Wedded in a Whirlwind

This was not a wise move as his head was swift to remind him. But something about the way she’d come back at him had been so unexpectedly sharp, so refreshingly astringent that he couldn’t help himself. And if she was right about the earthquake she got ten out of ten for…something. If only being a pain in the butt.

Admittedly it was a very nicely put together butt…

He began, despite every cell in his body clamouring a warning, to wonder who she was, where she had come from. What she looked like.

Had he, despite his best intentions, started drinking in Rob’s bar and been so lost to sense that he’d picked up some lone female tourist looking for a good time and brought her back here with him? If so, he’d signally failed to deliver, he thought, as he searched his memory for a picture to match the voice.

His memory refused to oblige so he was forced to ask, ‘Did I pick you up in Rob’s bar?’

‘Who’s Rob?’

‘I guess that answers that question…’

‘Don’t you remember?’

Great butt, smart mouth. Tricky combination. ‘If I remembered I wouldn’t ask,’ he snapped right back, but the scorn in her voice warned him that he was on dangerous ground. And, remembering that kick, it occurred to him that insulting her might not be his best idea.

But where the hell had she come from?

Everything after Rob had thrust that bottle at him was something of a blur, but he hadn’t been in the mood to pick up a woman, no matter how warm and willing she was—and actually he was getting very mixed messages about that—but then he’d be the first to admit that he hadn’t been thinking too straight.

If only his head didn’t hurt so much. He needed to concentrate…

He had a vague memory of driving back up the side of the mountain in a mood as grim as the pagan gods that had guarded the temple and he glared into the darkness as if they had the answer.

It really was dark.

Of his companion he had no more than a vague impression, amplified by that handful of a small, perfectly formed breast. Two handfuls of neat little butt. Tallish, he thought, a bit on the skinny side, but with hair that smelled of childhood innocence…

He stopped the thought right there.

Women were born devious and he was done with the whole treacherous, self-serving sex.

He’d driven back from the coast on his own, he was certain of that, but if he hadn’t picked her up, where the devil had she come from?

He scrubbed at his face with his hands in an effort to clear away the confusion. Then, dragging his fingers through his hair, he winced as he encountered a damn great lump and a stickiness that couldn’t be anything but blood.

It seemed that the throbbing ache in his head was the result of a collision with something hard rather than the effects of Cordilleran brandy. Unless he had fallen out of the camp-bed he’d set up down here after the rest of the team had left when the rains set in. Going home to their families.

It was drier than his hut in the village during the rains. Quieter. And, without Fliss to distract him, he’d got a lot of work done.

He blinked. The lack of light was beginning to irritate him. He wanted to be able to see this woman. Was she another student backpacking her way around the globe? If so, she’d chosen the wrong day to drop in looking for work experience…

‘Okay, I didn’t pick you up in a bar,’ he began, then stopped. That was too loud. Much too loud. ‘So where—?’

‘You didn’t pick me up anywhere.’ Her disembodied voice enunciated each word slowly and carefully, as if speaking to someone for whom English was a foreign language. ‘I’m fussy about who I hang around with.’