“It’s supposed to be a race, Metlin, not a contact sport.”
“Everything’s a contact sport with you!” Whoops—probably not the smartest thing to say.
He was on her in a second, literally and figuratively. As he straddled her hips once more, he leaned in close. “Everything’s a contact sport because you want it that way—admit it. You like me.”
“Like hell.” She struggled underneath him, but he had her solidly pinned.
“Come on. Beg me, Metlin. Beg me to kiss you. You know you want to.” He sat back, settling himself on top of her.
“You are such an ass.” His movement had given her an opportunity, though. A second later she’d dumped him in the snow and regained her feet. She didn’t stay to taunt him or glory in this reversal of their fortunes. Instead, she ran for all she was worth, her clumsy snow shoes whumping with each step. She had to be careful not to tangle her feet, or Dan would catch up and then there’d be hell to pay.
“I know you like me!” he called from where he still sat in the snow. “I can tell by the way you keep hitting me!”
Despite herself, Sarah laughed.
Damn Krav Maga. It should be illegal to teach that to women. Dan picked himself up out of the snow and chased after Sarah. She was setting a fast pace now, and he tracked her more slowly. Let the little lady tire herself out. He had plenty of stamina left.
Hell, he could go all night long if she cared to.
He stifled a chuckle and thought about Sarah’s laugh. He’d heard it as she raced away and had to smile, although it made him uneasy, too; he didn’t know why his heart soared at the sound. He liked that she had a sense of humor and could appreciate his, sure—but that didn’t justify the extent of the feeling. Suddenly he wanted Sarah to want him back. He wanted her to be as curious about him as he felt about her.
He told himself it was because Sarah Metlin posed a real challenge. She wasn’t soft and sweet like the women he usually dated. He couldn’t flex a muscle and sweep her into bed. He’d have to prove himself to be the kind of man she looked up to.
For one split second, Dan wondered if he could.
He pushed that thought away. Of course he was man enough for Sarah. How much more man could you be than a veteran Navy SEAL? Normally, he’d turn on the charm, show off his muscles, brag a little bit—just a little, mind you—about his time in the service. None of that would work with Sarah, though. She’d ignore his charm, show off her own muscles and brag about her Krav Maga training.
He wasn’t willing to conceded defeat, though. He wanted to learn everything he could about this intriguing woman.
Sarah’s weakness was her competitiveness, he decided. He’d just continue to do what he was already doing—engage her in competitions and steal kisses from her when he won, until he’d kissed her enough that she wanted more.
They rounded the next corner of the pasture, and Dan sped up just a little—enough so that he’d catch up to Sarah before she reached the next corner post. He needed to unsettle her if he was going to win this race—and he knew just how to do it.
“You don’t have to wear lingerie when we sleep together,” he called out as he came up behind her.
Sarah visibly startled.
“I’d probably just tear it off of you anyway. Although that could be fun. Do you like getting lingerie torn off you, Metlin?”
She picked up speed.
“I bet you do. I bet you have a whole stash of cheap lingerie in a special drawer just so guys like me can tear it off of you.”
“I don’t sleep with guys like you.”
“You don’t sleep with handsome, strong, intelligent men?” He kept pace with her.
“I don’t sleep with ignorant, ugly horn-dogs.”
“I may be ignorant about what makes you tick, Metlin, but I’m working on that. And I might be a horn-dog, but that’s something you’ll come to appreciate in time. But I’m not ugly. Ruggedly good-looking, yes. Ugly, no.”
“You sure are full of yourself.”
“You know how it is, a beautiful woman like yourself.” He shrugged. “If enough people tell you how great you look, you come to believe them.”
She stopped cold. Dan executed an awkward twisting two-step on his snowshoes to keep from crashing into her. “What the hell? Why’d you stop?”
“Because the only people who’ve ever called me beautiful are the assholes who want to get in my pants so they can say they’ve bagged me. They’re so threatened by my capabilities—afraid they can’t beat me head to head athletically—that they need to prove they can master me in the sack. Is that what this is about, Hemmins? Do you feel the need to fuck me so that you can assure your inner man-child that you’re still really all that?”