Page 21 of Driving Him Wild

failing. The man couldn’t help but look at me every few minutes.

He hadn’t answered my question, though.

His gorgeous face had grown taut and forbidding, warning that my question about who had treated

him badly wasn’t going to be answered.

Yeah, I’d probably stepped over the line with that one. But, hell, wasn’t that one of my many flaws, according to those who branded themselves experts on me?

I summoned one of my ‘ice princess’ smiles as he approached. ‘Is this going to be an exercise on

who blinks first? If so I’m happy to throw in the towel. You don’t have to answer the question if you don’t want to. I’m happy to let it be.’

He stopped at the entrance of the tent, his gaze pinning me where I sat in the folding chair he’d

provided when he’d started setting up the tent. He’d firmly refused my offer of help, a move that’d stung a little more than I cared to admit. So what if I was out of my depth in this whole...snowy

outdoors thing, and I’d probably have got in his way more than helped? I could follow instruction. On occasion.

‘Are you?’ he asked, his voice a little stiff and that edgy look still on his face.

‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘I still want to know.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m a hopelessly curious creature, Mr Scott. I can’t help but wonder why a man like you would

consign himself to this wilderness for weeks on end.’

‘And you automatically assume it’s because of a woman?’

‘Isn’t it?’

Something flickered in his eyes, something that sparked a kindred light inside me. One that burned

brighter with every second he held my gaze.

‘Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,’ he muttered eventually. ‘But that’s all you’re going to get.’

I didn’t tell him, of course, that his little addendum had only fuelled the need for satisfaction. That need for resolution born of stubbornness and desperation that had brought me more heartache than I

cared to catalogue.

He ducked into the tent, emerging a minute later with a weatherproof bag he set down a dozen feet

away. In silence, he lit a camp stove and started dinner. When he handed me a cup of coffee five

minutes later, I answered with a smile. He stared down at me for a second longer than necessary

before returning to his task.

I sipped the coffee, groaning as the warmth chased away the worst of the cold.

That drew his gaze again, as if he couldn’t help himself. I hid a smile and finished my coffee, just as the aroma of pasta carbonara drifted towards me. Jensen dished out two bowls and held one out to me.

‘Thank you.’

He nodded, went into the tent and brought out a thick rug, which he tossed onto the ground.

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