Wild Men of Alaska 01 - Impact

thing again.
    “You chose this scar and it’s not a scar. It’s a tattoo. Of a wren.”
    And here he thought she’d appreciate the gesture.
    “It’s a sight better than the ragged scar you left me with. It was damn hard to explain at the gym that my girlfriend shot me. If I’d gotten it in the line of duty, that would have been different. So I got the tattoo to camouflage it.” And it hurt a hell of lot wor se than the bullet had.
    “Of a wren?”
    “Well, yeah. It was your mark, after all. Your brand.” He shrugged. “I liked it. Seems poetic in a way. Like you’re always with me.”
    She briefly met his eyes, hers showing surprise and maybe a little wetness. He couldn’t tell for sure since she bent to rummage through his bag, yanking out a dry shirt. She found another button-down one, which would be the easiest—if not warmest—to get into with his broken arm.
    He wanted to look into those expressive eyes again. “Wren.”
    “Can we get you dressed so that I can eat something?”
    She refused to look at him as she inched the fabric carefully over his broken arm. But he caught the rapid blinking. Was she crying? Had he chipped through that icy shell she’d been encased in since they’d boarded this doomed airplane?

Chapter Eight

    Why had he tattooed himself with a symbol of her? What kind of man does something that?
    She’d shot him.
    Didn’t he hate her for that? She hated herself for what she’d done to him. What did this all mean?
    And, damn it, why did he have to look so good?
    He’d been fit and lean before. Now he was mouth-watering. Her fingers begged to trace each definition in his rock-hard body. Did the man even have body fat? How could he with all that delicious muscle?
    Holy Mother of Pearl. She was toast.
    Something had to be stirred up between them, or she would have him for dinner. She wriggled the soft flannel shirt over his shoulders and faced him to button it up. She concentrated hard on the task at hand, not how enticing he smelled, or how his breath lightly blew wisps of her hair. He was the perfect height for her. His chin easily rested on her head. She missed how he’d tuck her into his side, and she’d snuggle her face in the crook of his neck.
    She finished the buttons and smoothed the fabric down his front without thinking. He sucked in his breath as her fingers brushed over the ridges of muscle on his stomach.
    She shouldn’t have done that.
    “Wren,” he groaned, his fingers brushing hair away from her face.
    “Oh, you need your boots tied.” She dropped to her knees and grabbed the laces before she did something really stupid and grab him. She thought he groaned again, but maybe it was the wind. She tied his Timberlines and glanced up.
    She shouldn’t have knelt at his feet.
    Her face was even with his gaping zipper and what was pressing hard through the opening. She closed her eyes and bit her lips before she could lick them.
    Or lick something else.
    What was wrong with her? It was like she hadn’t had sex... well she hadn’t had sex in a really long time. But sex with Skip would really fuck things up. And they were really fucked up to begin with. Hell, they were fighting for their lives. Unbuttoning his jeans and freeing that thick bulge wouldn’t help anyone.
    “Yes, it would,” Skip growled, reaching for her.
    Oh, no, she didn’t! Not again. She was such a mess. She couldn’t control her thoughts or what came out of her mouth. This was worse than the out of control feeling the drugs had given her. At least they had numbed. She wasn’t numb. She was a freaking live wire.
    She scrambled back like a crab and jerked to her feet.
    “Are you afraid of me?” Skip asked, his eyes ablaze with need. There was enough heat in his gaze to keep her burning all night.
    “Right.” She gulped.
    “You don’t want to be alone with me. Afraid of what I’ll do or what you’ll do?”
    “You are way off base here, buddy.” Hell, he was right on target.
    “Am I?” He inched toward her. She inched back. He smiled. She panicked.
    “Okay!” She threw up her hands as puny stop signs. “I need some space. I need to think.”
    “What’s there to think about? I want you, and you still want me.” His nostrils flared as though the realization impacted him deeply. Did he still care about her? How could he with all she’d done to him.
    She was no good for him. He needed a woman who was stable, competent. Who didn’t hurt people.
    She shook her head. “No.