To: ED@mythicmail.com
From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com
Subject: Re: Are you a mind-reader?
Dear ED,
Thank you for understanding. You’re beyond a mind-reader. You’re a best friend.
I just wish mind-reading could nail down my enemy.
—Prez
Tarzaning. As Edie minced dried onion for the abbreviated stew, she pictured Everett clad in a loincloth and tie, swinging on a vine over the big main conference room table at HHE, overwhelming all opposition.
For a brief moment, in her imagination, she swung tight in his arm with him, protected from dangers below by his strength.
She sighed.
Everett Kirk had proved to be a man of hidden talents, and not just his survival skills. Deeply hidden were compassion and championship of the little guy. He wasn’t the corporate ogre she’d thought.
She glanced at him. Flannel shirt, just like her. She wondered if, on the battleground between nurturing employees and exploiting them, he was really much nearer her side. Had her own extreme attitude polarized him into opposing her?
Edie set down her knife. The mental black-and-white map labeled “Us” and “Them” morphed into color. The board, Howells, Bethany, herself, Jack, clients, vendors, customers . . . Everett was caught in the middle of them all.
How difficult it must be to please everyone. How challenging to keep the whole company running smoothly and still maintain his personal integrity. No wonder he had headaches.
As she cooked, her eyes kept wandering toward him. He was knotting together more of his snares, the ones she’d mocked, the ones that had worked. His hands were competent and sure. She wanted them on her again.
He looked up, caught her watching him, and smiled. “Thanks for making lunch.”
“By the time it’s ready, it’ll be more like dinner.”
“I’m in no hurry.” He sauntered over, and pulled her into his arms, hugged her close. He smoothed her hair. “I have to split firewood and lay the snares.”
“Don’t go too far.”
“Why Edie, my fireball.” His lips were warm on her neck. “I didn’t know you cared.”
She cared, more than was good for her. So much so that she was thinking how nice it would be to come home every day to this.
When he left to cut wood, her neck was still tingling.
Her stew was bubbling and she was washing some of her clothes in the sink when he returned.
“Look out for the line.” She’d strung a makeshift clothesline between upper cabinet handles. “I’ll do your clothes too, if you want,” she called to him as he stripped off his outer garments.
“Thanks.” Everett came and gave her a quick hug. Definitely habit-forming. He brought out a pile of clothes and laid it on the counter as she rinsed hers. He gave her a sweet kiss, then took a sopping shirt from the sink and wrung it out with his hands. He hung it on her line, straightening it to dry better.
“You do that almost as if you know what you’re doing. Your mother?”
“Serenity Rangers International, actually. That, and many years of bachelorhood.”
“I thought you’d have a cleaning service.” Actually, she thought he’d have a succession of live-in roommates to handle domestic chores. She piled her wet laundry in the bucket then refilled the sink, adding soap and his clothes.
He kissed her hair. “Thank you.”
“For dinner? Or laundry?” Her eyes closed as he stood behind her and hugged her, her hands going still in the wash water.
“You could have blamed all this on me. Instead, you’ve done everything you can to make our stay here pleasant.” He kissed her cheek.
Her eyes opened. “It was my fault too.”
“Let’s not argue about that. In fact, let’s not argue about anything.” His mouth found hers and she turned from the wash into his arms. It felt good, right.
It felt like the first day of the rest of her life. A life that included him.
But stupid company policy . . .
Everett’s competent hands worked their way down her backside, and she forgot all about company policy.
• • •
That evening, full of rabbit stew, Edie decided she wanted a bath.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Everett said. “The tap water isn’t much warmer than melted snow.”
“I’ll add boiling.” She hauled out a couple pots. “You did it.”
“I needed a bath. You don’t.”
“On the contrary. I reek worse than the rabbit cleanings.” She filled the pots with water and set them on the stove.
“Please, Edie. You won’t like it.”
“Why, Everett. Finally admitting you took a cold bath?”
“No.” He paused. “Maybe a little cool. I’ll stoke the fire. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”
“How considerate. Does HHE suspect?”
“That I’m not a blood-thirsty savage in a tie? No, they’d fire me in an instant.” He opened the stove and added wood. By the time she dumped the boiling water into the white claw-footed tub, the cabin felt like a sauna.
Everett tested the water. “I’ll put more wood in the stove.”
“Everett, if it gets any hotter in here I’ll think I’ve been sent downstairs for my corporate sins.”
“Hell?”
“Accounting.”
“I don’t want you to catch cold,” he repeated stubbornly, and he left the room.
As Edie stripped, she heard the scrape of the grating and the thunk of wood. If it got any hotter, the cabin would spontaneously combust.
