She sighed to herself. Dammit. She loved rye now.
A rumbling sound came from behind them, likely from a paca or some other nocturnal animal, tearing their attention to the forest. Well, this is going to make for a fun night. Hopefully there weren’t any actual jaguars in this part of the jungle. Sightings were rare in the Lacandon Jungle, but the giant ferns and wild elephant-ear plants surrounding them made the perfect habitat for them to stalk their camp overnight.
They both turned back to face the fire, catching each other’s gazes for the briefest of moments. The flames were reflected in his glasses, but beyond them, a sadness hid behind his eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, to tell him this was silly, but he quickly tore his gaze away from her and resumed his fire entrancement. The croaks from the frogs, the babble from the river nearby, and the hoots and calls from the other forest creatures couldn’t compete with the deafening silence between them. Yesterday was all but a distant memory at this point.
A drop of water hit Corrie’s nose and she peered up at the sky. Was that . . . rain?
“Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?” he asked, as if being pulled out of deep thought.
“A raindrop.”
He looked up, darkness shrouding the sky above through the thick cover of the trees. And blink.
“Shit,” he said as he searched for cover.
Another drop. Then another. A shower was inevitable.
They both stood, hustling to put their gear away, before Corrie rushed over to the tent. Ford, on the other hand, grabbed a blanket and put it over his head.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying not to get wet.”
For a brief moment, she debated her next words. But regardless of everything that had happened earlier in the day, she didn’t really have any choice other than to speak them.
“Ford, just sleep in the tent with me.”
“No, I’m fine.” Stubborn, like she would have been.
“No, you’re going to get drenched. Come on. Before I change my mind.”
He stared at her for a second before hurrying over to the tent mere seconds before the rain came pouring down. The rain hit the tent in a thunderous clatter as they barely made it in without getting drenched. Again. But the small, one-person tent really didn’t have enough room for the two of them, especially not when one of them had shoulders like Ford’s. They twisted and turned, shifting their bodies to get situated. Bumping knees. Clocking their heads. But finally, after a minute of flurried movements, they found a comfortable-ish happy medium, with both of them on their sides facing away from each other.
The heat built between their bodies, though. Like that two-inch space between them was a fiery inferno that they were both avoiding, for fear of getting burned. But it took all her might to keep her distance.
“God, it’s loud,” she said, more to herself than to Ford.
But he responded anyway. “You’ll get used to it.”
No shit. Not like it was her first time in a goddamn tent in the rain. But no need to rev the ole argument engine again.
“Camp in the rain often?”
“Used to. I mean, not like a ‘Oh, hey, it’s raining, let’s go camping.’ But more of a consequence of going camping often.”
“Why’d you stop? Camping often, I mean?”
He paused and let out a quick breath. “Addison didn’t like camping.”
Oh.
The silence inside the tent was no match for the rain pelting against the rainfly. Or the questions swirling in her head.
“Why’d you and Addison break up?”
Another sigh.
“Do we really need to talk about this?”
“What else are we going to talk about?”
“We don’t have to talk about anything. We could just go to sleep.” She could hear the frustration in his voice.
“But it’s too loud to sleep.” Outside and in her head.
“I told you. You’ll get used to it.”
“Well, I’m not even tired.” She should have been, given all the physical exertion from the day. But her mind was too wired with Ford close to her. “Are you?”
Nothing. No answer.
And then a simple, “No.”
“Then let’s talk about something.” She turned over to her other side so she faced Ford’s back.
“Now you want to talk?” He flipped onto his back, her breasts now barely a hair from brushing against his arm, and then he looked at her. “Again, you realize you want to talk now that it’s on your terms, right? When I wanted to talk, you blew me off.”
Why did he have to call her out like that?
“Fine. Then go ahead. What do you want to talk about?”
“What’s the deal with you never accepting help? Why do you always have to be the doer?”
Hmm. Maybe she didn’t want to talk. She bit her lip and stared at him, even though she could barely see him in the darkness of the storm.
“Mm-hmm,” he mumbled, straightening his head and closing his eyes, “That’s what I thought.”
He folded his hands atop his stomach as if he weren’t bothered one bit by the fact that they were sleeping together. Could he seriously close his eyes and doze off?
Ugh. He was winning. He might not have been trying to win, but it didn’t matter. He was getting what he wanted—silence. Well, Corrie didn’t want silence. She wanted to talk. And if that meant she needed to be the one doing the talking, then so be it.
“I don’t want people to think I’m weak. Like I’m some featherbrained, helpless chick. I want people to respect me.”
“I’m sure people respect you,” he said with his eyes still closed.
“Not in the same way they respect you. I’m the real-life archaeologist with the tits.”
His eyes opened and he tilted his head toward her, one brow raised. Now she’d gotten his attention. Tits usually did. And that was the problem.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”
“What, you mean because of that magazine article?” he asked.
Case in point.
“Like I said. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”
“I mean, not that exact phrase, but . . .”
“Then what have you heard? Let me guess. ‘I know a bone she can search for.’ ‘I’d like to uncover her temples at Lake Titicaca.’ ‘Dr. Socorro Mejía, PH Double Ds.’ I know what men say about me, Ford. I’m not oblivious.”
“Hadn’t heard the Lake Titicaca one. Gotta admit, that one’s pretty clever.”
“Oh my God, you’re such an asshole,” she said, shooting up and searching for her shoes.
He sat up, though, and pulled her back. “Hey, hey, I was kidding. You’re always making sex jokes and I thought . . . I thought maybe that would take the edge off. But that was in poor taste. I’m sorry.”
“I make sex jokes because I’m comfortable with my sexuality. Or, I don’t know. Maybe I do it as a defense mechanism. And I talk like that with you and Ethan because we know each other. But I don’t talk about sex or make jokes around other people. I’m not some sex-addled hornball. I do have a brain.”