“Whatever you want . . . within reason of course.”
“Do we have to want the same thing?”
He shook his head. “Like I said, whatever you want. I’ll go first . . . if I win, I want that bra and panties you were wearing last night.”
That was it? Hell, Corrie would have given him those even without the wager. Not that she’d let him know that. Particularly not with what it was she wanted out of this deal.
“Dirty boy.” She hooked her fingers through his belt loops and pulled him closer. He needed buttering up for what Corrie was about to drop. She rubbed her hand on the outside of his pants and brought her mouth to his ear, sucking on the lobe. “If I win . . . I want my name listed first on every publication, museum plaque, history book, whatever it may be, as the person who discovered Chimalli.”
He pulled his face back, the strain obvious. Wanting to call her out for being absurd but not wanting her to stop massaging him. “That’s significantly more than what I asked for.”
“I didn’t make the rules, Ford. My proposal is reasonable. You can always ask for something else if you’d like. This,” she said, motioning toward her hand around him, “doesn’t constitute a handshake, so you still have time to change your mind.”
“Fine. If I win . . . I want you to do an interview where you are quoted as thanking me for giving you the opportunity to come on this dig.”
That. Little. Asshole.
She glared at him and took back her hand. “You realize that goes against everything that I believe in, right?”
“You realize it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re a woman, and everything to do with us and this decade-long grudge, right?”
“Yes, it does. We wouldn’t be in this competition if I weren’t a woman.”
“Okay, and you don’t think that the reason you want your name first doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I’m a man? It goes both ways, Corrie. But again, it’s the fact that you’re this woman. This woman who drives me up the wall and makes me want to rip my hair out at the same time I want to rip her clothes off. Now, are you going to take my wager or what?”
Under any other circumstances, her principles would win out. But Corrie didn’t have any intention of letting Ford win this competition. Meaning the risk of losing the bet was slim to none.
“Fine. But we need some ground rules. Rule number one, you can’t pull that I’m the boss bullshit on me and assign me to some menial task so that I’m never in a position where winning could be possible.”
“Okay. I can agree to that. Rule number two, no sneaking out alone. We come here together or we don’t come at all.”
“Is that an invitation, Dr. Matthews? Or perhaps another double entendre?” She waggled her brow.
“Hey, I’ve never been a fan of one-way orgasms.”
No, he certainly wasn’t. He’d proven that last night.
“Rule number three. When we’re at the site, we focus.”
“Okay. Then we need a revision to rule number one. I won’t pull that bullshit I’m the boss routine, but you have to respect that out here, I am the boss,” he said matter-of-factly. Which, fair. He technically was the boss. “I won’t assign you pointless tasks or purposely do things so you lose, but you have to do what I say. No arguing. No challenging my direction—”
“But what if you’re wrong? I mean, let’s face it, Ford. You were wrong more than once already.”
It was the truth. Had Corrie not challenged his decisions, they’d still be playing in the sandbox at the other site.
“I can acknowledge when I’m wrong, Corrie, and, yes, in those instances, I was wrong. But there’s a difference between being wrong and merely disagreeing. We can both admit that our scuffles are often more a consequence of our differences of opinion rather than one of us being truly incorrect.”
He had a point. Ford really was one of the smartest people she’d ever met. A true and worthy rival as far as competition was concerned. He just didn’t do most things the way Corrie would do them.
“Fine. Out here, you’re the boss.”
“And at camp.”
“And at camp? That means you’re the boss all the time.”
“No, at camp only when we’re with others. Rule number four, when we’re alone, you can be the boss.”
Corrie smirked. Can be? That was already a given.
She reached out her hand. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Dr. Matthews.”
They shook hands, each of them smiling as if they’d already won. But there could only be one winner, and she’d come out on top.
Chapter
Fourteen
A little competition never hurt anyone.
Unless you considered the fact that Corrie and Ford had been competing their entire careers, and, if he was really being honest with himself, Corrie had definitely come out on the losing end in the past—the Yale fellowship, Ford’s ranking as the top student in their class, and even the cheers for him that had drowned out hers at graduation when he’d crossed the stage seconds before her. But this time was different. Sure, they were competing against each other, but they really wanted the same thing—to find Chimalli. And the odds of success were looking good. If he had to give up first billing on any publications, then fine.
It would be a small price to pay considering the huge price these artifacts were going to fetch. And now that they were back to focusing, and now that they had a wager going, things were going to move a lot faster on the dig. Which only made the time waiting for those damn condoms to arrive excruciatingly long.
The whole crew seemed to be ready to go home. They even volunteered to work through the weekend. Though it might have been that everyone was eager once they uncovered an old grinding stone in the adobe house. It had been their first big find on the dig. It would definitely score Ford a few extra thousand in bonus money. Not the million-dollar reward he’d been promised for the tecpatl or the million-and-a-half-dollar reward if they found any skeletal remains, but with the luck they’d had, Ford would take whatever he could get.
But when they found a bowl and small hand-carved chest the next day, Ford’s skepticism all but vanished. At the pace they were working, it would only be a matter of days before they’d uncover the rest of it.
Everyone had been so excited they’d celebrated that evening with a toast. And he and Corrie had enjoyed a private celebration later that night, complete with cunnilingus, blow jobs, and the best titty fuck he’d ever had.
Once Monday rolled around—supply drop day—he’d stopped fixating on the inevitable. Fixating on whether she’d be disappointed after the wait. Sure, every night for the last five days they’d met in his tent late at night. She kept coming back, which must mean something. Though Ford couldn’t help but notice she never stayed. Sure, they’d agreed to keep what was going on between them a secret. The last thing they needed was for everyone to gossip about it, or for the investor to find out and question whether Ford was taking the dig seriously. And it was obvious that Corrie in particular was concerned about her reputation, which made sense given everything she’d told him about the rumors that had followed her over the years. But it would have been nice if she wasn’t always in such a rush to get back to her own tent after they fooled around.