Breaking the Rules (4 page)

The sound muffled only slightly once they stepped inside. “I’ll try to find a flashlight or some candles,” he said. “But no matter what, nobody’s going anywhere until this storm passes.”

Shivering, Claire released Mitch’s hand and hugged herself. His shirt, now damp and limp, clung to her like a second skin. Her teeth clicked together.

“We’d better get dry or we’ll catch pneumonia,” he told her. “My clothes are in the bedroom. Have a seat while I look for a light and get some things together. The couch is about five steps ahead of you.”

“Thanks.” Arms outstretched, Claire limped forward, counting each step. Mitch was nothing if not precise. When she reached five, her toe bumped something. She leaned forward and patted nubby-textured cushions with her palms. She collapsed onto the sofa, realizing for the first time how grubby and miserable she felt. Sand coated her feet. Her lips were parched from salt water, as was her skin, with the exception of the clammy area covered by Mitch’s wet shirt.

“I couldn’t find a flashlight or any candles,” Mitch said when he returned. “But here’s my robe, a dry shirt, and a pair of shorts. Where are you?”

“Here.” The clothes hit her face then fell around her.

“Take whatever you want.”

“Would you mind if I borrow your shower? I itch.”

“Help yourself. I’ll lead you to it.”

Scooping up the clothing in one arm, Claire probed for Mitch’s hand with the other. Her fingers landed upon his stomach instead, her thumb settling atop his navel. The skin there was warm—smooth, firm, and dusted with coarse hair. She snatched back her hand. “Oops. Excuse me.”

“No problem,” Mitch muttered, his voice hoarse again. His hand covered hers. “Ready?”

Ready, willing, and able.
Stunned by the direction of her thoughts, Claire reined in her galloping libido and silently scolded herself for her brief escape into fantasy. Not only was Mitch a stranger, but she’d made a decision, a promise to herself: she would do whatever it took to bring James back to his senses…back to her. And though becoming more bold and daring and exciting might help her to recapture her fiancé’s interest, she didn’t think James would like her taking an eyes-closed, headfirst plunge into temptation with Mitch Talbott.

True, James might very well deserve a taste of his own medicine, but she liked to think she was above using a man like Mitch for petty revenge.

Chapter Four

When Aphrodite finished in the bathroom, Mitch took a shower. A cold one, though the tank held plenty of hot water. Making his way around in the dark searching for soap and shampoo was a trick. Dressing was no easier feat. Somehow he managed to locate his first-aid kit in the medicine cabinet. He took it with him to join his guest on the couch. “Let’s look at that cut. Put your leg in my lap.”

After she removed the towel she’d wrapped around her heel, he felt her shift sideways to comply. Mitch skimmed his fingers down her calf. “Guide my hand to the spot.”

She grasped his fingers and slid them to the sole of her foot. “Right here. Careful. Ouch! That’s the spot.”

“I’m going to use some disinfectant. It might sting.” Mitch kept one hand on her foot while he fumbled inside the kit for alcohol and cotton. He spilled half the bottle on his pants while attempting to soak the cotton ball. Finally he applied the cotton to the wound. He heard her quick intake of breath but continued. When he lifted her foot and blew on the abrasion to dry the alcohol, she shivered.

The darkness made the procedure seem all the more intimate, and he tried to concentrate on anything but her. The wind raging outside. The muted stutter of rain on the roof. The antiseptic odor in the air. Still, he noticed her foot was long and slender, her ankle small and smooth.

It took another ten minutes to rummage up a bandage and place it over the cut. That done, Mitch lowered the kit to the floor. “That ought to do until tomorrow. You might have the doctor check to see if you need a stitch or two.”

“Thanks, I’ll do that.”

They sat in awkward silence. Mitch smelled the fragrance of shampoo in her hair, the clean scent of her skin. “So…how are you faring in the game?” he finally asked.

“Okay. But I’ll have to do better if I’m going to win.”

“You don’t sound like you’re enjoying it.”

“It’s not something I’d sign up for again.”

“What? No prospects?” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Potential husbands, I mean.”

“You live to tease, don’t you? I admit it’s not working out like I expected. But, since I’m here, I might as well go after the money and the trip.”

“And if, in the process, you just happen to fall in love… You said that, too,” he reminded her.

“And you’re not going to let me forget it, are you?” She shifted. “What about you? You never told me why you took this job when you have such contempt for reality TV.”

“I’m trying to get in on a future Hawkeye project. A documentary Michael Hawkins is planning on filming in a remote area of Africa next year.” He braced himself for her laughter, waited for her to tell him he was wasting his time. He’d heard it all before. From his father and more than one girlfriend just before the door slammed behind them. Everyone knew Michael Hawkins hired only top talent when it came to his serious projects. The man had won Oscars for his documentaries. Who did Mitch think he was, anyway?

“How exciting,” she said, catching him off guard, bringing his chin up. “Any luck?”

“Not yet.” The weight of frustration he felt over that fact was becoming as familiar as his camera on his shoulder. “The guy’s hardly ever around, as you probably well know.”

“Not really. I haven’t paid much attention.”

“I think programs like
Eden
are only a means to an end for Hawkins. A way of financing the projects he’s really interested in pursuing.”

“Sounds as if the two of you have something in common then. You’re using
Eden
as a means to an end, as well.”

“So are you. The money, the trip, that heartthrob you just might fall for.”

“Here we go again,” she said with exasperation.

“You ever been married, Aphrodite?”

“No.”

“Smart girl.”

“I take it you have?”

“I came close once.”
Damn.
How had they maneuvered themselves to this subject? He’d rather pluck a nose hair than discuss his breakup with Sarah.

