A Midsummer Night's Romp (10 page)

“Are you feeling ill?” Gunner pulled out a water bottle and handed it to me. “You're as white as a sheet and making the oddest faces. . . . If you need to be sick—”

“No, no,” I said hurriedly, taking the bottle and sipping at it. “I'm not sick to my stomach, although I do feel chilled, which is weird considering I'm sweating like crazy.”

“Could be a touch of heatstroke. Keep sipping that water. I wouldn't want you falling over during one of our filming sessions because you've had too much sun.”

Something occurred to me then. “How on earth are you going to be able to dig?” I waved a hand toward the pink walking boot. “Are you going to even be able to get into a trench without hurting yourself?”

He grimaced and rose clumsily, grasping the handlebar of the scooter before shifting his weight onto his broken leg. “That remains to be seen. I'm hoping that a campstool will suffice until I get the beastly thing off in a week.”

“What did you do?” I asked as we headed off the lawn. “Is it your leg or foot that's broken?”

“My ankle. I was on the balcony of a factory in Portugal when it gave way underneath me. It was only a one-story fall, but I landed wrong and shattered my ankle. There are three plates and five pins in this beauty,” he said, indicating his cast.

“Ouch.”

He shot me a curious look. “You're not going to comment on the wisdom of being on the balcony to begin with?”

“Why should I? You're the one who's suffering from the results of your experience. I'm sure you wouldn't do it again, not without having a death wish. Why did you agree to do the spots for the TV show people?”

“Nice change of subject, there.”

“Thank you. It's a skill I've honed over the years.”

“To answer your question, as you pointed out just now, I can't do a lot of digging, which is what I'd prefer to be doing. Since I have knowledge about archaeology, but I'm not a professional, Sue thought viewers would relate more to me as an average person rather than one of the academic types like Thompson. Now it's your turn: what made you pick this dig to be the subject of your book?”

The panic that had gripped me earlier returned in full force. “Oh. Uh . . . well . . .”

“Who's your publisher?” His face expressed nothing but polite interest, but I could have gladly shoved him off his scooter and run away. “My brother Elliott is an author, you know. Perhaps he's familiar with your publisher.”

Hell. I was in hell. Somehow, in the last half hour, I'd gone from ankle-stroking heaven straight into a hell of my own making. Desperately, I called to mind the cover story I'd concocted. “Um. I was thinking of self-publishing, actually. A lot of people do that. My aunt did
it with a family history. And when my roommate—she was Alice's foster sister. I don't know if I mentioned that. Anyway, my roommate recommended that I spend my summer here, and the idea of the book just kind of came to me.”

It was the lamest-sounding explanation I'd ever heard, let alone dreamed up, but Gunner didn't seem to notice. “I think the idea of a behind-the-scenes book is intriguing.”

I swallowed back a lump of tension, frantic to change the subject. “How did you get involved in archaeology to begin with?”

He waved a hand around. “I was adopted by a couple who lived in a five-hundred-year-old castle. When you're raised with things this old, you either love history or hate it. Luckily, I found it all fascinating, and wanted to know more about the people who lived and died here.”

“It must be wonderful. I don't blame you for being interested.”

“Not as interested as I am in certain other subjects,” he said in a tone that had my palms clammy. I swear, if he started talking photography again, I'd make some excuse and run off.

“Oh? Such as?”

“Such as women who have an uncanny ability to change the subject.”

I paused, unsure of what to say. Was he teasing or criticizing me? Damn my damaged psyche that forced me to stop and determine what was going on. “I . . . I'm sorry. . . .”

“Don't apologize.” He stopped next to me and gave me that tipped-head look that seemed to make my stomach turn upside down. “I meant that in a complimentary way, you know.”

“But you don't appreciate my changing the subject
away from photography?” I decided to brazen it out. As I'd found out from life with my father, and later my sole boyfriend, confrontation was often the test of whether a man was going to lash out. I braced myself, just in case. “To be honest, I feel that there's more to life than what you can see behind a camera. I just don't get off talking about cameras and lenses and filters when there's life to be lived right in front of me.”

