the philosophical overtones weren’t newsworthy, she sat down on the rock, reading over the day’s headlines, getting distracted by the goat-rodeo they called Albany politics. She was deep into an op-ed piece on the latest budget referendum when she heard a new noise. Not scuttling, rustling. A large rustling, then a quiet oomph.
Not alone anymore. Quickly she closed her eyes in case the creatures had returned.
“Hello,” drawled an annoyed voice. Not a mouse, she thought with relief, and opened her eyes, blinking twice in case her imagination had kicked in again.
No, not imagination. It was the uncooperative man from the inn. The same man who had dazzled her loins and piqued her curiosity. Yet no matter the pique or the dazzle, Jenn knew at a gut-deep level that this man would be another mistake.
His black hair was worn long, a man who didn’t care about the opinion of the world. Tonight the cool blue eyes were arrogant and detached, missing the burning intensity of this afternoon. His nose was Romanesque, the profile of dictators and emperors and rulers. Nothing sensitive there. It was only the slight dimple in the center of his chin that made her wonder about the accuracy of her assessment.
But all those warning signs didn’t mean she couldn’t have fantasies, didn’t remember the shot of excitement that chased through her this afternoon. The marvelous thing about dreams was that they were harmless, as long as you remembered they were only dreams.
Mr. Habitual Scowler sat down next to her, long legs stretched out in front of him, and she told herself there was nothing remotely dreamy about him.
“Your phone is very distracting,” he said in a completely undreamy voice.
Surprised, Jenn looked at the innocent device in her hand. Yes, cell phone users were capable of many sins. Since she was intolerant of most of them, Jenn knew that both she was and her phone were being unjustly accused. “My phone?”
“I was trying to work, and I kept seeing this flash from my window. I told myself to ignore it, but I couldn’t. So I walked over, looked out onto the normally darkened night sky, and I saw you sitting up here, performing some odd ritual.”
“You could have ignored me,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but then I kept telling myself that you might be some pagen worshipper, and might get naked and things went downhill from there. I couldn’t work, and I needed to work, so I climbed up here to ask you to return to your cabin where you belong.”
Immediately she realized who he was, and her heart bumped happily. Never a good sign. “You’re in cabin number three, aren’t you?”
“You’ve been spying on me?” he asked, sounding not as disturbed by that thought as most normal people would be.
“I don’t spy,” she said, defending herself. “I was warned not to disturb you.”
“Too late. You’ve disturbed me.” He pushed a hand through his hair, disturbing that, as well. It only added to his sexy quotient, and Jenn tried not to smile.
“I’m sure many mental health professionals would tell you that you were already disturbed long before I wandered onto this rock. And by the way, innocent rock-wandering would not be considered a disturbance by the population at large.”
“At this campground, I’m the sole population at large. It’s not a busy place.”
“And now there’s me. I’m looking at the stars, and I’m going to continue gazing at the stars, so if I’m disturbing you, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to stop.”
“You’re not gazing at the stars. You’re gazing at your phone. There’s a perfectly good sky up there. You should try it.”
“I don’t know all the constellations. I’m learning. I suppose you know them all,” she asked carefully. He didn’t look like a romantic stargazer, she thought, not wanting anything else to add to his sexy quotient.
“No,” he answered, and she sighed with relief. Although secretly she admitted that she liked the lack of fog in his eyes.
She pointed to the stars on her phone. “If you had a star app, you could learn them.”
“Spoken like the commercially brainwashed American consumer that you are. Obsessed with convenience, purveyor of a thousand bits of minutia to manage an already hurried world. Devices that fool you into believing that you can rule time and have some control over your life. And in the end, those very things only make you a slave instead of the master.”
Instinctively she knew it wouldn’t be smart to laugh. If he hadn’t sounded so completely sure of himself, she might have felt sorry for him. Instead, because perhaps there was a shred of uncomfortable truth, she crossed her arms over her chest and raised her brows in her best imitation of smug superiority. “This coming from a man who left his solitary cabin and climbed up on a rock, solely in hopes of a little gratuitous nudity? You’re in no position to cast stones.”
Sadly he didn’t look the least bit ashamed. “I’m a mere man. Tethered to the weakness of the flesh and damned to experience life at its worst.”
That was the problem with weakening flesh, she thought, wishing that this time her body could be a little smarter. Instead she was noticing the long, length of his thighs, the rangy breadth of his shoulders and the sexy way he looked at her when he didn’t want to look at her. She’d never realized conflicted men could be so arousing.
“Who said that?” she asked.
“It’s no one you’d ever heard of.”
“He sounds overwrought.”
“That’s the polite term,” he said, his teeth flashing in the dark, and she was shocked at how normal he looked. How appealing. How completely unromantic and yet still hot.
“Why are you here?” she asked, now completely overwrought herself.
“Because I thought you were going to take off your clothes. I thought you would look nice without them.”
Her eyes narrowed only because if he asked nicely, she might have considered. “You think that line will fool me? Leisure Suit Lothario doesn’t come easy for you. In fact, you probably had to scrape the dregs of your social vocabulary to come up with that one. Ergo, the actual answer to my question is even worse than being branded a mere man.”
As insults went, it was convoluted and scattered, mainly because her mind was still stuck back at taking off her clothes.
He looked at her sideways, his eyes amused. “What are you? Psychologist, or just nosy?”
“I’m a reporter.”
At her words, the change in him was visible. The humor in his eyes faded, and his mouth tightened to a forbidding line. “Bottom-feeder.”
Jenn was used to the lack of respect. As a journalist, she had trained herself to be immune. “You are a charmer. I bet your complimentary ways go over well with all the ladies. What do you have against reporters?”
“Do you want specifics, or are the broad, generalized sins of the species enough?”
“Specifics.
