everything, including her coat. She zipped it to the top and wrapped her arms around herself, seething.
He hadn’t even made a token effort to cook, yet she had no doubt he would have ridiculed her if she’d served up the kind of food he’d prepared tonight. Then, he’d had the nerve to make fun of her for being creative. Her seared Spam had been way better than his flabby offering, and the cracker crumble had been inspired. He’d made his point about conserving energy, but would it have killed him to appreciate her efforts?
She felt the cold stealing into her bones and curled tighter. She’d cook for herself and the crew tomorrow and leave Donovan to his stupid fire-roasted soup. It might not be the wisest use of her energy, but it was the only enjoyment she’d gotten out of the trip so far, and she wasn’t going to let him take it away from her. Didn’t an army move on its stomach? That kitchen was now hers. The thought warmed her as she drifted, shivering, toward sleep.
…
Donovan sat on the log and stared into the fire. Nothing about this day had gone as anticipated. He’d expected to have to haul her, bitching and whining, through the snow. Hell, half the reason he’d brought the sled was in case they had to pull her. Instead, she was proving to be a good sport and almost too tough for her own good. He’d thought she’d be totally useless in the woods, but he’d been dead wrong. She was pulling her weight, and that turned him on as much as, maybe even more than, her damn tiger-striped fleece, which tormented him every time he looked at her.
What would she say if she knew the blister on her heel was nothing compared to the chafing in his groin? Hiking on snowshoes with a hard-on was a bitch, and it was all her fault. After their first water break, the way she strode forward with determination had nearly sent him sprawling on his ass. He was lucky only the sled had fallen over when he’d tripped at the sight of her bouncing through the snow like a sleek rabbit. He thought about how she’d bustled around the “kitchen” tonight and sighed, low in his throat. He’d never eaten better on a camping trip, and it had nearly killed him not to say so. He’d known from the minute he’d laid down the challenge he wasn’t going to win. His only hope lay in not trying, a strategy that was pure torture for someone as competitive as he was. As he’d expected, she’d totally smoked him, and he couldn’t believe she’d taken it easy on him instead of rubbing his nose in his defeat.
The flames seemed to flicker in reproach. Usually he loved sitting by the fire alone, but he didn’t feel any peace in his solitude tonight. He took care of the fire, tightened the lids on the garbage cans, and secured the rest of their camp before he unzipped the tent and crawled inside.
It was pitch black, and her breathing was even and deep. He shucked his boots and a few layers and crawled into his sleeping bag. It wouldn’t go too far below freezing tonight, and the insulating pad he’d laid on the floor of the small tent would protect them from the cold ground. Since they were both dry, they’d be fine. He panned his flashlight around the tent, double-checking that her bag was zipped, all the windows were closed, and everything he might need was within reach. The tent camera gleamed, and he grimaced. A tent cam had seemed like a genius idea when he’d thought she’d be whining all night. Now he was afraid it might record him muttering her name in his tiger-striped dreams.
How many of his plans were going to backfire on this damn trip? He’d hoped to display her as a fish out of water, but she’d turned everything around on him. She’d barely blinked when he’d pulled her pack apart, and then she’d made him look like a negligent guide. The look on her face when he’d shown her their provisions had been priceless, but then she’d gamely produced a fabulous meal. She’d also eaten every bite of the crappy
He hadn’t even made a token effort to cook, yet she had no doubt he would have ridiculed her if she’d served up the kind of food he’d prepared tonight. Then, he’d had the nerve to make fun of her for being creative. Her seared Spam had been way better than his flabby offering, and the cracker crumble had been inspired. He’d made his point about conserving energy, but would it have killed him to appreciate her efforts?
She felt the cold stealing into her bones and curled tighter. She’d cook for herself and the crew tomorrow and leave Donovan to his stupid fire-roasted soup. It might not be the wisest use of her energy, but it was the only enjoyment she’d gotten out of the trip so far, and she wasn’t going to let him take it away from her. Didn’t an army move on its stomach? That kitchen was now hers. The thought warmed her as she drifted, shivering, toward sleep.
…
Donovan sat on the log and stared into the fire. Nothing about this day had gone as anticipated. He’d expected to have to haul her, bitching and whining, through the snow. Hell, half the reason he’d brought the sled was in case they had to pull her. Instead, she was proving to be a good sport and almost too tough for her own good. He’d thought she’d be totally useless in the woods, but he’d been dead wrong. She was pulling her weight, and that turned him on as much as, maybe even more than, her damn tiger-striped fleece, which tormented him every time he looked at her.
What would she say if she knew the blister on her heel was nothing compared to the chafing in his groin? Hiking on snowshoes with a hard-on was a bitch, and it was all her fault. After their first water break, the way she strode forward with determination had nearly sent him sprawling on his ass. He was lucky only the sled had fallen over when he’d tripped at the sight of her bouncing through the snow like a sleek rabbit. He thought about how she’d bustled around the “kitchen” tonight and sighed, low in his throat. He’d never eaten better on a camping trip, and it had nearly killed him not to say so. He’d known from the minute he’d laid down the challenge he wasn’t going to win. His only hope lay in not trying, a strategy that was pure torture for someone as competitive as he was. As he’d expected, she’d totally smoked him, and he couldn’t believe she’d taken it easy on him instead of rubbing his nose in his defeat.
The flames seemed to flicker in reproach. Usually he loved sitting by the fire alone, but he didn’t feel any peace in his solitude tonight. He took care of the fire, tightened the lids on the garbage cans, and secured the rest of their camp before he unzipped the tent and crawled inside.
It was pitch black, and her breathing was even and deep. He shucked his boots and a few layers and crawled into his sleeping bag. It wouldn’t go too far below freezing tonight, and the insulating pad he’d laid on the floor of the small tent would protect them from the cold ground. Since they were both dry, they’d be fine. He panned his flashlight around the tent, double-checking that her bag was zipped, all the windows were closed, and everything he might need was within reach. The tent camera gleamed, and he grimaced. A tent cam had seemed like a genius idea when he’d thought she’d be whining all night. Now he was afraid it might record him muttering her name in his tiger-striped dreams.
How many of his plans were going to backfire on this damn trip? He’d hoped to display her as a fish out of water, but she’d turned everything around on him. She’d barely blinked when he’d pulled her pack apart, and then she’d made him look like a negligent guide. The look on her face when he’d shown her their provisions had been priceless, but then she’d gamely produced a fabulous meal. She’d also eaten every bite of the crappy
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