Читать книгу Bedspell - Jule McBride, Jule Mcbride - Страница 8

“WICCANS,” JAMES MUTTERED derisively. They’d kept him awake half the night. The park ranger yanked the sheet toward his bare shoulders. Every month, he braced himself for another full moon—and their meetings. Half the women were man-haters who tried to place curses on men they’d once loved, and the other half were determined to charm men to the altar, the one place James had vowed never to go.

Even worse, this month the women had arrived right on the heels of James’s Wildcat Capture Team certification test, and he’d wanted to spend tonight celebrating. Alone. With only Mother Nature for company. He’d meant to work on the mystery novel he was writing, too, but that had turned out to be a no-go, because of the noise outside.

At least he’d passed the wildcat test. Cats had become a real problem in the park lately, and if you didn’t know what you were doing, you could get hurt capturing them. One ranger nearly had his eyes clawed out; another got cat-scratch fever, which James had never thought was a real illness until now. As it turned out, it was caused by bacteria transmitted by cats. Yes, indeed. You definitely had to watch out for felines.

Just this morning, James had caught a mama with six kittens and hauled them down to the animal-habitat people who would find homes for them. Over the past few weeks he’d wound up keeping two that had gotten into fights in the woods. Both of them looked domesticated, and James hated the fact that their owners had brought them to the park to dump them. Why he had such a soft spot for strays, he’d never know, but maybe it was because he was a black sheep in his own family.

As the orange tabby jumped onto the bed, James blew out a perturbed sigh. Even in the dark, he could tell by how its paws hit the sheets that it wasn’t the smaller black kitty. “Show some mercy,” he muttered, even though there was clearly no hope tonight where sleep was concerned.

The wiccans were still out there, hooting and hollering, which meant he was going to have a real cleanup job tomorrow. The items these women left after they’d cast spells on their poor, unsuspecting targets was enough to chill any man’s blood. Wrist-watches. Money clips. Television-remote channel changers. Once he’d even found a Swiss Army knife, which, given his attachment to the one he’d carried since his teen years, had seemed like an unusually low blow. Wasn’t anything sacred to these women? he wondered.

Every month, as he cleaned the park, he would count his lucky stars that he’d never gotten married. On that score, fate had been most kind.

Sex, of course, was another matter. A man could never get enough sex. And James had to admit that the wiccan women always looked tempting when they got loopy on the herbal-root beverage they made every month, and then jumped into the lake naked. Suddenly, he squinted. Speaking of the lake, had he just heard something drip? It sounded like…

Water? Stifling a groan, he pressed his face farther into the pillow, deciding it was just his imagination. Or the night breeze. Maybe it was starting to rain.

Then he heard it again, just a faint plip-plop. Tilting his head, he glanced in the direction of the sound. It was definitely water. Had one of the cats gotten into the kitchen sink? Maybe. They kept trying to drink from the tub faucet. Rolling, James tried to see into the room. There was a full moon outside—a haunting, romantic full moon of the sort that might conjure werewolves and vampires for the Halloween night—but the curtains were closed against it, and the blinds drawn, so the room was pitch black.

His voice was husky with sleep. “Is somebody there?”

All at once, the plip-plop sounds ceased. The night turned silent except for the sounds of the woods that he loved, the whir of insects and the rushing breeze. He heard an owl hoot.

And then somebody hiccoughed.

“Uh…” He blinked. “Who’s that?” He hadn’t heard the door to his cabin open. Was one of the wiccans lost? A Cheshire grin made his mouth broaden. Ah. Maybe it was his lucky night, and the blonde who’d stopped earlier, asking for directions…

A sexy, singsong voice called out, “Hello, gorgeous.”

Yep. It was definitely the blonde. He listened as Ms. Plip-Plop neared, heading toward the bed. And him. As her steps stilled and her body made contact with the mattress, he sensed, rather than saw, that she was naked. He had no idea how he knew that was true. She just sounded naked. He listened more carefully as her bare skin brushed against the sheets.

