Forget the butter. He didn’t need it. Licking the rainwater from her would do in a pinch.
“I’m getting into the back!” he yelled over the rumble of thunder and the rattle of the raindropsatop the truck’s roof.
“Don’t be an idiot! You’ll freeze your ass off. Get in the front. I’ll sit on your lap.”
The image of her cute ass snuggled tight into his crotch had his silly pecker begging,Oh, abso-bloody-lutely. Luckily, his mind had the right of things and was quick to interrupt with,Oh, no sodding way in hell.
He shook his head. “I’ll be fine! It’s not that far to—”
That’s all he managed. She hopped from the truck and stomped toward him through gathering puddles.
“For the love of Nellie Fox,” she grumbled. She was always calling on the love of some White Sox baseball player or another. Christian wouldn’t know any of them from Adam. He preferred cricket and football—even though he’d lived in the States for years, he refused to call it soccer. “Stopbeing a damn fool, and come get in the damn truck!”
Before he could argue, she had him by the sleeve of his drenched coat and was hauling him toward the open door. He barely had time to shrug out of his rucksack and toss it into the truck’s bed before she gave him a shove that was surprisingly strong, considering she probably weighed less than nine stone soaking wet.
Rusty grunted whenChristian piled in beside him. Christian was far from a small man, but Rusty was even larger. They were trying to figure out how to get their shoulders to fit side by side when Emily hopped onto Christian’s lap and slammed the door shut.
The loud cacophony of falling rain became a low drumming. With four big, burly men occupying the vehicle, the cold air began to heat. The smell of wet clothesand soggy leather boots quickly permeated the entire space.
“Punch it, Angel,” Emily said.
The former Mossad agent didn’t hesitate. He laid on the gas, and the truck puttered to life, picking up speed one cranky shift of gears at a time.
“Well,thatwent better than expected.” Emily adjusted herself into a more comfortable position that, yeah, you guessed it, had her delightful derrieresettling directly over Christian’s crotch.
God, if you’re up there, now would be a brilliant time to give me a tad bit of help!All this time Christian had spent studiouslynottouching Emily, and suddenly her ass was balanced atop his cods.
He closed his eyes and envisioned his old drill sergeant. The man had been beer-bellied, bald, and odious at dental hygiene. Not to mention that he’dhad a series of unfortunate moles beside each eye, and one rather large one to the left of his nose that had sported a wiry, one-inch hair.
Keeping the vision firmly fixed in his mind, Christian began to recite the prime numbers. Given it would take more than an hour to drive from Port Isaac to Cornwall Airport at Newquay, he figured it was as good a mental exercise as any.
He had workedhis way up to 1,019 when Emily began to squirm, much to the enjoyment of the very thing he was trying desperately to distract.
“Bloody hell,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “This drive will be interminable if you keep up with that.”
Her wet hair dripped close to his face, forcing him to breathe through his mouth lest he get a head-spinning snoot full of the exotic shampoo she used.
“Sorry,” she said, still squirming. “It’s just that my knees are jammed under the dashboard and— Oh!”
There was nothing for it. He had to stop that infernal wiggling, so he pulled her tight against his chest. “There. Is that better?”
For his efforts, he received a mouthful of her soggy hair. Sputtering, he pulled out the sodden strands, then gathered up her hair and swept it forwardover her shoulder. His fingers inadvertently brushed the side of her face. The moment they did, he felt burned. Branded. Her skin was so soft and hot and—
Oh buggering hell.
She glanced back at him and gifted him with that brilliant, hypnotic smile. “Yes, thanks. Much better, and—whoa! Uh, Christian?”
“It’s all that blasted squirming about,” he said since there was no way to disguisethe length of hard flesh that prodded her bottom. It was all her fault. He was only a man, after all. “Don’t take it personally.”
“Don’t takewhatpersonally?” Ace asked, craning around Rusty to look at Christian.
“The fact that he’s suddenly packing a pickle in his pocket,” Emily said. The woman was about as subtle as a herd of elephants.
“Only a pickle?” Ace frowned. “How very disappointing.Are we talking gherkin-sized or…” Ace left the question hanging.
Emily squirmed again, and Christian’s stupid pecker sang a rousing chorus of hallelujahs. “Knock it off,” he growled.
“I’m trying to determine the answer to Ace’s question,” she said sweetly. After one more wiggle, she told Ace, “I misspoke. It’s definitely more garden-cucumber-sized.”
