Nerd Gone Wild (29 page)

“Not exactly.” He’d put his glasses back on and now he was regarding her with touching sincerity. “I’ve felt that tug-of-war from the first time I met you. I’ve been fighting it, but I knew it was there.”

She flushed with pleasure. It was shallow of her, but she couldn’t help it. He’d been drawn to her all along. “So that’s why you flew up here?” Maybe the original story, that he had a crush, was actually the true story.

“No. At least not consciously. I flew up here to make sure you were okay. Madeline… would have wanted me to.”

“Probably she would have, if she’d known I had such a wild adventure planned.” Ally had a sudden thought. “You don’t suppose that Grammy meant to throw us together?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure she hoped you’d find somebody in your league. I’m not, Ally. We both know that.”

“I don’t know that. I don’t know anything about leagues.” She was impatient with the whole concept. “What am I supposed to do, find some exotic foreign prince?”

“That’s the general idea.”

“Well, I’m not in the market for a prince, or a husband, for that matter. So if you’re hoping to safely marry me off so you don’t have to worry about me anymore, forget it.”

His eyes flashed with unmistakable anger. “I’m
not
hoping to marry you off.”

She couldn’t tell if he was angry with her or himself. “I’m glad we got that straightened out, then. No wedding. I’ll get the beer.” As she walked into the kitchen and flipped on a light, she remembered the refrigerator raid they’d staged the night before, and getting caught in here while Betsy and Clyde made whoopee in the lobby.

She’d had some great fun with Mitchell in the short time he’d been here. Although she’d worried that he’d become an anchor around her neck, it hadn’t worked out that way. She would miss him when he left.

His reaction to the marriage topic was strange, though. Logically, he should be thrilled if she found the right guy, settled down, and started having babies. Then he wouldn’t have to worry about her marrying a fortune hunter. He might also believe that a husband and kids would make her think twice before taking risky trips into the wilderness.

Yet he hadn’t seemed as overjoyed with the marriage prospect as she would have expected. No matter how she sliced it, she kept coming to the same conclusion—Mitchell had a crush on her. Although he didn’t believe she could ever be his, he didn’t want to think about her marrying someone else. A crush would explain everything.

Given the probability of that, she had no business having sex with him, not tonight, not ever. He wouldn’t be practical about it, as she’d projected earlier today. He would get in deeper and be hurt worse.

Pulling a couple of beers out of the refrigerator, she closed the door with her hip. Sure, Mitchell might be willing to take whatever crumbs she’d toss his way. That’s how a guy would react if he had a hopeless case.

But for her to get his hopes up by giving in to her own selfish urges—that would be cruel. So it looked as if she’d be playing poker tonight and then going to bed. Alone. Thinking of that, she went back to the refrigerator and pulled out two more beers.

* * *

Mitch discovered that his bathroom door was still MIA, apparently being repaired by Clyde in his spare time. Since the door from the bathroom into Ally’s room could only be locked from the bathroom side, Mitch had instant access to her room. He decided to get the bug out from under her bed before she came in.

Scooting under the bed on his back, he took off his glasses and stuck them in his pocket as he peered around, trying to remember exactly where he’d attached the damned thing. Was it on the inside of the left leg at the end of the bed, or the right leg? If he weren’t thinking so much about sex right now, he’d be able to remember.

As he was searching for it, the door opened.

“Mitchell?”

Dammit. “Yeah.” How in God’s name would he explain this? In the process of fumbling to get his glasses back on and wiggling out from under the bed, he banged his head on the support rail.

“Ouch! You hit your head! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” He rubbed his head and sat up.

Holding a pair of beer bottles in each hand, she regarded him with great suspicion. “Okay, now that I know you’re fine, please explain what the hell you were doing under my bed.”

M
itchell scrambled for an explanation. “I thought I saw something.”

Clearly she didn’t believe that for a minute. “Usually when someone sees something under the bed and goes to investigate, they crawl under on their belly. Scooting under on your back makes no sense.”

God, he was so screwed. He pushed his glasses more firmly onto the bridge of his nose, buying time.

“Well, Mitchell?”

“Okay, Ally. I wasn’t going to let you know about this, because I thought it might freak you out. But I think your bed is bugged.”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, my
bed is bugged
?” Are we talking creepy crawly things or are we talking little electronic things?”

“Little electronic things.”

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy.

“Mitchell, did you see that movie a while back,
A Beautiful Mind
? It’s the one where Russell Crowe plays the genius guy who has imaginary friends and thinks there’s some sort of conspiracy he has to untangle.”

“I saw it, but—”

“Because that’s who you’re sounding like—that guy. And never mind about the bug situation.
You’re
freaking me out.”

“Hold on a minute.” He slid back under the bed, finally saw the device he’d planted and pulled it loose. This time when he came out from under the bed he was careful not to whack himself on the head. He already had enough problems without adding a concussion to the list.

“What’s that?” She crouched down and studied the microtransmitter.

“A bug.”

She continued to gaze at it. “Boy, I owe you an apology. It sure looks like one. But why would anyone put a bug under my bed?”

“Well, I have a theory.” Which he would pull right out of his ass. “This lodge would have been the perfect out-of-the-way rendezvous for double agents during the Cold War. I mean, think of it. Russia is right across the Bering Strait.” If she believed this woolly tale, he should take up fiction writing.