“Very true. And you put me in my place nicely. I won't bother you anymore with photographic talk.”

Relief swamped me when he didn't defend his position, but the relief was tinged with something uncomfortable—guilt. I felt like the world's biggest heel at that moment, and couldn't help but say, “I didn't mean to offend you, Gunner. I sound like the worst sort of reverse snob by not wanting to talk shop at all, but really, there's so much going on around here that I'd much rather talk about.”

“I agree, and I am not offended. Or I won't be if you would tell me what you're doing later.”

“Later? There's field walking going on right now that I should be out photographing.”

“No, later tonight.”

A slight noise behind us made the skin on my arms prickle. I turned my head slowly, and found myself staring down the lens of a film camera mounted on the shoulder of Tabby. Behind her stood Matt, with his fuzzy-covered boom microphone.

I turned away quickly, remembering Roger's lecture of the day before about how everyone should pretend the cameras weren't there unless asked to explain some archaeological point to the audience. I cleared my throat, was horribly aware of just how awful that sound was, and turned back to Gunner.

“I . . . uh . . . what did you ask?”

“What you are doing later tonight?” he prompted,
laughter now visible in his eyes. I couldn't tell if he was laughing at or with me, but both made me feel cross and annoyed, and with that, came a startling revelation.

I was comfortable around Gunner.

Not just in a physical way, like his touching my leg, and my increasingly detailed mental fantasies regarding his naked person, but it was
him
, all of him, that I was comfortable with.

I poked that thought around a few times, just to see if it set off any of the warning bells that always went off around men I was interested in—and subsequently left alone for just that reason.

Nope. There was nothing there but an awareness of him as a man, an enticing and interesting man, and the fact that I felt perfectly able to be annoyed by him without the fear of showing that emotion.

*   *   *

Mindful of the camera, I leaned forward until my mouth brushed against his ear. It was a strangely intimate move made all that much more meaningful by the fact that I was deliberately breathing in the citrusy smell of his aftershave. “Are you asking me out?” I finally managed to ask him.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

“I told you earlier that I'm not going to have sex with you.”

“I didn't ask you to engage in sex. You said that you wanted to see the castle, so I thought later tonight would be a good time to show you around.”

“So . . . no sex.” I felt it was important to make sure he understood that I would not be one of the bazillion women who fell victim to his chest.

And arms.

And lord above, his mouth. Why had I never noticed
his mouth before? It made me feel tingly and flustered and a level of hot that had nothing to do with the sun.

“Are you asking for sex, or telling me you don't want it?” Gunner asked, a little frown between his eyebrows.

“If I told you that you annoyed me, how would that make you feel?” I asked without thinking.

He looked thoughtful. “I would feel contrite. Have I annoyed you with something I've said? Do you not wish to engage in a little lighthearted sexual banter? I assumed you did because you tend to mention things that lead me to believe you'd be open to that, not to mention the way you are staring at my mouth, which of course makes me want to look at your mouth. You have a very nice mouth. I like it. It is pleasantly shaped, and looks as soft as a cloud. Would you bite my finger if I rubbed my thumb across your lower lip?”

“Possibly.” I tilted my chin up a smidgen just to let him know I wasn't mentally swooning at the thought of kissing him. “Contrite, hm? I'm glad to hear that.”

“Should I apologize for what I've said?”

“No. I just wanted to know how you'd feel if I said you had annoyed me.”

“At the risk of truly annoying you, I'll point out that you didn't answer my question.”

I frowned. “Which question?”

“Were you telling me you didn't want to have sex, or implying you did want to?”

“Oh for mercy's sake!” I was simultaneously amused and irritated, and reveled in the fact that Gunner didn't trigger any self-preservation worries. “How many times do I have to tell you? I do not want to have sex!”

