LOST WITH YOU - Lisa Ann Verge Page 0,18
can turn back in the morning.” he repeated. Futile to try to keep her out of his fantasies. “If you’ve changed your mind.”
She frowned and looked deep into the flames. He counted his heartbeats as the song of the cicadas swelled to full volume, drowning out the soft lapping of the water on the riverbank. The dying light had glazed the length of the river in pink, but now that light was fading, a velvet darkness coming over them like the closing of a hand. They were alone in the twilight, nothing between them but the flickering fire.
“I’m not leaving, Dylan.” She lifted her head from where she’d pressed it against her knees. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
Relief rushed through him. Her acquiescence kept alive the hope that one night she might round the fire, approach him, and unzip that hoodie.
“Now that we’ve got that settled,” Casey said, surging to her feet. “I’m off to sleep. I’m exhausted, and the mosquitoes are making a feast of me.”
“I’ve got repellent—”
“I’d rather not fill up the tent with the stink of chemicals.”
“I’ll clean everything up,” he said as she picked up her bowl and spoon. “You’ll be asleep by the time I’m done counting stars.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “Such a romantic.”
She swept past him to head for the tent. He heard her rustle in her pack for something while he focused his attention on the heart of the flames. He wondered if she would change into cotton panties or silky slips of lace or just sleep dressed as she was. He wondered if, in normal times, she slept in the nude.
That was none of his business. She’d just made it clear there’d be no zipping their sleeping bags together over the next three weeks, no hungry sex against a tree.
“Dylan?”
He turned his head, gave her a quarter profile, not wanting her to catch a glimpse of what he was thinking.
“Anne said something odd to me this morning right before we launched.”
He closed his eyes on a sigh. He’d hoped he’d dodged a bullet, but of course Anne would run her mouth. His sister didn’t have much of a filter. And he’d seen the hard query in Anne’s eyes when he’d announced that Casey was his new partner.
“It was really weird,” she said. “It’s been bothering me all day, but I wasn’t sure I should bring it up.”
“Anne’s got opinions.” He braced himself for anything. “She doesn’t like keeping them to herself.”
“But she talked to me about a bridesmaid’s dress, of all things.”
Jeez, Anne, really? “You can’t guess what she meant?” He tried to make his voice light. “Anne looked at me and then at you and drew a natural conclusion, seeing me heading off with such a beautiful woman.”
He heard her swift intake of breath, the kind she might make if he were to skim his fingers up her thigh.
“It didn’t seem like a natural conclusion to me,” she insisted. “It seemed like a leap of logic. There’s a missing piece.”
“Worry about bears, Casey, not Anne.” And please don’t ask me anything else.
“I’m a reporter, MacCabe. I can smell a story from a thousand miles—”
“This is a more personal one. It has nothing to do with the expedition.” He twisted to face her. “It’s off the record, or the conversation is over.”
She paused. “Off the record, then.”
Damn. Why couldn’t Anne just keep her mouth shut?
“The last time I went on a long camping trip with a woman,” he confessed, “I came home with a wife.”
It had been years, years, since that reckless relationship, the slap-dash wedding, and the contentious divorce. Yet Anne still protected him as if he hadn’t learned his lesson. But that lesson was branded deep. Relationships that began blazing-hot always burned out quickly.
And if his heart was involved, it left bitter ashes.
“No need to worry, Casey.” He turned back to the fire. “I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
With every stroke she made, paddling the canoe farther down the river that had led them out of the lake, Casey pondered those words. She’d fallen asleep in the tent last night thinking about them, surprised at the conviction in his voice, and woken up alone in the morning. Dylan had already been up and dressed, coffee made and powdered eggs scrambled. He’d greeted her, all business, avoiding her eyes. While she’d eaten, he’d broken down the tent. While she’d nursed the strong, black brew, he’d carried their