Paradise (9 page)

“Yeah…the storm…not an option.”

“I could tell some ghost stories about people missing in the swamp,” he teased.

“Again, not an option, Tarzan.” She rested her chin on her knees.

“How about you read aloud from that paperback book you shoved into your backpack?
Reading
by firelight could be interesting. We’d be just like the early settlers out here.”

* * * * *

Why hadn’t she chosen Dickens or Hemingway? No, she had to bring a juicy bestseller. For the second time that evening, her face flamed from the scorching heat of those amber eyes.

Hmm, read a torrid romance novel while alone with a half-naked man out in the middle of nowhere. Oh, that would have been perfect an hour ago before he told her this was all business and that his package wasn’t part of the Paradise Package.

George of the Jungle was a consummate flirt, but it meant nothing to him. Thank goodness, she’d stopped before she made a complete fool of herself. As much as she wanted him to be, Eddie was not Rebound Man material. He’d made that infinitely clear.

“No, maybe some other time,” she hedged, ignoring his amused look.
I’m blushing like a sixth grader again. He must think I’m a total idiot.

“Well, then,” he sighed, lounging back with his hands behind his head on the sleeping bag. “How about we just talk?”

It figured, this coming from the guy who couldn’t do silence.

“Talk about what?” She looked at his chest and knew she couldn’t put two coherent words together. He was so close she could distinguish the individual hairs. A fleeting notion of what it would feel like to lie naked on top of him scurried through her consciousness. He’d be hot to her touch. The contours of her body would fit perfectly into the planes of his. His hands would be in her hair. No, wait, not the hair. They’d be on her butt, anchoring her to him. Her thighs would drop open, straddling him and --

“Are you okay? You look a little sick? I promise that gator can’t get up here.”

His voice jarred her back. She should move away, but the thought of what was outside the tent only a foot below kept her riveted a few inches from him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about yourself?” he suggested. “What do you do when you’re not working or traveling to
New York City
?”

She gave him a wan smile. She didn’t care for that idea. After all, she’d just met the guy that morning. Even if her imagination was out of control, she wasn’t -- was she? Besides, she didn’t like the subtle way he seemed to belittle her lifestyle. What business was it of his if she worked long hours?

“Actually,” she countered, drawing circles on her kneecap with her finger, “I’m more interested in why someone would choose to spend his life in a swamp. I mean, your job is not exactly run of the mill. Have you always been a Crocodile Hunter?”

He frowned. “First, let’s get one thing straight. There are no crocodiles in the Okefenokee. If you want crocodiles, you go to
Louisiana
or down to the croc refuge by
Key Largo
.” He huffed, waving his hand like he was shooing away flies.

“These are alligators up here. For God’s sake, I packed a
University
of
Florida
sweatshirt in your backpack this morning. The Gator is your mascot. You, of all people, should know the difference between a croc and a gator.”

“I know the difference.” She sniffed. “I’m just using Crocodile Hunter as a figure of speech. There aren’t any famous
Alligator Hunters
, you know.”

“Well, it’s important to use the correct words to get your meaning across.” He hesitated as if catching himself in a bad habit. “Anyway, to answer your question, no, I haven’t always been in the tour business. I used to be a broker…on Wall Street.

“
You
were a Wall Street broker? As in
Wall Street
,
New York City
?”

“Yup.” He leaned up on his elbow, bringing that yummy chest just inches from her knees.

“What happened? Go belly up with the banking fiasco?”

“Very funny. Actually, I was quite successful at it.”

“Well, if you were so successful, what are you doing in a swamp?” It sounded harsher than she intended, and she tried a small smile to soften her words.

“It took me a while, but eventually it dawned that I preferred the swamp to the jungle. It gets exhausting racing the other rats for as long I did. You forget why you even joined a race with no finish line. No matter how big the deal you made, there was always another, bigger one waiting.”

His eyes never wavered from her face, but a cloud filled with intense loathing drifted across them. Had she not known him to be pleasant-natured and agreeable, she would have been frightened -- very frightened.

“I dreaded going to work everyday,” he continued, his voice rough and throaty. “Worse, I dreaded going home every night. I hated everything about my life: the job, the people, the pace, everything. I needed a change, a reason to get up in the morning.”

Who would have thought carefree Eddie McGraw would have such a disturbing past? Her fingers, only inches from his face, itched to caress the sharp plane of his cheek, to comfort him. Her hand moved on its own, but she jerked it back and scratched her ear to cover the uncontrolled action. There was a lot more to Eddie McGraw than she’d guessed.

“So how does that get you to a swamp in
Georgia
?” Folding her arms around her legs, she gripped her calves to keep from touching him.

“Nick and I used to visit our grandparents here when we were kids, summers, vacations, every minute we weren’t in school. They owned the business, and Nick took it over when they retired. It started taking off at about the time I was ready to pack it in. I quit my job and moved down here.” He tossed her a quirky “so that’s that” grin, but she wasn’t buying it.

“How did you know you wouldn’t miss that life? It’s a pretty drastic move.”

