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  She shivered. Lust--she might have known. Show-off goosebumps speckled her body. Looking over her shoulder, Jen stared into a wide, tooth-flashing grin.

  "You have one... two... three--"

  "Don’t waste time counting, dopey, just get them off!"

  "Whoa! I don’t like that tone."

  "Then up your--Ah... please... could you get them off now?"

  "That’s better. Might make a polite lady out of you, yet."

  "I’m always polite... to humans."

  "Females who come charging to my door with complaints are not what I’d call polite. I think I’m owed an apology."

  "Forget it!"

  "Then get all those leeches off by yourself. I’m going back for my bath."

  Jen half-turned and, remembering his nudity, whirled back. "You wouldn’t go and leave them on me... would you?"

  "I don’t help bitchy women."

  She clenched her hands to fists and swallowed her pride. "Okay, okay. I’m sorry."

  "For...?

  "For rudely interrupting whatever you were doing."

  "And...?"

  "And complaining about your motorbike... er... cycle." You stupid beast, she thought.

  "That’s better. You have six on your back. Hold still."

  Jen gasped at the first tickle of salt hitting her back. There was something erotic about a naked male directing his full attention on her body.

  "There, all of those are gone. Oops! You have one down on your hip. Just a minute. I’ll have to pull the bathing suit aside. The leech must have crawled a bit when he landed, lucky fellow."

  "Where? You’re kidding me. Don’t you dare!" Believing he was pulling a fast one, she reached her hand behind.

  Slowly easing the fabric back on her buttocks with one hand, he grabbed her fingers with the other and slid them onto a squashy substance. She shook more from his sensuous touch than the feel of the icky foreign matter. Once she realized how she’d reacted to him she withdrew, groaning an expletive.

  He laughed and sprinkled on enough salt to convince the leech it was not a place it wanted to be. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" With her silence, he added, "Some people put a salt lick under the wharf a half-hour before swimming. These critters hate salt and leave."

  "I’ll get some tomorrow." She stabilized the tremors that rocked her nerves. "When I was in the water before, I always dove off the end and swam out, then went straight in to shore."

  "Where’s that mangy mutt of yours?"

  "He’s not mangy." Jen scanned the lakeshore. "Here, Spooks." The dog wormed out from under a pine bough, keeping his eyes planted firmly on the visitor.

  "Some brave dog you have. Has he anything going for him at all? He’s too scared of his shadow to be any protection for you."

  "There’s no one lurking around that I need protection from, except you. Besides, he’s small enough I can take him to work. Since I work all night, he’s great company. Are you finished with my body yet?"

  Mitch smiled as he looked her over. "Don’t I wish? You’re free of them. Here’s the shaker back."

  "Aren’t you embarrassed about being, you know, naked with me here?"

  "No. Actually it feels... ah... stimulating."

  "Don’t get too stimulated."

  "If you work at night, you should be used to not getting sleep, and my Harley shouldn’t bug you," Mitch snapped.

  "I’m trying to regulate my sleep pattern back to normal. I won’t be working at the job any longer."

  "Why?"

  "Personal reasons, Mr. Waverley."

  "Call me, Mitch, Jen."

  The familiarity of her shortened name sparked a tinge of annoyance, but he had helped her so she’d let it slide. She wouldn’t have to listen to it again because they wouldn’t be associating with each other, given the difference in their lifestyles. "Thanks for getting rid of the leeches, Mitch. I suppose there’s no sense in me trying to sleep after you’re done here... it’s about time for you to head out on your bike, ah... cycle."

  "Have you any antibiotic cream?"

  "I think so, why?"

  "Sometimes infection breaks out in the places where the buggers hold on. I’ll rub some on for you."

  "Oh." Jen looked up the lighted path to her cabin door. She was in a difficult spot. Seemed like she’d been in a lot of those lately, and only by running had she been able to get out of the last predicament alone. Look where that had led: straight into carousing with the biker from hell.