“Well, just because your relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean everyone is destined for failure. I assume staying unattached is top priority for you?”

“Exactly. No marriages, no divorces. It seems pretty simple to me. Which is why I just don’t understand all these people clamoring to get hitched.”

Mitch told himself it was stupid to be telling her all this when he could be instigating some fun and a little relaxation instead. Circumstances had provided him with the perfect opportunity. Pitch darkness, seclusion. An almost-naked woman. And here he sat, philosophizing about marriage.

“Let’s change the subject,” he said. “I’m boring you.”

“No, go on. You’re not boring me at all. I’d like to hear a man’s perspective on the subject of marriage.”

“Okay. Let’s just say that Sarah, my ex, wasn’t honest with me. I was upfront with her from the start about what I wanted to do with my life. She pretended to be okay with it. Until she had my ring on her finger, that is. Then she set out to change my way of thinking.”

“So, you believe that’s the problem with relationships these days? A lack of truthfulness?”

He nodded. “Not just these days. Since the beginning of time. A man and woman meet. They play up the good points about themselves and gloss over the bad. Or leave them out altogether. If there’s chemistry, they each say what they think the other wants to hear.” Mitch shrugged. “That’s the way it is. People should learn to accept it and not get caught up in all the romantic garbage.”

“I think you’re talking about your own experience, not people in general.”

Maybe so,
Mitch thought. He’d been given the shaft by more women than Sarah. Maybe he’d become cynical when it came to the man-woman thing.

“A lot of couples have honest relationships,” she insisted. “My parents, for instance. They’ve been together thirty years.”

“How do you know they’re honest with each other?’

“I can tell. It’s obvious.”

“Things aren’t always what they seem.”

A rhythmic beat competed with the patter of rain on the roof. Mitch realized her uninjured foot tapped the floor. “Okay,” she said, “let’s examine your theory. Suppose you and I just met.”

“We did.”

“But suppose there wasn’t a blackout. What if we could see each other and we were both attracted?”

Intrigued by the direction in which she guided the discussion, Mitch flexed his fingers. He waited a heartbeat, clenched his teeth, then placed a hand on her thigh. “Who says you have to be able to see someone to be drawn to them?”

Lightning flashed at the window. She jumped at the following crack of thunder, then quickly removed her foot from his lap. “Don’t be cute,” she said. “If we’d just met, liked what we saw and were both open to starting something, according to your theory, you’d tell me a favorable thing about yourself. Enhancing the facts a bit, of course. Then you’d avoid exposing anything unfavorable. Correct?”

Mitch grinned. “That about sums it up.”

“What’s one true thing you’d tell me about yourself?”

“Who’s your ideal man?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Answer mine first,” Mitch insisted.

“Let’s see. Tom Hanks’s sensitivity, an Abercrombie and Fitch model’s body, and Brad Pitt’s looks, I guess.”

“Okay. I’d hold the door open for you, pull out your chair, then tell you I’m a muscle-bound, bronzed blond with a scruffy five o’clock shadow.”

“No fair,” she said. “I could see that for myself.”

“But you can’t now, can you?”

“This is supposed to be hypothetical, and that was supposed to be the honest thing you’d tell me. I can’t wait to hear what you’d avoid.”

Mitch scratched his chin. “Well, if I were attracted to you, and
if
I reacted like most men, I’d probably be smart not to tell you what we’ve already touched on.”

“Refresh my memory.”

“I don’t think I’m long-term material when it comes to becoming involved with the opposite sex.” Which was why he’d been dumped so many times, he guessed. “Women want forever. Stability. A home. I want to traipse around the world with my camera. And basically all I own right now, all I care to own, fits in a suitcase. Women don’t usually like to hear that sort of thing.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Some women are turned on by a challenge.”

He leaned closer to her. “Speaking for yourself?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Enjoying himself, Mitch grinned. “The fact that women like a challenge is exactly what I’m talking about. Sarah didn’t care what I wanted; she only cared about changing me into what suited her.”

“Sarah’s not every woman.”

“And you’re not making sense. First you plug honesty. Then you say women like a challenge. For instance, a man who needs to be changed. In their opinion, I might add.”

“I didn’t—”

“Just a minute. It’s your turn,” he said. “In this hypothetical situation, what truthful bit of information would you reveal? Your name might be a good start.”

“I’d rather tell you about my business,” she said smugly, smoothly bypassing the bait he’d dangled. “My grandparents and their best friends started a feed and tackle store in Prairie two generations ago. Their children, one of whom was my father, inherited it. And now it’s mine. At least half of it is. I…” She coughed. “I have a partner.”

Mitch tried to imagine the soft, sweet-smelling woman beside him selling feed and tackle…and couldn’t. “Do you like the business?”

He thought he felt her shrug. “It’s what I do.”

“That’s no answer.”

She seemed to hesitate. “I’ve never really thought about it. I grew up knowing I’d inherit it. There was never any question in my mind that I’d make it my business.”

If anything, she sounded indifferent about her occupation. Mitch didn’t blame her. Feed and tackle wouldn’t thrill him, either. “So what would you lie to me about?”

“Lie to you?”

“Your hypothetical situation, remember? Where the two of us meet, etcetera, etcetera. You’ve told me one truthful thing about yourself. What would you lie about?”

“Nothing.”

“Not even your
name
?”
he asked, smiling.

She sniffed. “I don’t agree with your theory.”

“Come on. Surely there’s
something
you wouldn’t eagerly confess to a potential love interest.” When she didn’t respond, he asked what he’d been itching to know since he’d watched her strip on the beach. “How about an explanation as to why you were naked when I found you tonight?”

“I already told you I was swimming.”

“Most people wear a suit.”

“I like to swim naked. I do it all the time.”