Free Sandra's Classics - The Bad Boys of Romance - Boxed Set by Sandra Marton

she was so reluctant to let Chad know she was up.
    He’d been organizing the contents of his backpack and boiling water for coffee, moving with an economy of motion and easy grace that was pleasing to the eye.
    After a bit, she began to feel guilty about watching him so stealthily, and between that and the vague discomfort of awaken ing with a strange man in your bedroom, even if your bedroom was a clearing in a forest, it had become almost impossible to say a simple ‘good morning’.
    Get it over with, coward, she told herself, and before allowing herself any more time to think about it, she stretched her arms and faked a yawn.
    ‘Good morning,’ Chad said immediately, turning towards her. ‘Did you sleep well?’'
    ‘Fine.’
    He smiled. ‘Do you always sleep all curled up like that?’
    So, she thought, she hadn’t been the only one doing the watching. She ignored the reminder of the intimacy of their sleeping arrangements. Not so intimate, really. They’d been on opposite sides of the smoldering fire, each in his or her own bed of leaves and pine branches. There had been plenty of space...
    A sudden, dream-like image flickered into her mind and she shoved it side.
    ‘I’m glad to see that the sun’s shining,’ she said briskly, sitting up and tossing aside the nylon tarp he’d given her last night. ‘Everything looks a lot better in the daylight.’
    He rose to his feet. ‘Some things always look great,’ he said.
    ‘Well, that’s because you like the wilderness ...’
    ‘That, too,’ he said with a quick smile , as he dusted off the seat of his jeans. ‘I’m going to get washed up, Jessie. I’ll be back in a few minutes.’
    She nodded as he headed through the trees and down the ridge. Then she scrambled to her feet.
    Had that little remark about some things looking great been meant for her? It didn’t seem very likely, she thought, running her fingers through her hair.
    There were bits of twigs and leaves tangled in her dark curls and she was sure her eyes were puffy— they almost always were this time of year because of her hay fever, although, come to think of it, she hadn’t sneezed once since the crash.
    Maybe it was the altitude.
    Or maybe she was just looking for something positive in all this mess.
    It was hard, remembering that everything she'd lost was at the bottom of the lake. Even her make-up was gone.
    About the only worthwhile thing she’d hung on to was the ancient little camera she’d brought along on the spur of the moment. It wasn’t anything like the cameras that had been destroyed in the crash, but it was better than nothing.
    In the confusion and excitement, she’d forgotten all about it until last night when she’d decided to use her bag for a pillow.
    Finding the camera inside it, and the equally ancient five rolls of 36 exposure, high-speed color film safe in their little plastic containers had been wonderful. She’d patted them happily and then fallen asleep despite the hard, cold ground.
    Actually, sleeping on the ground hadn’t been quite as uncomfortable as she’d expected. In fact, she thought, smothering a yawn, she’d slept rather well...
    The fuzzy dream memory floated into her mind again, more clearly this time, although it was still uncertain and without substance.
    Had she actually awakened during the night, shivering with cold? She might have; it wasn’t all that unlikely, in spite of the double layer of sweaters she’d worn and the nylon tarpaulin.
    Jessica had a sudden, vivid image of Chad beside her, drawing her into his arms, holding her close in the warmth of his embrace...
    Her cheeks flamed with color.
    How could a dream— and it was a dream, of course it was—how could a dream seem so real?
    She crossed the little clearing and laid the folded tarpaulin beside his backpack.
    ‘The bottomless pit,’ she’d dubbed the pack when Chad had produced a plastic-wrapped packet of matches and an old metal canteen from its depths. The pack had