“Well, get over it, cupcake, ‘cause it’s what we’re having for supper.”
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am. Unless you’ve got a couple of rib-eye steaks hidden in your backpack?”
Lacy shook her head.
He smirked. “Didn’t think so.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m not eating rattlesnake. Because I-I—” Come on, think of something or you’ll be picking scales out of your teeth. “Because I’m a vegetarian!”
“Since when?”
Since about five seconds ago, but he wouldn’t know that.
When she stayed quiet, he threw back his head and laughed. A deep, rich, warm sound in direct conflict with his brusque demeanor. A sexy timbre that made her stomach swoop.
“Nice try. But I saw you eating jerky on the trail yesterday. I know they don’t make the stuff out of tofu.”
Why had he been watching her wolf down a package of dried buffalo meat instead of watching the trail markers?
No wonder they’d gotten lost.
“I’ll bet if some fancy restaurant offered you snake as the evening special you’d order it without hesitation.”
“That’s different.”
“How so?”
“Because I don’t eat something that tries to bite me first!”
Becker shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you don’t eat it, I don’t want to hear you whining that you’re hungry later on.”
Of course, her stomach chose that exact second to growl.
He picked up the shovel, muttering, “Chicken” under his breath, but loud enough she heard him.
Lacy demanded, “What did you say?”
“It’ll probably taste just like chicken.” His cool brown eyes dared her to contradict him.
An enormous black buzzard landed on the log, cawing loudly. Beady eyes zeroed in on the snake carcass.
“Go find your own dinner, scavenger,” Becker said, chasing the bird away. He tossed a smug look over his broad shoulder. “You too, cupcake.”
Right then Lacy knew she’d have to eat the snake. Even if it gagged her. Even if it killed her. Better to embrace the idea now, rather than having to…well, eat crow later and admit he’d been right.
Before she lost her nerve, she picked up the tail end of the snake. Eww. It was still warm. “How are you going to cook it?”
Did Becker suddenly look a little green?
“Can’t sauté it in a white wine and cream sauce, now, can I?” He chopped off the head, picking up the leftover chunk. “We’ll roast it like a hot dog. Let’s go. Gotta log a few more miles before dark.”
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Carry it. The rattle might scare off other snakes.”
“Other snakes?”
Becker smiled before he shouldered his pack and started down the trail.
Insufferable jerk. She had no choice but to play follow-the-leader. Every once in awhile she rattled the snake tail, just to be safe.
* * *
Hours later, Lacy’s feet were sore, blistered and probably bleeding. Her back ached and she still clutched a dead reptile.
She groaned. “I can’t move another step.”
Becker stopped and stretched. “Fine. We’ll take a break.”
“You can take a break. I’m done for today.”
She lifted her face to the breeze, listening to the birdsong and the faint sound of water trickling nearby. With the mountains rising all around them, this remote area was one of the most magnificent places she’d ever seen. “This is breathtaking.”
“I’ll say.”
Becker wasn’t looking at the scenery, but at her.
Oh man. He flustered her with one look. What would happen if he actually touched her? She’d probably erupt like Old Faithful.
She refocused on their surroundings.
They’d left the jagged cliffs behind and hiked into a deep canyon. Pine trees grew on a steep incline towering to reach the periwinkle sky. To the right, a small clearing packed with tall, pale green grass eventually sloped up into another craggy hill. It wasn’t the flower-filled meadow she’d expected, but it was stunning.
“We’ll make camp here. It’s almost dusk anyway. You’d better gather some stuff to burn for the fire tonight before you get too comfy.”
“What are you going to be doing?”
“Skinning the snake. Of course, if you’d rather do it, I’ve got no problem trading jobs.”
Lacy shuddered. “No thanks.” She handed him the limp remains and trudged toward the trees, cursing her swollen feet.
“Don’t go far,” he called. “I don’t want to spend the rest of the night wondering if you’ve become a mountain lion snack.”
“Bite me, Pecker.”
His soft laughter echoed around her. Seemed the acoustics in the canyon were better than a microphone. Or Mr. Nature had the hearing of a bat.
