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“Can you see the northern lights?”
“They’re pretty bright there in the winter.”
“That is so cool,” she murmured, not realizing she’d touched his arm until he looked down. She looked down, too. Her fingertips rested on a swirl of red ink. She let them linger for a moment, then let them whisper over the bright color until her touch slipped off his wrist.
“So it’s out on the tundra?” she asked, her voice slightly fainter than before. A heartbeat passed before he spoke.
“It is. Nothing but wild animals and crazy men out there.”
“You help drill for oil?”
“No, I’m there to piss people off. I do testing and make sure they’re obeying regulations.”
“And do they?”
He smiled. “They try. When there are eyes on them, at least.”
He looked like he’d fit in perfectly out there in a harsh land with rough men. “How long will you stay there?”
“For this gig, only three weeks. Sometimes I go for a week, sometimes six months.”
“Six months,” she murmured, trying to imagine that. Of living somewhere entirely new and knowing you’d be moving on soon. Everyone you saw would be a new person, a stranger. Every drive or hike or walk a new experience. Her skin prickled and she licked her lips. Physical and emotional desire twisted inside her and swelled.
She’d only ever lived in Jackson, really. She’d done most of her college work online, then gone to Laramie for her senior year to complete the courses she couldn’t take long-distance. Aside from a two-year monthly commute to Salt Lake City to get her MS in Library Science, she’d been at home. She had obligations here. People she couldn’t leave behind. She was connected. To her father and her brother. Even to her great-uncle, who’d asked her to rent his house until he could get out of the convalescent home. He didn’t want strangers living in his place, and no one had the heart to tell him that he wasn’t ever going to be able to live on his own again.
No, she had too many ties here. She couldn’t do it. Yet. But Alex was oozing adventure out of his pores.
“You should go sometime,” he said, as if he’d read her thoughts.
“Maybe.” Maybe she would. Maybe she’d drive up all the way through Canada. Or fly to Seattle and then work her way up the coastline on ferries, only staying in each town for a few days.
“Not very many single women up there. Assuming you’re single.”
She smiled and glanced up at him. “Would I be here with you if I weren’t?”
“I’m not sure. You did want to keep it quiet.”
“I did.” This was her chance. Thank him for the drinks. Tell him the truth. Apologize for any misunderstanding on his part. But she wanted more of his deep voice dragging along her nerve endings. More of his stories. She even wanted more of his painted skin under her fingertips. Just a tiny bit more. A touch.
“Am I still a stranger?” he asked.
Sophie’s skin prickled again and her nipples slowly tightened. That question promised something. Some dark and dangerous prize if she answered it correctly. She let her hand move closer to his arm and then followed that same swirl of red back up his wrist. This time she let her fingers climb just a little bit higher.
“Oh,” she said as she touched him, “you’re definitely a stranger.”
“Does that mean I can’t talk you into a ride?”
She dragged the pads of her fingers across a yellow stroke of ink. “I don’t know.”
When she looked up, she found him staring at her. Hard. His brows heavy and serious. “You’d like it,” he said. No question in that tone, and no dominance either. It was just fact. He knew she’d like it. They both did.
The wickedness inside her stretched with pleasure. The power of it overwhelmed her.
“It’s not safe,” she countered, but even she could hear the breathless approval in her voice. It wasn’t safe and she wanted it that way. God. Her body was shameless, and her dangerous heart was even worse.
She waited for him to reassure her. I’ll take care of you. It’ll be fine. But he just watched her face as her fingers presse
d harder into his ink, her nails against his skin now. She watched him, too, waiting, her pulse so quick she had to part her lips to get enough air.
