The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting (8 page)

“We’re on a survival trip, Miranda.” The look in his cool green eyes was no-nonsense. “First rule of survival is to be as comfortable as you can, and you should remember that.” He stood and turned away, then extended a hand toward her. “Or wasn’t that what you had in mind when you asked me to help you with them?”

His eyes were knowing as they looked at her, glimmering with amusement. Dane knew her game and he wasn’t going to make it easy for her.

She glared at him.

He gestured at the wood behind her. “Hand me one of the lighter logs, would you?”

“I can’t believe you just cut my panties!”

“Probably a good thing you packed a whole bag of them, then, eh?”

Forget revenge and ruining his life. She was going to kill him before the week was out. Forcing a tight smile to her face, she slapped a piece of wood into his hand. “Good thing,” she echoed sourly. “I’d hate to have to go without.”

His laugh strangled off and he gave her an intense look, and then stomped away.

Evil Miranda two; Dane Croft zero.

Miranda was going to be the death of him this week.

Dane couldn’t get the sight of her thong out of his mind. He tried not to think about her panties when the others returned with enough wood for the evening. He tried not to think about it when he cut a few longer branches and began to show Steve
(who had been designated as the shelter expert) how to build a shelter. He tried not to think about the pretty thong or the sweet curves of skin it laced over as he showed Will how to strain water using a waterproof hat. He tried not to think about it when he showed Miranda how to build a fire using the bow method and her long, glossy hair swung over her shoulder as her arms worked. And he really, really tried not to think about the fact that he hadn’t had sex in more than three years.

But he thought about it anyhow.

It was like the image was burned into his memory and no matter what he tried to focus on, the vision of it kept rising in his head. Of the soft globes of her ass, pale against the thong, making him think of how she’d look riding his cock, that delicious ass bouncing as he pumped into her. He’d been hot for the teenage Miranda, but the Miranda nine years later was burning a hole in his mind and making his dick primed for sex 24/7.

Correction
, he thought, his mind going back to that damned thong. Nothing but sex with
her
. No one else.
You’ve been waiting nine years for this. And she wants it—wants you.

They banked the fire and prepared for sleep. It was early in the evening but the team was drooping and the sun was down. They looked exhausted and tired, and even water and their PowerBars couldn’t perk them up.

“We’ll call it an early night,” he announced, throwing a heavy log over the fire’s coals, steering his gaze away from Miranda, where she looked slightly sweaty and disheveled and completely and utterly delicious. “Be ready to get going first thing in the morning, as we’re going to change campsites and the real survival will begin.”

One of the men groaned, but the others got up and stretched, heading to the larger of the two shelters. It was a lean-to with a thick amount of deadfall tossed on the wind-facing side and crosshatched with leaves and branches. The ground had been smoothed and the packs lay underneath.

“How’s this going to work?” Steve had said earlier. “We have one shelter, six guys, and a woman.”

They had ended up building Miranda a separate small lean-to a few feet away so she didn’t have to huddle with the men. She went and sat under it, adjusting her pack before lying down on the hard ground and using it as a pillow. As Dane watched, she crossed her arms over her chest and seemed to huddle in, bracing against the cold. She looked small and alone as the other men piled into the larger shelter, and Dane couldn’t help himself—he went over to check on her.

“You going to be okay over here?”

“No problem.” She gave him a tired thumbs-up, then hugged her arms close again.

He hesitated. “If you get too cold, just crawl in with us. We’ll be fine thanks to body heat.”

“I’d rather not, but thanks for the offer,” she said, closing her eyes to end the conversation. “I’m good here.”

Dane nodded and went back to join the others. He glanced over at Miranda one last time, but she had her back to him.

Dane’s offer was the perfect opportunity, Miranda thought as she shivered in her shelter. Sleep wasn’t happening—not with the chill bite on the ground and the fact that she really didn’t have
anything much warmer to wear. This camping trip was an exercise in survival, but the next time she opted to “survive” she’d pack some thermal underwear first. As it was, her light jacket wasn’t helping much.