“Uh…are you lost?” he asked in a sleepy croak.

No answer. Something metallic hit the wood of the bedside table. Had she removed a ring? If so, she probably hadn’t come here for idle chitchat. Good. His breath caught as anticipatory heat tunneled through his veins. No doubt, this really was the blonde who’d stopped by the ranger station earlier, asking for directions. He could swear he’d just caught a whiff of that enticing musky perfume she’d been wearing. The woman had been driving a refurbished Mustang, and while she’d been coy about not divulging her name, she’d flirted with him for a full half hour before heading to the parking area designated for the wiccans.

Still blinking sleep from his eyes, James scratched his chest. “Since you’re up,” he murmured throatily, “why don’t you switch on the light? It’s by the door.” He’d love to get a look at her.

There was a long silence. For a second, he could almost imagine that the woman had disappeared. Or that he’d been dreaming, after all. But no…she giggled again. Just the sound was enough to make him smile. It was a giddy, high-pitched schoolgirl’s giggle, and it didn’t take a state trooper with a Breathalyzer to figure out that she’d imbibed plenty of herbal-root punch.

“I like the dark,” she whispered.

“The dark’s good,” he conceded. Yeah. It had to be the blonde. Who else would come into his cabin this way?

“And it is very, very dark in here,” she slurred. When her voice hitched with excitement, it seemed clear that having sex with him was high on her list of priorities, which was fine with him. There was nothing James loved more than being on a woman’s “to-do” list.

His eyes narrowed. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Why?”

“Because as tempting as you are, I’d draw the line if you’re about to do something you might not do stone cold sober.”

She hiccoughed loudly. “What a gentlemen.”

“Not really. But I do like a consenting partner.”

Her voice turned reedy, catching with promise. “So, you want me to consent?”

“Yeah.”

“I do, gorgeous,” she murmured solemnly.

For a second, everything went silent, as if the room itself had suddenly inhaled a sharp breath. Yes, this cinched it. Sex was on her agenda. The heat in James’s veins started localizing, pooling in his belly, teasing his groin and making him strangely conscious of the hairs on his bare legs, then the tingling between them.

Half asleep, he remembered how she’d looked earlier when she’d gotten out of her car to ask directions. Her short silken hair had been the color of freshly harvested wheat, and it had lifted with the breeze, while the strong sunlight had done wonders for the rest of her, outlining her nipped-in waist and the gentle flare of her hips. She had sweet, enticing slopes of breasts, and each time she’d moved, rays of light had shined through her blouse, looking like fingers caressing her as the breeze ruffled the fabric. As he sucked a breath through his teeth, James’s mouth dried. When he’d gotten into bed tonight, getting lucky had been the last thing on his mind….

He waited for her to make another move.

Every month, these wild women came tearing into the park, their engines roaring, shouting ribald comments and tossing back drinks like sailors. The next morning, they were always hungover. Usually, they decamped as quietly as church mice, as if something so much as turning on the car radio might make their heads explode. They always left, swallowing down aspirin and leaving a wake of lost clothes in the woods. James kept a finders-keepers bin of bras and panties in the main office, but so far, no one had shown up to claim them. This was the first time a witch had actually propositioned him. He couldn’t have felt more beguiled.

She was still paused at the edge of the bed.

If he’d known she was coming, he would have changed the sheets, but seeing as it was too late, he tossed back the covers, feeling a sleepy stir of air hit his naked body. “Abracadabra,” he said, “c’mon in.”

Another giggle sounded.

In the darkness, he couldn’t see so much as an outline of her body, so he only sensed it when she leaned forward. “Hocus pocus,” she teased. As her splayed hand hit the mattress, a water droplet splashed his face.

“You’re one wet witch,” he said.

And then she stumbled. Uttering a barely audible gasp of surprise, she lurched headlong on top of him. If he hadn’t reached instinctively and looped his arm around her waist, she would have gone over the other side. As it was, one hand caught her hip, and the other, her arm. Settling her on top of him, it was his turn to gasp.

