figuring all mothers liked to talk about their kids.

“Fine, thanks.” She sounded suspicious.

“How old is your son?”

“Fourteen months.” Her voice softened a bit. “He’s a handful. I left him with Holly.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Bergman’s secretary? Gorgeous redhead? Built like Marilyn Monroe?”