Free A Southern Star by Anya Forest Page B

him. “Blake, please. Thank you for what you did. It wasn’t necessary, but thank you.” His face relaxed slightly, but his eyes remained guarded. “It can’t have been big enough for you,” she added, smiling slightly as she saw Scott grinning at her, holding his flat hand out from just below his ribs, silently miming where her sleeping bag had reached on Blake’s body. Blake swung round, following her gaze, struggling not to laugh himself as he realised what Scott was doing.  
    Blake turned back to Christie, shrugged. “At least it wasn’t pink,” he said flippantly, deflecting her comment with humour.  
    Whenever I try to talk to him he jokes around, she thought desperately. And whenever he tries to talk to me I just clam up . She spoke with difficulty. “I didn’t want you to be cold for the entire week, I…” Her voice trailed off as she watched his face, acutely aware Scott and the other hunter were moving away.  
    Blake shrugged again, disguising his amazement at her early morning appearance simply to return his sleeping bag. “I would have walked over to the main hut this morning if I really needed it,” he said, not telling her he had in fact been about to walk back to the hunter’s hut to collect her bag before walking to the main hut to collect his. And to see her.
    Christie’s heart sank at Blake’s impersonal tone; silently, she acknowledged the gaping chasm between them. When he had appeared a few minutes ago she had felt faint with longing, seeing Blake for the first time in his khaki overcoat and hunting trousers, noticing the distinct stubble on his face. Even now her eyes strayed to the gun slung over his shoulder, realising she had never seen one before she had met Blake. “It’s not loaded. And the safety’s on anyway,” he said, seeing the direction of her gaze.  
    “Of course,” she said quickly. “I mean, I wouldn’t know what’s on the gun or not.”
    “The rifle,” he corrected softly, explaining the mechanics. Christie made another remark, instantly blushed as she saw the look on Blake’s face, realised the double meaning of her comment. “I’m not saying anything,” he said, obviously struggling to keep a straight face, his eyes teasing her. Christie’s sense of awkwardness increased; she remembered the other hunter’s comments, felt completely out of place even as she fought her attraction to Blake.
    Blake’s eyes narrowed as he watched Christie hunch her shoulders. He wondered what had upset her so much, to the extent that she could not, would not even gently flirt with him. And why should that be a surprise, he thought bitterly. She’s been cold to me ever since yesterday morning. At least, he added silently. “You should probably be heading back to meet Ian,” he said gruffly.  
    Christie nodded, defeated. “Blake, I—”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said, assuming she was going to thank him for the sleeping bag again.  
    “Let me finish,” Christie said firmly. “I want to—”  
    “You want to what?” Blake interrupted. “Finally decide to lower yourself to talk to me?” He knew he was being unfair but couldn’t help himself. “Let me watch you talking to every other person in the hut, on the water taxi? Get escorted down here by Mark? But as soon as I—”
    “That’s not true,” Christie said, her voice low as she heard the hurt in his voice, knowing he had a point. “Blake, we had dinner, we went kiwi watching, we shared a bunk. Because you wanted to,” she couldn’t resist adding, shocked as she heard her own words, remembering how desperately she had wanted to be close to Blake, the feeling of waking up held close in his arms.  
    Too late she noticed the cold anger in Blake’s face. “Yeah, you really did me such a big favour,” he said sarcastically.  
    “No, you did me the favour, Blake. I didn’t mean—”
    “Sure, Christie. Like you didn’t mean to virtually ignore me yesterday morning. You didn’t mean to