I can eat wherever I want. In the summertime, I sit on a camp stool outside and watch the sun set over the dig.”
He could picture the brilliant red, orange and mauve skies tinting her hair. “I’ll consider it an adventure.” He reached around her and opened one of the overhead cabinet doors. “Where are the dishes and utensils?” As he leaned over her, the scent of roses tantalized his nostrils. Her hair shone in the light from the flame on the stove as much as he thought it might in the dying embers of a North Dakota sunset. Despite having shed her coat, the thick sweater, turtleneck and snow pants hid most of her shape. But he could remember it from the class he’d audited while attending the university in Grand Forks.
He tucked a hair behind her ear. “Why was it we only went out once?”
Her head dipped. “One has to ask for a second date.”
Dante gripped her shoulders gently and turned her slowly toward him. “I didn’t call, did I?” He stared down at her until she glanced up.
Her lips twisted. “It’s no big deal. We only went out for coffee.”
Dante swallowed hard. He remembered. It had been shortly before a particularly harsh bout of depression. One of his buddies from the army had been shot down in Afghanistan. He’d wondered if he’d stayed in the army if he could have changed the course of events, perhaps saved his friend or if he would have died in his place. Losing his fiancée and his friend so soon afterward made him question everything he’d thought he’d understood—his role in the war on terrorism, his patriotism and his faith in mankind. It had been all he could do to get out of bed each morning, go to work and fly the border missions.
“I’m sorry.” He brushed a thumb across her full lower lip and then bent to follow his thumb with his mouth. He’d only meant to kiss her softly, but once his lips touched hers, he couldn’t stop himself. A rush of hunger like he’d never known washed over him and before he realized it, he was crushing her mouth, his tongue darting out to take hers.
When he raised his head, he stared down at her through a haze of lust, wanting to drag her across the bed and strip her of every layer of clothing.
Her big brown eyes were wide, her lips swollen from his kiss and pink flags of color stained her cheeks.
Dante closed his eyes, forcing himself to be reasonable and controlled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t—” she started.
The teakettle whistled.
Emma jerked around to the stove, one hand going to the handle of the kettle, the other to her lips.
Dante retrieved bowls from the cabinet and spoons from a drawer and stepped back, giving her as much space as the interior of the trailer would allow.
The wind churned outside, wailing against the flimsy outer walls, the cold seeping through.
As she poured the water into the mugs, Emma’s hand shook.
Kicking himself for his impulsive act, Dante vowed to keep his hands—and lips—to himself for the duration of their confinement in the tight space.
Since resigning his commission, Dante hadn’t considered himself fit for any relationship. He’d come back to North Dakota, hoping to reclaim the life he’d known growing up. But the transition from soldier to civilian had been anything but easy. Every loud noise made him duck, expecting incoming rounds from hidden enemies. Until today, it had only been noise. Today he’d been under attack and he hadn’t been prepared.
Emma dipped a tea bag in each mug until the water turned the desired shade. Then she pulled the bags out and set them in the tiny sink. “I’m sorry, I don’t have milk or lemon.” She held out a mug to him. “Sugar?”
The way her lips moved to say that one word had him ready to break his recent vow. “No, I’ll take it straight.”
When she handed him the mug, their hands touched and an electric surge zipped through him. He backed away and his knees bumped into the mattress, forcing him to sit and slosh hot tea on his hand. The scalding liquid brought him back to his senses.
Emma spooned chili into bowls and handed one to him. “Who would shoot you out of the sky?” She cradled her bowl in both hands, blowing the steam off the top.
“I have no idea.”
“As a border patrol agent, have you pissed off anyone lately?”
He shook his head. “Not anyone who would have the firepower that man had. He used a Soviet-made RPG from what I could tell. How the hell he got ahold of one of those, I don’t know.”
“How’d he know you’d be here?”
“I was responding to a call from my base that a man had crossed the U.S.-Canadian border on a snowmobile in this area. I can only assume it was him.”
“Could be someone with a gripe against the border patrol.”
“Yeah. I wish I could get word to my supervisor. They’ll be freaking out right about now. A missing helicopter and pilot is a big deal.”
“Would they send out a rescue team?”
“In this weather, I don’t see how.”
“Hopefully, it’ll be gone in the morning.” She stirred her chili. “If they don’t come looking for you, we’ll do our best to drive out and find a farmer with a landline so that you can call back.”
He nodded. “A lot of people will be worried. That’s an expensive piece of equipment to lose.”
“Seems to me that a skilled pilot is harder to replace.” Emma took a bite of her chili and chewed slowly.
Dante shrugged. Everything would have to wait until tomorrow. In the meantime... “It’s getting colder outside.”
“I have plenty of blankets for one bed.” She stared at her empty bowl and a shiver shook her body. “Without the generator, we’ll have to share the warmth.” Her gaze clashed with his, hers appearing reserved, wary.
His lips thinning, Dante raised his hands. “I’m sorry about the kiss. I promise to keep my hands to myself.”
Before he finished talking, Emma was shaking her head. “It’s going to get really cold. The only way to stay warm is to stay close and share body warmth.”
Dante swallowed hard, his body warming at the thought.
He set his empty chili bowl in the sink and took hers from her, laying it on top. “We’re adults. This doesn’t have to be awkward or a big deal,” he said while his body was telling him, Oh, yes it does!
Emma stared at the bed, her heart thumping against her ribs, her mouth going bone-dry. If it wasn’t so darned cold in the trailer, she’d sit up all night on the camp stool.
No, she wasn’t afraid of Dante. Frankly, she was afraid of her body’s
