Dan All Over Again: Dan All Over Again / The Mountie Steals A Wife. Barbara Dunlop
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Pam’s earlier words.
He stalked up to her and pressed his wet, cool body against hers. If it was so cool, why was heat creeping through the layers of skin and muscle and zinging right into her bloodstream?
“I ought to throw you over my shoulder, take you down to the cabin and show you how cute I am,” he said in a low, husky voice that raised her temperature even more.
She looked up at him, all blustery with water dripping from his mouth. One drop landed on her own mouth, and she licked it off. Salty.
He lowered his head, and another drop landed on her lips. “I ought to kiss that look right off your face.”
The thought of that knocked her off-balance. Instead of the sober look she’d intended, a giggle erupted.
“Think this is funny, do you?”
She took a deep breath. “I can’t remember when I’ve had so much fun.” Well, she could, but she wouldn’t, no way, uh-uh. “So, you going to show me how to fish or what, mister fishing god captain manly man?” She tried to pull the fishing rod between them, before she did something impulsive, but it snagged on something.
“I’m trying to decide whether to throw you overboard for shark bait or—”
“Er, Dan?”
“Don’t interrupt me. I’m trying to think up a juicier alternative.”
“But, Dan…”
“I know, I’ll tie you up with dental floss—”
She tugged again. “As much as that thought titillates me, there’s something you should know.”
“And then tickle you with seagull feathers—”
“Oh, Dan,” she said in a singsong voice.
He hovered above her, too close for her own comfort. She ripped her gaze from that mouth that had once kissed every inch of her body, that without words told her he wanted to do it all over again. She blinked, then backed away a few inches, breaking eye contact altogether.
“Give me the pole,” he muttered, yanking it from her grasp. The sound of fabric ripping stopped abruptly as his face contorted in pain. “Ouch!”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, but do you listen to me, no, you just stand there dripping on me and threatening me with becoming shark food or fulfilling some kinky dental-floss-slash-feather fantasy. I wonder what your dentist would think of that? What I was trying to tell you was the lure was stuck on something, and obviously that something is you, so let me remove it before you spear yourself.”
“Too late. I think you were put on this earth to drive me crazy, you know that?”
“Be quiet so I can operate.” When she traced the fishing line, she found herself giggling again.
“I suppose you find humor in hooking my butt.”
“And ripping a three-inch tear in your shorts.” Another giggle, this one high-pitched. She tried really, really hard to look sober this time. “I can’t help it if I hooked…the wrong fish.”
He slapped his hand over his face. “You really know how to make a guy feel like a—” he narrowed his eyes “—fishing god captain manly man.”
Another giggle erupted. Oh, this was bad, really bad. If she couldn’t control her laughter, how was she going to control the hot, heavy feeling swirling inside her? “It’s a gift, what can I say?”
“Are you going to unhook me, or what?”
“Betcha I win with the biggest catch. Uh-oh, you’re bleeding.” A tiny spot of blood marred his shorts. She started the delicate process of extracting the hook from the fabric. “I’d have thought your underwear would have given you an extra layer of protection.”
He shot her a backward look that reeked of sheepishness.
“You’re not wearing underwear?”
“I’m behind in laundry.” He shrugged like a little boy caught with his finger in the cake icing. “At five in the morning, underwear’s not a big concern.”
“Oh, gawd.”
“And you get to patch me up. Good thing you brought those bandages.” He nodded with boyish satisfaction.
“Oh, no, I’m not putting a bandage there!”
“That duty always falls to the fishing goddess, and that’s you. Besides, I won’t be able to see what I’m doing.” He turned to face her, taking the lure from her hand and hooking it to the fishing pole eye. “Want me to throw you over my shoulder and take you down to the cabin?”
“Uh…no! Okay, okay, I’m going already.” She grabbed up those treacherous bandages and followed him into the cabin. “Dan! What are you doing?”
He was standing there with his shorts dropped to his ankles, glistening back and pale, bare butt facing her. He started to turn around to answer, but she quickly reached out and placed her hands on his wet back.
“Don’t…turn around.”
At a yipping sound, she turned to find both Thornton and Sammy standing in the entranceway watching them with great interest, their tails wagging. “Oh, go away!”
He started to turn around again. “What’d I do?”
“Not you!” She kept him firmly in place. “Where’s your disinfectant?”
“It’s in that little cabinet over the sink.”
After getting the bottle, she took a deep breath and lowered herself to the height of his derriere, cloth in one hand, bandage in the other. The skin was smooth and the white buns perfectly formed. She swallowed a sigh and applied peroxide and then the antibiotic.
“Ouch!”
“There,” she said, slapping on the bandage. “Now put your shorts on.”
He started to turn around again, but she stopped him just in time. “Before you turn around!”
He yanked up his shorts and turned. “What’s the matter? As I recall, my manhood was being called into question earlier. Don’t you want to see evidence to the contrary?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Been there, done that, got the T-shirt. I’m going up and hook myself a real fish.” With a lift of her eyebrow, she launched herself back to the safety of the open deck.
Dan was tucking in his shirt when he emerged, wearing a different pair of shorts. To her ultimate mortification, she heard cheers and applause. She scanned the boats in the area and saw men raising their arms in victory.
“Way to go, McDermott!”
“The fishing god knows how to catch ’em!”
Dan puffed up his chest, an enormously cocky grin on his face. “Well, what can I say? She couldn’t wait to get her hands on me.”
She made a sound of frustration, grabbed the pole and flung it forward. The lure whipped past Dan’s face and dangled mockingly at the end.
“Whoa, babe, let me show you how it’s done. No need to hurt anyone. Again.”
The world “babe” echoed nicely in her mind. “I suppose you think that was my fault, too.”
“No comment.” He came up behind her and put his fingers over hers. “Pull this down; that releases the line. You need to hold it with your finger here, nice and tight, so when you rear back, it won’t go flying. We call that premature ejac—uh, never mind. When you cast, release it at the farthest point of thrust.”
Like she could think with his damp, hard body pressed up behind hers. “All right, I’ve got it.” She shook him away. All this talk about showing her how it’s done, premature ejac—she laughed,