  Two

  Jen marched toward the cabin door, her eyes locked on the light from a single bare bulb. She didn’t dare turn and glance at the naked male padding up the path behind her. Spooky heeled obediently at her side but kept turning his head to watch Mitch. Why couldn’t the pup take a chunk out of him? Jen figured she’d soon have to start work on his guard-dog training. This stranger, with the impudent attitude, had loomed from out of nowhere. Any self-respecting canine would have warned her. The solitary hoot of an owl made her more aware than ever of her segregation from the rest of the world.

  "I see your screen door could use a man’s touch to fix it. I suppose I’m responsible for that, too?"

  Mitch’s sarcasm is getting old. It sure doesn’t need his help. Out loud, she said, "As a matter-of-fact, you are responsible. The door came off when your thoughtlessness forced me to pay you a visit. I’ll fix it tomorrow." She was about to spin on her heel and give him another piece of her mind but remembered his attire--or lack thereof--and thought better of the notion.

  Once on the porch, Jen steeled her spine. "I’m going in the bedroom to get the ointment. There’s a towel on the kitchen table."

  She slipped behind the bedroom curtain and, bracing her forehead against the wall, prayed the coolness of the blue-painted pine would calm her down. Her new run-in with Mitch hadn’t helped her disposition. With an exasperated sigh, Jen rubbed the back of her neck before rifling through the dresser drawers.

  After locating the medication, she rushed out and was brought up short--face-to-gonads. Mitch was standing by the door and hadn’t made any attempt to hide his jewels. "Haven’t you the decency to cover yourself with the towel?" Jen picked it up, strutted closer, and flung it in the direction of his privates. He caught it.

  "I thought you meant to use it on your sores."

  You’re not even embarrassed, are you?"

  "Frankly, no."

  She turned her back to him so she wouldn’t be forced to stare eagle-eyed at things that would make her flush deeper. "Would you mind wrapping the towel around you so I can feel comfortable?" While she waited for his answer, she rubbed ointment into the sores on her thigh.

  "Damn, you’re fussy. Haven’t ever seen a man in the buff, have you?"

  "Sure I have, but I don’t want to break into a laughing fit." His manipulation of the covering made her painfully aware of how intimately close he was.

  He ignored her poor humor and blew out pent up air. "Okay, it’s safe."

  She turned around and tried to ignore his thatched muscular chest, but the tingling in her nerves wouldn’t allow it. Her body’s unruly response embarrassed her. She swallowed a breath of trepidation and spoke faster than her normal easy rhythm. "The medicine works well on cuts. You don’t need much, a light rubbing will do."

  Mitch remained motionless. His slight smile and darting eyes made her wonder if he might be casing the joint. But what did she own worth stealing besides her laptop?

  "You sure like to give orders, don’t you?" His curt tone was more a statement than a question.

  "It wasn’t an order--just a direction." Jen concentrated on breathing steadily.

  "You’re used to giving ‘directions?’"

  "I am. I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t know how to use the cream. I was saving time. I’ll get a wet cloth from the bathroom. Go in the kitchen."

  "Another direction," he mumbled, shaking his head as he sauntered to the adjoining room. When she joined him, he pulled two stools from the
counter and positioned them under the ceiling light. "Sit."

  She sat with her back to him.

  Seated on the other stool, he reached around her and removed the facecloth from her hand. While he lightly sponged the blotchy patches, his breath drifted against her skin sending outlandish rushes of erotic pleasure into her corpuscles. Goosebumps appeared even though his hand hadn’t touched her flesh. With a supreme effort of will, she stifled yelps as he dabbed a minute amount of ointment on each sore, but she couldn’t suppress the moans when he smeared it in.

  "Is that soothing?"

  "Yes," she lied, hiding the fact that his touch percolated the blood in her veins. Soothing, she would like, but arousal by a hard-nosed ruffian like him was the pits. His crackly voice spiked every pulse point she had. It was almost impossible not to show that his nearness was driving her crazy. He would be amused by the uncontrollable tremors surging down her arms.

  "Okay. Turn around."

  She turned.

  "I see you can be trained," he said, wearing a ten-dollar grin. "There’s hope for you yet. Your mutt isn’t as smart."

  Jen frowned, then smiled. "I’ve been trying to train Spooky, but just when I think I have him on the right track, he rebels and lets me know I’m not the master." She glanced at the beige towel slung around his hips and imagined what lay beneath it. She looked into his watchful eyes and blushed. Just as she suspected. An obvious twinkle revealed his enjoyment of having her at a disadvantage. Frozen to her seat by his merriment, she felt his gaze as a physical caress. Her body stepped up the pace of her heart’s beat.

