Chapter 12 I Might Have Rickettsiosis
I MIGHT HAVE RICKETTSIOSIS
Favorite meal?
Cole: The filet at Harris’s with a dry martini.
Bridget: My mom’s stew on a chilly day. Jesus, I wish I could have some right now…
COLE
When we made it to the pickup point, the rain had let up, but we were soaked to the skin.
At least, I was. I tried not to think about Bridget’s skin under its many wet articles of clothing.
I was too angry to think about peeling those soggy layers off her because it was one hundred percent Bridget’s fault that my balls were soaked in river water.
Well, maybe fifty percent her fault and fifty percent whatever misguided notion had made me insist on putting her in my kayak. I certainly wasn’t going to delve into why I’d done that. Angry, remember?
Our sopping shoes squelched as we trudged up the bank and across a small clearing to the small bus waiting for us.
“Where’s everyone else?” Bridget asked as the driver hopped into his seat.
“They quit when it started to rain. They went back to the resort.”
I didn’t miss how she slumped in her seat. After what she’d said earlier, I understood. She was upset that the others had left us like she wasn’t worth waiting for. Which was total bullshit.
Against my better judgment, I said, “They just wanted to get dry. I’m sure they waited until they knew we were okay.”
“You think?” Her mascara had melted into a thick smudge. The dark rings only made her light-blue eyes that much more beautiful, like aquamarines set with onyx.
I turned my face to the window and glared at the stand of dripping wild banana trees. “I’m positive.”
When the driver started the van, cold air blasted us and Bridget shivered. I wished I had something dry to warm her up, but I shuddered too. I reached forward to direct the vents away from her. Anyone would’ve done it.
Fortunately, it wasn’t a long drive back to the resort, but she was trembling when we stepped out in front of the resort.
We trudged through the lobby, leaving muddy prints on the terracotta tiles, to the rear exit, then along the path.
It must have rained here too because steam rose from the damp pavement.
Unlike when we checked in on Saturday, Bridget kept her gaze on the ground while she scuffed along the path without a word about enjoying the moment. Silently, I followed her.
A small box sat in front of my door, and I winced. More fucking proof that I didn’t actually hate her. God dammit. I snatched it off the porch. “Hold up.”
She stopped rooting for her key card but didn’t look up.
I held out the package. “I ordered you a new phone.”
She whipped her head around, her braid slapping against her shoulder. “You what?”
I extended the box toward her. “A phone. To replace yours.”
She stared at it as if it were an eyelash viper.
I remembered having to show my mother how to use her new phone last Christmas. “Um…need me to set it up for you?”
“Christ, Cole, I’m forty-three, not ninety-three. I can set up a phone. But…why?”
“Don’t you want it?” My insides felt almost as cold as my pruny fingertips. “It’s factory-sealed, no bugs, I swear. I figured you might have someone back home you’d want to call.”
She reached for it, carefully not touching my hand as she took it. “Thanks. I’ll send you a Moo-Lah.”
“No need. Accept it as a token of…friendship.” Was that what was growing between us?
I scratched a mosquito bite on the back of my neck.
Bridget had a nickel-sized one on her hand, and I grimaced at what I needed to say next.
“I think we should check for ticks and leeches, since we were in the water.”
She tapped her card to the lock. “Okay.”
“No.” I stilled her with a touch to her shoulder, which I immediately snatched back. “We should check each other.”
She swiped her hair out of her eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“Eagle Scout.” I tucked my little finger under my thumb and held up three fingers.
She scratched her forearm. “You really think we could have leeches?”
“Probably not. Ticks are more likely. And they can carry rickettsiosis.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Did you make that up?”
“No, it’s a family of diseases carried by parasites. Like Rocky Mountain fever. Wouldn’t you rather know for sure?”
“Ugh, yes.” She tapped the card to the lock and pushed in. “Come on.”
I followed her inside. Her room was the same as mine, but it smelled different.
