“Everyone found their partner?” she asked, scanning the room. Apparently satisfied, she nodded. “Good. Then it’s time to dive straight into training.”
A few counselors let out loud, dramatic groans. Leonie fixed them with a mock-glare, though one corner of her mouth quirked in wry acknowledgement.
“Yes, yes, I know. You all thought you were coming to camp, not school.” She tapped her clipboard. “But we have a lot of essential material to cover before the kids arrive. Later, we’re going to get into specifics about our activities and the unique challenges that you might face here, but this morning, we’re going to focus on something more fundamental. I need you all to give this your full attention. Without a doubt, it’s the most important part of your training.”
Right. Health and safety.By this point, Buck was almost looking forward to it. Surely even Honey’s proximity couldn’t make basic first aid sexy. Several hours of dull PowerPoints sounded like just what he needed.
“So in this session, we’ll be doing…” Leonie paused, and Buck could have sworn she looked directly at him, tawny eyes gleaming with mischief. “Trust-building exercises.”
* * *
Several hours later, Buck was in his own personal hell.
“A square,” he said, staring straight ahead. “A box. A Christmas present.”
“Buck, I haven’t even drawn two lines yet,” Honey said, exasperated, right behind him. “I’ll tell you when I’m done. Now pay attention.”
Like he needed to be told. Once again, she set the tip of one finger against his shoulder blade. His whole awareness focused down to that single hot point.
“It’s a truck,” he guessed wildly. “A car. A very square cow.”
“Buck.”
“It’s a beer bottle. Or a chainsaw.” Her finger traced a line of fire toward his lower back, and his breath hissed through his teeth. “A 1978 Ford Mustang. For the love of dog, woman, can’t you go any faster?”
Her finger stopped again, just above his last rib. “If you want to finish this exercise faster, maybe you should try actually drawing. Or have you forgotten you’re holding that clipboard?”
Buck had not forgotten. He was, in fact, extraordinarily grateful for the clipboard. It was his new best friend, unlike his pants, which were becoming increasingly uncomfortable. The clipboard was doing a sterling job at stopping Honey from seeing how verythoroughlyshe’d grabbed his attention.
“For heaven’s sake, you’re not even trying.” Honey pressed her finger harder into his lower back. This should not have been erotic, yet damn near made him snap his pencil in half. “All you have to do is copy what I’m drawing on your back. It’s not hard.”
“Believe me, it is,” he said under his breath. Before she could complain at him again, he scrawled three lines on the paper. “There. That’s what you’ve done so far. Satisfied?”
Honey leaned forward to peer at his drawing, which meant that her breasts almost, but not quite, brushed against his shoulder. Buck could have estimated thatalmostto the eighth of an inch. He tilted the clipboard a little higher.
“Huh,” Honey said, sounding surprised. “That’s spot on. You were paying attention after all.”
“You have no idea.” He would probably be able to draw those damn three lines on his deathbed, which was going to come a whole lot sooner through total loss of blood flow to his brain if she didn’t stop breathing in his ear like that. In desperation, he squinted at his cryptic sketch, trying to make sense of what she was trying to draw. “It’s a… table?”
“I said I wasn’t finished yet.” Honey straightened, which was a relief, and continued drawing on his back, which wasn’t. “Keep going.”
Gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw ached, Buck kept going. He dragged the pencil across the paper, echoing the slow, tortuous progress of Honey’s fingertip across his skin. Completing a neat, perfect square, she took her hand off his back, and for a glorious moment he thought his torment was at an end.
Then her finger came down again, like the vengeance of a thousand devils. He let out a guttural, involuntary noise.
“Ha!” Honey crowed as she traced a straight, careful line diagonally up from the top left corner of the square to the nape of his neck. “I knew it. You’re ticklish!”
“Really not,” he gritted out through clenched teeth.
“Oh, don’t you give me that tough guy nonsense.” Honey’s finger turned a corner, heading south-east. “I can feel you twitching.”
“Be grateful that’s all.” With a surge of relief, he recognized what she had to be drawing. His pencil raced ahead, completing the simple shape ahead of her maddeningly slow touch. “A house. It’s a house. At motherloving last.”
Honey pressed her free hand firmly down onto his shoulder as he tried to rise. “IsaidI’d tell you when I finished. I’m not done yet.”
“Woman, I already know it’s a house.”
“Yes, but this exercise is supposed to help us practice sensitivity and communication.” Honey ruthlessly sketched a door at the base of his spine, adding a little dot for the handle that sent a bolt of heat straight to his groin. “And it’s clear you need alotof practice.”