  "You may have trouble with this spot in front," Mitch warned pointing to her ribcage. "It’s inflamed already."

  "I can reach it myself."

  "Relax, I’ve got it." As he squeezed a dollop of medication on the sore, his knuckles touched the bottom of her breast. Accidental? Or was Mitch deliberately proving that even if Spooky could rebel during training, he wouldn’t allow her the same freedom. An ever so slight grin curved the corner of his mouth. It was deliberate, the scumbag. The fusion of heat deepened in her cheeks and she smacked his hand away. Mitch stood; his unguarded chuckle magnetized her eyes back to his.

  "Look, if I sounded nasty earlier, I’m sorry." She slid off the stool, her nervous fingers accidentally brushing against his towel. His towel came loose and slipped down his hip, exposing a tan where a bathing suit line should be. She gasped and stepped back two paces; her eyes rooted to the sight before her. "You hang out nude around here? Er... I mean you sunbathe with nothing on?"

  Mitch casually pulled the towel ends together and knotted them at his waist before they completely parted, then sat back on the stool. "I do, so it might be a good idea if you make lots of noise before you trespass on my property."

  "I don’t intend to go there again. I’ve been under a strain lately and came here to get away from people."

  "Trouble with a boyfriend?"

  "He’s no friend."

  "Want to talk about it?"

  "No!" She wished he would leave. She walked to the door; maybe he’d take the hint.

  "I see you have a computer." Mitch scraped back his stool but stayed on it, studying her set-up from his perch. "Do you go into chat rooms?"

  "No. They don’t interest me." Why am I lying to him? she wondered.

  "I’ve heard they can be entertaining but also addictive."

  "Are you a computer geek?"

  "No." He sniffed the air. "I smell paint."

  "I couldn’t wait to fix up this place. I painted the bedroom yesterday and planned to do the kitchen tomorrow. Now it’ll take me the whole morning to figure out how to repair the screen door."

  "I bet the bedroom looks inviting. Listen, I could come over and fasten the hinge back in place for you. It’s no big deal," he said, thumping one large foot on the floor.

  She raised her eyebrows, then jutted her chin. "No, thanks. I came here to learn to do things for myself."

  "Why bother? A man that meets your expectations will come along, and you’ll be able to ‘direct’ him to fix things."

  "That’s not apt to happen." She hesitated then added, "I guess you have a bad impression of me."

  "No more than you have of me. I’ll leave you to your peace and quiet, Ms. Murray. Enjoy it and don’t neglect that sore. Here, I’ll give you back your towel." He untied the knot.

  "Ah... k-keep it on... you can bring it b-back tomorrow. I don’t want you to catch a cold."

  ~ * ~

  "One hundred... ninety-nine... ninety-eight... ninety-seven..." Whoever came up with the idea of counting sheep? The promise of a full night’s sleep had excited Jen so much she couldn’t unwind her tense muscles. Or were the events of the past few hours holding her hostage?

  "Ninety-six... eighty-nine... eighty-five." Perhaps she might drift off if she focused her memory on the tanned body that could drive her into a frenzy, if she let it. No, that wouldn’t work, either. She’d seen more than enough of his over-sexed browbeating type at work. She often had wondered what attracted the women, who carried photos of their mates, to such brutish individuals living just within the legal limits of the law. Those types were always looking for a fast buck, always shirking their responsibilities and turning violent when life pulled its little quirks.

  The pesky memory of how his flat abdominal muscles contrasted nicely with his muscle-bound limbs caused her breath to quicken. She forcibly slowed it down. "Eighty... ah... eighty-five. Damn, I’ve lost count." Her toes curled tight. "Eighty-seven... eighty-six... eighty-five." Her toes relaxed. The rigidity of her spine eased when she thought of his white teeth flashing a grin and his leer showing appreciation of her figure.

  "Sixty-seven... sixty... sixty... six..."

  "Yip-Yip-Yip!" Spooky jumped from the bed and raced to the door. Jen’s eyes flew open. "What the hell...?" She froze.

