Impulse Control (Entangled Indulgence) (Men of the Zodiac) Page 5

  He stepped closer, leaning until his warm breath tickled her ear. “I took the lead because your ass in those tight snow pants gives me a hard-on, Susie. Don’t look down,” he whispered.

  That was the last thing she’d expected him to say.

  Her gaze jerked halfway to his crotch before she hauled it up to his face. His eyes danced with humor, not fury, and her tangled emotions snarled further. When his gaze dropped to her lips, her heart pounded. Heat rose from her center, and she stared at him. Her lungs, already deprived of oxygen from their hike, struggled to function. She took a gasping breath.

  His teeth caught his lip in a satisfied grin, and then he winked, as if they were sharing a joke.

  Ice trickled through her veins, and she closed her mouth with a snap. He’d been trying to embarrass her, and he’d succeeded, far and beyond his expectations, she was sure. What the heck had she been thinking? Men like Donovan did not go for women like her. He was just using his sex-god abilities to keep her off-balance. She was out of her league, out of her depth, out of her element, and grateful for the reminder, not that she planned to thank him. “I’d prefer you took this a little more seriously. I’d like to get home to my son in one piece.”

  He chuckled and handed her the water bottle. “I will get you home safely, despite your lapses in judgment, ignorance of your own physical state, and apparent lack of a sense of self-preservation. Seriously, how are you feeling?”

  She took a swig. If he could act like nothing had happened, so could she. With relief, she realized sexually charged moments like that were probably commonplace to him. He was almost as famous for his exploits with women as he was for his adventures in nature. Holly had mentioned his penchant for dating A-list celebrities, and several of the shows she’d watched had ended with him walking off into the sunset with an exotically beautiful native woman.

  He was waiting for her answer. Since he probably expected her to continue trying to be a foolish little soldier, she took a second to assess her condition. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Her safety was more important than her pride. “Hot, tired, hungry, but bizarrely cheerful. I can keep going.” Her head didn’t hurt anymore, and the water and sugar had given her energy a boost. She was actually eager to continue, the most surprising thing of all.

  “Gotta love endorphins.”

  His grin blinded her for a second, and she held her hand out for her sunglasses, wanting to hide her expression. He switched frames with her and covered his eyes. Should she apologize, too? Her stubbornness had caused the problem, after all. She paused to think. Would she expect him to apologize for a kitchen accident in the next part of the show? The answer was instantaneous: no. Therefore, this was not her fault. “Resilience is my middle name.”

  “Lucky for me.” His voice was wry, making her flush. They both knew who had been lucky.

  She handed the water bottle back to him, and he tucked it back into his pack. Then he gestured for her to take the lead. The path was clear. She had no reason to refuse except her reluctance to have him staring at her backside. So she lifted her foot and moved forward. Her muscles protested.

  “About another mile and we’ll set up camp.”

  Could she do another mile? Transcend, transform, triumph. Heck, yes, she could do another mile, even with Donovan staring at her butt. So what if she wasn’t remotely athletic? She had strength on the inside, and it was time to flex her muscles. She couldn’t strut on snowshoes, but she did her best to put some swagger into her step without keeling over.

  Behind her, Donovan cursed, and she turned to see the sled had toppled over. With a heave, he righted it and brushed off their packs. “Caught a rock.”

  At his irritated wave, she started forward again, grinning. Served him right.

  Chapter Three

  Susannah climbed inside the tent and zipped it shut against the wind. It was heaven to have a few minutes alone to assess the damage. The last mile hadn’t been nearly as difficult as the first few, but she needed to regroup.

  The crew was bunking in the ranger station while she and Donovan camped in a dome tent. She’d groaned when she saw the outhouse, but swallowed any complaints when she remembered the section in Donovan’s book about how important it was to bury waste to keep wild animals from investigating. It could definitely be worse.