She was naked. Clammy. She sucked in a breath and murmured, “I’m so sorry,” but she didn’t really sound sorry about crashing into him. He wasn’t the least bit sorry, either. She said, “I’m wet and cold.”

“We’ll have to warm you up.”

Every lake-drenched inch of her was searing into him. “You’ve been swimming,” he said, his voice lowering seductively. He couldn’t believe that this sexy woman was right on top of him, her breasts cushioning the hard muscles of his chest, the sweet, taut tips of her nipples nestled down in his chest hairs. Her belly was molding to his. And below…

Crisp hairs brushed his thighs, teased the space right below where he most wanted to feel her. The tantalizing crush of her pelvic bone threatened to destroy any shred of reason. James had no idea what he’d done to deserve this midnight gift, but it must have been something good. Probably giving all those kitty-cats homes. Silently, he thanked the goddess to whom these women always seemed to pray. His next shaky breath hit the air, sounding like a whistle.

“I was swimming naked, gorgeous,” she clarified.

“Sorry I missed seeing you.” Just imagining moonlight dancing on her skin was enough to give him another shove toward the edge of sanity.

Her chortling laughter came again. “You don’t mind?”

“That you were swimming? Or that you were naked?”

“That I was naked in the park.”

Did she think he’d really assert his authority as a ranger and arrest her? “Not in the least,” he assured her.

Feeling her body move against his gave him the slightest pause. Earlier, at the ranger’s station, he’d thought she was a larger woman, taller and with fuller breasts, but then sundresses could be deceiving, and the airy fabric had swirled around her legs, nearly reaching her ankles. Maybe that had made her look taller. Now he realized she was just a wisp of a woman. Five-five at the most. Had she been wearing high-heeled sandals? He squinted, thinking back to their meeting, trying to remember, but he couldn’t….

And then he wasn’t even trying. He couldn’t think at all. Her mouth came closer; soft pants of breath that smelled like sassafras teased the rim of his ear, and then the enticing moist, pointed tip of her tongue wetted a spot…right before she blew on it. He shuddered. Unable to take her teasing, he lowered his hands on her back, gliding them downward on either side of the most delicate spine he’d ever felt, until he hit her silken backside.

“No panties,” he whispered.

“You don’t have any panties on, either, gorgeous,” she whispered, laughing with another burst of pure hilarity.

He sure didn’t. Her splayed hands thrust into his hair, and when he reached up to touch her short locks, he realized they were as wet as the rest of her. As droplets fell from her skin onto his, they heated right up, sizzling as if they were oil hitting a griddle. When her mouth touched his, he knew he was moments from losing the last vestiges of male control. Not that he cared about hanging on to it. He was as hard as a rock, and her slick, waiting heat was calling to him like a siren’s song.

“I’m not really a witch,” she confessed raspily.

“Could have fooled me.”

Thrusting his hands from her nape, up into her hair, he stopped talking and drank in her kiss…deeply…more deeply. The softest lips he’d ever plundered parted under the pressure, and she opened for him, her tongue darting outward and sliding against his. An involuntary moan was wrenched from somewhere deep inside his chest, as if it had been buried there, hidden and lodged inside him for his whole lifetime—until this very moment, when this witchy woman pulled it out.

His mind blanked. He could barely believe this was really happening. He didn’t even know her. And yet this felt like so much more than just a kiss with a stranger. Need burst in him. Raw hunger as the open-mouthed kiss turned hotter, wetter and greedier. Electricity that no man would deny was sparking between them. Moaning, he grasped her backside and pulled her closer still, right to his hard, waiting heat. “I want inside,” he whispered, his voice strained, completely foreign-sounding to his ears.

Her heart was hammering against his chest. The thought came from nowhere: one love, one heart. She said, “Me, too.”

Melting, he skated the never-ending kiss downward, from her mouth, to her cheeks, to her neck, and then he shifted his weight, rolling her to her side, so his itching palm could mold her breast.