The men didn’t seem to have the same problem—she could hear them snoring quietly. Occasionally one would move around, shifting to try and get comfortable. The fire popped, but other than that, the camp was silent.

It gave her a lot of time to think. And the main thing she thought about? Her battle plan to seduce Dane. The fact that he’d sliced her thong off had thrown her for a loop. He’d seemed interested—really interested—but he’d given her the worst kind of brush-off with that insulting move.

Did he not find her attractive? Was that it? In high school, he’d been a flirt and had teased all the girls—including her. When he played hockey for the Vegas Flush, she’d heard all kinds of rumors about whom he was dating—London Harris, the sexy socialite who loved to be in the tabloids. Molly Sun, the starlet with the yellow curls and huge breasts. Susie Lynn Jacobs, the ingénue country singer. The list read like an issue of
People
’s Most Beautiful. And he was totally ignoring her.

Miranda’s hand went to her collar and she grasped it, making sure that it didn’t gape open. Men flirted with her occasionally—at the library, at the county fair, when she’d gone for her job interview. Even Pete had shown interest. Why was Dane not interested? She was practically throwing herself at him.

Well, she amended, “throwing herself at him” was relative. As she was not the best flirter in the world, she acknowledged that maybe she wasn’t doing enough to show her interest. Maybe he
thought she was just being a tease? It was time to be totally straight with Dane and show him exactly what she wanted.

Sucking in a deep breath, she got up from her lean-to and approached the men’s.

They were bundled together like puppies—all neat and lined up, their feet hanging out of the shelter. She studied them for a minute, looking for a familiar form. Dane was on the far edge of the shelter, lying on his side. She approached and knelt beside him.

All was silent in the camp, and Miranda inched closer to Dane, studying him as he slept. His shoulders seemed broader than ever from this angle, his hips narrow and tapered. She moved in and gave him a slight shake. Nothing. She frowned and slid her hand onto Dane’s pant leg, just above the knee.

He didn’t stir.

She grew bolder. Her hand moved to his groin. She cupped his cock in her hand and sighed at the warmth—and weight—there. Very nice.

Dane stirred, and she felt him jerk awake. Felt him wake up below, too, just as she slid her hand away.
Count on a little late-night fondling to wake a man up,
she thought wryly.

“Miranda?” he whispered in a strangled voice.

“Dane,” she said, kneeling close and leaning low toward him. “Can I talk to you?”

“Everything okay?”

She waved for him to keep his voice down. “Yes. I just…want to talk. Away from camp.”

He squinted up at her, then at the campsite. “We can talk in the morning,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “Go back to sleep.”

God, the man was obtuse. She was tempted to reach over and
grab his cock again, because that seemed to be the only thing he was listening to. “Dane, I need…” she paused for a minute, thinking. Then she lied, “I need your help. Something bit me.”

His eyes flew open at that, and he stared up at her, then got to his feet. “Something bit you?” he whispered again. “Where?”

Might as well go all in,
she thought. “In a personal spot.”

Dane swore under his breath and then raked a hand over his closely trimmed hair. He reached into his backpack and grabbed one of the emergency flashlights and the first-aid kit, then gestured for her to follow him out of camp.

When they got into the edge of the woods, out of the clearing and away from the camp, he clicked the flashlight on. “Now, show me where—”

She rushed forward and put her hands over the flashlight, hiding the beam. Miranda glanced over where the others slept. No one had stirred—good. “Can you turn that off? I don’t want the others finding us.”

He gave her an exasperated look. “How am I supposed to tell where you’ve been bitten if I can’t see it?”

“I’ll show you,” she said. “You can feel it on my skin. Just, please. Don’t wake up the others.” If he did, her window of opportunity tonight was going to end up a big fat failure.

A long moment ticked past, and then Dane sighed, clicked off the flashlight, and turned to her. “All right.”

She could see the silhouette of him in the moonlight, highlighting the wide sweep of his shoulders, and she felt another excited thrill pass through her. When was the last time she’d been this hyped up to touch a guy?

Answer: nine years.

“Show me, then,” he said in a low voice.

She took his hand and instead of placing it on her skin, she began to walk farther into the woods, to put as much distance between camp and the two of them as possible.