  Her world had shrunk to a bubble. The next task, the next thirty minutes, the next activity. She would live through this, one challenge at a time. Currently, her challenge was wrestling her sleeping bag out of the tight pouch. When she finally got it out, she noticed it was wet. Had snow gotten into the pouch when the sled capsized? If so, it had melted while the sled sat near the fire Donovan had built before he pitched their tent. Since there was no way she was unpeeling even a single layer, she’d get in the sleeping bag wearing her waterproof coat. That would keep the damp out, right?

  She dug her phone out of her pocket, glad to see a message waiting. God bless Holly for knowing she’d be desperate to know how things were going at home, and thank goodness Donovan had been careful to position the tent in a spot the cell towers could reach.

  All is well! Having a wonderful time. Wish you were here, but since you’re not please send pics of the Wild Man, preferably buck naked in the snow. Shrinkage will be forgiven.

  Instead she unlaced her boot and snapped a shot of the nasty blister on her heel.

  The response was immediate and comforting.

  Holy crap! Are you okay?

  As fine as an ice cube with blisters can be. Kiss Billy for me.

  Holly replied with a selfie of her doing just that.

  At the sight of her son, the tightness in Susannah’s chest eased, and then a wave of loneliness swept over her, so overwhelming she had to press her hands over her mouth to stay silent. Billy was her entire world, and not being home to kiss him good-night made her feel sick.

  Abruptly, the zipper on the tent opened and Donovan poked his head in. She dropped her hands and ducked her head, blinking tears away.

  “Something wrong with your boot?”

  “No, my foot.” She showed him the blister.

  He nodded. “Hang on.” He zipped the tent.

  A few minutes later he returned with a bandage. His hands were gentle as he taped it over the blister and tugged her sock back into place. “Blisters happen. Let me know if it breaks and I’ll get you the antibacterial ointment.”

  She nodded, bemused as he laced her boot and tied a double knot. She didn’t know how to react. After her foolish near-collapse, they had stopped every twenty minutes for water. He had been solicitous, encouraging, and professional. She’d figured he was just trying to look good on film after having nearly killed her, but there were no cameras on them right now. “Thank you.”

  He stood and held a hand down to her. Cautiously, she took it, damning the tingles that radiated through her as she bumped against him. He pulled her out of the tent and yelled for Stan and Dave. If he was calling for cameras, she had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what came next. She pulled her hand out of his grasp.

  Stan and Dave started rolling as soon as they exited the ranger station. Donovan swept his arm in a wide arc, and the guys panned the fire, their tent, and the impromptu shelter he’d built over the sled. “Honey, we’re home. What’s for dinner?” he asked.

  She glared at him. “This is your turf, remember? I assumed you were cooking.”

  He blinked his baby-blue eyes, not looking innocent in the least. “But you’re the expert. It would be crazy not to take advantage of your culinary skills.”

  “I’m not a camp cook.” Anxiety twisted inside her, and she breathed deeply to loosen it. She should have expected something like this, but she’d been lulled into a false sense of security by the water breaks and the boo-boo bandaging. She’d forgotten he wanted to keep her functioning so he could humiliate her. Not this girl, buddy. Not anymore. She had to reach deep, but she found another well of energy.

  She batted eye
lashes, deliberately mocking him. “But I bet I can come up with something superior to anything you could manage, despite your years of experience cooking on a campfire.”

  “I’ll take that bet.”

  Of course he would. She walked over to the sled and took a quick inventory of their supplies. When she saw bacon and onions, she knew she had him. Her mind started spinning ingredients into combinations as she searched for cooking tools. “I want the pot.”

  “I’ll take the frying pan.”

  “Dinner in an hour?”

  He nodded. “You cook for Stan and me, and I’ll cook for you and Dave?”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  “We don’t have unlimited supplies, so it’s only fair we use the same ingredients.”

  The gleeful smile spreading across his face made her nervous, but she couldn’t back out now, not with Stan’s camera glued to her. It had been one thing to plan a dinner with all of their supplies at her disposal. It was something else entirely to have him impose limitations. Hopefully her Chopped obsession would pay off for her now. “How about we each pick three ingredients?” Surely she could make something good with six ingredients.

  “I’ll even let you pick first.”

  She pointed at the bacon.

