Hung

Since I’m the only one on break right now, no one will bother me, and I’ve got my butt planted on a chair and a mountain of pillows at my back. I’ve also got a drink, a snack, and the book. Right now, however, the story in my hands isn’t working its usual magic. Instead of losing myself in the world of Highlanders, I’m thinking about making a field trip to camp and finding Pick’s RV.

Again.

For the third time this week.

We’d made a mad dash to his RV after I heated him up in the shower. He’d shoved open the door and all but scooped me up in his arms, his hands on my butt as he’d carried me over to his big bed. Then, he’d proceeded to reclaim his towel, kissing every inch he’d uncovered. I’m pretty sure half the camp heard me shrieking his name, but no one said anything. Even Rosalie hadn’t done much more than smile and high-five me. She’s still convinced that fire camp is a synonym for matchmaking service.

But cozying up here alone is, well, alone. I have a serious Pick addiction, and hooking up with him isn’t curing me. If anything, I’m getting worse. Now I want to spend the entire night wrapped up in his arms, whether we’re banging like crazed bunnies or sleeping. Or talking. So far, the only F-word we’ve exchanged has been fuck, but I’m sensing that feelings aren’t far behind. I’m not sure what to do.

I turn the page. Nope. The Highlander in my book isn’t doing it for me tonight, no matter how hot he is in his kilt. I’m apparently Team Pick, and right now I can’t think of a single good reason why I shouldn’t head on over in his direction after I finish work and make myself at home with his big body.

I’m still thinking that through (and coming up empty on the reasons to-not-to) when the lights flicker and then go out. Crap. Closing the book, I set it gently on the bed. Even Mother Nature and the local electric company think I should Pick over print, so who am I to argue?

Sliding off the lawn chair, I feel my way over to the window. Power outages aren’t uncommon, and the average age of a building in the fire camp is downright geriatric. When I look out, though, the rest of the buildings still shine with light. I jiggle the light switch by the door, but no dice. Maybe I’ve blown a fuse.

The door opens behind me, and I turn with a smile. We cooks stick together. Rosalie has likely sent a rescue party. Or an electrician. Either one works for me since I’m standing in the dark. There’s just enough light from the window to let me see the shadow of a man stepping inside. It’s probably Hunter, Lola’s main squeeze. He’s handy and extremely useful to have around, so I’m not above borrowing him to handle my electrical emergency.

“Fuse box?” I ask.

“That’s one way of looking at it.” Thad’s voice is an unfortunate cold dose of reality. He shuts the door carefully behind him, and I hear the snick of the lock as he flips the deadbolt.

“You got a warrant this time?” My voice doesn’t shake. That makes me proud, because I have a feeling my knees are shaking visibly. Being locked up anywhere with Thad is a recipe for disaster. I don’t need the light to know there’s a whole lot of ugly written on his face. For a long moment, he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. The bastard’s spinning out the sickening anticipation and it’s working.

“That’s a real nice getup.” He gestures toward my shorts and tank top with his service weapon. Which is drawn. I rub suddenly clammy palms on said shorts. He’s between me and the door. The window isn’t much of a possibility, either, too small for a quick exit. I’d never kick out the screen before he was on me. He stares, thinking God knows what (but the gun’s a bad sign as is the lack of a warrant) and I panic. The soft whup-whup of the slowing overhead fan is the only thing filling in the silence.

Think. I need a plan.

My inner Damsel in Distress is praying for a miracle and a white knight, my inner hussy is all no freaking way, and my bad ass side seems to have gone on vacation or perhaps she’s run for help. All I can do is stall for more time because I don’t think I really want to find out why he’s here. “What do you want, Thad?”