Fuck. He clicked the flashlight off so she wouldn’t see how hard he was.
“Sorry if I ranted at you earlier,” she said, rubbing her arms under the blanket thing. “I was having a bad night, and the last thing I wanted was some man telling me he was going to come and rescue me, and I took it out on you. I apologize.”
“No harm,” he said slowly, watching her.
She rubbed her arms again, then turned to face him. “I appreciate you coming after me.”
He nodded, his eyes intent on her face. Even covered in mud and running makeup, she had the prettiest face he’d ever seen. He wanted to do rough, raw, dirty things to that sweet face. To see those lips curve around his cock as he fed it into her hungry mouth.
She tilted her head. “You ok?”
He coughed into his hand, distracted. “Fine.”
“Well,” she said, dropping her hands to her side in an expression of defeat. “Guess we’d better call it a night.”
“A night?” he echoed, still distracted by the thought of him and Beth Ann, fucking. The visual was driving him crazy. Why was he suddenly obsessed with the thought of fucking Beth Ann? Was it because he needed to get laid? Because she was beautiful? Because she was gleaming and wet and wearing a dress that left nothing to the imagination?
Or because when she’d realized that she’d taken everything the wrong way, she’d laughed at herself? That she hadn’t complained about her fate? That underneath the blond hair and glittery dress, the town’s delicate beautician had a sweet mouth and a core of steel?
He liked that steel. He liked the sweet mouth even more.
“A night?” she repeated. “They’re still evacuating, right?”
He started, then shook his head. “Nah. They’re done. You weren’t on the roster so they left.”
She looked at him in shock. “They left? B-but-but you’re still here.”
“They left without me, too,” he said, lying. “I planned on hiking back to the Daughtry Ranch…before.”
Her voice gave a wobble. “Be…fore?”
He nodded. “Before the river washed that part out. I’m stranded, too.”
Dane and Grant would have told him he was full of shit. Punched him in the arm for making up stories and trying to pull one over them. They would have hiked to the river to take a look at it anyhow. Hell, you didn’t even have to cross the Trinity River to cut across the ranch’s property. You could just skirt it wide.
Of course, Beth Ann didn’t know that.
And he didn’t know why he lied to her, but he found himself adding, “We’re stuck here until at least tomorrow. Sorry.”
“Tomorrow?” Her jaw dropped. “We—we can’t leave?” She stared into the trees as if seeing them in a new light.
He was surely going to hell for lying. “Might even be Sunday before we can get out of here. Depends on the weather.”
Again, she gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “Well, I suppose if I’m going to be stuck in the mud, at least it’s with you, right?”
Damned if his cock didn’t turn into a bar of iron right about then. “Oh?”
“You’re the survivalist. This is your gig. The sort of thing you do for funsies.”
Ah. He nodded again.
This whole revenge thing would work a lot better if she’d go back to screaming at him, or pouting. If she would just throw a nice Southern belle fit and make him realize this was a big dumbass move led by his dick, and how she really was spoiled and silly, he’d change his mind and drive her home.
But instead, she sighed and tilted her head back, letting the rain dump on her face. It spattered constantly, a reminder that she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
“Well,” she said after a moment. “Guess we should find someplace dry to sleep.”
And again, he was surprised by Beth Ann Williamson. And he wanted her.
“Guess so,” he drawled.
She was stuck out here. Stuck out in this muddy hell with none other than Colt Waggoner, the surliest, most arrogant man she knew.
And, she admitted privately, the most attractive.
No, this evening was not exactly a banner for her. She was tired, cold, exhausted, and hungry. But at least Lucy was safe and hopefully not shacking up with Colossus. The Johnson Motel was small and if everyone here had been evacuated, she doubted anyone had privacy.
Good. Someone else’s Friday night had been ruined, too. She felt a vicious bolt of pleasure at that.
Rain splattered on her head again, and Beth Ann looked up just as it began to pour once more.
“Shelter?” she said, turning to Colt.
He pointed at the trees, his eyes mere slits in the darkness. “We can try those.”
