It’s not even that I’m going to be stuck in the wilderness overnight, waiting for rescue.
It’s that for the next twenty hours or so, I’m going to be alone with Logan. Sleeping with him, even.
And there’s nothing scarier than that.
Because there’s a small, terrifying chance that I actually might like it.
I can only hope he doesn’t feel the same way.
CHAPTER TEN
When Logan comes back from the others, he’s carrying some matches, sticks, a few logs and a small white square.
“What’s that,” I ask, nodding at the square.
“Firestarter,” he says, placing it on the dirt in front of my feet. “Light this up and almost anything will burn. Found some relatively dry kindling as well. It won’t last all night but it will get us dried off. As long as the wind doesn’t pick up, the tarp will hold and keep us dry.”
I nod, biting my lip for a moment. “Have you ever been in a situation like this before? I mean, stranded in the wilderness kind of thing?”
“You think this is a regular occurrence for me?” he asks, cocking one brow as he eyes me.
I shrug. “Well you’re Australian, didn’t you hike into the outback and wrestle crocodiles on the regular? I’ve seen Crocodile Dundee you know.”
He watches me for a moment before getting all the kindling together. “You’re taking the piss, aren’t you?”
“When aren’t I?” I tease.
He places the white square in the center of the sticks and strikes a match. The second the match meets the square, it goes up in bright flames.
“Whoa. That stuff works,” I tell him.
He murmurs in agreement. “And to answer your question, yes I have been in situations like this before. In Australia. My brother is a tour guide out of Darwin. I may not be Croc Dundee—God forbid that bloody name is even mentioned in my country—but if anyone is like that, it’s him. He’s dragged me out on one too many adventures.”
“You have a brother?” This is the first I’d heard of this.
“Kit,” he says, adjusting the kindling so it will catch. “About five years younger. The same difference as you and Juliet.”
“He wasn’t at the wedding,” I note. Come to think of it, I don’t think any of his family was. It was just hard to notice since there were so many people there I didn’t know, thanks to the reach of my mother. Talk about wedding of the century.
“No,” he says. “He wanted to but finances were tough at that time for him and he wouldn’t let me pay his way. As for my parents, I only have my mum and she’s not doing so well. She’s suffering from a whole whack of autoimmune disorders and flying does a number on her.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. “I’m sorry. I had no idea…”
“That I even had a family?” he asks, glancing at me quickly before putting a few logs on the fire. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I reckon I know a hell of a lot more about you than you know of me.”
I want to argue that, even though I know it’s true. Still, I want to hear him talk. “Oh yeah? What could you know about me?”
He dusts off his hands and comes over, stooping under the blue tarp, the rain falling methodically on it. He settles down beside me, his long, strong legs to the side of the fire. His shoulder rubs against mine as he adjusts himself and my eyes are drawn to his neck, wondering what he would taste like. Probably mud.
“Well, let’s see,” he says, admiring the fire the way I’m sure Early Man did, proud that he has provided and ensured our survival. “I know that you hate being wrong.”
“That’s not true. I just hate it when you’re right.”
His face turns to me, the glow of the fire lighting up his profile. “So you admit I’m usually right.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Right,” he says slowly, a small smile teasing his lips. “I know that you’re a terrible singer.”
“A new discovery,” I concede, trying not to cringe over my rendition of “Kashmir.”
“I know that you’re not left-handed, but you put your fork in your left hand when you eat.”
He noticed that? “A minor quirk,” I explain. “Doesn’t mean you know me.”
“I know you would rather think the best of someone than the worst, and I know no matter how many times they disappoint you, it doesn’t make you jaded in the least.”
His eyes stay locked on mine, a thread of intimacy between us. How could he know that about me? I’d never thought of Logan as someone who watched me that closely. Sometimes it looked like he did, that intensity in his gaze, as if he was studying you, observing, taking you all in. Not quite like a lab subject, more as mystery to be solved. But even so, I assumed his thoughts were always on anything else other than me.
He goes on. “And I know that you’re damn good at your job. That’s one of the reasons I hired you.”
I frown, puzzled. “How would you know? Had I ever cooked for you before I came here?”
He nods. “Yes. You didn’t know it. I went into your restaurant last time I was in Chicago. It was around noon. I saw you back there in the kitchen, and I saw you work on it. Spinach fettucine with shitake mushrooms and parm. Best I’d ever had.”
I’m amazed. Floored, even.
“What…was Juliet with you?”