  He grabbed a rectangular can with a key taped to the top.

  She stared. “Spam is real?”

  His smug nod made her wonder if he’d planned this all along. There was no way Spam was in his regular diet. A body like his was not built with tinned meat product. Had she walked into a trap?

  Grimly, she pointed at the onions. He grinned and handed her a tube of squirt cheese.

  She felt faint.

  “Don’t knock it until you try it, Susie.”

  She couldn’t make anything decent entirely from scratch with those two bogus ingredients. She was going to have to cheat. The makeshift pantry held four cans of beef stew. She handed two to him and took the rest for herself.

  With a grin that made her want to rub snow in his face, he balanced a box of Ritz crackers on top of his palms and presented it to her. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.” He pointed at the log he’d rolled next to the fire.

  She stared in disbelief as he carried the cans of stew over to the fire, popped the tops, and placed them close to the flames. Then he sat down and started fiddling with his phone. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he planned to serve her beef stew straight from the can and Spam on crackers for dinner. But that didn’t mean she had to lower her standards. She wanted to win.

  She found a mini cutting board and got her camp knife out of her backpack. The sled made a good makeshift table as she sliced an onion. She was hoping he’d start cooking the bacon soon, so she could see how he did it, and luck was with her. She never would have guessed that flat thing strapped to the bottom of the sled was a trivet.

  “Got another one of those?” she asked.

  “I’ll be done in a minute, and I’ll trade you for the cutting board.”

  “It’s a deal.” She got busy slicing everything that needed to be cut.

  After he’d drained his bacon, they switched places. She set her pot on the fire and layered bacon in the bottom. When it was crispy, she carefully poured most of the grease into an aluminum foil-lined indentation in the snow and seared each side of the cubed spam. Every meat on earth tasted better after it hit a smoking-hot pan, didn’t it? She added the onions to the pot and deglazed with water, discovering her glove made a handy pot holder.

  The beef stew was thinner than she had expected and had white beans in it. She hummed to herself as her plan came together. With the pork products and white beans, she had a cassoulet of sorts. She stared at the fire, wondering if there was any way to gratin the squeeze cheese. She shrugged, and decided it wasn’t worth the attempt. Burning muscles and burning lungs were unavoidable on this wretched trip, but she wasn’t going to burn her fingers for a guy who was feeding her Spam crackers for dinner. She dumped both cans into the pot and stirred with a wooden spoon. She’d enrich the sauce with the cheese, crumble the crackers on top and call it good.

  She was surprised to find herself smiling. It was fun to cobble a meal together from disparate ingredients. Should she do this on her show? Many of her viewers probably stared into the fridge and tried to make stone soup once in a while. Who didn’t?

  Her thoughts veered to her upcoming cooking show with Donovan, and her smile got wider. She couldn’t wait to turn the tables on him.

  Time was almost up, so she tasted her creation. It was so good she was tempted to take another bite. Suddenly, she was ravenous. She found two mess kits in their supplies. Ten minutes left. She filled the bowls and crumbled a double handful of crackers on top. After brushing her hands off, she carried one over to Stan, who accepted it with a big smile.

  “Thanks, Susannah. It smells great.” He set the bowl on the ground and raised his camera again. She didn’t even want to think about what the lens was capturing—shiny skin, red nose, smashed hat hair…ugh. She smiled anyway. “You’re welcome.”

  She took the other bowl to Donovan and waited, watching as he laid crackers on two plates, squirted them with cheese and added bacon, spam, and chopped onions. She was very conscious of Stan filming her. Should she react or not? Even though he was traying up 1950s nightmare hors d’oeuvres, she was starving, and they didn’t look half bad. What would play better on the show? Good sportsmanship or scorn?

  “Time’s up,” Stan called.

  Donovan stepped back, raising his hands in the air as if he’d been working furiously until the last minute, when for most of the hour he’d been lolling on the log. She rolled her eyes and heard Stan chuckle. So much for good sportsmanship.

  “And what do you have for us tonight, Chef Susannah?” Stan asked.

