Jeopardy: A Game of Chance / Loving Evangeline

She felt a little embarrassed. Of course, a former ranger could find his way back to camp in the dark. “I wasn’t thinking,” she admitted.

“You were thinking too much,” he corrected, and hugged her to his side.

They reached their little camp. The fire she had built up was still sending little tongues of flame licking around the remnants of the sticks. Chance laid the bird on a rock, swiftly fashioned a rough spit from the sticks and sharpened the end of another stick with his pocket knife. He skewered the bird with that stick, and set it in the notches of the spit, then added some small sticks to the fire. Soon the bird was dripping sizzling juice into the flames, which leaped higher in response. The delicious smell of cooking meat made her mouth water.

She shoved a flat rock closer to the fire and sat down, watching him turn the bird. She was close enough to feel the heat on her arms; as chilly as the night was already, it was difficult to remember that just a few short hours ago the heat had been scorching. She had camped out only once before, but the circumstances had been nothing like this. For one thing, she had been alone.

The amber glow of the flames lit the hard angles of his face. He had washed up while he was gone, she saw; his hair was still a little damp. He had shaved, too. She smiled to herself.

He looked up and saw her watching him, and a wealth of knowledge, of sensual awareness, flashed between them. “Are you all right?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine.” She had no idea how her face glowed as she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her drawn-up knees.

“Are you bleeding?”

“Not now. And it was only a little, at first,” she added hastily when his eyes narrowed in concern.

He returned his gaze to the bird, watching as he carefully turned it. “I wish I had known.”

She wished he didn’t know now. The reasons for her recently lost virginity weren’t something she wanted to dissect. “Why?” she asked, injecting a light note into her tone. “Would you have been noble and stopped?”

“Hell, no,” he said. “I’d have gone about it a little differently, is all.”

Now, that was interesting. “What would have been different?”

“How rough I was. How long I took.”

“You took long enough,” she assured him, smiling. “Both times.”

“I could have made it better for you.”

“How about for you?”

His dark gaze flashed upward, and he gave a rueful smile. “Sweetheart, if it had been any better for me, my heart would have given out.”

“Ditto.”

He turned the bird again. “I didn’t wear a condom the second time.”

“I know.” The evidence had been impossible to miss.

Their gazes met and locked again, and again they were linked by that silent communication. He might have made her pregnant. He knew it, and she knew it.

“How’s the timing?”

She rocked her hand back and forth. “Borderline.” The odds were in their favor, she figured, but it wasn’t a risk she wanted to take again.

“If we weren’t stuck here—” he began, then shrugged.

“What?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Desire surged through her, and she almost jumped his bones right then. She got a tight grip on herself, literally, and fought to stay seated. Hormones were sneaky devils, she thought, ready to undermine her common sense just because he mentioned wanting to make her pregnant.

“Neither would I,” she admitted, and watched to see if he had the same reaction. Color flared high on his carved cheekbones, and a muscle in his jaw flexed. His hand tightened on the spit until his knuckles were white. Yep, it went both ways, she thought, fascinated by his battle to remain where he was.

When he judged the bird was done, he took the skewer off the spit and kicked another rock over to rest beside hers, then sat down on it. With his pocket knife he cut a strip of meat and held it out to her. “Careful, don’t burn yourself,” he warned as she reached eagerly for the meat.

She juggled the strip back and forth in her hands, blowing on it to cool it. When she could hold it, she took her first tentative bite. Her taste buds exploded with the taste of wood and smoke and roasted fowl. “Oh, that’s good,” she moaned, chewing slowly to get every ounce of flavor.

Chance cut off a strip for himself and took his first bite, looking as satisfied as she with their meal. They chewed in silence for a while. He was careful to divide the meat equally, until she was forced to stop eating way before she was satisfied. He was so much bigger than she was that if they each ate the same amount, he would be short-changed.

He knew what she was doing, of course. “You’re taking care of me again,” he observed. “You’re hell on my image, you know that? I’m supposed to be taking care of you.”

“You’re a lot bigger than I am. You need larger portions.”

“Let me worry about the food, sweetheart. We won’t starve. There’s more game to catch, and tomorrow I’ll look for some edible plants to round out our diet.”

“Bird and bush,” she said lightly. “What all the trendy people are eating these days.”

Her quip made him grin. He persuaded her to eat a little more of the meat, then they finished off one of the remaining nutrition bars. Their hunger appeased, they began getting ready to turn in for the night.

He banked the fire while she got the tent ready. They brushed their teeth and made one last nature call, just like old married folks, she thought in amusement. Their “home” wasn’t much, really nothing more than a niche in the rock, but their preparations for the night struck her as very domestic—until he said, “Do you want to wear my shirt tonight? It would be more like a nightgown on you than the shirt you’re wearing.”

There was nothing the least bit tamed in the way he was looking at her. Her heartbeat picked up in speed, and the now familiar heat began spreading through her. That was all he had to do, she thought; one look and she was aroused. He had taught her body well during the short time she had been sprawled beneath him on the blanket. Now that she knew exactly how it felt to take his hard length inside her, she craved the sensation. She wanted that convulsive peak of pleasure, even though it had frightened her with its intensity. She hadn’t realized she would feel as if she were flying apart, as if her soul was being wrenched from her body. In a blinding, paralyzing moment of clarity, she knew that no other man in the world would be able to do that for her, to her. He was the One for her, capital O, big letter, underlined and italicized. The One. She would never again be whole without him.