She heard the words and in shock realized that she had actually said them aloud. She opened her mouth to apologize again.
“Or I could be the one on top.”
His words stopped her apology cold. Her breath tangled in her lungs and didn’t escape. His deep voice seemed to echo in the darkness, that single sentence reverberating through her consciousness. She was suddenly, acutely, aware of every inch of him, of the sensual promise in his tone. The kiss—the kiss she could write off as reaction; danger was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, and evidently that was true. But this wasn’t reaction; this was desire, warm and curious, seeking.
“Is that a ‘no’ I’m hearing?”
Her lungs started working again, and she sucked in a breath. “I haven’t said anything.”
“That’s my point.” He sounded faintly amused. “I guess I’m not going to get lucky tonight.”
Feeling more certain of herself with his teasing, she said dryly, “I guess not. You’ve already used up your quota of luck for the day.”
“I’ll try again tomorrow.”
She stifled a laugh.
“Does that snicker mean I haven’t scared you?”
She should be scared, she thought, or at least wary. She had no idea why she wasn’t. The fact was, she felt tempted. Very tempted. “No, I’m not scared.”
“Good.” He yawned. “Then why don’t you pull off that sweater and let me use it as a pillow, and you can use my shoulder. We’ll both be more comfortable.”
Common sense said he was right. Common sense also said she was asking for trouble if she slept in his arms. She trusted him to behave, but she wasn’t that certain of herself. He was sexy, with a capital SEX. He made her laugh. He was strong and capable, with a faintly wicked edge to him. He was even a little dangerous. What more could a woman want?
That was perhaps the most dangerous thing about him, that he made her want him. She had easily resisted other men, walking away without a backward look or a second thought. Chance made her long for all the things she had denied herself, made her aware of how lonely and alone she was.
“Are you sure you can trust me to behave?” she asked, only half joking. “I didn’t mean to say that about being on top. I was half-asleep, and it just slipped out.”
“I think I can handle you if you get fresh. For one thing, you’ll be sound asleep as soon as you stop talking.”
She yawned. “I know. I’m crashing hard, if you’ll pardon the terminology.”
“We didn’t crash, we landed. Come on, let’s get that sweater off, then you can sleep.”
There wasn’t room to fully sit up, so he helped her struggle out of the garment. He rolled it up and tucked it under his head, then gently, as if worried he might frighten her, drew her against his right side. His right arm curled around her, and she nestled close, settling her head in the hollow of his shoulder.
The position was surprisingly comfortable, and comforting. She draped her right arm across his chest, because there didn’t seem to be any other place to put it. Well, there were other places, but none that seemed as safe. Besides, she liked feeling his heartbeat under her hand. The strong, even thumping satisfied some primitive instinct in her, the desire not to be alone in the night.
“Comfortable?” he asked in a low, soothing tone.
“Um-hmm.”
With his left arm he snagged one of the space blankets and pulled it up to cover her to the shoulders, keeping the chill from her bare arms. Cocooned in warmth and darkness, she gave in to the sheer pleasure of lying so close to him. Sleepy desire hummed just below the surface, warming her, softening her. Her breasts, crushed against his side, tightened in delight, and her nipples felt achy, telling her they had hardened. Could he feel them? she wondered. She wanted to rub herself against him like a cat, intensifying the sensation, but she lay very still and concentrated on the rhythm of his heartbeat.
He had touched her breasts when he kissed her. She wanted to feel that again, feel his hard hand on her bare flesh. She wanted him, wanted his touch and his taste and the feel of him inside her. The force of her physical yearning was so strong that she actually ached from the emptiness.
If we don’t get out of here tomorrow, she thought in faint despair just before she went to sleep, I’ll be under him before the sun goes down again.
* * *
SUNNY WAS ACCUSTOMED to waking immediately when anything disturbed her; once, a car had backfired out in the street and she had grabbed the pistol from under the pillow and rolled off the bed before the noise had completely faded. She had learned how to nap on demand, because she never knew when she might have to run for her life. She could count on one hand the number of nights since she had stopped being a child that she had slept through undisturbed.
But she woke in Chance’s arms aware that she had slept all night long, that not only had lying next to him not disturbed her, in a very basic way his presence had been reassuring. She was safe here, safe and warm and unutterably relaxed. His hand was stroking slowly down her back, and that was what had awakened her.
Her skirt had ridden up during the night, of course, and was twisted at midthigh. Their legs were tangled together, her right leg thrown over his; his jeans were old and soft, but the denim was still slightly rough against the inside of her thigh. She wasn’t lying completely on top of him, but it was a near thing. Her head lay pillowed on his chest instead of his shoulder, with the steady thumping of his heart under her ear.
The slow motion of his hand continued. “Good morning,” he said, his deep voice raspy from sleep.
“Good morning.” She didn’t want to get up, she realized, though she knew she should. It was after dawn; the morning light seeped through the brown fabric of the tent, washing them with a dull gold color. Chance should get started on the fuel pump, so they could get airborne and in radio contact with someone as soon as possible, to let the FAA know they hadn’t crashed. She knew what she should do, but instead she continued to lie there, content with the moment.
He touched her hair, lifting one strand and watching it drift back down. “I could get used to this,” he murmured.
“You’ve slept with women before.”
“I haven’t slept with you before.”
She wanted to ask how she was different, but she was better off not knowing. Nothing could come of this fast-deepening attraction, because she couldn’t let it. She had to believe that he could repair the plane, that in a matter of hours they would be separating and she would never see him again. That was the only thing that gave her the strength, finally, to pull away from him and straighten her clothes, push her hair out of her face and unzip the tent.
The chill morning air rushed into their small cocoon. “Wow,” she said, ignoring his comment. “Some hot coffee would be good, wouldn’t it? I don’t suppose you have a jar of instant in the plane?”
“You mean you don’t have coffee packed in that survival bag of yours?” Taking his cue from her, he didn’t push her to continue their provocative conversation.
“Nope, just water.” She crawled out of the tent, and he handed her shoes and sweater out through the opening. Quickly she slipped them on, glad she had brought a heavy cardigan instead of a summer-weight one.
Chance’s boots came out next, then him. He sat on the ground and pulled on his boots. “Damn, it’s cold. I’m going to get my jacket from the plane. I’ll take care of business there, and you go on the other side of these boulders. There shouldn’t be any snakes stirring around this early, but keep an eye out.”
Sunny dug some tissues out of her skirt pocket and set off around the boulders. Ten minutes later, nature’s call having been answered, she washed her face