She followed his gesture and noticed a plank ladder nailed to the tree. Her gaze went up to the wooden floor about fifteen feet above her head, nestled in the trees. How had she missed a tree house? “Think it’s safe?”
He headed over to the ladder, and she noticed that he favored his right leg.
“Are you okay?” Beth Ann asked, crossing her arms over her chest.
He turned and gave her a blank look. “What?”
“Your leg? Did you hurt it?” She hoped not. She was feeling guilty enough that he was stranded out here looking for her.
“No,” he said in that flat voice.
“But—”
“Knee injury from a while back. Flares up in the weather.” And he gave her a pointed look. “You gonna stand out here and let it rain on you all night?”
“Well, no—”
“Then climb up this ladder,” he said in that flat voice that never let her know what he was thinking. That was one of the things she disliked about Colt—between those narrow, hard eyes and that almost too-firm jaw, the man didn’t look like he was ever amused by anything. She wondered if his face would break if he smiled.
Probably.
Okay, fine, she’d climb that darn ladder. Beth Ann wrapped the loops of the stupid bag that held her Louboutins around her wrist and approached it. The rungs didn’t look all that sturdy, but at a glance over at his surly expression, she decided to chance it anyhow. She put her hands on the first step and began to climb. The planks were slippery and her feet were slick with mud, so she took it slow. Once, her foot slipped, and Colt was there to put his hands on her ass, supporting her. His hand was warm and she felt that touch all the way to her toes. Her body flushed with reaction…and desire. Oh lord.
“Careful,” he warned in that hard voice, making the bolt of lust wither and die.
Why was she attracted to such a hard, unpleasant man? It must have been desperation. She hadn’t had sex in well over a year and a half, long before she’d broken up with Allan, and she was turned on by a handsome man touching her. That was all. And she was cold. His hot hand on her body had seemed like a bolt of heat and she’d responded to the warmth. Nothing more.
The tree house interior was small—a long room that seemed too small for human habitation. It was barely wide enough for both her and Colt to stand shoulder to shoulder, and the roof was short enough that Colt had to duck. But it was dry—mostly. Rain and wind leaked in from the far corner, and that was where a sodden pile of blankets lay.
Lovely. Not that she would have touched those blankets anyhow, but it would have been nice to have options.
The other side of the room had a mini cooler and a stack of bottles—more rum. She leaned over and flipped open the cooler. “Apples,” she said in disgust.
“Apples?”
She straightened. “Yeah. They do a game with apples apparently. If someone offers you an apple and you take a bite out of it, it means you want to sleep with them.” She shuddered in memory of the evening. “I was offered a lot of apples tonight.”
His laugh was a short, dry bark. “I’ll bet.”
For some reason, that made her feel a little better about the situation. That, and the fact that the rain wasn’t pounding on her head. She swung off her sodden cloak and mo
ved to the edge of the tree house where the building was open to the night air, and wrung it out. Water streamed down. It had been a nice idea, but it was made of velour and the fabric didn’t really repel water. “Gonna be a cold night.”
Colt said nothing. Probably thinking how stupid she was for coming out here in a pair of dress shoes and a sparkling, skimpy mini dress. But heck, she hadn’t planned on being out here, either. It was just luck. Really bad luck.
She’d had a string of that lately.
Beth Ann turned and bumped into dry skin. Dry, warm skin. She gasped and stepped backward, toward the ledge.
His hand shot out and grabbed her. “Careful.”
“Sorry,” she muttered, stepping back toward him and to the side. It was dark in the tree house and he’d clicked his flashlight off—maybe to save the battery? “You, um, you took your shirt off. Want me to wring it for you?”
“It’s dry,” he said, and she felt him press it into her hand. “For you.”
“Oh.” Oh, that heavenly man. “Think we can hang up my dress and the cloak and see if they’re dry by morning?”
He paused for a minute. Then, “Fine,” he rasped. She heard his boots clomp on the floorboards. “I’ll wait outside—”
“It’s raining,” she said before he could leave. “You can just, you know, turn around. I’d hate for you to get all wet again.”
“Fine,” he said in that same gruff voice. “I’m turned.”