Instead of the mildly chlorine smell of my room from the dehumidifier, hers smelled like the roses that grew outside my parents’ beach house in Sausalito.
A soft-looking plaid blanket was tossed over the back of the sofa, and a paperback copy of a Carla Harris book on success rested on the coffee table in front of it.
Bridget’s clothes and suitcase were put away, and the bed was neatly made.
“Okay.” She stood in the middle of the floor, arms out like she was calling an unsportsmanlike contact penalty. “How do we do this?”
I walked into her spacious bathroom and flicked on the lights.
“The lighting’s better in here.” Bottles and powders and a paddle-like hairbrush were lined up in rows on the counter.
“Take off as many layers as you’re comfortable with.
” To demonstrate, I tugged my shirt over my head and tossed it into the sink. It landed with a wet smack.
I kept my gaze on my sneakers as I wrestled with the wet laces, but I sensed, more than saw, her unbutton her shirt and drop it on the tile. She unlaced her shoes and peeled off her socks. Like mine, her feet were pale and clammy looking, though her toenails were painted a cheerful pink.
“Pants too?” she asked. She wore a white tank that didn’t hide her dusky, pebbled nipples.
“If you’re comfortable.” Ripping my gaze off the wet shirt clinging to her breasts, I unbuttoned my shorts and shoved them to the floor. I was wearing only my boxer briefs, but fortunately, I was too chilled to be stiff.
Her pants flopped to the floor, and her tiny feet stepped out of them.
There was only one way this could go. “You check me first. Examine the skin. You’re looking for ticks about the size of an apple seed, either crawling or stationary.”
“And the leeches?”
“Probably black or brown. You’ll know it if you see it.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she scanned along my right arm, all the way to my fingertips. “All clear.” She examined my other arm while I checked my right armpit. Then she returned to my chest. When she looked across it, my nipples tightened.
“I don’t need to…” She pointed at my briefs.
“No, I’ll do that. Later. Skip to my legs. Especially the backs.”
When she dropped to her knees, I swallowed thickly.
It had been months since I’d seen anyone in this position, and despite the chill, my dick woke up.
Wildly, I searched my mind for a distraction.
Sports statistics. I reflected on the Giants’ season, trying to recall their winning percentage to three digits.
It had been well under five hundred, similar to my own record on this trip.
Though Bridget’s had to be worse. When she returned to my front, my erection had softened.
“I don’t see anything,” she said.
I cleared my throat. “Good. Now I’ll do you.
” I started with her left arm, holding her palm between my thumb and forefinger as I studied her skin.
She had a smattering of dark moles, and I examined each one to ensure it wasn’t a parasite.
I circled to her back and lifted her damp hair to check her nape.
“Can I lift your tank to check your back?”
“Sure.” Her voice shook.
I peeled up the wet cotton to study the smooth skin of her back. “Nothing.”
I continued to her right arm, the back, then the front, which brought me to her chest, where I could see the shadow of her nipples under the white tank. “I’ll…um…I’ll let you check this yourself.”
I squatted to check her legs. “Stand wider.”
She stepped her feet apart, and I surveyed the fronts, then the insides of her legs.
Her skin was soft-looking, and I was tempted to run my fingers across it.
But that was too far, and completely unnecessary, I reminded myself.
I was looking for ticks, and I could see that there were none here. “Turn around.”
I already knew she had a nice ass. The pencil skirts and fitted trousers she wore put it on display.
But it was something else to see it with her wet panties clinging to it, hinting at the cleft in the middle.
One leg opening was hiked up slightly, revealing the perky lower curve.
Her forty-three-year-old ass put some of the thirty-something ones I’d seen to shame.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I was not here to ogle my coworker’s fine, fine ass.
“Find something?” She craned her neck over her shoulder.
Only a cheek I’d like to bite. “You’re good. Let me check your hair.” I imagined sifting my fingers through the long strands. I swallowed.
