“Okay then. Coop. Wanna dance?”
Arms halfway into his sleeves, he stuttered to a stop, turned fully, and squinted down at Angel Smith, his features tightening in disbelief. After their few stilted interactions, this woman wanted to dance withhimof all people?
He ignored the pull of that smooth stretch of lush-looking skin, the overly large dark eyes, and lips that had no right to be as plush as ripe fruit when everyone else’s were dry and flaky and shriveled up like old prunes.
“Dance?”Why?he almost asked, but that would open the conversation up to more—questions, discussion, even intimacies—and that was the last thing he needed.
She looked hesitant, like maybe she regretted whatever impulse had pushed her to ask in the first place. Good. Things were better that way.
“Of course not,” he finally said, doing his best not to notice the hurt in her eyes. He nodded once.
That done, he turned and pushed out into the cold night, where he blinked blindly at the sunlit sky and counted out his breaths, waiting for a sense of relief that never came.
It was Cortez, he thought. That was why he couldn’t seem to get rid of this tension.
He tromped back to the dorms and straight up to Cortez’s door. If he’d been thinking clearly, he’d have knocked lightly, but his brain felt scrambled, his cheeks overheated. The spot she’d touched on his arm itched like a rash, so he made a fist and pounded. “Cortez! You in there?”
“Who’s there?” The voice was scratchy and hoarse, the accent definitely English.
Relief washed through him like sun after months of austral winter. “It’s Coop. You, uh…” He sniffed, suddenly conscious of how paranoid he’d been. “You okay?”
A pause. “Why?”
“The blood, on the ice.”
“Nosebleed.” Another few seconds passed before Cortez coughed, hard, and went on. “Wouldn’t…stop.”
“Lot of blood for a nosebleed, man.” He saw the stain again, blossoming on the ice. It hadn’t been all that big, he supposed.
“Bloody Crud’s got me. I’m sick.” It was true, the Crud had hit Pole hard since the last group brought it from McMurdo. Out here, a simple cold could put a man down for a week.
“Right.” More hacking had Coop cringing and backing up a step. “Sorry to bug you.”
“No worries.”
Coop walked back to his room, annoyed at himself for blowing this thing out of proportion. Still, it took him a little longer than usual to fall asleep—and not just because he couldn’t get Angel Smith out of his head.
It wasn’t until hours later, just before his normal wake-up time, that his eyes popped open, the echo of two words running through his thoughts.
I’m sick, Cortez had said. Not ill,sick. Which didn’t seem British at all. And, damn it, but even down with a cold, something had soundedoffabout his friend.
He threw off the blankets, jumped from his bed, and dropped quickly to the floor to do his usual round of get-warm-or-freeze-his-ass-off morning push-ups before heading out to figure out what the hell was going on.
Chapter 4
Angelhatedthe silence.
That was one thing she wouldn’t miss. Well, that and the cold and the ice and being surrounded by miles and miles of nothing.
She hid her face in her pillow, the throbbing behind her eyes reminding her of everything she’d done last night. Drinking, dancing…embarrassing the living bejeezus out of herself.
If only she could stay right here.
Ugh, no. The whole crew expected breakfast and she’d stupidly told her staff to take it easy this morning, so she’d better get a move on. She groaned.
A long slow stretch beneath the blankets popped her joints and pushed through her knee pain before she reached for the clothes she’d shoved under the blankets last night. The dry skin of her fingers caught on the fleece of her leggings as she slipped her feet into them, then yanked them up over her long underwear. She struggled into one layer after another—merino wool, fleece, Gore-Tex—all of it blessedly warm.
Three…two…one.Now up. One cool lungful of air, then, as fast as she could, she added a second layer of socks, put her foot out, stuck it into a boot, then did the same with the other. She planted her feet firmly, tensed her thighs, and pushed to standing, gritting her teeth through the burn. Darned knee hated the cold.