Tabby and Matt smiled at me.

“Very well, but don't expect me to believe you're interested in that lecher Thompson.”

A little niggle of worry returned. “And what if I am? That's really no business of yours.”

“No, it's not, except I saw the look on your face when he touched your arm earlier. It was not the look of a woman who is desirous of further touches. In fact, I'd say you appeared to be rather sickened by the whole experience.”

Once again, I mentally damned the fact that every thought I had apparently showed on my face. “You're wrong. I wasn't sickened.”

“You also don't lie very well.”

“Stop it!” I snapped, punching him in the arm.

I held my breath for a moment, but released it when he simply said, “Stop what? Making sense?”

“No. Stop flirting with me.”

“Why? Does it make you uncomfortable? Are you gay? Bisexual? Into something that would shock me to find out?” he asked with growing interest. “Are you one of those fifty-shades-of-bondage people? I haven't been into that in the past, but I might be willing to try with you. Although I would want to be the one to do the bondaging, while you would have to be the bondagee.”

I cast another glance over to Tabby and Matt, flashed a smile that denied how I really felt, and turned back to glare at Gunner. “No, I'm not into anything weird, and that includes threesomes and girl-on-girl action, which I assume was going to be the next thing you asked.”

“Ah, Lorina, Lorina,” he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “How well you know me after such a short acquaintance.”

“That's just the point, you obtusely irritating man!” I slapped my hands on my thighs before remembering the camera. In a lower volume, I added, “I don't know you at all, and it just seems all shades of foolhardy to flirt with someone with no purpose.”

“No purpose? There's
always
a purpose to flirting.”

“Not when one of the flirters is interested in someone else,” I said with so much self-righteousness, it almost choked me.

“I thought we went over that.”

“We did, but you seem to refuse to believe that I'd much rather spend my flirting time with Paul than indulge in something with you that has absolutely no meaning to it.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said with a deep rumble of laughter that somehow set up a thrumming response inside me. “I can assure you there's every reason to flirt whenever and wherever possible. It's scientifically proven to lower blood pressure, ease stress, and provide a great lucidity of mind.”

I looked hard at him.

He smiled a slow, lingering smile at me.

“You're just talking to hear the sound of your own voice now, aren't you?” I couldn't help but ask.

He laughed a genuinely amused laugh. “I like you, Lorina Liddell. You aren't at all swayed by the fact that my brother is a baron, are you?”

“I'm American,” I said with a little lift of my chin. “Plus, he's married to my roommate's foster sister, so, no, I'm not overly impressed with your family's noble history. That sort of thing doesn't mean a whole lot to us. Besides, I value people for what they make of their lives more than for what's handed to them, or how handsome their face is, or the fact that they have a nice chest and really nice thighs, and a butt that is probably in the category of droolworthy, not that I would know because I'm not the sort of person who objectifies men that way.”

“I and the rest of male humanity thank you for such consideration.” He leaned forward, pulling me down so that my head was level with his. His breath ruffled my
hair, and that same scent of citrus soap and aftershave wafted around me with little fingers of current. “I'll tell you a secret, shall I? I much prefer someone who makes their own way in life, too. It's one reason why I don't work for my brother, as most of our siblings do.”

“Stop it,” I repeated after the moment or two required to recover from the wave of pleasure his closeness had sent coursing through my body.

His nose bumped mine as he turned his head slightly. If I tipped my chin up any higher, my lips would brush against his. “Do you really dislike my talking to you?”

“No,” I said on a breath, fisting my hands and pressing them into my sides as I pulled back. “That's just the problem.”

“Good,” was all he said before his lips met mine.

The heat and sensation of his mouth seared me to my core. I was shocked, frankly shocked by such a bold move. He was kissing me! Right there in the middle of a garden, with Matt and Tabby's camera watching. It was a heedless, irresponsible move, and I was shocked. More than that, I was appalled that even though I knew I should be giving him short shrift for such behavior, I kissed him back.