“Ah,” he murmured simply, caressing the silken slope of the underside, then lifting her from beneath and angling down his head to better suckle. After pressing the liquid, searing heat of his mouth to her straining nipple, he used the tip of his tongue to flick it to the bud, then he circled it until her seeking hips were arching; she was silently begging now, for what she’d come here to get.

“Are you sure I’m not dreaming?” he managed to whisper, gliding an open hand down the most succulent body he’d ever felt twining around his own. Wanting to touch each inch of her, he fantasized using his mouth and fingers to make her writhe. “I want to see you wild,” he murmured.

“Wild?”

“Yeah.” The crazy woman had taken the risk to come in here wet and naked, and now that she’d lit his fire, he intended to make it well worth her while. He definitely didn’t want her to walk away, feeling sorry for her nocturnal visit. Sliding a hand between her legs, he felt his body boil as his fingers dipped into her warm, running honey. She was so ready that he drew in a sharp, satisfied breath…and then he began to probe.

“No—” She exhaled the word, making his blood dance. He stopped immediately, and she giggled. “I meant yes, gorgeous.”

“You’re sure you’re real?” He was almost beginning to doubt it. No woman had ever made him feel so good. And while the blonde had looked promising, this was more than he’d hoped for. Her every touch was arousing so much more than sexual need. She was conjuring darker things. Like the need to possess. To frustrate and toy with her until she was begging him for satisfaction only he could give.

“I’m real,” she said.

“Who are you?”

“You know who I am, gorgeous.”

He did. At least he recalled her asking directions. But he wanted more now. Her name. Her address. Her phone number. The promise that he wouldn’t wake to find her gone.

Before he could say so, her hand reached down, sending him crashing into shuddering oblivion as slender fingers curled around his length. She grasped him firmly. Stroked. He nearly screamed. Vaguely, he wondered if she’d said something. He wasn’t sure. The friction of her hand, the way she was rising to meet the ministrations of his own touch, was more than he could bear. Each ridge was pleasured, her nails skimming over flesh until the whole world narrowed focus. There was only her and him. Alone in the middle of the woods on a dark night drenched in moonlight. There was no sound save soft pants as they climbed.

He pulled her back on top of him. Swallowing hard, since his throat was raw, he whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I cast a spell on you, gorgeous,” she admitted.

“You really think I’m gorgeous?”

“Of course you are,” she murmured.

“You cast a spell on me?”

“That’s why you’re in my bed.”

She was in his, but he didn’t correct her. Not when he was so flattered. None of these wiccans had ever cast a spell on him before, at least not so far as he knew. “You cast a spell because you wanted to have sex with me?”

“Yes,” she murmured, nibbling his lips and groaning as she slid her hands into his chest hairs again. Releasing a moan, he curved his hands slowly over her hips, then down shapely, sexy legs. Fire surged through him once more. Waves of heat seemed to roll through him, only to be drenched by the water still dripping from her body.

“You’ve got leaves in your hair,” he said huskily.

“Take them out.”

He did. One by one, he lifted out the dry twigs and brittle leaves that had lodged in her short, wet locks as she’d come from the lake. “You were lucky not to get caught in the brambles,” he said, even though his mind was really on the deft movements of her now rolling hips. “Whatever you threw in that cauldron,” he added, his lips capturing hers once more, as the damp curve of her belly cradled his, “it’s definitely working its charms.” Reaching, he stretched an arm toward the bedside table and pulled out the drawer.

She startled, her hands tightening on his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He imagined them, how they’d feel moments from now, raking down the rest of his back. This was one wildcat whom he’d gladly let claw him to ribbons.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Condoms.”

“Good thinking.”

“Mere habit,” he assured. With her in the bed, any logical thought was truly eluding him. Feeling bereft with her body warmth gone from his, he readied himself, then hauled her back on top of him, simply saying, “Ride me.”

Again, that maddening giggle sounded. “Like a broomstick?”

He laughed. “You witch, you.”

