Read Online Bear Bait (9781101611548) by Pamela Beason - Free Book Online
Authors: Pamela Beason
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burned. “Well, I…” She remembered wanting to kiss him and see him naked, but she didn’t remember actually doing either of those things.
Clapping a hand to his jaw, he focused his gaze in the direction of his feet. “Jeez,” he sighed, using her slang, “I guess I’m going to have to study the manual again.” He leaned back against the pillow, rolling his eyes. “I practice and practice…”
She jerked the pillow out from under his head and pressed it down over his face. “You…you…” She fumbled for an appropriate term. When she took the pillow away, he was laughing. “You’re an exasperating man, Chase Perez,” she told him.
He rolled over, pushed himself up on his elbows, and moved his head close to hers. “I don’t take advantage of unconscious women, Summer.”
Pulling himself out of the sleeping bag, he stood up. She had long wondered whether he’d wear boxers or briefs.Trust him to choose something in between, a close-fitting type of gray knit underwear that hugged his buttocks and muscular thighs.
He retrieved his jeans from the floor. “Keep staring like that and you’re going to see more than just my shorts.”
“A little more?” she teased. “Or a lot?”
“Hey, they don’t call me a special agent for nothing.”
“You do gymnastic tricks or something?”
“More like magic.”
“Show me.”
He groaned. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” He jammed his feet, sockless, into his boots. “If the President calls, I’ll be in the small conference room, the one with the half moon on the door.” The door slammed behind him. It sounded like he was descending the ladder three rungs at a time. She should have told him that it was all right to pee off the balcony.
Should she take her T-shirt off? Wait for Chase to do it? A delicious thought. Then she had a sudden vision of the tight neckline getting hung up on her chin or nose. Decidedly unsexy. She ripped the T-shirt off, tossed it in a corner, studied her bra and panties with dismay. White cotton. She wished she were wearing the peach-colored lace set at the bottom of her underwear drawer.
She crawled to her daypack, pulled out the tiny mirror. Surprisingly, the face that looked back was not too bad. Her lower lip was still swollen and dusky, but if she ignored the stitches, the injury gave her kind of a sexy, hard-kissed look. She squeezed a dab of mint toothpaste onto her tongue and ran it around her mouth, sniffed her armpits, finger-combed her tangled hair. Then she slid back into the sleeping bag, pulled the quilted nylon up to hide the utilitarian bra, arranged herself as if casually lounging against the pillow.
It was finally going to happen. She and Chase. Actual lovemaking. Sex. Anticipation—or was it anxiety?—tingled throughout her body. Did she even remember how todo this? It had been nearly a year since Adam. You never forget, she told herself, like riding a bike. Well, no, not a bike. Riding a horse? Hardly. Well, sort of like riding, anyway…
A couple of clomps thundered against the ladder. “So you’re the guy who usually mans this tower?” Chase said loudly.
What the heck?
More clomps. “She’ll be
so
glad you’re back.” Chase’s voice rose in volume. “Not to mention—
surprised
to see you so
soon
!”
Goddammit! Sam dove for her T-shirt, found the wad of her uniform in the corner. She jammed a splinter into her bare foot as she hopped one-legged into her pants. Damn, damn, damn! She buttoned the waistband just as Perez walked into the room, accompanied by a red-haired, mustachioed fellow. The redhead carried a loaded backpack, which he dumped onto the floor before extending a hand.
“Greg Jordan,” he said. “I’m back.”
The firewatch volunteer. She pumped his hand. “Glad to meet you, Greg,” she lied. “I’m Sam Westin, the temporary bio-study hire. And I guess you’ve already met my friend.”
Behind Greg’s back, Chase pantomimed choking the younger man. Sam
Clapping a hand to his jaw, he focused his gaze in the direction of his feet. “Jeez,” he sighed, using her slang, “I guess I’m going to have to study the manual again.” He leaned back against the pillow, rolling his eyes. “I practice and practice…”
She jerked the pillow out from under his head and pressed it down over his face. “You…you…” She fumbled for an appropriate term. When she took the pillow away, he was laughing. “You’re an exasperating man, Chase Perez,” she told him.
He rolled over, pushed himself up on his elbows, and moved his head close to hers. “I don’t take advantage of unconscious women, Summer.”
Pulling himself out of the sleeping bag, he stood up. She had long wondered whether he’d wear boxers or briefs.Trust him to choose something in between, a close-fitting type of gray knit underwear that hugged his buttocks and muscular thighs.
He retrieved his jeans from the floor. “Keep staring like that and you’re going to see more than just my shorts.”
“A little more?” she teased. “Or a lot?”
“Hey, they don’t call me a special agent for nothing.”
“You do gymnastic tricks or something?”
“More like magic.”
“Show me.”
He groaned. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” He jammed his feet, sockless, into his boots. “If the President calls, I’ll be in the small conference room, the one with the half moon on the door.” The door slammed behind him. It sounded like he was descending the ladder three rungs at a time. She should have told him that it was all right to pee off the balcony.
Should she take her T-shirt off? Wait for Chase to do it? A delicious thought. Then she had a sudden vision of the tight neckline getting hung up on her chin or nose. Decidedly unsexy. She ripped the T-shirt off, tossed it in a corner, studied her bra and panties with dismay. White cotton. She wished she were wearing the peach-colored lace set at the bottom of her underwear drawer.
She crawled to her daypack, pulled out the tiny mirror. Surprisingly, the face that looked back was not too bad. Her lower lip was still swollen and dusky, but if she ignored the stitches, the injury gave her kind of a sexy, hard-kissed look. She squeezed a dab of mint toothpaste onto her tongue and ran it around her mouth, sniffed her armpits, finger-combed her tangled hair. Then she slid back into the sleeping bag, pulled the quilted nylon up to hide the utilitarian bra, arranged herself as if casually lounging against the pillow.
It was finally going to happen. She and Chase. Actual lovemaking. Sex. Anticipation—or was it anxiety?—tingled throughout her body. Did she even remember how todo this? It had been nearly a year since Adam. You never forget, she told herself, like riding a bike. Well, no, not a bike. Riding a horse? Hardly. Well, sort of like riding, anyway…
A couple of clomps thundered against the ladder. “So you’re the guy who usually mans this tower?” Chase said loudly.
What the heck?
More clomps. “She’ll be
so
glad you’re back.” Chase’s voice rose in volume. “Not to mention—
surprised
to see you so
soon
!”
Goddammit! Sam dove for her T-shirt, found the wad of her uniform in the corner. She jammed a splinter into her bare foot as she hopped one-legged into her pants. Damn, damn, damn! She buttoned the waistband just as Perez walked into the room, accompanied by a red-haired, mustachioed fellow. The redhead carried a loaded backpack, which he dumped onto the floor before extending a hand.
“Greg Jordan,” he said. “I’m back.”
The firewatch volunteer. She pumped his hand. “Glad to meet you, Greg,” she lied. “I’m Sam Westin, the temporary bio-study hire. And I guess you’ve already met my friend.”
Behind Greg’s back, Chase pantomimed choking the younger man. Sam
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