Or Becker was more focused on her than she realized.
A shiver ran through her, not one of revulsion.
Half an hour later Lacy proudly eyed the pile of pinecones, twigs and decayed logs she’d gathered. In the flattest spot, Becker had lined rocks in a circle and dug a shallow fire pit.
Home sweet home.
But Becker was nowhere to be seen.
She wiped the sweat and dirt from her forehead with the back of her hand. Ick. Snake germs. She crossed the meadow toward the tinkling sound of water. She stumbled over a tree root and her tongue when she saw a shirtless Becker standing in the stream.
Lacy quickly ducked behind a clump of bushes and gawked.
His wide, muscled shoulders were tanned golden brown. Rivulets of water trailed his nicely defined pecs and followed the lines of his six-pack, disappearing into the waistband of the wet cargo shorts that hung dangerously low on his lean hips.
He was a glorious, gorgeous male animal.
A punch of lust knocked the breath from her lungs. She’d never wanted a man on such an elemental level. No talking. No foreplay. Just an animalistic mating. Hard, fast, sweaty, dirty raw sex. Him pounding into her until she screamed her pleasure, shattering the woodland silence.
Oblivious, Becker bent down and splashed water on his face. Raked his hands through his hair. Droplets of water clung to his dark stubble and glistened on his eyelashes. His nipples were tight.
Lacy ached to feel those rigid points with her tongue. Longed to trace the water’s path down his river-cooled body with her hot mouth.
He stiffened. Seemed to look right at her. Then went on cleaning himself. Thoroughly.
Did Becker realize he was tormenting her as his wet bandana wiped every inch of his amazing body?
Probably.
Still, she leered until he returned to camp.
The narrow stream tumbled over a rock-lined bed. In several spots along the grassy edge, water pooled deep. Lacy plunged her hands into the icy coldness, scrubbing with a small stone until her fingers turned pink.
Satisfied all traces of snake oil were gone, she whipped off her tank top and rinsed it. Felt strangely freeing to flaunt her naked breasts and cup the cool, clear liquid, letting it flow down her body like an invisible lover’s caress.
Was Becker lurking? Feeling that same inexplicable desire she’d experienced watching him?
She stayed bare-chested until her shirt dried, just in case.
Lacy sat on a bed of moss, hypnotized by the transformation of day into night. Twilight turned the sky a majestic purple. Stars twinkled. A soft breeze wafted by, stirring the hair stuck to her nape. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d existed in such peace. No agenda. No people criticizing her. The scent of pine and the underlying earthy aroma of the forest filled her lungs.
When a rank smell replaced the sweetness of the night air, Lacy immediately scrambled to her feet.
Was there a dead animal close by? Or just a stinky, hungry creature hunting for a meal? She started to run, but stopped when she remembered the Discovery Channe
l warning that predators liked prey to run. In the near dark she staggered through the meadow, the stench increasing with every step.
She stopped. A fire lit the darkness surrounding the campsite and smoke drifted toward her.
It appeared that awful smell was dinner.
Chapter Three
It looked worse than it smelled.Becker eyed the crispy chunk of meat on the end of the stick. Screw this. He didn’t have to demonstrate his stubborn streak to her. He’d rather starve than eat barbequed snake.
Lacy limped into view, smile pasted on her freshly-scrubbed face. “What’s that delicious odor?”
Odor. Not aroma. Not exactly a ringing endorsement for his culinary skills. He scowled at the red-hot coals. Time to call a halt to this juvenile, I’ll-eat-it-if-you-will game.
When she stopped—downwind from the campfire smoke—he glanced up.
The dancing firelight bathed her in an ethereal glow. She looked half-angel, half-temptress. Which one was the real Lacy? How could he find out firsthand?
He was tired of baiting her. Since they were stuck with each other for the rest of the hike, they might as well make the most of it.
Becker mustered his most charming smile. “That stench is dinner. And you’re more than welcome to eat my share because I sure as hell am not touching it.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Really?”
“Scouts honor. I’d rather chomp on pine needles.”