“I didn’t at the time, but I know now I’ll never go back.” He looked up at the lantern as if seeing something beyond his lackluster former life, but his disgusted expression disappeared. The glowing light accented the angles of his face, transforming it into a blank mask. When he spoke again, it was in a low, hushed voice.

“I have no interest in it anymore. The traffic, the noise, the hassles. I prefer the quiet serenity of this place. No starting bell, no tearing my hair out when a major account skids, no one telling me what I can and can’t do. Besides,” he smiled up at her, “I gave up my rent-controlled apartment. No chance of getting another one of those.”

She nodded. “Good point. Now, I understand,” she said, but she really didn’t.

At his questioning look, she continued just above a whisper, her heart suddenly filled with unexplained tenderness. “I wondered how a good ol’
Georgia
boy knew about Vuitton, Versace and Cardin.”

Eddie graciously dipped his head, acknowledging her compliment. His raven hair gleamed in the dim light, and she clamped her hands harder around her calves to keep her fingers from the wavy locks.

“I guess I have a lot more to think about moving to
New York
than just the job. You sure paint an interesting picture.”

“Probably more bleak than interesting, but that’s how I landed here and I’m grateful for every day I spend out in this swamp. Now, since you’re so reluctant to tell me about yourself, why don’t I tell you about you?”

She wasn’t expecting a hundred and eighty degree turn in the conversation, and he caught her off guard. So much for thinking she had side-stepped his earlier curiosity. Evidently, she wasn’t as smooth as she thought.

“Okay, Slick, what do you know about me?”

Eddie lay on his back again, cradling his head in his hands and staring at the top of the tent. Dismayed at the added space between them, she breathed faster at the sight of his naked torso practically begging her to jump on it. He was nicely built, but if he didn’t put on a shirt, she was going to make a fool of herself.

On impulse, she grabbed her backpack and rummaged in it until she found her
University
of
Florida
sweatshirt. “You must be freezing. Would you like to wear this? It’s dry.” She offered him the garment.

The corners of his mouth quirked up as he eyed the bright orange shirt. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I could get even an arm in it. I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve worn a ‘petite small.’”

She stared at the shirt, then at his chest and rolled her eyes.
Right
.

“Oops, I didn’t think. Of course, this wouldn’t fit you.” And that gorgeous, muscled body of yours.

“Anyway,” she continued, resigned to enduring the sight of his yummy physique a while longer, “you were going to tell me about myself.”

“Wait a minute. Does my being here shirtless bother you?”

She shifted her eyes right to left, avoiding his. Of course, it bothered her. Surely, he knew the effect he had on women. How would he react if she suggested she’d like more than a tour of the swamp -- that she’d much rather have an up-close and personal tour of her guide instead?

“Don’t be silly, of course it doesn’t bother me. This isn’t the eighteenth century, you know. You’re not the first half-naked man I’ve seen.”
But, oh how I’d like to see the other half naked, too. Stop that, Roberta Miller. That’s one sure way to a major awkward and embarrassing week.

“Good. Cause I’ve got to tell you, these damp jeans are bad enough.” He shifted his hips, which only served to accent the bulge behind his zipper. “If you wanted me to wear a wet shirt too, I’d probably develop a serious case of pneumonia. Besides, I’m not the one who tossed my clothes in the swamp.”

She dragged her gaze from his groin to his face, trying to follow the conversation. “Are you going to throw that at me for the rest of this trip?”

His smile traveled from his lips all the way to his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I’m seriously considering it.”

“You creep.” She tossed her sweatshirt at him. He leaned up on his elbow and batted it back at her, laughing.

“Hey, lady, I’ll thank you to keep your clothes to yourself. I’m not that kind of guy.” But that gleam in his eyes countered his words.

Oh, I already know you’re that kind of guy, Eddie McGraw. Everyone at Maisie’s knows, too.
That thought sobered her. A picture of Lou Ann playing with his button took center stage in her mind. For a moment, it appeared he’d changed his mind, that he was opening up, but it was only her wishful thinking. He was this charming with every woman he encountered, and he wasn’t remotely interested in her. Better to keep this strictly business.

“So what else do you know, or think you know, about me?”

“Aside from the obvious that you don’t like the great outdoors, you have a great set of wheels --”

“I beg you pardon?” What kind of a crack was that?

“Great set of wheels -- your car, I saw it in the parking lot before you covered it. The red Camaro. What is it? A…‘69?”

That phrase sent quick little pulses fluttering in her stomach. “Actually,” she tried to cover her embarrassment, sure she misinterpreted him, “it’s a ‘67.” She waited, wishing he’d stop this stupid game, but curious to know what else he’d figured out.

“Like I said, nice wheels. Let me see now, what else do I know about you?” He held up a hand and ticked off items on his fingers. “You’re a hard worker, independent but can be a team player. You have integrity, determination and, regardless of what you think, you are adventurous,” he finished with a self-satisfied smile. “Oh yeah, and you’re scared shitless of anything that crawls, swims or scurries on all fours.”