His voice sounded a little farther away, as if he had turned his back to her. She hesitated for a moment, then slipped out of the cold dress. It had been so pretty on the rack. She hated it now. Useless, pathetic scrap that didn’t offer her a bit of warmth. She didn’t even have a bra on—the stupid dress had a built-in shelf. All she had underneath was a nude thong. Quickly, she shimmied out of the dress and slipped the new shirt on, nearly sighing with how warm her body immediately felt.
She heard him shift. “Better?”
“Much better,” Beth Ann said, feeling blissfully warmer already. “Oh God, thank you.”
“’Course,” he said in that short, clipped voice. “Gimme your dress.”
She handed the sodden heap to him, and the cloak, and through the darkness, she could make out him hanging them.
“Hooks,” he said. “Nearly busted my head on one of them.”
She laughed at that.
“I see my pain makes you smile,” he said in that hard voice, but it had an edge of teasing to it.
“I have to admit, the thought of grim and scary Colt Waggoner being laid low by a clothing hook did make me smile,” she said.
“Grim and scary, eh?”
Oh, now she’d gone and offended him again. “Something like that,” she said lightly. Now that Colt’s warmth had left the shirt, she was beginning to shiver again. It was much better than before, but still not enough.
“I’m going to take my pants off so they can dry, too,” he said.
“Oh, of course,” she said, hating the blush creeping over her cheeks. Totally a practical move. Not that she could see anything in the dark at all.
She heard his clothing rustling and the sound of his boots being unlaced. The rain had picked up outside and she listened to it rather than the sounds of him undressing.
“Think it’ll let up by morning?” she asked him with a sigh.
“Hope so,” he said in a flat voice. “Don’t wanna stay here all weekend.”
“Me, either,” she said, and rubbed her arms again. “Too cold and everything’s all wet.”
“Still cold?” Suddenly he was behind her, and she felt the warmth radiating off his body. Okay, he was standing like, inches away from her. Was he wearing boxers? Briefs? What did he look like almost naked? Her nipples tightened all over again. Stop it, she told herself. Not the appropriate time for rescuer fantasies. She didn’t even like the man.
“Maybe it’ll just take me a bit to heat up,” she said hopefully, just as a raindrop splattered on her head from the ceiling. She stumbled to the side and felt her arm brush his body. God, it was unfair that he was so warm and it was so cold.
He said nothing for a long moment, then, “I have an idea, but it’s not ideal.”
“Nothing about this is ideal,” she said. “Lay it on me.”
“I have a rain slicker,” he said. “Our only waterproof blanket, of a sort. We’re both down to nothing and you’re still cold.”
“Are you suggesting we share body heat?”
“Something like that,” he said, the words seemingly stiff.
“I am all for that right about now,” she said, trying not to sound too eager. Oh, hello, delicious torment. She’d been about to suggest it herself but didn’t want to seem like an eager tramp. Hi, can I rub my body all up against your hard one? I swear it’s just because I’m cold. The thought of your rippling abs and my eighteen months without sex has nothing to do with it in the slightest.
“Here,” he said, handing her the slicker. “Let’s move over to that corner. It’s the driest.”
His hand lightly brushed her shoulder and nudged her forward, and Beth Ann followed. She felt the boards creak as he shifted down to the ground, and then she heard him pat his leg. “Come on.”
Oh boy. Heart fluttering with anxiety and a mixture of things she didn’t want to define, she slid down to the floor next to him, and curled up, hugging her legs close. His warm arm was suddenly touching her legs and he pulled her body against his, and she tilted and leaned back against him.
“Don’t be shy,” he said in that same almost-mocking voice. “Shy means cold.”
She realized she’d sat down right between his legs. He’d spread them wide to accommodate her body, and her legs eased over one of his thighs, until her feet dangled off to the side and she curled halfway, sitting in his lap.
He reached around her and pulled the slicker over the two of them like a blanket. Then she felt his arms slide around her waist. “Relax,” he said. “Not gonna touch you. Platonic.”