Her tongue traced his lips, silencing him, sending another shock of awareness through his system. “O, ye spirits bring to me,” she whispered huskily, “a night of sexy revelry.”

So, that’s what she’d asked for. “I think we can manage that.”

Her laugh was tempered by need now. “All night?”

“There won’t be a thought in your pretty little head until dawn,” he assured her, then he added, “I’ve only got one question.”

“What?”

“Well, men and women can do an awful lot of things together,” he began. “So, which of those things do you want to do first?”

Her tone was strangely dark, lusty. “You mean, seeing as we’re going to eventually do them all?”

“Yeah.”

He heard her intake of breath. “Man’s choice.”

He urged her closer. “You on top, then. And later…” As his words trailed off, everything except the spellbinding woman vanished from James’s mind—he forgot his wildcat capture team certification and the hours he’d spend tomorrow, cleaning up after the wiccans—and he touched a thumb to his bedmate’s chin, tilting back her head and spiraling kisses down a slender neck that, beneath his tongue, had the smooth consistency of fresh cream.

As her knees bracketed his hips, she exhaled an excited rush of breath. “Later?” she urged as she positioned herself above him and slowly impaled herself, sliding downward on his shaft until he could no longer bite back another moan.

“Everything,” he promised hoarsely, seeing himself tongue-kissing every inch of her legs, then burying himself between them, tasting her while she drowned in pleasure. He saw her kneeling before him, too, tasting him with the same abandon. Maybe they’d head outside, right before sunrise, and he’d take her, hard and fast, against a tree, until both of them got so crazy with lust that they’d start howling at the moon.

After all, it was Halloween.

“Sliding down the broomstick,” she whispered. He would have laughed, but he simply couldn’t. His blood was pumping too fast, his mind racing with fantasies about the woman who kept calling him gorgeous. The tight, slick folds of her body were enveloping him, stealing away his breath. His arms swiftly circled her back. Squeezing her tightly, he hauled her even closer against him and rolled, so that he was on top of her. Unwilling to simply lie back and take the pleasure, the way he’d initially asked, he realized he wanted to be the one to give it.

“Hold me tight, you wicked little witch,” he coached as he thrust deep inside her, feeling her open all the way. “Because the man you’ve beguiled is about to show you some midnight magic.”

WHAT HAD HAPPENED?

Signe slid a hand down her belly, as if she half expected to find that her own body parts had vanished in the night. Whew! That herbal-root punch had really packed a punch. C.C. hadn’t been lying! Nor Diane, who’d said it contained grain alcohol. Signe felt as if she’d been run over by a Mack truck. Which was just as well. She’d actually forgotten about the stolen statue and Detective Perez for a few blissful hours. Now she tried to slit her eyes open, but decided it was just too painful. Yes, she was going to have to spend all day pressing thin slices of frozen cucumber to her eyelids.

This was why she never drank. While the herbal-root beverage had been great going down, she now felt as if a heavy cement block had lodged in the space where her head used to be. Except that couldn’t really be the case, since her head was pounding. It felt as if an army of little men were inside it, trying to bash their way out with hammers.

Everything hurt. A big white hole seemed to exist where her memories once were. It was as if she’d become a cyborg from the movies, whose brain existed only on a CD-ROM. Now she was simply waiting for her memory element to reconnect….

Just opening her eyes hurt. Breathing hurt. Her skin hurt.

Everything.

Except the dream. If her lips didn’t hurt, too, Signe would have smiled. She’d actually dreamed that Gorgeous Garrity had been waiting for her in bed. She’d whispered the words to the spell she’d cast, and they’d made love. Not just the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of love, either. But no-holds-barred sex that had lasted all night long.

It seemed so real.

Astonishingly real, she decided with a frown. In fact, the more her memories came back in snatches, the more it seemed as if the event had happened. Was she going crazy? Or had Gorgeous taken her up on her offer and come to the Catskills?

She was still in too much pain to open her eyes.