  "Yip-yip-yip!"

  "Shhhh, Spooks. What’s out there?" Jen slipped out of bed and peeked around her bedroom door, not sure she dared venture further.

  RAP-TAP-TAP! RAP-TAP-TAP!

  "Who’s there?" Her sharp tone tried to hide her terror.

  "Open up...now! If you don’t, I’ll tear this inside door off the hinges, too!"

  "Quiet, Spooks! Mitch? What’s the matter with you?" She stepped into her slippers, grabbed her robe and ran to the door.

  "Open up, I said!"

  "I know what you said. I’m not opening until you tell me what’s going on. Are you hurt?" She slung on the robe and leaned her ear toward the door. Spooky’s paws clawed at the doorframe.

  "No! But you’ll be lucky if you aren’t."

  She jerked the door slightly ajar and peeked through the slit from behind the safety of a chain lock. "Is there a fire?"

  Mitch bulldozed in, broke the chain’s attachment and sent her flying back a few feet. "Where’s the light switch? I want to see your face when you explain yourself."

  Jen staggered but recaptured her balance and snapped on the floor lamp. The mellow glow illuminated his anger. Schooled to deal with hostility, her body automatically swept into her trained resilient mode--a practice she usually managed well, except for that one night at work.

  "Suppose you tell me--calmly--what I’m supposed to have done."

  "You let the air out of my front tire. Probably slit it for all I know. I need to get to the city."

  "I never touched your tire, but I sure thought about it."

  "You did more than think about it. I saw you standing beside my Harley, then you bent down. Now you’re going to have to make up for it." He advanced three steps toward her.

  "What are you jabbering about?" Jen stepped back three steps.

  "I have to be someplace. You’re going to lend me your car."

  "Oh no, I’m not!" She backed toward the bathroom door. "Not in a hundred years. It’s the first new car I’ve ever owned, and you aren’t going to wreck it."

  "Okay, have it your way. As a matter-of-fact, your coming with me mi
ght make things pan out better... if you keep quiet. You can drive me, or you’ll have more to worry about than getting to sleep."

  "Are you threatening me?" she barked, gauging her distance, wondering if she could make it into the bathroom and lock the door before he could stop her.

  "I am. Get dressed!"

  "You can’t make--"

  "Don’t tempt me!" Mitch moved five steps closer. "And wear the same sweater you had on earlier."

  She started backward again but suddenly realized that if she threw roadblocks in his way, he’d knock the door down with his brute strength and be angrier than ever. She stopped and held her ground.

  "Why?"

  "Just do it." Mitch motioned to her bedroom.

  Jen clicked her mouth and stepped behind the curtain. She debated whether to make a run for the window. The thought of him getting a real hold on her, madder than he was now, stopped her. If he’d intended to hurt her, he’d had plenty of chances. He wouldn’t have bothered knocking. With this reasoning, she was more curious than afraid. Where did he go at such weird hours? She snatched the sweater and a pair of jeans to wear over her underwear.

  His voice boomed into the swaying curtain. "Don’t put your hair up, I want it down. And pile on some makeup."

  Jen rolled her eyes. "Stop flinging orders!" She gritted her teeth and peeked around the edge of the curtain. "I only have lipstick, dammit. I don’t wear other makeup."

  "Tonight you do. Lather it on and smear some on your cheeks for color." His eyes speared daggers. The vitality of his belligerent command sent her reeling. She shook her head and ducked back.

  In her professional life, Jen restricted herself to sedate, tailored clothes. Here in the wilds, she’d felt free to dress differently, creating the illusion that she alone controlled her life. She’d hoped the newly acquired habit would be therapy and eliminate the hostility that shadowed her life. Nuts to that! Wearing the tight sweater had turned on this maniac, bringing a new kind of hostility. She crammed the sweater into her jeans. I should never have worn anything so revealing when I went over to Mitch’s. If I’d had control of myself, I would have worn a burkha. She looked down. Her clothing contoured and emphasized her bountiful breasts when tucked into the jeans that sheathed her hips. A few minutes later, Jen gathered her courage and, wearing the look he’d insisted upon, burst into the room.