Chapter Ten
The cold shower had little effect on Paul’s overheated body.
He emerged from the bathroom, pulled on a pair of dry shorts, and prowled around the cabin in restless strides.
He’d left his shoes outside on the dock in his haste to flee the scene with Vanessa, so he had to go barefoot.
His phone chimed with a text message notification, probably from his brother.
Paul ignored it. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.
He needed to slow down his racing thoughts and figure out what the hell had happened with Vanessa.
Thirty days in the field and he was already cracking up.
Making a strangled noise of frustration, he strode into the kitchen for a glass of ice water. While he chugged it, he pictured his face imploding from sourness, collapsing in on itself. He sputtered with helpless laughter.
Vanessa Nava was driving him insane. That was the only explanation.
She kept seeing him at his worst, prying into his personal business, and offering him assistance he couldn’t refuse.
Last night, she’d helped him navigate respiratory distress.
This afternoon, she’d rescued him from an excruciating muscle cramp.
He was falling apart, mentally and physically, and she was right there to witness it.
She’d done something to him that was part massage, part sorcery. And, God help him, he’d liked it.
He didn’t blame her for his sexual reaction, or for the kiss he’d planted on her. That was all him. Or it was them, in combination. They were combustible together. She was a sensual, beautiful woman, and he wanted her.
Unless he was mistaken, she wanted him, too. He’d read her signals and responded.
He’d been in agony when the muscle spasm hit.
He’d tried not to panic, though the urge to thrash around had been hard to resist. When he’d noticed her coming toward him, he’d forced himself to relax and tread water.
He hadn’t wanted to look weak in front of her.
Maybe that was why he’d kissed her. He’d needed to take her attention away from his gunshot wound.
He’d also been desperate to change the dynamic between them, to reassert his male power.
Fear of drowning had heightened his senses and brought a rush of endorphins.
Also, the sight of her lush, wet curves in that barely-there bikini had made him dizzy with lust.
He’d kept his gaze on her face, though he’d been tempted to ogle her breasts like a horny teenager. But that modicum of control hadn’t helped. She’d met his gaze boldly, her eyes half-lidded and her lips parted in invitation.
Jesus.
As soon as he made contact with her mouth, he’d been lost. He’d forgotten where he was and who he was supposed to be. He’d forgotten about his injury and how he’d sustained it. He’d forgotten about everything but her.
He couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had transported him so completely.
His previous relationship had fizzled before he left Houston.
He didn’t have casual affairs. Vanessa wasn’t a casual type, either.
Paul frowned at the label, uncertain how to categorize her.
They’d spent hours together playing Scrabble.
They’d shared a series of intense moments.
Their exchanges, while brief, had felt meaningful.
He shouldn’t have made a move on her today, regardless.
She’d been trying to engage him in a conversation, not attempting to seduce him.
But she hadn’t said no when his head dipped, and she’d kissed him back with a hunger that surprised him.
Apparently he hadn’t scared her away with his boorish behavior.
Maybe she saw through his facade, or she didn’t care how rude he was.
She was on the rebound from a bad divorce.
She wasn’t looking for a nice guy to settle down with. She was looking for a good time in bed.
Damn it.
How was he supposed to say no if she offered him her body?
He wasn’t made of stone. Memories of her taste and feel swamped his senses.
She’d been so deliciously sweet and hot.
He’d wanted to peel away her bikini and bury himself in her.
He wouldn’t have gone that far, not out in the open in broad daylight.
But if they got the chance to be together, somewhere private … he’d take it.
Paul forced himself to stop fantasizing about Vanessa and focus on dinner.
He chopped vegetables, cooked some rice, and tossed up a decent stir-fry.
When he was finished, he washed the dishes.
Then he tugged on a shirt and resumed pacing.
He normally didn’t mind spending quiet evenings by himself.
Tonight, he felt restless and trapped, like a prisoner in his own skin.
He decided to retrieve the shoes and shirt he’d left on the dock.
As soon as he stepped on the back porch, he thought of Vanessa, helping him with the panic attack he’d suffered the night before.
All she’d asked for in return was a game of Scrabble, and he’d turned her down.
Feeling guilty, he strode down the tree-lined path and made his way toward the dock.
