And the one who was supposed to have been given this job in the first place, not Ford. Had that been the case, she might have already found what they were looking for instead of spending the last three and a half months playing in the dirt.
That one. He needed that Corrie so he could get home to his mom.
With sixteen people in camp—well, technically seventeen now—and only four TTs and three showers, mornings tended to be chaotic. Ford tried to catch fifteen more minutes of sleep before getting up, but there was no use. So he tossed on a pair of dark camel cargo pants, his beat-up and well-worn hiking boots, and an orange-blue-and-white-plaid long-sleeved hiking shirt and set out for the day.
Everyone else was about wrapped up with breakfast by the time Corrie finally waltzed into the tent, looking fabulously well rested and chipper as all get out. Unlike every other person in this camp, Corrie appeared to have stepped straight out of a salon, with her hair flowing in long waves halfway down her torso. But the put-togetherness didn’t end there. Her face was bright and cheery. If Ford didn’t know better, he’d think she had makeup on. But she’d never needed it. She possessed a natural beauty that makeup would only hide. Her white button-down was knotted at the waist and with the buttons open at the top, revealing a skin-tight tank top barely containing her breasts underneath. That, coupled with a pair of charcoal fitted stretch hiking pants that highlighted her curves, drew Ford’s—and likely everyone else’s—attention away from their meals and directly at the vixen entering the mess tent.
Now she’s fucking with me.
Except she wasn’t. That was just the way Corrie was without trying.
Plain and simple: Corrie was all that and a bag of chips.
And Ford liked chips. A lot.
Like a sprite, she floated to Agnes, then grabbed a cup of coffee and a granola bar before eyeing the bowl of fruit.
Don’t take the banana. Don’t take the banana.
Apple.
Phew. Ford wasn’t sure his dick could withstand watching Corrie put a banana in her mouth. Not after the night he’d had.
“How’d you sleep?” Ethan asked as she sat at the table.
“Wonderfully,” she said, bringing up her shoulders and letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I know Ford didn’t want me to enjoy his bed too much, but I couldn’t help myself,” she said, eyeing him over her mug.
His cock twitched as her gaze didn’t waver.
Oh God. She did it. She used it in my bed.
Having Corrie around really wasn’t good for his mental—or sexual—well-being.
“Ford, are you listening?” Ethan said.
“Huh?” Ford shook his head, trying to snap out of it. What had he missed?
“I said we should head out soon,” Ethan repeated.
“Right. Yeah, sure. Let’s get going.”
He stood, gathering his tray, and was headed toward the bus tubs when Corrie ran up beside him.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asked, stopping him by the arm.
He glanced confusingly at her hand and then turned his gaze to her face. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, unsure what she was referring to.
“Well, I didn’t really . . .” she pulled in closer, “I didn’t, you know, in your bed.” She cast her eyes downward when she said it, as if it wasn’t clear.
“Oh no? But I thought you slept ‘wonderfully’?” he said with an uptick of his brow.
“I was teasing. Though I really did sleep well, so thank you for giving up your bed. And thanks for the coffee,” she said, acknowledging that she knew the coffee was meant specially for her.
He hadn’t intended the coffee to be a bribe. Frankly, Ford hadn’t anticipated this turn of events or the potential that Corrie wouldn’t immediately say yes. This dig was the culmination of her life’s work. It was everything to her. He’d assumed that regardless of the fact that he was the lead, she would have jumped at the chance. The coffee had been intended as an added bonus.
But now, if she didn’t stay, it was going to be an expensive mistake, replacing the entire camp’s supply, seeing as it cost ten times as much as the crap they usually drank on digs. The investor might have been generous with certain expenses, but Ford still had a budget. Sure, he enjoyed it, too, and of course he’d much rather drink delicious Jamaican coffee over the acidic bean water they’d been choking down until a week ago, but it still cut into his bottom line. And his profits if things turned out the way he hoped.
Knowing Corrie Mejía, however, it was going to take more than a few coffee beans to keep her there. She might have been bright and chipper this morning, but Ford was well aware of the temporary nature of their getting along. Dammit. He’d done this for her and she was going to leave him here in the cold.
Or, rather, in the hot, sticky jungle.
“Let’s get this over with so we have time to get back to the airport, okay?” he said, snapping back to the reality of a Mejía-Matthews partnership and shaking free from the hold she had on him.
She blinked twice, as if dumbfounded by his curtness, before he sighed and walked away. What was there to be surprised about? He knew how this would all end—with Corrie on an evening flight back to the States and Ford weighing whether he should press on or abandon the entire expedition. Honestly, he didn’t know why they were even going through the motions by showing her the site, but moments later, ole Ethan was already hot on the trail, escorting Corrie through the thick brush of ferns and bromeliads.
Ford hung back as Ethan narrated the trek, telling Corrie about the land, warning her to mind her step, assisting her through the dense forest and the uneven terrain—as if she needed it. The woman ran through jungles and built rafts without tools. Pretty sure she could handle herself over a few rocks and fallen trees.
The two of them laughed and joked, catching up on their lives and reminiscing about old times. Ford tried blocking them out, but it was no use. Corrie’s laugh was distinctive and intoxicating. He’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed it. It started with a burst, and then turned into an uncontrollable rolling of laughter before ending with a couple of inhales to catch her breath. It was a real laugh, not one of those tiny, polite giggles. No, Corrie’s laugh was anything but cute and was genuinely Corrie—an I give zero fucks whether you like my laugh kind of laugh. Ford had managed to trigger a few of them back in the day. Though the ones at the library were the most memorable, receiving several shhs and a threat that they’d get kicked out of the building if they weren’t quiet.
It had taken lots of work, but he’d earned those laughs. Real laughs. And now Corrie was practically giving them away for free at everything Ethan said. Ethan was funny, but he wasn’t that funny.
Why was it bothering him so much, though? Why was everything about Corrie’s being here getting to him?
If only he didn’t need her.