Then she eased into the cool water and goose bumps immediately ran up her flesh. When she sluiced water onto her head, the heat of her own scalp radiated through the river of cold. Her nipples were tight as lug nuts, and though she’d rather stuff a thumb drive up her bottom than admit Everett was right, the quicker this bath was done, the better.
She lathered and soaped frenetically. She had just dunked into the slightly brown, soapy water when Everett opened the door. “I’ll do your back.”
“Oh, would you?” She drew up her knees and smiled brightly at him, thinking go away so she could get out of this liquid ice cube and be warm. True, he’d seen all the parts before, but that was when he was blinded by lust. At this moment, he was unfortunately clear-sighted.
He rolled up his sleeves, grabbed a washcloth and soaped it. She leaned forward. He ran the cloth over her back, and she forgot all about being cold, her goose bumps forming for another reason entirely.
He kissed her damp shoulder.
Edie shivered. The cloth scrubbed rhythmically up and down her back. Her eyes closed. Up and down the washcloth went, up and down and then up and over . . .
And then he was washing her front and her arms were falling away. His indrawn breath let her know she was exposed to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered reverently.
Her eyes flew open. His gaze was blazing on her breasts, her belly. The water lapping at her thighs no longer seemed cool at all.
The washcloth adored her, stroking over her breasts, her tight nipples, caressing her skin. She wondered if he would kiss her, then decided what the heck, grabbed his head and kissed him instead.
He groaned, washing her harder, lapping her breasts and belly and between her tender thighs until she ached for him. Until her fingers were knotted in his hair and she’d tried to crawl down his throat with her kiss.
Until he dropped the washcloth and scrubbed her directly with his fingers, over and over until she lit up like the sun, shouting her climax.
Languid after, she murmured, “Would the company approve?”
“Who the hell cares?” Everett lifted her, streaming water, from the tub. He held her tightly against him, soaking his clothes. “I laid a blanket in front of the stove.” Red patches flagged his cheeks. “To dry you off. Not for—”
“To dry us off.” She smiled into his fever-bright eyes. “You’re wet now, too.”
With a growl he carried her naked to the main room, settled her on blankets spread before the wood burner.
He’d opened the stove’s doors and put in the grate. It was hotter than hot. Edie shivered as lush heat skittered across her skin.
He knelt over her. Their eyes met and held and the heat seared through her veins.
Bending, he kissed down her jaw and neck. His mouth opened and he tongued the notch at her throat, nibbled the tender flesh of her breast. With a sudden growl, he fastened onto her nipple and tugged.
She panted his name. “You. Let me see you.” She tugged at his damp shirt, eager to expose—everything.
“Edie, you’ll rip it.” Cuffs already open, he grabbed the hems of both shirt and sweater and pulled them over his head. Edie gazed reverently at the torso revealed. Powerful packed belly, heavily muscled chest, all covered by smooth skin and a sprinkling of chestnut hair—and, picked out on one pectoral by the flickering firelight, the faint echo of a tattoo masked by tiny silver scars.
“What’s this?” She traced the scars with one finger.
His nipples tightened. “Nothing.”
“‘Nothing’ looks a lot like a tattoo removal that didn’t quite work.” She palmed the area, exploring heated skin over hard male muscle.
“That feels good.”
She grabbed his hair and yanked him down onto the blanket beside her. To be fair, he let her. “Where did you get it?”
“A misspent youth.”
“Like the lock picks?” She straddled his hips and fumbled with his buckle.
“You’ll leave the belt alone, if you know what’s good for you.” He raised himself on bent arms. His rapidly rising and falling six-pack and the growing bulge under her belied his words.
“Can’t.” She managed the prong and opened the buckle. Started to work on the pants. “Where did you get the tattoo?” He didn’t answer. Bending, she tongue-tickled the short hairs on his belly. “Where?” She peeked up.
His eyes were glazed. “I ran . . . I ran with a wild group for a while.”
“What group?” She licked his navel. Delicately inserted the tip of her tongue.
“Dogs.” The word sounded wrung from him. “The Street Dogs.”
“You ran with a punk band? Scary.” She peeked again.
“No,” he laughed. “My neighborhood gang.”
Suddenly he sat up, red flags on his cheeks. “It was long ago. My hitch with SRI straightened me out.”
In intimate contact with his body, Edie noticed the stiffness in him immediately, and it wasn’t the good kind. “Everett, what’s wrong?”
“Edie, if Howell ever heard of this . . . ” He gently dislodged her. “You’re cold. Put on my robe. It’s on the couch.”
He slipped out from beneath her and disappeared into the bedroom, leaving her naked, overheated, and bewildered in front of the stove.