Raiders of the Lost Heart(17)

“Well, what is that doing in there?”

“What do you mean, ‘What’s it doing in there’？ It’s my bag. I told you not to go in there.”

“Well, why didn’t you warn me?”

“I did warn you. I said not to go in there.”

“Yeah, but you could have said why.”

“Oh, really? What was I supposed to say? ‘Don’t go in there, Ford. That’s where I keep my vibrator’？”

“It certainly would have stopped me.”

She turned it on to make sure the fall hadn’t broken it. Bzzzzzzzzzz.

“Oh my God, what are you doing?” he asked, lifting his hands to cover his ears and turning away.

“Making sure you didn’t break it.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. What, am I supposed to wait until I want to use it only to then realize that it’s broken? If anyone should be embarrassed here, it’s me, not you. Man up, Ford. It’s just a sex toy. Lots of women use them. Men, too,” she then added with a quick purse of her lips.

“It’s time for me to go,” he said, failing to look in her direction.

Interesting. Note to Corrie: Ford was uncomfortable with this. In fact, his discomfort made Corrie more comfortable with the fact that her purple monster, or Barney as she liked to call it, was on full display.

“Well, have a good night, Ford,” she said, folding her arms with Barney still in her hand.

He glanced back at her one last time. “Good night. And don’t use that thing in my bed.”

Chapter

Four

A vibrator. She’d actually brought a vibrator on an archaeological dig.

How was he supposed to focus on the dig—or, hell, how was he supposed to focus on sleep—when his mind kept wandering back to Corrie pleasuring herself in his bed? On his sheets that he would presumably return to the following night.

It was bad enough that Corrie’s presence distracted him from the task at hand. He needed to get back his eyes on the prize mentality.

He needed this for his mom.

Fuck! He didn’t want to think about his mom. Not now while his cock ached, picturing that long, smooth contraption whirring through Corrie’s body. And worse yet? He couldn’t do anything about it, not with three other guys sharing the same tent.

Guess he needed some new surroundings.

Under the darkness of the jungle, Ford crept out of bed in the middle of the night, confirming no others were out and about before making his way to the bathing area for a cold shower. Finally with some privacy, he stroked his cock under the cool spray, needing to relieve the tension so he could get some sleep. Once he returned to bed, however, he kept having dreams about Corrie, thinking about how it had felt when she’d pressed her breasts against his arm. The fact that she hadn’t pulled away . . . well . . . Ford could only surmise what that meant. Based on the way her breath had hitched, he suspected she’d liked it as much as he had. Was that even possible?

When his alarm went off at six thirty, he could have sworn he’d just fallen asleep. Bringing Corrie here was proving to be a terrible error in judgment, even if just for the fact that her presence deprived him of much-needed sleep. He’d been erring a lot lately. He needed to get this morning over with. One way or another, it would solve his dilemma. Either she’d decide to leave—a real possibility after everything that had happened—or she’d hunker down and focus like the Corrie he’d known back in school. The one who wouldn’t let anyone or anything stand in her way. The one who was determined and brilliant.

And the one who was supposed to have been given this job in the first place, not Ford. Had that been the case, she might have already found what they were looking for instead of spending the last three and a half months playing in the dirt.

That one. He needed that Corrie so he could get home to his mom.

With sixteen people in camp—well, technically seventeen now—and only four TTs and three showers, mornings tended to be chaotic. Ford tried to catch fifteen more minutes of sleep before getting up, but there was no use. So he tossed on a pair of dark camel cargo pants, his beat-up and well-worn hiking boots, and an orange-blue-and-white-plaid long-sleeved hiking shirt and set out for the day.

Everyone else was about wrapped up with breakfast by the time Corrie finally waltzed into the tent, looking fabulously well rested and chipper as all get out. Unlike every other person in this camp, Corrie appeared to have stepped straight out of a salon, with her hair flowing in long waves halfway down her torso. But the put-togetherness didn’t end there. Her face was bright and cheery. If Ford didn’t know better, he’d think she had makeup on. But she’d never needed it. She possessed a natural beauty that makeup would only hide. Her white button-down was knotted at the waist and with the buttons open at the top, revealing a skin-tight tank top barely containing her breasts underneath. That, coupled with a pair of charcoal fitted stretch hiking pants that highlighted her curves, drew Ford’s—and likely everyone else’s—attention away from their meals and directly at the vixen entering the mess tent.

Now she’s fucking with me.

Except she wasn’t. That was just the way Corrie was without trying.

Plain and simple: Corrie was all that and a bag of chips.

And Ford liked chips. A lot.

Like a sprite, she floated to Agnes, then grabbed a cup of coffee and a granola bar before eyeing the bowl of fruit.