Chapter 3
Monday morning, Shanna pulled her rented SUV into the new meeting location Nash had texted to her last night. She spotted Kevin waiting on the side of the Park & Ride lot off Highway 41. He sat on a blue cooler on the grass, a black ball cap shading his face, white T-shirt showing off his tan biceps and forearms, and olive green cargo shorts covering his muscled thighs.
Her pulse skipped, then raced at the sight of him, an annoying response that had only gotten worse after their one-night-stand. Somehow, she had to get her stupid heart to sync up with her mind.
As she braked to a stop, she frowned at the pile of stuff at his feet—or more like, lack thereof. He should’ve had a tent, sleeping bag, their camp stove and other cooking supplies.
Maybe something had changed?
God, she hoped so. A whole week having to pretend like their night together didn’t haunt her night and day was going to be torture.
She put the car in park and stepped out into the August heat as he rose to his feet. Unfortunately, now she spotted a backpack and sleeping bag behind the cooler. Nothing had changed. Damn it.
“Where is the rest of your gear?” she asked.
He reached up to adjust his cap as he retorted, “Good morning to you, too.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Seriously. Where’s the gear?”
“I got all I need.”
Selfish jackass. Irritation sparked as she thought about everything she’d purchased—and then some. Thank God she’d ignored the list and bought her own tent so she wouldn’t have to share with him.
“What about what we need?”
“I figure you aren’t going to last a day out in the woods.” His hazel gaze swept down over her new red tank top, khaki shorts, socks, and hiking boots. “Maybe two tops, so we’re good.”
She gestured to his meager supplies. “With what you’ve got there, you’re the one who won’t last.”
He smirked before turning to sling his backpack onto one shoulder. “A hundred bucks says I can last longer than you.”
She wanted to tell him to go screw himself, but had a better idea instead. “You’re on.”
Surprise flickered in his expression as he faced her, his fingers wrapped around the strap on his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Hell yeah. But I say we make this more interesting than a measly hundred bucks.”
“Name the amount.”
“I’m not talking about money.”
Wariness flickered in his gaze. “Then what?”
“Whoever cries uncle first quits.” Her chest tightened at the idea of not seeing him again, but she couldn’t go on like this anymore anyway, so what would it matter? And honestly, she might just be testing him, too—not that she really wanted to admit that.
He gave her a look like maybe the summer heat was messing with her head. “That’s literally what crying uncle means.”
“I mean quit NWR Investments. As in the loser leaves the company…for good.”
“Oh.” The clarification drew his eyebrows down in a frown. “That’s extreme. And not really fair to Nash.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Nash threatened to fire us both if we didn’t do this dumbass challenge of his, so who cares if it’s fair to him?”
His lips twisted as if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her, but couldn’t really argue, either.
When he didn’t respond, she arched an eyebrow. “Scared you’ll lose?”
“Of course not.”
“Well, then if you’re so sure I won’t last, what do you have to lose? Look at it as your chance to be rid of me.”
Did he hate her enough to accept the wager and risk having to leave his job?
His gaze met hers for a brief second, then shifted away. Her pulse skipped at the indecision in his expression.
Finally, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Good point. All right then. Whoever quits has to quit NWR.”
Yes, he hated her that much.
Well, don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to.
Ignoring the tightening in her chest again, she stuck her hand out to shake on the deal. “It’s a bet.”
His gaze flicked down. Then he dipped his head to spit in his palm before reaching for her hand. Shanna grit her teeth to suppress her grimace. Great, she’d just given him license to be even more of a jackass than usual.
Exactly why she needed to get away from him.
But she wasn’t a quitter, and she sure as hell wasn’t leaving her job. She’d take whatever he dished out, and give it right back.
Before his fingers could grip hers, she jerked her hand away. His lips curved up in a triumphant smirk—until she spit in her own palm and fit it against his.
As she curled her fingers around his hand in a firm grip, she smiled. “I am going to kick your ass.”
He’d made a mistake.
A big mistake.
A great, big, huge, colossally foolish mistake.
Underestimating Shanna Rogers was akin to shooting oneself in the foot because you stupidly kept your finger on the trigger while holstering your gun. Only idiots did it, and they got exactly what they deserved.
