That Reckless Night

“We can handle the gossip as long as we don’t give it power. Don’t act guilty.”

“I’m not guilty. I don’t regret anything,” she said with a shrug, and he envied her attitude. She might not care what others said, but he had to care. If Stuart found out...his job could be on the line. His concerns must’ve become apparent in his expression for she softened and said, “I’ll play it cool. Don’t worry. I understand what’s on the line. For what it’s worth...” She hesitated as if unsure whether she wanted to share or not, and as he waited, she smiled, then said, “If there were a whole lot of different situations at play instead of the reality...you and I might make a decent couple. I mean, we’re obviously compatible in bed and we share the same work ethic.”

He agreed with a cutaway glance. “If only those were the only factors to consider.”

“Yeah.” She seemed disappointed in his answer. Had she been expecting something more romantic...more declarative? Before he could clarify, she’d moved quickly to the window, exclaiming with excitement, “The snow is slowing down. I think if we strike out now, we could make the car and radio for a pickup.”

“Let’s do it, then,” he said, quickly donning his coat, gloves and gear. “The sooner we return to base, the better.”

Miranda nodded and headed for the door but suddenly stopped and turned to face him so fast, he nearly bumped into her. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Loaded question. Kiss me.”

He stared into her eyes, questioning the smarts of such a move, but as her lips parted, ready and waiting, he didn’t hesitate. He pulled her to him and swept his tongue inside her mouth, loving the tiny gasp she made that seemed so incongruous with her tough exterior. His touch gentled her wildness and he took pride in that it was his touch and no one else’s that she craved. When he released her, they were both breathing heavy and heated from the inside out, tempted to touch each other intimately just one last time, but they both knew it wasn’t wise and withdrew.

She opened her eyes and smiled warmly before turning on her heel and pushing out into the snowy landscape without looking back.

Jeremiah couldn’t help the smile that followed even though he suffered a great sense of loss. He’d get over it just as he got over every great tragedy in his life—by burying himself in work. Getting over Miranda would be no different.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MIRANDA AND JEREMIAH reached Miranda’s vehicle and both groaned when they saw they had their work cut out for them. The road wasn’t ordinarily maintained as a major thoroughfare and the freak snowstorm had done its best to bury the Range Rover. They started digging the car out using their gloved hands, working as quickly as possible so they could reach the radio. “This will teach me to run off half-cocked without checking to make sure my phone is well charged,” she said, her teeth chattering.

“You and me both,” he agreed, clearing away enough snow to crack the door open and slip inside. Miranda followed, and as soon as she could get her keys in the ignition, she revved the engine and turned up the heat while Jeremiah worked the radio. “This is Jeremiah Burke. We’re at the base of Woodstock’s Trail and we’re snowed in. We’re going to need a plow out here to free the vehicle. Over?”

“10-4. Everything okay? Rangers hauled the bear carcass away but there was no sign of you or Miranda.”

“We’re all right. Just cold and ready to go home.”

“Copy that. We’ll send a plow ASAP.”

Jeremiah sighed and returned the radio handset. “Now we just have to sit tight. It shouldn’t be too long.”

“Yeah. Maybe an hour, tops, assuming the grade isn’t too iced over. Commence with the awkward silence while we wait.”

At that Jeremiah laughed and she grinned, too. “So...what do you think of Alaska so far?” she asked with mock politeness and a sweet, fake smile.

“Aside from the occasional wiseass in the form of a beautiful woman, it’s been great.” The mood light, Jeremiah countered, “My one complaint...there seems to be a whole lot of yoga studios around here. Everywhere I look, there’s some kind of überflexible person looking zen and mocking my stress level. It’s a bit rude, if you ask me.”

“What do you have against flexible people?”

“Nothing. Pure jealousy,” he admitted. “And I hold true to the belief that nothing good comes from being able to fold in half. It’s just not natural. Same rule of thumb applies to men and the splits. Just shouldn’t be done.”