Wild Men of Alaska 01 - Impact

never been so in tuned with a woman before, or since.
    That insight of hers had been amazing in bed.
    He placed the bandage over the cut, reaching for the length of tape she had ready for him. Once the cut was covered, he became aware of how close he was to her. His head bent over hers, his fingers lightly stroked the strands away from her face. She glanced up at him, her eyes wide.
    He was helpless not to lean in. Her breath caught, and her eyelids fluttered. Her lips parted, and her tongue nervously wet them.
    He groaned.
    The sound gallivanted her into motion. She jerked away, scampering back out of his one-armed reach.
    Damn it. He’d been so close to tasting her again. Now she looked at him as though frightened. What reason did sh e have to be frightened of him?
    “Wren—”
    “We need to get things done before the storm hits.”
    He wanted to say to hell with everything, grab her and yank her back into his arms where she never should have left. If she hadn’t—
    No point in going down that road.
    Time to get things battened down. Once their shelter was secure, and Jim taken care of, they had all night to become reacquainted.
    He glanced out the window. “We’re going to need a flashlight.” He’d also need Wren’s help with Jim. One handed wasn’t going to get a two hundred pound-plus man, dead weight, out of this plane. “Did you see a tarp or anything back there?” Skip asked. They needed to cover Jim with something. Even though, the body was a shell, and Jim wouldn’t feel the cold, it went against everything in Skip to just lay the man out in the storm. He hoped Jim’s spirit was someplace warm and comfortable—nestled in the loving arms of his ancestors.
    Skip was almost jealous of Jim as another blustery gust, this one carrying needles of rain, shook the plane.
    Wren glanced at Jim, still hanging upside down in the pilot’s seat. She swallowed hard. “I’ll check.”
    He had to give it to her. Most women would be squeamish over what they were about to do. But Wren didn’t show any signs of it, and he was watching her every move. This new, stronger, confident woman intrigued him more than his memories. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get caught staring.
    “How about this?” She held up a Mylar blanket she pulled out of the survival kit. “There are four, enough for us and ... him.”
    “Okay.” Unconventional, since a survival blanket was beyond helping Jim, but then this was Alaska. The land of the unconventional.
    Wren handed him the small folded silver blanket and then crawled back toward her suitcase and began systematically going through the contents.
    He caught a glimpse of black underwear and a hot pink bra before she found what she was looking for.
    “I knew I’d need these.” She held up a pair of Under Armour.
    “Good thinking.” Question though, was she going to strip in front of him to get them on under her clothes? She wouldn’t get the full effects of the garment unless it lay next to her skin.
    Man, what he wouldn’t give to lay next to her skin.
    “Could you, um, turn around?” She did a cute little circle motion with her finger.
    He didn’t want to turn around. He did, though it was a struggle in the small confines of the plane, and was rewarded with her image in the broken window. He really should shut his eyes. But he wasn’t that much of a gentleman. Hell, he wasn’t even close. She whipped off her sweatshirt and the sexy navy tank top underneath, her nipples hard beads against her icy blue bra. Her honeyed skin had him licking his lips. She covered up too quickly. He wanted to see more and had to bite his tongue to keep from asking. Then she shimmied out of her jeans and his mouth watered.
    Hips rounded and lush, soft and creamy thighs, little dimples at her knees. He wasn’t going to make it. She wiggled into the tight black Under Armour and followed that with her jeans. He really shouldn’t have watched. Now he ached to touch.
    “Okay, you can turn around.”
    No he couldn’t, not with the kind of wood he had branching out. “I need some fresh air.” And the arctic wind would do the trick of settling things back down to size. What the freaking hell was he doing?
    He had a broken arm.
    Like that would stop him. Okay, they were in a fight for their lives. One of them was already dead, sharing the same breathing space. Well, his and Wren’s breathing space anyway. God, he was fucked up.
    He should be more concerned with how they were going to