To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
From: ED@mythicmail.com
Subject: Re: Friendship
Dear Prez,
I’m honored that you feel that way about me. I care about the people I work with, but can’t really bare my soul either, so I understand how it feels not to be able to talk over important things.
How terrible, to be forced out of your job! Worse if you don’t know who’s doing it. Is there anyone you suspect?
—ED
Late that afternoon Everett returned. His ponytail was crusted with ice and his cheeks were burnt red. He never looked so handsome to Edie.
“Where have you been all this time? Where did you go? How long does it take to lay out a few pieces of rope?” She fought to keep her voice level. Whack her with a laptop if he guessed that she’d missed him.
She also kept her throbbing leg carefully out of his sight.
“It takes,” he pulled his stiff coat cuff back with difficulty to look at his watch, “about six hours.”
Forgetting herself, she limped forward. “Why so long?”
Luckily he was turned, shedding his frozen outer garments, and didn’t see. “I couldn’t lay them too near the cabin. And I wanted to make sure there’d be game to trap. Mostly I was hunting spoor.”
“You were looking for animal tracks? Did you find any?”
“After tramping for three hours, yes.” He shot her a quick grin. “Seemed like I crossed the whole state. Really only a few miles but the snow slowed me.”
“At least it’s stopped.” That grin blew her circuits. She forgot she was hiding her leg and limped to a kitchen chair.
In two strides, Everett was at her side. “What the hell did you do to yourself?”
She fell into the chair, surprised at his vehemence, and then crossed her leg to cover the rusty stain on her thigh. “Please don’t swear.”
“What. Did. You. Do.”
Was that concern blazing in his eyes? “Nothing. Hardly anything. Really, Everett.”
“‘Nothing’ does not make you limp. Take off your pants.” He spun from her to stride to the sink.
“Take off my . . . ? You may be my boss, Everett, but that doesn’t allow you every liberty.”
He jerked on the water and briskly washed his hands. “Edith Ellen Rowan, if you can tell me with a straight face that red lake on your jeans is not blood, then fine. If, however, for any reason I am not convinced—” He glared at her. “I will personally cut you out of them. Do I make myself clear?”
“Really, Everett, there’s no need to become alarmed—”
“Take off the damned pants!”
Red-faced, Edie slipped out of her jeans. Nearly had a seizure when she saw what Freudian imp had dressed her this morning. Bend her over and whack her repeatedly with that laptop—red silk bikini panties?
Everett turned off the tap with his wrist. He was red-faced too, but the color on his high cheekbones might still be from the cold outside. Or the cold inside. The fire had burned out and the room’s temperature had dropped.
He turned from the sink. Saw her. His eyes blazed with sudden ferocious heat.
She might have whimpered. He might have throttled a gut-deep groan.
He shook his head. Closing his eyes, he inhaled a bushel of air. Released it slowly.
When he opened his eyes, the heat was banked. With a rueful smile he came to kneel next to her and his big body radiated all the fierce heat on her naked skin that he’d throttled from his eyes. She squirmed on the chair.
His fingers were cool and gentle examining her, tenderly removing the half-dozen small sticky bandages she’d thrown on in an attempt at self-ministration. She forced herself to relax, not to react to his silky smooth touch on her thigh, his breath warming her flesh . . . Her red panties dampened. She clamped her thighs tight.
“How did you get this?” he asked softly.
The panties? No, he meant the wound. “We ran out of firewood. So I found an old ax around back—”
“I think I see where this is leading. No wonder the gash is so big. I’m surprised it didn’t bleed more.”
She’d have to hide the towel.
“Let’s get you clean.” He scooped her up.
Her stomach swooped as suddenly, easily, she was six feet off the ground. Her arms wrapped tight around his neck. “I can walk, you know.” His silky hair feathered under her arm. Cool air brushed her panties. If he could smell her arousal like she could . . . She wanted to hide.
“I wouldn’t survive seeing you walk in that sexy scrap of silk.” He settled her onto the kitchen counter top, her thigh over the sink. “Stay here.”