Her eyes got round. “You think double agents stayed here?”

“Could be.”

“So this bug isn’t here for me. It’s been around a while.”

“Probably.” Was there a chance he’d get away with this?

“Looks pretty new. Not even dusty.”

Or maybe he wouldn’t get away with shit. “When I was under there, I wiped it off to make sure of what I was looking at.”

“Wow.” She set down two of the beers on the floor beside her. “Can I see it?”

“Sure.” He dropped it into her hand.

“Fascinating.” Then she glanced into his eyes. Hers were very green, and very skeptical. “Now tell me how you happened to know that this was an electronic bug instead of some little doodad that helps hold the bed together.”

“I’ve watched tons of spy movies. Tons.”

She nodded slowly. “I can believe that. All right, so you can recognize a bug when you see one. That still doesn’t explain why you were under the bed in the first place. And don’t tell me you had a hunch there was a Cold War bug under there, because if that’s the way your mind works, it’s frightening and I don’t even want to know about it.”

Finally he came up with the story he should have gone with in the first place, if he’d been thinking straight. Except then he might not have been able to remove the bug, and he’d really wanted to do that. “I was checking your springs,” he said.

“Checking my…” Her eyes began to sparkle a couple of seconds before she burst out laughing. “You thought you could stop them from squeaking? Oh, Mitchell, you’re hilarious. We don’t have to worry about it, because we’re not having sex, but that’s so you. Checking my springs. Too funny.” She stood. “Let’s play cards.”

He thought about the pricey little gizmo she still clutched in one hand. “Um, what do you think we ought to do with the bug?”

“I want to show it to Betsy tomorrow. She’d love to have that as another story to tell about the Loose Moose.” She glanced at him. “You want it, don’t you? I can tell by the way you’re looking at it. After watching all those spy movies, you’d think this was cool to have, wouldn’t you?”

He shrugged as if he could take it or leave it. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“Here.” She gave it back to him. “Just promise me you’ll show it to Betsy tomorrow. She’ll want to keep it, but if you tell her about being hooked on spy movies she’ll probably let you have it, instead.”

He hoped so. Yes, he could buy a replacement, but he hated wasting something that was perfectly good. Maybe he’d conveniently forget to show it to Betsy. This story of his was pretty lightweight, and the more times he had to tell it, the less likely it would hold up.

“Did you bring your cards?”

“Um, I’ll go get them.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “You were so obsessed with the squeaking bedsprings that you forgot to bring the cards?”

“I guess so.”

Her smile faded. “Maybe the card game is a bad idea. I don’t want to cause a situation for you.”

He almost laughed at that. She had no clue what a situation she’d caused for him, in many ways. “You won’t,” he lied.

“I hope not, because if we don’t play cards, I’ll go stir-crazy. With Tanya spreading her bad vibes all over the Top Hat, Uncle Kurt sacked out for the night, and the outdoors cold enough to freeze your nose hairs, as Betsy would say, there’s nowhere to go but here.”

So he’d won her by default. Not exactly a compliment, but in his nerd disguise he wasn’t allowed to pull out all the stops, wasn’t supposed to be able to sweep her off her feet and make her yearn to spend every minute with him.

She looked instantly contrite. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. I really want to be here with you, Mitchell. You’re a lot more fun than I—” She clapped her hand to her mouth.

“Than you thought I’d be?”

“I’ll just shut up before I make things worse.”

“It’s okay, Ally. Geeks are used to being underestimated.” Then he winked at her before leaving to get the cards. He probably shouldn’t have allowed himself the wink, but maybe she hadn’t noticed it because of his glasses.

* * *

He’d winked at her. And the effects were still evident—squiggles of sexual awareness dancing through her system, making her want what she shouldn’t have. She’d have to force herself to concentrate on this card game and forget about that wink. And his mouth. And the cleft in his chin. And his big brown eyes. And the way his pants had molded around his package while he’d been lying there under her bed.

“Got the cards.” The owner of that sizable package walked back in. “I think you still have the matches.”

She vowed not to look at his package again tonight. “Let’s sit on the rag.” She’d already nixed the bed as too dangerous.

“That works.” He sat Indian-style across from her and started shuffling the cards.

She hadn’t realized how his sitting that way would emphasize the part of Mitchell she’d just promised herself to ignore. Suddenly that part seemed like all she
could
look at. Needing a distraction, she picked up a beer bottle and decided to open it herself by using the hem of her sweater to help her grip the cap.

It wasn’t the best solution in the world. She had to keep changing the angle and tipping the bottle this way and that to get enough leverage.

“Want some help?” Mitchell set the shuffled cards down between them.

“I’ll get it.” And she did. The cap came off suddenly and beer foamed out onto her sweater, her wool pants, and her socks. “Ack!” She quickly drank several swallows to get the beer back under control, but she still had beer all over her. Fortunately she hadn’t spilled any on the rug.

“Anything I can do?”

She put down the beer and stood. “Give me a couple of minutes to change clothes, okay?”

“Okay, or we could kill two birds with one stone and play strip poker.” He gazed up at her with a half-smile.

Her pulse rate jumped. “Very funny.”