Raiders of the Lost Heart(35)

“For what?”

“For today. For listening. And . . . for caring.” His voice was soft and timid and his face sweet and sincere. Unlike the Ford who hours earlier had been yelling with frustration and on the verge of tears. Who was this man? Raw and vulnerable. Corrie almost wouldn’t have recognized him as the Ford she used to know if it weren’t for the way those emerald eyes warmed her body.

“Well, thank you, too. For trusting me and opening up. And for trusting in me. Trusting my professional opinion, I mean. You have no idea how difficult it is trying to get taken seriously sometimes.”

“You’re welcome.”

He stared at her for an impossibly long time. Excruciatingly long without his lips on hers. She searched his eyes as the pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles before he finally let go.

“I’d better get to work on this,” he said, clearing his throat and backing away.

“Right. I’ll . . . I’ll come for my things later.”

A slight sense of disappointment settled over her. Disappointment that had no right being there in the first place. A few hours of playful banter shouldn’t have been enough to make her overlook the years of contention. Oh, but it did. Especially when she saw him standing there with a look on his face that seemed to question the exact same thing.

“No snooping,” she added, giving him a side-eye and finger wag.

“I make no promises,” he retorted as she bounded down the stairs with a goofy grin on her face.

Chapter

Eight

Corrie’s bags were begging to be snooped in.

He was curious about what else she had in there. Like what kind of panties she wore. Her pants perfectly molded her curvy, round hips and ass. Did she cover them with plain, nondescript briefs? Or maybe not cover them with a thong? Or maybe they matched that bra of hers. Black. Lacy. Practically useless. Only there to make her feel sexy.

God. Stop it, will you? Who’s got the gutter brain now?

But how could he stop thinking about her after the afternoon they’d had? It was the most fun he’d had in years, leaving him with a sense of contentment that he hadn’t experienced since . . . since his father was alive. How did she do that? Yet another Corrie Mejía talent—the ability to release the contents of the bottle of emotions Ford had corked inside. And not only that. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to be free of his burdens. God, she really was . . . perfect.

Sharing that mug of rye had taken him right back to that night in the library. Would he ever be able to drink rye and not think of her now?

Rye? Check.

Coconut? Check.

Jamaican coffee? Check.

Black lace bras and purple vibrators?

Stop, stop, stop! Ford didn’t have time for this. If they were going to be heading out on a raft tomorrow, he needed to plan. Plot a route. Pack supplies. Strategize with the expedition team.

Bringing Corrie along wouldn’t help with the hard-on that felt ready to unleash at any moment, but he’d meant it when he said he really couldn’t scout new locations without her.

He stayed up late that night, plotting out their course and packing supplies. They’d take five people total in the pickup truck to the drop-in spot up the river. Jon, Guillermo, Corrie, and Ford to go on the actual trek. Lance would then drive the truck back to camp. He’d originally volunteered to go with them down the river, and as much as Ford would have enjoyed the friendly face, when someone had teased Lance for not being able to swim, Ford had told him he had to stay back. They couldn’t have that kind of potential liability on their hands in case the boat tipped over or he fell out.

By the time they got to the drop-in location, they’d likely only have time to paddle to the first potential dig site. The one that was the farthest from camp. For many reasons, Ford hoped that would be the site. It would mean not only that they’d found it and could start digging but also that his rafting plan had been the right call.

At least he could have one adventure before having to call it a day and pack for home.

From there, depending on how much light they had left, they’d either keep going or set up camp. The next day, they’d paddle to the other two locations before pulling out of the river at the third spot. It would be a bitch hiking from the river back to camp with all their gear, so they packed light—the barest minimum of tools, four individual tents that weighed less than three pounds each, and one small dry bag of clothes and essentials per person. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but comfort wasn’t exactly the point.

“Okay, Dr. Matthews, this is it. You can still change your mind,” Lance said as the rest of them unloaded the truck and pumped up the raft.

“We’re good, Lance. If we’re not back in three days, send someone to search for us.”

“Will do.”

They tossed any unnecessary items into the truck before Lance took off, and soon the four of them were all alone.

Ready for an adventure.

Ford had been rafting before, but he was hardly what would be considered a pro. And Guillermo and Jon had each been on a rafting trip, but never without a guide or an instructor. Unsurprisingly, Corrie knew a thing or two about rafting. Was there anything this woman couldn’t do? She went over a few techniques. Gave some other instructions. And then they packed up their raft and set out on the river.

She looked cute over there, sitting across from him on the raft in her khaki shorts and life jacket. Her legs had a smooth sheen to them. Ford could only imagine how soft they were and how comfy it would be to nestle between them. It was the most he’d ever seen of her skin, and he had a hard time looking away.