  She smiled straight into the camera and held out the bowl. “I have Spam cassoulet in a beef and white bean stew base, with bacon, caramelized onions, a velvety emulsion of processed American cheese, and a Ritz cracker crumble.” She allowed her smile to turn gloating as she turned to Dave. “Are you jealous? I think you lost the toss tonight.”

  “No kidding.” Stan kept his camera on her as Dave asked, “Chef Russ, what’s for dinner?”

  Donovan was ready for him, standing with a can in one gloved hand and a plate in the other. “Same as always, buddy. Fire-roasted beef stew with cheese and crackers. If you think I’m going to expend energy cooking dinner when we’ve got a mountain to climb tomorrow you’re nuts.” His relaxed smile made her aware of how focused she’d been for the last hour, chopping, stirring, and thinking, and her heart sank. She’d thought winning meant producing a better dish, but they hadn’t been playing by the same rules.

  “Careful, it’s hot.” Donovan exchanged dishes with her and gestured for her to precede him to the log by the fire.

  Across the fire, Stan was wolfing down her creation with obvious enthusiasm, but no one was filming his enjoyment. Next to her, Donovan ate steadily, too. He’d pulled the rug out from under her and made her look like an idiot. Again. She could already see how his part of the show would play out. Rookie doesn’t have enough sense to stop for water. Newbie rushes around showing off while the experienced camper conserves his energy. We’re climbing this whole mountain tomorrow? I’m toast. She forced herself to take a bite of the stew while it was still hot. Like he’d said, she was going to need her energy. Fortunately, even without her additions, it was delicious, and she savored every bite before tentatively picking up one of the crackers. She popped it in her mouth and chewed. Not as bad as she had expected. Actually, it was pretty good in a super-salty, crunchy, spongy kind of way. “Thank you very much for making me dinner. It’s nowhere near as bad as I expected.” She waited for him to say her “cassoulet” was good, too. When he didn’t, a sharp stab of disappointment took her by surprise.

  She kept eating, but the enjoyment she’d felt in the meal was gone, and she didn’t want to think about why. The smug sideways gl
ances he kept shooting at her told her he expected her to play the food snob, so she cleaned her plate of everything, including the raw onions, and then handed it to him with the empty soup can. Being a good sport didn’t mean giving up. “Loser does the dishes.”

  His eyes gleamed. “Who says I lost? We’re in the woods, Susie, not Paris. You lost major points for expending pretentious—I mean precious—energy.”

  “Yes, you’ve made that lesson clear, although I’d like to point out you sucked down every bite.”

  “Waste not, want not. But that doesn’t mean you won.”

  “Our bet wasn’t about energy conservation or camping theory. It was about cooking skills.” Susannah turned to the cameras. “Stan? Dave? The verdict, please.”

  “Russ lost.” They spoke in unison.

  She beamed a smile at the camera focused on her. “For that, I’ll make you both breakfast in the morning.” They cheered, and her smile turned genuine. Donovan shrugged and began gathering dishes.

  “Anything else on the agenda?” she asked.

  Donovan shook his head, and she walked away from the fire, suddenly aware of every tired and aching muscle. It was barely dark, but she was ready to call it a wrap. She wanted to hole up and recover from the day without a camera recording her every move. With a sigh, she remembered the tent camera. At least I can zip my bag over my head and indulge in a silent scream.

  She visited the outhouse, relieved it was too cold for snakes, but she couldn’t stop imagining spiders. Big ones, hiding in the corners. When it took her a solid minute to find the toilet paper enclosed in an old coffee can, and she heard something rustling nearby, she nearly panicked, but she persevered and was rewarded with a bottle of antibacterial gel tucked next to the tissue. The burst of adrenaline from her predicament carried her to the tent, where she unlaced her boots and set them in the far corner. She dug for her toothbrush and toothpaste in her backpack, glad Donovan hadn’t tried to convince her they weren’t necessary. After eradicating every lingering hint of raw onion from her breath, she crawled into her sleeping bag, wearing everything, including her coat. She zipped it to the top and wrapped her arms around herself, seething.