She plopped beside him on the log. “Thank God. Honestly, I didn’t know if I could—Hey! Wait a minute!” She whapped him on the arm.
“Ouch! What was that for?”
“For making me carry that stupid snake. If we weren’t gonna eat it, we could’ve left it for the buzzards.”
Hopefully she’d credit the fire for the red flush on his cheeks, not guilt. “Sorry. Don’t know what came over me. I’m usually not such a jerk.”
Lacy looked dubious at his declaration. “I know what came over you. Being out in the wilderness does strange things to men.”
“Define strange.”
“A temporary reversion to caveman ways. You know…” She grunted. “You man, me woman. Me make fire, you make dinner.”
“Error in your logic. I’ve made the fire and dinner.”
Lacy blushed a delicate rosy-pink, captivating him completely.
“You missed the point.”
“Which is?”
“The need for men to prove they’re ‘real men’.”
He lifted his brows, waiting for what promised to be an entertaining explanation. “Like?”
She kicked a pinecone into the flames. “Like Ross didn’t have a clue what ‘GPS’ meant, but put him in Central Park and suddenly he’s an expert? Please. He can’t find his way out of the men’s room.”
This guy had soured her on more than the great outdoors. Becker didn’t find it as amusing as he’d imagined. “Ross sounds like an asshole.”
She blinked. “Whoa. Sorry about the ‘men suck’ tangent.”
“Why didn’t you back out of this hike?” He stirred the coals. “Since it was your ex-boyfriend’s idea?”
Lacy propped her elbows on her knees and gazed into the fire. “Because I’m sick of being called a marshmallow. A creampuff.” She slanted him a sideways glance. “A cupcake. I wanted to prove I’m an adventurous woman.”
Oh yeah, he definitely had one way in particular she could prove that. And it sure as hell didn’t involve GPS.
Their gazes clashed. By the way Lacy fidgeted, Becker figured his lustful intentions were clearly written in his eyes.
She glanced away quickly. “So, since we’re not having snake filets, how about if I cook?” She rummaged in her backpack, unearthing two protein bars, tossing one to him. “Guaranteed edible.”
“Thanks.” He bent forward to chuck another branch on the fire.
Lacy was frowning at him when he sat up.
“What?”
“You’re bleeding.”
He craned his neck but couldn’t see. “Where?”
“From a scratch on your back. I can’t believe you didn’t feel it. Then again, I suppose a tough outdoorsman like you is used to getting hurt.” She dug in her backpack and waved a big Band-Aid. “Voila.”
“You carry Band-Aids?”
“A necessity for wearing stylish shoes. Hold still.” Soft fingertips gently danced over his skin.
Goose bumps broke out across his body. He hissed, but not from pain.
“Sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No.” He smiled slyly. “Thanks for tendin’ my wound, little lady.”
Lacy batted her lashes. “Careful, mountain man. I might think you like me.”
“Maybe I do.”
The air between them turned sultry, heavy with promise, though neither voiced the obvious. Silence stretched for a time as they listened to sounds of the night.
Becker heard a jingle. He’d noticed she constantly fiddled with the silver bracelet circling her right wrist.
“Where’d you get that?”
“A gift from my friend, Cat.”
“Can I see it?”
“Sure.” She scooted closer, offering her arm.
“Pretty. What is this?” He pointed to a twisted, dangling blob.
“A Sita knot.”
“Which is?”
“A Celtic symbol denoting the four phases of the moon, the four stages of life and the four seasons.”
“Did Cat give this to you because you’ve been friends for-ever?”
Lacy groaned at his pun. “No. She gave it to me before I left as a symbol of new beginnings.” She smiled wistfully. “But crazy Cat kinda runs on her own kooky calendar.”
“How so?”
“Well, the traditional Celtic season for new beginnings, Samhain, doesn’t happen for a few months.”
“I know,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her silky skin beneath the bracelet.
“You do? How?”
He’d never admitted to anyone outside his family that his crazy mother had christened him “Sam” after he’d arrived on Samhain Eve. Since childhood Becker had discounted his mother’s warnings about the power of fate and karma, as much as her belief in crystals and