She could remember his touch, though. Every kiss, every sexy smell. Big strong hands had stroked every inch of her. His hairy chest had teased her breasts in a way that actually made her…have an orgasm?

Yes, he’d barely touched her, and she’d gone off like a rocket. He’d lit her up like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. She’d burned and sizzled.

“Whew!” she mouthed.

As he’d pushed inside her, she’d felt as if a thousand massaging fingers were probing her, driving her toward new, dizzying heights of ecstasy. But that was crazy! Sex was never that good! She was healthy, of course. But a long time ago, Signe Sargent had realized that men were human and had their pretty obvious limitations.

Last night, however…

Had the spell affected their bed play? They’d gotten so down and dirty that just thinking about it made her whole body flood with heat once more. She could almost hear his voice, saying, “I’m about to show you some midnight magic.” And boy, had he!

Maybe there was something to this wiccan stuff, she thought, her heart skipping a beat. If it improved sex to this degree, she would certainly become an adept. As soon as she got back to the city, she’d get her own spell book. The dream really did seem so sharp, vivid and full of detail…

She registered a musty smell. “Cats?” she mouthed.

She opened her eyes a fraction. Just enough to see that this wasn’t her cabin. Uh-oh. She ceased to breathe, and her aching body felt frozen in panic. Now she couldn’t shut her eyes if she wanted to. Where was she? The curtains were different from those in her cabin, she realized, and somebody lived here. Full-time. No…this was no part-time camper, and this somebody was messy.

Without even moving her head, she could tell that the place was a wreck. A closet door was open, and a man’s clothes were inside. Not the kind of man’s clothes that might have brought her comfort, either, such as Brooks Brothers suits and Hermès ties. This man’s shirts were made out of plaid flannel. Yards of it, indicating he was quite sizable.

Dirty jeans were on the floor. Canoe paddles were propped beside the door, near mud-caked steel-toed work boots. An open can of soda was perched on a sofa arm. Not very promising. Had she really walked into the wrong cabin? And slept with some strange man, thinking he was Gorgeous Garrity? And how could such a thing have happened…when her friends swore there were no men out here in the woods?

Her eyes slid to the bedside table, landing on a graduation certificate, and she made out the words: Wildcat Capture Team Certification. Whoever he was, he’d certainly captured her last night.

Feeling desperate for a drink, she took in a desk stacked with books and strewn with papers, and then she saw the disabled cats. Two of them. An orange tabby with its head bandaged and both front paws bound in gauze. The other was missing a leg. Telling herself to remain calm, she pressed a hand to the mattress and tried to roll over. As she did so, she pressed a hand to her head, also. She felt something that didn’t belong there and removed it.

“A leaf,” she mouthed. Great. More exploration turned up brambles and a twig. Glancing down, she realized her legs were mud-streaked from the swim in the lake. Yes. It was all coming back to her now….

Then he snored.

It was not delicate snoring, the kind C.C. and Diane could both be guilty of after they’d had too much to drink…the kind that would have assured Signe that she’d wound up in the other cabin with her girlfriends.

No.

This was chesty male snoring that said he was at least six feet tall and packed with muscles of the very type that she’d felt holding her tightly last night. Trying not to make a sound, she fought the pain as she craned her neck and glanced over her shoulder.

When she saw him, her heart hammered harder. Who was he? The sheet was pulled only to his thighs, and getting a gander at his physique, she couldn’t help but think of the fertility statue Detective Perez thought she’d stolen. No wonder sex had felt so good….

His skin was as smooth as glass and tanned the color of toasted walnuts. He was definitely gorgeous. Just not the Gorgeous…Gorgeous Garrity. Which meant she had to get out of here. Escape, while he was sleeping. She’d just run….

But her eyes lingered. He had great hair. Thick and medium-blond, it was decidedly too long; soft curls that had felt like heaven against the insides of her fingers were brushing the skin of his shoulders, gleaming like summer sun. Faint light, slipping through the closed curtains, was dancing in the strands, and for a brief moment, she watched as if spellbound.

She forced herself to blink rapidly.