She bit her lip. He wasn’t embarrassed for her? He was actually . . . interested? She did a quick survey of the room, but there weren’t any body-snatcher pods either.
He started the kettle and went into the back hallway. A moment later, he returned with acetaminophen, a glass of water, several flat packages of gauze, and tape.
He handed her the glass and the acetaminophen. “Take two.”
“You’re taking this very well.” She swallowed the pills.
“No reason to panic. You’ll need to have this sewn up by a doctor when we get back. Maybe a tetanus booster as well.”
“Don’t panic, he says, in the same breath as ‘needle’ and ‘shot.’”
“I didn’t say the words. Only implied them.”
“Uh-huh. Then I only have implied panic setting in.”
His lips quirked as he tested the kettle water. “Good. Warm but not too hot.”
“Shouldn’t it boil?”
“We boiled it this morning.” He poured the water over her thigh. It was soothing, until he added the soap.
“Ouch! Hey, that hurts.”
“The medical term is sting.” He swabbed on disinfectant.
“Holy hard drives, that sucker stings.”
“Sting is good. Means it’s getting clean.” He rinsed her thigh gently, patted it dry, and covered it with gauze squares.
“Thank you, Nurse Kirk.” She smiled.
He returned her smile. She fell into eyes as beautiful as a clear mountain stream . . . He bound the gauze with white tape.
“Tight.” She wriggled. “Too tight.”
“No, no, it’s called ‘pressure.’ But I’ll loosen it a bit.” He cut the tape and wrapped it again.
The “pressure” receded. “More Serenity Rangers wisdom?”
“My mother the nurse. She insisted I learn first aid.”
“Mmm.” Warm and comfortable now, she felt cared for. Happy. “Thank you, Everett.”
“I get a thanks and a beautiful smile? Play with sharp things as often as you like.”
She drew herself straight. “Really, Everett, I wasn’t playing.”
“I know.” He lifted her from the sink, making her stomach swoop again—really, he was immensely strong—and settled her on the couch, placing a blanket over her. “You were contributing to our well-being, and I appreciate it.”
“Maybe I should say thank you more often.”
“Nah. You’ll spoil me.” He sat beside her, caressed a finger over her cheek.
Her eyes closed, her entire being concentrated on that sweet touch. Her body fired up, her lips started throbbing . . . The touch, his heat was gone. Her eyes opened.
He was at the door, throwing on his coat. He’d grabbed the ax from where she’d hidden it behind the chair. “You’re right, we need more firewood. I’d better get chopping.” His voice was strained. “Save some of those bandages for me.”
• • •
The instant the door clicked shut she threw off the blanket and limped to the window. Though Everett appeared competent, he was still an executive, more used to commanding than doing. If she’d sliced her thigh, no telling what trouble he might get into with that ax.
He disappeared into the woods.
“Sweet pickled motherboards. What does that man think he’s doing?” She limped back and forth until her thigh ached. She sat down, but less than ten minutes later popped up again and scurried to the window.
Everett was returning with a freshly cut tree.
She pressed her face to the cold glass. He’d found a handsaw. He trimmed branches and sectioned the tree into several logs.
He placed the first log on the chopping block. Hefted the ax.
Edie sucked in a breath. Said the only word that truly covered this situation. “Damnation!” She grabbed her coat to run out and stop him.
Everett split the log with one clean chop. Edie froze, flabbergasted.
Then Edward Everett Kirk, company president and CEO, started cleaving wood rhythmically as if he did it every day of his life. Pick up the log, swing the ax, split the log. Repeat. Edie hung up her jacket and settled in by the window to watch.
He stopped after four logs to remove his coat. He was only wearing a T-shirt, idiot man, did he want to get sick . . . ?
He hefted the ax. Edie’s breath imploded.
Muscles sprang out of nowhere. The damp tee clung to the tops of his chest, the pinpoints of his nipples, the breadth of his shoulders. His back flared like a cobra as he swung the ax around and high overhead. Powerful shoulders brought the ax down, sinews in his forearms springing into relief as he completed the split.