“I, um. I’ll do it myself in the shower, thanks. I’ll let you know if I find anything.” She pressed her legs together and stood stiffly at attention.
“Okay.” When I stood, the situation in my briefs was not okay, so I grabbed a towel from the shelf under the sink and wrapped it around my hips. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait!”
My breath stuck in my chest. Was she as turned on as I was? Was she about to ask me to stay? Intellectually, it sounded like a terrible idea, but parts of me were willing to take the risk. I gazed into her blue-sky eyes.
She shook her head. “You can’t leave my room like…like that.” She gestured at my bare chest. “It’ll look like we were doing something scandalous.”
“I’m not putting my wet clothes back on.” I lifted them out of the sink and wrung them out. Muddy water splashed into the sink.
“Put this on.” She shoved a fluffy white bathrobe at me.
“And this doesn’t look like we were fooling around?” I wrapped it around myself and tied it at the waist.
“Ugh, you’re right.” She grabbed another robe and slipped it on.
It was the same size as the one I wore, but it swallowed her so that only her small head poked out of the neck opening and only her fingertips and toes were visible.
I wasn’t used to her barefoot height, having rarely seen her without her sky-high heels. “I’ll make sure it’s clear out there.”
She strode to the door and opened it an inch to peer outside. I’d grabbed my ball of wet clothes and shoes and followed her, ready to hustle the few feet to my bungalow. But she closed the door quickly and put her back against it. “Gina’s out there,” she whispered.
I was dangerously close to her. She smelled like river water and roses, and I remembered too well what her breasts looked like under that fluffy robe.
So when her gaze lingered on my exposed chest where the robe gaped, then on my lips, I didn’t care that she never made it to my eyes.
This was lust, pure and simple. And every part of me was on board with it.
I bent toward her plush lips. They’d regained their dark pink color and looked soft.
Lickable. I leaned close enough to feel her unsteady breath on my chin.
She made a quiet, needy sound, then a squeak when someone pounded on the door.
“Bridget, are you in there?” Gina called.
I cursed under my breath and stepped back.
“Go, go!” Bridget whispered.
“Where the fuck should I go?” I hissed. “You’re standing in front of the door.”
“Bedroom!” she pointed toward it.
“Oh, no. I’m not going to be stuck in there while you two have a girls’ chat.”
Her eyes flashed fire. “We’re not girls, and I’m going to get rid of her as soon as I can. Now, go! Hide.”
Reluctantly, I shuffled to her bedroom and shut the door. Gina had better not fucking stay. I needed to get out of this room before I did something stupid, like get under the covers and wait for Bridget to join me.
“One second,” Bridget called too loudly.
“There you are.” Bridget must have opened the door because Gina’s voice was no longer muffled. “I was so worried when you two disappeared. Are you okay?”
“We got a little lost. I’m fine.”
Gina chuckled darkly. “Too bad he couldn’t stay lost. Am I right?”
Bridget’s laugh was high and strained. “Right!”
That “right” burned in my gut. I didn’t know why I expected her to defend me since I’d done nothing worthy of it, but something inside my chest wanted it.
“You can see I’m perfectly fine, and I was about to get into the shower to wash off the river water. Don’t ask,” she warned.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Your cheeks are flushed.”
“I’m good. Maybe a little sunburned. See you at dinner?”
“Yeah, okay. Come see me if you start feeling sick,” Gina said. “I’ve got some Tylenol.”
“You’re always so prepared. Thank you.”
After I heard the click of the front door, I counted to five before I opened the bedroom door. “Clear?”
Her cheeks were red. “I’ll check.”
I stayed several feet back this time while she poked her head out the door. She stepped aside. “She’s gone. Go now.”
I didn’t meet her gaze as I ignored the path and darted through the landscaping to the safety of my room.
Bridget O’Brien might be small, but she was dangerous as a rickettsiosis-carrying tick.