Linda Howard - Jeopardy

When they were finished, she eyed the tent with misgivings. It was long enough for Chance, but... She visually measured the width of his shoulders, then the width of the tent. She was either going to have to sleep on her side all night long—or on top of him.

The heat that shot through her told her which option her body preferred. Her heart beat a little faster in anticipation of their enforced intimacy during the coming night, of lying against his strong, warm body, maybe even sleeping in his arms.

To his credit, he didn’t make any insinuating remarks, even though when he looked at the tent he must have drawn the same conclusion as she had. Instead, he bent down to pick up the bag of nutrition bars and said smugly, “I knew you’d have dinner with me tonight.”

She began laughing again, charmed by both his tact and his sense of humor, and fell a little in love with him right then.

She should have been alarmed, but she wasn’t. Yes, letting herself care for him made her emotionally vulnerable, but they had lived through a terrifying experience together, and she needed an emotional anchor right now. So far she hadn’t found a single thing about the man that she didn’t like, not even that hint of danger she kept sensing. In this situation, a man with an edge to him was an asset, not a hindrance.

She allowed herself to luxuriate in this unaccustomed feeling as they each ate a nutrition bar—which was edible, but definitely not tasty—and drank some water. Then they packed everything except the two space blankets back in the bag, to protect their supplies from snakes and insects and other scavengers. They didn’t have to worry about bears, not in this desertlike part of the country, but coyotes were possible. Her bag was supposedly indestructible; if any coyotes showed up, she supposed she would find out if the claim about the bag was true, because there wasn’t room in the tent for both them and the bag.

Chance checked the luminous dial of his watch. “It’s still early, but we should get in the tent to save our body heat, and not burn up calories trying to stay warm out here. I’ll spread this blanket down, and we’ll use your two blankets for cover.”

For the first time, she realized he was in his T-shirt. “Shouldn’t you get your jacket from the plane?”

“It’s too bulky to wear in the tent. Besides, I don’t feel the cold as much as you do. I’ll be fine without it.” He sat down and pulled off his boots, tossed them inside the tent, then crawled in with the blanket. Sunny slipped off her own shoes, glad she had the socks to keep her feet warm.

“Okay, come on in,” Chance said. “Feet first.”

She gave him her shoes, then sat down and worked herself feetfirst into the tent. He was lying on his side, which gave her room to maneuver, but it was still a chore keeping her skirt down and trying not to bunch up the blanket as she wiggled into place. Chance zipped the tent flaps shut, then pulled his pistol out of his waistband and placed it beside his head. Sunny eyed the big black automatic; she wasn’t an expert on pistols, but she knew it was one of the heavier calibers, either a .45 or a 9mm. She had tried them, but the bigger pistols were too heavy for her to handle with ease, so she had opted for a smaller caliber.

He had already unfolded the space blankets and had them ready to pull in place. She could already feel his body heat in the small space, so she didn’t need a blanket yet, but as the night grew colder, they would need all the covering they could get.

They both moved around, trying to get comfortable. Because he was so big, Sunny tried to give him as much room as possible. She turned on her side and curled her arm under her head, but they still bumped and brushed against each other.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Ready.”

He turned off the flashlight. The darkness was complete, like being deep in a cave. “Thank God I’m not claustrophobic,” she said, taking a deep breath. His scent filled her lungs, warm and...different, not musky, exactly, but earthy, and very much the way a man should smell.

“Just think of it as being safe,” he murmured. “Darkness can feel secure.”

She did feel safe, she realized. For the first time in her memory, she was certain no one except the man beside her knew where she was. She didn’t have to check locks, scout out an alternate exit or sleep so lightly she sometimes felt as if she hadn’t slept at all. She didn’t have to worry about being followed, or her phone being tapped, or any of the other things that could happen. She did worry about Margreta, but she had to think positively. Tomorrow Chance would find the problem was a clogged fuel line, he would get it cleared, and they would finish their trip. She would be too late to deliver the package in Seattle, but considering they had landed safely instead of crashing, she didn’t really care about the package. The day’s outcome could have been so much worse that she was profoundly grateful they were all in one piece and relatively comfortable—”relatively” being the key word, she thought, as she tried to find a better position. The ground was as hard as a rock. For all she knew the ground was a rock, covered by a thin layer of dirt.

She was suddenly exhausted. The events of the day—the long flight and fouled-up connections, the lack of food, the stress of being mugged, then the almost unbearable tension of those last minutes in the plane—finally took their toll on her. She yawned and unconsciously tried yet again to find a comfortable position, turning over to pillow her head on her other arm. Her elbow collided with something very solid, and he grunted.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. She squirmed a little more, inadvertently bumping him with her knee. “This is so crowded I may have to sleep on top.”

She heard the words and in shock realized that she had actually said them aloud. She opened her mouth to apologize again.

“Or I could be the one on top.”

His words stopped her apology cold. Her breath tangled in her lungs and didn’t escape. His deep voice seemed to echo in the darkness, that single sentence reverberating through her consciousness. She was suddenly, acutely, aware of every inch of him, of the sensual promise in his tone. The kiss—the kiss she could write off as reaction; danger was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, and evidently that was true. But this wasn’t reaction; this was desire, warm and curious, seeking.

“Is that a ‘no’ I’m hearing?”

Her lungs started working again, and she sucked in a breath. “I haven’t said anything.”

“That’s my point.” He sounded faintly amused. “I guess I’m not going to get lucky tonight.”

Feeling more certain of herself with his teasing, she said dryly, “I guess not. You’ve already used up your quota of luck for the day.”

“I’ll try again tomorrow.”

She stifled a laugh.

“Does that snicker mean I haven’t scared you?”

She should be scared, she thought, or at least wary. She had no idea why she wasn’t. The fact was, she felt tempted. Very tempted. “No, I’m not scared.”

“Good.” He yawned. “Then why don’t you pull off that sweater and let me use it as a pillow, and you can use my shoulder. We’ll both be more comfortable.”

Common sense said he was right. Common sense also said she was asking for trouble if she slept in his arms. She trusted him to behave, but she wasn’t that certain of herself. He was sexy, with a capital SEX. He made her laugh. He was strong and capable, with a faintly wicked edge to him. He was even a little dangerous. What more could a woman want?

That was perhaps the most dangerous thing about him, that he made her want him. She had easily resisted other men, walking away without a backward look or a second thought. Chance made her long for all the things she had denied herself, made her aware of how lonely and alone she was.