Page 32 of Driving Him Wild

For a moment I was ashamed at my harsh rebuke, but even that emotion was swept away by the

wild panic at the thought of having offended him. I stepped forward. He turned away, his back stiff as he went to check on his equipment.

I opened my mouth to say what I wasn’t exactly sure just as the name he’d called me struck hard

and deep.

Princess.

He called meprincess. A predictable insult from someone who claimed not to read the filth and lies the media wrote about me. The world’s favourite derogatory term for me, but searingly painful

coming from Jensen. Anger mounted, and I stewed in my righteous fury, but beneath all that I was

totally confounded by how much his slur had affected me.

Why?

Because we’d rolled around in a tent for a few hours?

It was supposed to mean nothing. And itdid, I insisted to myself.

As passing time and work went, it hadn’t been a bad day. I’d seen three spectacular sights, been the recipient of two mind-blowing orgasms, and could now tick a traipse to the Arctic Circle off my

bucket list. Not bad for a twenty-four-hour jaunt.

First thing in the morning I’d order the chopper to come back and get me.

Jensen could complete his assignment on his own. If his work produced a less than satisfactory

outcome, I’d hire the next best person. He might think himself the best, but surely there was someone out there equally qualified.

With that thought in mind I turned towards the tent, but at the last moment, unable to resist, I looked over my shoulder. In his white gear, he should’ve blended into the landscape, but there was an aura about him, the type that made him impossible to miss. Impossible to ignore. Even in these final

moments of seeing Jensen Scott in this environment, I knew he’d be as unforgettable as he’d wanted to be.

The thought irritated as much as it disturbed.

Enough to trigger another unfettered response. ‘This ice princess needs her beauty sleep. I’d

appreciate not being disturbed when you come back in.’ Yes, it was a cheap shot, but I didn’t care.

Not when I zipped myself into the bag and immediately felt the lack of hard male body warmth

that’d helped me sleep soundly only a few hours earlier.

Not when he didn’t return for the better part of an hour, leaving my mind whirling, making me

wonder where he was, whether I was that loathsome that he would stay out in the cold rather than

share a tent with me.

Not when I felt another clench of my heart at the thought I’d screwed up something as simple as a

one-night stand.

The same way I’d driven my brothers away.

The same way I’d screwed up and sent my mother away from me at the age of nine.

---