Glancing around, she searched for her clothes, then remembered she’d lost them at the lake. She’d come here naked, thinking this was her cabin, and he must have thought…

She was someone else.

Yes. He’d seemed to be expecting her. Great. This was the sort of jam C.C. always got herself into. But nothing such as this had ever happened to Signe. What would C.C. do? The answer was just as clear as it had been a moment before: run. Trust your instincts, Sig.

Soundlessly, she edged her legs over the mattress, wincing when her feet hit the wood floorboards, making them creak. She glanced over her shoulder again in panic, but the man hadn’t moved. So far, so good. Standing, she stared covetously at the sheet on his legs, wishing she could risk taking it, to cover herself. How far was her own cabin from here?

She tiptoed toward the door, wincing as she took a silent step, then another. She was halfway across the room when she heard the groan of mattress springs, and then a gruff voice saying, “Going somewhere?”

She froze, uncomfortably balanced on the balls of her bare feet, her fisted hands at her sides, deeply conscious of the fact that she was naked, and that it was no longer dark in here. Her backside was exposed, and while she didn’t exactly want to be a coward, she didn’t want to turn around and face him, either.

He said, “You can borrow a shirt if you want.”

Her eyes cut to the closet. It was tempting, but if she borrowed a shirt, she’d feel obligated to return it. “Uh…thanks, but I’ll manage.” Another wave of mortification overcame her when she heard her voice. It sounded weak and gravelly.

“You sure?”

How could he sound so normal? Had he forgotten how they’d spent the better part of last night? She still hadn’t managed to move. She’d remained standing in the middle of his cabin, perched on the balls of her feet. Venturing another quick look over her shoulder, she wished she hadn’t. The sheer force of the man’s over-the-top good looks was—unfortunately—enough to pivot the rest of her body around.

For a long second, she just stared. And then her foggy mind caught up with the rest of her body, and she realized he was seriously checking her out. She crossed her arms over her chest, feeling like an idiot. Casually, she drew one leg in front of the other.

The slightest smile lifted his lips, almost as if he was getting a kick out of her discomfort. She blew out a surreptitious breath, wondering what to do next. His face was strong and broad, framed by blond curls, and his jaw was firm and square, his eyes, the kind of hazel that could turn brown or amber, depending on the light. She felt tempted to crawl right back into bed with him.

Then she remembered the flannel shirts, steel-toed boots and disabled cats. The man might be amazing in bed, but he was not the type with whom a reasonable New York woman could make a lasting future, and Signe was practical. What she wanted most was a future. Reminding herself that she was in enough trouble already, since she was temporarily suspended from the Met, not to mention a prime suspect in the theft of a priceless statue, she edged backward, toward the door.

He huskily said, “I thought you were…”

Someone else. The words hung in the air. Somehow, despite her embarrassment, she managed to keep the smile plastered on her face. “Nope.”

His thick eyebrows knitted. “Have we even met?”

She really couldn’t stand here in front of him much longer, naked. “Nope,” she said again.

He slowly sat, pulling the sheet with him, thankfully covering his lower half and bunching the pillow behind him, as if anticipating a lengthy conversation with her, and while she hated to disappoint him…

She’d almost reached the door, but she couldn’t help but ask, “And you are?”

“Name’s James,” he said. For the space of a suspended heartbeat, the whole world slid off kilter and she could swear he was going to add, “Bond. James Bond.” But instead he said, “The park ranger.”

“The park ranger,” she echoed in a hoarse whisper. Of course. How could she have imagined that her magic spell had conjured Gorgeous Garrity? “I see.”

He was starting to look offended. “Who did you think I was?”

“Gorgeous,” she managed. “I thought…”

He flashed a grin that did remarkable things for his already remarkable face. “Thanks.”

“No,” she managed to say, realizing he’d thought she was referring to his good looks. “I mean…” But probably it was better not to explain she’d mistaken him for Gorgeous Garrity, a man a park ranger in the Catskills would have never heard of. “I mean…uh…”