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I love how Satan sounds so cocksure while being so utterly wrong.
“All right, buddy.” A chair scrapes, signaling Archie getting up. “I’ll see you at the restaurant.”
I listen to the Viking’s steps as he walks away. Then it hits me that Satan is on his way over, and I’m lying on my bed in a towel.
How much time do I have?
Should I pretend I’m only now getting out of the shower?
No, I don’t want him to see me half-naked.
So what should I wear?
A mean idea takes form in my head. I smile to myself as I eye the closed suitcase of “city clothes” I’d packed for my stay in Bangkok, and that I plan to deposit at the hotel’s reception tomorrow since I won’t be needing them in the jungle.
My only regret is that I didn’t bring heels.
* * *
Logan
Armed with plenty of patience, I walk up the steps of my neighbor’s hut, ready to get another good dose of sass.
I try to put myself in a positive headspace. Maybe Archie is right, and the sass is just her way of being defensive. Maybe she won’t hinder the mission after all. I should give her the benefit of the doubt. And, as the expedition leader, it is my duty to make sure the team is united.
So, with the proverbial hat in my hands, I step on her patio and ring the hut’s bell.
“I’m coming,” Winter calls from the other side. “Just a second.”
I respectfully wait a few steps back from the door.
Scuffling noises fill the inside of the hut, until Winter slides the French doors open. All of a sudden, she’s not my annoying team member anymore, but instead that bombshell who took my breath away before I realized who she was. And she’s doing it again now; it feels like she’s knocked the air right out of my lungs.
Tonight, she’s decided to torture me with a halter neck black dress that clings to her body like sin, following each generous curve as though a tailor designed it specifically for her. Her hair hangs in soft waves reaching to her waist. Black gladiator sandals wind up her toned legs, stopping just before the dress starts.
And I don’t know why, but all those tiny leather straps around her calves are distressing.
“What can I do for you, Dr. Spencer?” Winter asks, a definite note of sarcasm audible in her tone.
I snap out of my daze and meet her eyes; a challenge awaits me there. As if she’s daring me to criticize her attire choice. Did she wear this on purpose, to provoke me? Or is this just her wardrobe, what she’s planning to wear on the expedition?
I take a deep breath, remembering what Archie said. I’m the team leader, and I need to be the bigger person. If the photographer wants to trek through the jungle wearing a skirt, she can be my guest, and find out the hard way why that’s a terrible idea. It’s not my job to tell her how to live her life. Heck, she can come in heels for all I care. And when she breaks a leg, Archie can carry her the rest of the way, and they can be happy together.
So, no, sorry, Miss Sass, not taking the bait.
“We got off on the wrong foot,” I say, and only receive back an even more sarcastic, “you think?” stare. I don’t let it frazzle me as I continue, “I wanted to apologize if I came off as unwelcoming earlier.”
The impossible woman says nothing; she just stares at me with an “aaand?” attitude. Is she serious? That was a perfectly respectable apology! Guess I’m not done groveling. Talk about high maintenance!
“You’re a valued member of this team,” I go on. “And I can’t wait to see you at work. I’m told you’re the best in your field.”
Finally, she cracks the tiniest satisfied smile and gives me an almost imperceptible nod.
“Okay, Dr. Spencer.” She flips her hair back in an exaggerated motion that pushes out her chest. I have to concentrate hard not to shift my gaze to her cleavage. How is everything… staying in place like that? I don’t see any bra straps. “You get the benefit of the doubt,” she says, and, regarding me with a penetrating stare, she adds, “Anything else troubling you?”
And she’s successfully made me blush for the second time in a day. But she can’t possibly know I’m thinking about her bra, or lack thereof. Or maybe she can. Standing with her chest pushed out like that can’t be natural. Is she messing with me?
“Well?” she prompts.
