Hard and Fast(34)

Ty started laughing. "Do you think the bear's going to videotape you and put it up on the Internet?

They're animals, they don't know the difference between you naked and  you wearing a prom dress." It did sound irrational when he put it that  way, but she had never changed outside in her entire life and the  concept was foreign and disconcerting. "I'm changing in the tent," she  told him, standing up. "And I may just come out wearing a prom dress,  smart-ass."

He laughed harder. "I would love to see that."

"No, you wouldn't," she assured him, reaching for her backpack. "I was  gawky and nerdy in high school and my dress was this horrible cotton  candy blue that my mother picked out. It washed my skin tone out and I  looked like I'd just had the flu for a month. My date went with me under  the pressure of his best friend, who was going with my best friend, and  he ignored me all night until he got drunk then tried to grope me. I  gave him a shove and he threw up in the cab."

"Wow. Sounds like a blast."







"Not so much." Imogen walked toward the tent. "How was your prom?"

"Actually, it was a good time. I took this girl Mindy. Real sweet and cute. And according to locker room gossip, a sure thing."

Imogen paused on her way into the tent, and glanced back at him from her hunched-over position. "Was she?"

Ty winked. "Oh, yeah. Why do you think I had such a good time?" She  rolled her eyes at him. "Guys devote so much time and energy to the  pursuit of sex it's a wonder they accomplish anything."

"And explain how exactly girls are different?" Ty sat down on the rock  and yanked his boots off. "How many times have you thought about sex  today?"

"Hardly at all," Imogen said. Ty had taken off his socks and he was  removing his jeans, leaving him in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Clearly  the thought of a bear seeing him in the buff wasn't a concern for him.

"Okay, that's not accurate," she admitted, because she never could lie.  "I've pretty much been preoccupied with sex since the moment I woke up."

He smiled. "I like that you're honest about it."

Then he removed his T-shirt and his boxer shorts and was standing there  in the clearing 100 percent naked. Imogen's mouth watered and she had a  sudden flashback to the feel of him inside her on the trail, her  backpack against the tree trunk, her jeans partially down, his urgent  thrusting inside her. She swallowed hard as her eyes raced across his  hard, muscular body.

Ty pulled on his swim trunks and said, "What are you waiting for, Emma Jean? We're burning daylight here."

The look on his face told her he clearly knew what she had been doing and he was enjoying it.

"Don't come into the tent," she warned him. "If you do, we'll never end  up fishing." A squirrel had hopped onto the rock next to Ty and he  turned to the furry creature and said, "Does she really think I care  that much about fishing?"

"You'd better care. Or why else am I enduring it?"

"She's got me there," Ty told the squirrel.

The animal dropped his nut and ran away, and Imogen retreated into the  musty, damp tent to change and try to work up some enthusiasm for  dropping a wire into the water and waiting for a fish to hook himself  onto it. Just the thought made her lip curl.                       
       
           



       

Maybe she should have just lured Ty into the tent after all.





IMOGEN was sitting next to Ty on the seat of the rowboat, diligently  following his instructions as he showed her how to cast her line and how  to reel it in. Ty liked that even though she clearly wasn't comfortable  with being in the boat or casting the line, she was willing to try it.

She was chewing her lip rather industriously as she practiced with her  rod. "Damn it," she said when her line got no farther than the floor of  the boat, hooking the rubber of her boot.

"You're getting it," he told her, releasing the hook so she wouldn't  attempt it herself and manage to impale her finger with the sharp end.  "Try again."

She did, and this time her line sailed and dropped nicely into the water.

"Good one."

"I did it." She smiled. "Well, you learn something new every day, don't you?"

"That's the hope," he told her. "And even if you don't, you know what they say-every day aboveground is a good one."

Imogen gave a startled laugh. "That's rather macabre, yet drives home a  crucial point." What she said. Ty grinned at her, fascinated as he  always was by Imogen's speech patterns. There was something damn  adorable about when she slipped into her thinking mode.

"Reel your line back in. You need a worm on it now for this to work."

"Oh, I guess I don't have a worm, do I? Maybe I should have put one on before I threw this perfect





arch. I might have caught seven fish by now."

"Not likely." And he was further amused because he was starting to  recognize that when Imogen was enjoying herself, she got flippant. "But  it's possible, and I take complete responsibility for that missed  opportunity."

Imogen reeled her line in and Ty took the lid off the Styrofoam cup holding the bait and held it out to her.

"Pick your worm."

Most of the women he had dated in the past would have squealed and  protested and insisted he do it for them. Aware that he just might be  testing Imogen, he waited for her response.

"Just grab any one I want?"

"Yep. I'll show you how to put it on the hook."

"Okay." Imogen frowned in concentration. "This one looks appropriately  plump and enticing to . . . What kind of fish are in this lake?"

Ty felt the corners of his mouth turning up. So far, she was passing the  test. "Uh . . . crappie, bluegill, and yellow perch, and a couple  varieties of bass."

"Crappie? I don't want to catch one of those." Imogen put her fingers  into the cup and gingerly removed a worm. "This is a bass-catching worm,  I'm certain of it."

"Absolutely. It's written all over him." Ty plucked a worm out for  himself and showed Imogen how to put it on the hook. "See? That's it.  Just watch your fingers."

"I would have thought baiting fish would have gotten more sophisticated these days."

"We're just pleasure fishing. We don't need anything special."

"It's very nice that you can rent the boat, get the fishing license and  all the accoutrements right here at the lake." She crammed her worm onto  her hook. "There. I'm good to go."

"Just cast your line again, then."

Imogen was staring at the worm. "So . . . does the worm die when I jam  that hook through him? Because he looks like he's still moving."

"No. Worms can actually survive parts of their body being chopped off."

"That's impressive." She lifted her rod. "But does the worm drown, then? Or is it still alive when the fish eats it?"

"I have no idea how long it takes a worm to drown."

"Maybe I should just kill mine now, then, so as not to prolong his  agony." Trust Imogen to consider the consequences of fishing to the  worm. She didn't look particularly upset or disturbed, she was just  clearly thinking it through.

"If that seems appropriate to you, go for it. I'm tossing mine in,  because I suspect the fish likes a wiggling, live worm better than a  dead one."

"Really? They have discerning tastes?"

"I would just think a moving worm would attract their attention more  than a dead one. They might just think it's debris floating in the water  if it isn't wiggling around."

"Oh. That's a valid point." Imogen lifted her rod and spoke to her worm.  "I'm sorry, but try to remember you are a part of the circle of life."  She cast her line. "Speaking of which, I'm hungry. I should have brought  some snack foods."                       
       
           



       

"I did." Ty reached into his smaller, portable backpack. "Water,  pretzels, and granola bars. And if you're nice to me, I'll share."

She pushed her glasses up on her nose and trained those big wide eyes on  him. "You promised to take care of me on this camping adventure."

Ouch. She went for the jugular. "Fine. Here's some water." He tucked it  between her legs. "And do you want pretzels or a granola bar?"

"Both."

Of course she wanted both. Ty pulled out some antibacterial gel and squirted it into his hand. "Hold out your palms."

"I can't. I'm holding the rod."

"Well, then one of them."







She did, gingerly, and he put gel in her hand. Sticking the rod between  her legs with the water, Imogen tried to carefully rub her hands  together. "If I drop the rod, grab it," she ordered him.