Kevin pulled his few things from the back of Shanna’s SUV and carried them down to the water’s edge by the canoe that had been left for the rest of their journey. Beneath the shade of his cap, he squinted his eyes against the glint of mid-morning sunlight on the water. According to the directions from that meddling old codger, Butch, they were to paddle across the lake, through a narrow channel connecting to another larger lake, and locate their private campsite on the opposite shore of that lake.
He couldn’t remember the name of where they were, but it was more remote than he’d expected. They weren’t staying in an actual campground with other people as he’d assumed. The vehicle—his planned replacement ‘tent’—would not be within easy walking distance. Or even paddling distance.
Worse, Shanna had packed enough supplies for a friggin’ month. The woman had even brought half the things from his list, though they hadn’t been given copies of what the other was supposed to buy. She’d obviously done some research, while he’d simply banked on her being too prissy to handle more than a day in the great outdoors.
That’s what you get for underestimating a brilliant woman. Nash warned you.
His lips twisted with wry acknowledgment while he picked up his cooler to set it on one of the canoe seats so he could climb in. The boat rocked wildly beneath his feet, sending ripples out across the water as he made a frantic grab for the sides to steady his balance.
He thought he heard a muffled snort behind him, but didn’t risk letting go to look back. Once he had his equilibrium set, he carefully transferred the cooler to the back and then made his way back onto shore for the rest of his things.
Shanna carried her third armload from the vehicle and set it down. “You’re not even going to offer to help me?”
“Help you kick my ass?” He scoffed and swatted a mosquito that landed on the back of his neck. “Nope. Don’t think so.”
Her gaze narrowed. “So, every man and woman for themselves?”
“You set the stakes, not me.”
“Okay.” She lifted her hands and backed away. “You’re right. I got it.”
Forcing his gaze away from her shapely ass when she turned back toward the SUV, he stepped into the canoe with his backpack and sleeping bag, having to steady himself against the rocking with one hand on the side again. Now that his things were loaded, he’d let her finish with her mountain of shit, and then she could push off. No way was he getting his feet wet.
Kevin started to swing his gear from his shoulder to the floor of the boat when an ear-piercing scream jammed his heart up into his throat. Alarm jerked him up and around. He caught a glimpse of Shanna, but before he could see what had happened, the violent rocking of the canoe flipped him over backward into the lake.
Water closed over his head, and he came up sputtering, scrambling for purchase on the mucky bottom. Thankfully, it was only about two feet deep, and he surged up, swiping water from his face as he searched for Shanna.
She stood halfway between the shore and the vehicle, no signs of fear or harm to her person. She had one arm crossed over her stomach, and her chin tucked down to her chest as her other hand covered her mouth—to smother her laughter.
Apprehension morphed into irritation as he stood there coughing water from his lungs, hair and clothes dripping, and his only pair of shoes buried in a half-inch of mucky sand on the lake bottom. The crazy-ass witch had screamed just to make him lose his balance.
He fisted his T-shirt and pulled the sopping wet material away from his skin. When he released it, the cotton suctioned back to his stomach. With the mid-morning heat, the cool water would have been refreshing—if his feet weren’t stuck in muck.
And he had sand in his underwear.
Up on shore, Shanna gave up even trying to hide her delight. Her laugh was infectious, and with that gleeful grin on her face, she went from beautiful to gorgeous. His anger faded into grudging amusement. Imagining what he must’ve looked like as he went ass over teakettle, he bit back his own wry smile while turning to look for his hat. His cooler floated off to the right, mocking him with each bob.
Well played, Princess. Well played.
“Don’t let the paddle float away,” she called out behind him.
Or his sleeping bag. His soaking wet sleeping bag.
He tossed the sodden roll of material into the canoe, swiped up his hat, and—where’d his backpack go? There. Sunk in the shallows. He lifted it, and water poured out through the zipper that held in his extra clothes and toilet paper.
Then he remembered his phone in the front zipper pocket.
Son.Of.A.Bitch.
Unfortunately, with the bet cemented by their combined spit-shake, he had no choice but to make the best of it.
As he waded after the paddle, he thought about letting the damn thing go and saying it was hers. But that would mean he’d have to do all the work to get them across both lakes.
She’d definitely won round one. Or maybe that was two, considering the wager she’d gotten him to agree to?
Devious, brilliant minx.
He was so screwed.