The early evening air felt cooler, but still warm enough to swim.
The sun lingered on the horizon, as if refusing to let the day slip away.
His shoes were at the end of the dock, where he’d left them.
He slipped them on and stood there with his hands in his pockets.
People on vacation watched sunsets, and enjoyed quiet contemplation.
He attempted to do this and felt nothing.
If anything, the strain of trying to relax gave him a slight headache.
As he strolled back toward the cabin, his unease grew.
He pictured Vanessa at her campsite, roasting weenies with her daughter.
Paul wanted to forget her face, to deny their connection and ignore his feelings.
Then something clicked inside him, an understanding that he’d wronged her.
He’d been so rattled by their kiss, he’d almost forgotten about the careless words he’d spoken after Emily had caught them.
You need to watch her.
He hadn’t realized how critical he’d sounded until now. Vanessa had helped him twice in a row. She’d rescued him from a debilitating panic attack last night and agonizing muscle cramps this afternoon. Instead of showing his gratitude, he’d repaid her kindness with insults. He owed her an apology.
Cursing under his breath, he headed toward the campground. Maybe she was there. Maybe she wasn’t.
He entered through the open gate and wandered around until he spotted Jackson Nava’s truck parked alongside Vanessa’s SUV.
He wavered for a moment, because he hadn’t expected to encounter her brother.
A glance beyond the vehicles revealed a family gathering around a campfire ring.
Vanessa was sitting in a beach chair with her daughter on her lap.
This was going to be awkward, wasn’t it? Paul continued forward, regardless. He’d come over here to apologize and he wasn’t leaving until he tried. Paul Murphy might be a jerk, but he wasn’t a coward.
When he made his presence known, Emily’s face lit up in delight. She lifted her doll and waved its cloth arm at him. Paul waved back. Jackson nodded a greeting. Vanessa didn’t acknowledge him.
“Good evening,” he said with a formal nod.
Emily scrambled down from her mother’s lap and ran toward him. “We’re having s’mores,” she said in a bright tone and grabbed his finger. She led him toward the picnic table, where the ingredients were on display. “First you cook the mar-mellows.”
Paul didn’t think a response was required, and he couldn’t match her excitement. He allowed himself to be tugged toward the fire. Emily’s doll had fallen to the ground. She let go of his hand to pick it up.
“Penelope ate a lemon at dinner,” she said, giggling. “Then her face went backwards.”
Paul glanced at Vanessa, who showed no reaction to this announcement. His silly story must have captured Emily’s imagination. He had to admit, the kid was adorable.
“Did you come to have s’mores with us?” Emily asked.
“I don’t eat s’mores,” Paul said. “Where I’m from, we make no-mores.”
“No-mores?”
Paul gave a serious nod. “It’s two slices of lemon with a mushroom in the middle.”
Emily wrinkled her nose in distaste. Then she giggled again, and the sound warmed him down to the bone.
Vanessa rose from her camp chair. She was wearing a summer dress that clung to her curves, and her hair had been piled in a silky mass atop her head.
She looked even better than usual. She was staggeringly beautiful.
“Let’s go get changed,” Vanessa said to Emily. “We’re too fancy for camping.”
Emily didn’t argue as her mother directed her toward the tent. They ducked inside and she zipped the flap closed.
Paul turned to Jackson, who had gotten up from his chair.
He offered Paul a beer from the nearby cooler.
Paul accepted the hospitality. They stood by the fire in a charged silence.
He wondered what Vanessa had told her brother about him, if anything.
Paul sized up the other man. Jackson wore regular clothes, not a police uniform.
His relaxed stance and easy smile no longer fooled Paul.
“I’m staying with them tonight,” Jackson said. “We’re packing up and leaving tomorrow.”
Paul drank his beer and said nothing. He felt no relief at the prospect of finally getting rid of them.
He doubted that Jackson meant to ease his mind on the matter, either.
It was more of a warning that Vanessa would have a protector around, so Paul had better watch his step.
After a few minutes, she emerged from the tent in a T-shirt and leggings, with gray tennis shoes. Emily wore a similar outfit.
Vanessa seemed annoyed to find Paul loitering at her campsite, which was ironic, because she loitered outside his cabin whenever she pleased. “Do you want something, or are you just here to glower?”