In His Command by Rie Warren Page B

muscles. Those dark brown eyes with little flecks of gold when you grin, that darken when you’re worried.”
    I pushed through his seduction with a forced laugh. “Too bad the song’s ‘Brown Eyed Girl,’ not guy.”
    “I can improvise.” He shrugged.
    I wanted to make a smartass remark about him being a momma’s boy, but I couldn’t do that. Not when I had my own demons, in quadruple form. “Where is she now, your mother?”
    “She’s safe.”
    “Anyone else?”
    “Yeah.”
    I swallowed fast and let it fly. “A lover?”
    Raising his hands, he held his hair back, his gaze hitting mine. “No lover, Caspar.”
    I cleared my throat of the way it tightened to think he was available. “Think we oughtta get our shit sorted for the night?”
    “You askin’ me on a date?”
    “Nah, I’m telling you to haul ass before we go darkout.”
    His chuckle was broken up with a murmured, “Wouldn’t mind fumblin’ in the dark with you.”
    We worked side by side, and I was surprised by his speed and agility. His methodical motions matched mine as we laid a boundary of dry twigs and wrangled the night’s rations inside the circle we’d booby-trapped.
    While Blondie started the fire, I watched his hands. It was almost dark and I was unseen in the shadow of the trees. “Had you pegged for a suit,” I called as I stepped into the clearing.
    Crouched low, he looked up. He brushed that dirty-blond hair from his face, leaving a trail of soot on his cheek. “Had you pegged for a succinct sonuvabitch. Guess I win.”
    I handed him the warm furred rabbit I’d snared. Scrutinizing his slick skinning of the animal, I was closer to flirting than I’d ever dared. “A stiff suit.”
    His hands halted. “Caspar?”

Chapter Five
    K eep going. I like a man who knows how to handle a knife.” I could have crowed at the way his hands shook. Instead, I steadied his wrist inside my fingers, then traced his forearm over the hill of his biceps to his shoulder.
    The sticky blood made the knife slip, and he let out a gritty laugh. “You’re makin’ me fuck this up.”
    “I’ll leave you to it.”
    “No, don’t.”
    Determined, he bared meat from fur, halting when I drove my fingers into his hair. It filtered through my fingers until I tugged his head to the side, baring his neck. I licked a line to his Adam’s apple and rubbed my cheek up and down his throat. “I’m hungry, Blondie. Gonna feed me sometime tonight?”
    “Ye-e-es.”
    I liked his breathy exhalation more than I should have. “Go on then.” I bit his jaw, right on the hard edge, laughing when he leaped forward. Perfect for a smack on the ass. I hauled back and slapped, chuckling over the control I had of him. Squeezing that tight butt, I eased the sting. “Think I better leave you to it.”
    As I sauntered to the tent, I heard him say, “I’m not just a Company suit. I’m a survivor.”
    That makes two of us.
    Unceremoniously digging through his gear, I found his secret stash. “A survivor who brings a seventy-five-year-old bottle of bourbon on a Wilderness trek?”
    “A man must drink.”
    Placing the heavy bottle aside, I rummaged further.
    “You happen to find the cigars?”
    My fingers ran over something familiar. I bent forward, exploring what I’d found.
    Blondie spoke real softly. “Find somethin’ else, big man? You’re not the only one who has plans.”
    The foil of condom wrappers crinkled as I whipped toward him. Through a hot blush and the fierce rush of arousal, I willed my voice to be steady. “Like what? You plan on deep-throating one of these?” I held up a cigar.
    His low laughter bounced off the trees while he went back to work. After he’d cooked and I’d been cooked in my skin—watching his hands in action, his wide wrists turning, his forearms flexing—he commanded, “Take a seat.”
    I grabbed a piece of ground beside him, and he arranged a plate in front of me. “Eat.”
    “What the hell’s that?” I pointed at my