She expected Dane to protest, but he only followed her lead, his large, warm hand loose in hers. When they’d walked a good distance away and made it deeper into the woods, she stopped under a tree. “Here’s good.”

“You said something bit you?” Dane’s voice was skeptical, as if he wasn’t sure what she was up to anymore. Was that amusement in his voice? Oh, she hoped so—if he was furious, she’d never get to put her hands all over him.

And I’ll never get my revenge,
she added at the last moment, a bit ashamed that it hadn’t been the first thought to spring to mind.

“It did,” she lied, pulling his hand against her stomach under her shirt. She hid the shiver of desire she felt at his fingers against her bare skin. “Let me show you.”

His chuckle rumbled low. “I’m guessing it’s not a snake, then, if we’re trekking all over the woods.”

“Not a snake,” she quickly agreed, looking up at him. God, his cheekbones looked amazing in the moonlight. She’d forgotten how incredibly sexy Dane was, how much looking at him made her wet with excitement.

“Does the skin burn?”

Oh,
absolutely
. Her hand pressed over his where it rested on her flat stomach, just above her belly button.

His fingers brushed against her stomach, sending a pulse of heat through her body. His whisper grew intimate, as if the fact
that he was touching her and they were very, very alone had suddenly occurred to him. “I don’t feel anything, Miranda.”

“It’s lower,” she lied, her eyes watching his moonlit face, waiting to see if he’d take the bait. They stood so close together that she could feel his warm breath on her neck.

Dane paused for a long, long moment, and then gave her a knowing look. “Lower?”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Touch me
, she wanted to whisper.
Please. Everything hinges on you touching me.

His fingers brushed at her waistband. “Lower?”

“Yes,” she said. Her hand clutched at his shirt as she waited.

He looked up at her and his hand moved boldly down her belly. His hand slid into her shorts. “Where are your panties?”

“Some guy cut them off of me earlier,” she said, her voice husky.

His hand skimmed past the curls of her sex and slipped between the folds of her pussy in a sudden move that had her gasping.

“Down here?” he asked in a husky voice. “Is this where you’re burning? Because you’re certainly wet.” His fingers brushed against her clit and her body stiffened in a hot rush of desire. He rubbed the slick bud with his fingertips. “I’m starting to think you haven’t been bitten at all.”

She clung to his shoulders, her fingernails digging into his skin as his hand flexed in her shorts, small gasps erupting from her throat. “You—you have me all figured out, it seems,” she managed to whisper, the whisper turning into a whimper as his clever fingers gave her clit another stroke. Her head tilted back and she leaned against the tree, her hips bucking against his
hand. Oh my God. That was so good. If he could just keep touching her there—

His hand started to pull away and she gave a small cry, her hand moving down to rest over his.

“What are you playing at, Miranda?” he said low in her ear, his face pressing against her neck. He didn’t move his hand from her hot, wet sex, but his fingers had stopped their rubbing of that most delicious of spots.

She could have wept in disappointment.

He stared down at her, his gaze intense. “Is this some sort of trick?”

“Trick? No,” she said, tilting her face toward his. “I’m just…I…”

What could she tell him that he would possibly believe? The words froze in her mouth. His lips were inches away from hers and she longed to move her face closer to his, kiss him, feel that tongue stroke into her mouth in each conquering sweep. But his lips were firm and hard with anger. He wouldn’t kiss her back.

“Then why don’t you tell me what’s going on? You’ve been after me ever since we laid eyes on each other, Miranda. And while I’m flattered, I have to wonder what your game is.”

Shit. Well, okay, maybe she was being obvious—too obvious.

She stared up at him, acutely aware of his hand still down her shorts. One nice squirm and she bet she could get his fingers to brush against her clit again—but how humiliating would that be? To try and get off against a man who wasn’t responding?

So she took a deep breath and pulled her hand off of his, placing it on his T-shirt. That wasn’t much better—she could feel the finely corded ropes of muscle in his arms, and that made her
think of his hand down her shorts all over again. She was getting wetter just thinking about it. “I…”