Edie stumbled away from the window, fell onto the couch. Panted shallow breaths.
Even shallow breaths stopped when Everett shouldered the door open, carrying an armload of wood.
Escaped strands of chestnut hair fell roguishly over forehead and cheek. His torso was thick with muscle. He looked like a woodland god striding into the cabin. She wanted to clasp his knees and pay homage to his . . . Spank her with a rack of panpipes. Hard. Repeatedly . . . she groaned.
“What’s wrong?” He dumped his load by the wood burner, and then took one look at her leg and tutted. “You’ve been up.”
“No. Maybe a little.” She flushed and it wasn’t embarrassment.
“You’re not a very good liar.” After washing his hands, he returned to the couch with more gauze and tape and settled next to her. His weight dented the cushion. She slid into contact with him, the heat of his body inflaming her. As he repaired her bandaging, one errant chestnut lock fell across his intent, serious face.
She reached up and brushed it back.
He looked at her, eyes abnormally bright.
Awareness sprang between them.
Slowly, he set aside paper wrappings and tape, gaze never leaving her face. She raised herself on her arms, yearning toward him.
He cupped her chin in his square, competent hand. She leaned into his fingers, eyes fluttering shut.
They kissed.
His lips were warm on hers, fluid, tasting her gently. Edie sighed. She tasted him in return, mint, fresh air, pine and all male.
His arms came around her, securing her against him, his tee wet but his body steaming hot. Her hands framed his face, palms sliding over his chiseled cheeks into his sleek hair, urging him closer. Groaning, he deepened the kiss. “You taste wonderful.”
Edie’s muscles melted. “Everett . . . why?”
“What?” He trailed kisses along her jaw.
“Why haven’t you done this before?”
“Kiss you?” His lips chased fire down her neck. “I wanted to.”
“Why didn’t you?” Edie arched against his mouth. He nipped the tender skin of her throat. Her languidness flamed into something more passionate. More dangerous.
“The company,” he nipped gently until she shivered, “doesn’t allow relationships between employees.”
“What?” Edie came bolt upright on the couch. “You wanted to kiss me but didn’t because the company wouldn’t let you?”
Everett rocked back, his eyes wide. “Well, not exactly—”
“Because the damned board didn’t approve? Does the board issue you potty passes too?”
“Don’t get crude.”
“Crude? What’s cruder than the company controlling private lives? Big Brother lives, he spies, and worse, he censors any emotion at all!”
“Edie, sweetheart. There are good reasons for discouraging personal relations—”
“So forget team building exercises! Might be misconstrued as a ‘relationship.’”
“That’s not it.” Everett pushed back his straggling hair with a short, sharp shove. “Consider the repercussions. What if I asked you to dinner? Hell, what if I dated you? Your raises and promotions would be tainted with accusations of favoritism. Someone in the company, or even your team, would call you a brown-nosed bi—”
“Language!” Edie sprang off the couch. “My team is interested in honest personal relations. If I dated you, they’d know it was because I loved—” Her mouth hung open in horror.
“Damn it Edie.” His eyes were on her thigh. “You’ve started bleeding again. Lay down, now.”
He hadn’t heard. Edie fervently thanked the Omega Point and meekly lay down.
Love. Where had that come from, anyway? He wasn’t the complete enemy butthead she’d thought, but that didn’t mean they were compatible.
In fact, they were opposites. They went together like gunpowder and a match. No, no! Like a hot fiery brand thrust into oil . . . Her body convulsed with pleasure.
Okay, sure, fine. They were physically compatible. But a devastating chest in a wet T-shirt and the fun she had arguing with him and his kindness tending her cut were rather shallow reasons to fall for a man. Which she hadn’t.
Fussing over her bandage, Everett apparently hadn’t noticing her silence. “Now stay put. I’ll make dinner.”
“Dinner? Out of what, your executive command?” Her words held no real heat.
“I’ll find something.” He rummaged in the cupboards.
She figured he’d have as much luck finding dinner as she would figuring out her annoying, misguided heart.