No, she suspected he wouldn’t, but she was all too acutely aware of where she was sitting, and what she was laying against. For example, right now her cheek lay against a metal chain that she was pretty sure were his dog tags. Imagining those on his naked chest was rather…delicious.
Not that she should be thinking about that sort of thing. Especially right now. His cock jutted like iron, and she’d definitely noticed how hard it was. “I’m feeling something decidedly unplatonic against my side,” she pointed out.
“Involuntary,” he said. “I’m alive and you’re female and almost naked.”
All good points, and he was definitely warm and hard under her. “I see. Well, you sure know how to make a girl feel special.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t realize that was what you wanted tonight. You want to feel special, you got to ask.”
Charming. “Platonic,” she repeated.
“Platonic,” he agreed. “Not dead.”
He was going to be in a world of hurt in the morning, Colt decided. Beth Ann—pretty, unattainable Beth Ann Williamson—had fallen asleep in his arms, wearing nothing but a scrap of panties, his T-shirt, and a rain slicker that covered them both. He was pretty sure she wasn’t wearing a bra. She’d turned a little after she’d fallen asleep and mashed her full breasts against his chest, and it had taken every ounce of his strength not to groan aloud. His dick was as hard as steel, and his knee throbbed, and he didn’t care.
She snuggled up against him and slept, oblivious to their cold, wet surroundings. And he kept his hands carefully on her back, because he was afraid to put them anywhere else. Her thighs were too exposed, her front too tempting.
What the fuck was he doing? Why had he lied to her about the two of them being stranded? Had he wanted to teach her a lesson so badly that he’d felt like traipsing through the mud with her at his side all weekend? Was he that much of a masochist to enjoy a woman’s weeping and exhaustion? This was his own damn fault. He’d forced her to stay out here in
the wild because he’d lied to her about being stranded.
Worse than that, she wasn’t crying or complaining about fatigue. She wasn’t being tortured by this. She was snuggling up against him. Even worse than that, he was attracted to her. Really, really attracted—could stroke himself off at the touch of her hand on his chest attracted.
Fuck. And she was nothing but bad news.
Wouldn’t the town just love that, he thought with a wry twist of his mouth. Sweet, perfect Beth Ann, stolen away from handsome Allan Sunquist by one of the white-trash, no-good Waggoners.
Actually, he liked that thought very much, and his arms tightened around her, shifting her closer.
So this had started out as revenge, but it had changed at some point. Maybe when she’d laughed and apologized for being nasty to him. Maybe when she’d taken off her dress and shimmied into his shirt and even though he hadn’t been looking, he’d been picturing it.
Either way, he was setting himself up for a world of hurt and a weekend full of blue balls. There were a lot of things girls like Beth Ann liked in this world, but blue collar, ex-military guys from trailer parks weren’t one of them. Beth Ann’s family had money. They mingled with Houston society. They held fund-raisers and held city offices and did stupid shit like that.
And even knowing all this, he wanted to tilt her face up from where it was buried against his chest, and slide his lips over her parted ones, and kiss the hell out of her. See if she’d respond to his kiss.
But he wasn’t that big of a dick to molest a girl while she was sleeping. And Beth Ann wouldn’t be interested in a guy like him. So he just lay his head back against the tree house wall and tried not to think about the curve of her hip resting against his cock, and how he could have her spun around and down on the floor, pushing her panties aside and sinking deep into her before she’d had time to fully awaken. Fuck her until that sleepy look in her eyes turned to desire.
Okay, so he was thinking about it a little.
Beth Ann slowly woke up, her front toasty and delicious, her feet incredibly cold. She shifted, wondering why her bottom felt so stiff. She was pressed up against something deliciously warm and hard, and her first thought was Allan. Except Allan didn’t like to cuddle in bed with her, and there was definitely a large, warm hand cupping her ass. To her horror, she was drooling on a bare chest. Oh God. She suddenly knew whose chest that was, and she suspected he wouldn’t like being drooled on. She sat up, surreptitiously wiping at her mouth, and then straightened the dog tags that had gotten stuck to her cheek, returning them to their usual spot on his chest.