The Girl's Guide to (Man)Hunting, Page 2

  Miranda stared down at the pamphlet, at Dane’s confident smile. But what she saw? Pictures of herself on a webpage, in e-mails forwarded to thousands of people, tossed up on the Internet and forever linked to her name. Pictures of his hand down her pants, her breasts angled at the camera like twin beacons.

  And she stared at Dane’s casual, confident brochure smile again. Professional survival training, the pamphlet read.

  Casanova Croft, kicked off of the Las Vegas Flush for sleeping with the owner’s wife.

  Professional survival training. Professional.

  “I think I want revenge,” Miranda blurted, then turned to stare up at her friend. “I know it’s not rational, and I don’t even care. Is that crazy?”

  “Not at all,” soothed Beth Ann. “What did you have in mind?”

  Miranda held up the brochure, an idea forming. “I want to ruin his career like he did mine.”

  “I’m listening, honey.”

  Miranda flipped open the pamphlet. “They’re just starting a business, right? What if pictures of Dane Croft surfaced on the Internet? Naked pictures of him? Naked, compromising pictures of him?” The idea began to grow in her mind, and she jumped out of the chair, almost trembling with excitement. “Naked, compromising pictures of him in a survival situation?”

  Her best friend’s blond brows furrowed together. “And where would you get such pictures?”

  “I’d take them myself.”

  Beth Ann raised an eyebrow. “And just how are you going to do that?”

  Miranda held up the brochure triumphantly. “I’m going to sign up for a survival course and use the legendary Boobs of Bluebonnet against him. Casanova Croft won’t stand a chance.”

  “Are you sure that’s wise?”

  “I’ve never been wise around Dane Croft,” Miranda said, thinking of the last time she’d seen him.

  “Seven minutes in heaven,” Chad announced, shoving Miranda and Dane toward his bedroom closet. Giggling teenagers surrounded them, and Miranda felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment, but she didn’t let go of Dane’s hand.

  Dane nudged Chad and grinned. “Do me a favor, bro, and skip the timer.”

  Chad smirked.

  She could have protested, said she wasn’t that kind of girl, but she said nothing, not even when the door shut behind them. She wanted to be that kind of girl with Dane.

  Chad’s closet smelled like sweaty football gear and dirty clothes. It was crammed full of boxes and clothing on hangers, the single flickering lightbulb overhead not offering much in the way of light. She wrinkled her nose at the musty smell of the closet and waited, her breath catching. Would Dane make a move on her tonight? They’d flirted for weeks, held hands for the last one, and kissed under the bleachers. Given time, she knew she wanted him to be the one to take her overdue virginity.

  But time was the one thing they didn’t have. They’d graduated earlier that evening and after the cap and gown ceremony, they’d headed to Chad’s for the last senior fling.

  It was now or never.

  She gestured at the light overhead as it flickered again. “Should we turn that off?”

  “Leave it on. I like looking at you.” Dane’s hand gave hers a squeeze and he smiled at her. “You okay?”

  Yes, she wanted to say. I’m fine. Did you have a nice time at graduation? But it came out as a whimper, the words lodged in her throat.

  Dane chuckled at that. “I guess I should be telling you ‘Happy eighteenth birthday,’” he said. “You’re as old as me now.”

  Eighteen, and they’d be going off to college soon. The thought ran through her mind, urgent curls of heat rushing through her. Instead of responding, she pulled him close and began to kiss him instead, her mouth seeking his.

  “Whoa,” Dane whispered, but his hands went to her ass and he pulled her against him, grinding his hips against her own. His tongue slid into her mouth, delving deep and tasting her in the sweetest kiss she’d ever had. His mouth pulled away from hers after a long moment and he breathed hard in her ear. “Damn, Miranda.”

  Her own breath thrilled at that, and she slid her leg between his…and stumbled, landing on him.

  He cursed, trying to shift his weight, pinned between a row of jackets and a stack of boxes.

  “Sorry,” she whispered meekly, shaking her high-heeled boot. “I think my shoe got caught in his helmet.”

  They fumbled in the cramped quarters, and Miranda grabbed hold of a shelf and pulled herself up, then turned to remove the football helmet from her boot.

  Dane shifted behind her, his hands sliding around her waist. “That’s better,” he whispered against her neck. Something tickled at her waist, where her shirt rode up—his fingers.

  Her hand covered his, and she moved it farther up under her shirt, quivering with pleasure. “Touch me, Dane. Please.”

  “Love to,” he whispered in her ear, and pressed a kiss against her neck, making her squirm. “You are the hottest damn thing in this town, Miranda Hill.”

  “You know it, Dane Croft,” she whispered, craning her neck so his tongue could glide along her throat. Heat pulsed through her body. She didn’t protest when his hands slid to her shirt and pulled it over her head in the near darkness. She even unhooked her own bra, since his fingers fumbled at her back for a long moment. But then his hands were cupping her breasts, his fingers warm against her skin. Fingers teased her nipples and she gasped, lifting her arms and twining them around his bent head.

  From behind her, he pressed a kiss against her bare shoulder and she could feel his erection against her jeans. His fingers tweaked her nipples again, and her breath caught in response. “Dane,” she whispered. “God, do that again.”

  “I’ll do even better,” he said against her neck. One hand grasping her full breast, his other slid down her belly and undid the button on her jeans. Her entire body tensed, tingles of excitement running through her. Was he going to touch her…there?

  His fingertips slid into her panties, brushed the curls of her sex, and she let out a whimper of delight. Two seconds later, his fingertips slipped into her panties. One finger swept past the lips of her sex, grazed her clit. Oh yes. His hand squeezed her breast at the same time that he stroked her there, and her entire body stiffened, the anticipation of being in the closet with him rushing her toward an orgasm—

  Click.

  Miranda froze in place. Dane continued to finger her, biting at her shoulder, and she pulled away from him, sliding his hand out of her panties. “Did you hear that?”

  His hands reached for her, brushed against her breasts again. “Didn’t hear anything.”

  “I thought I heard a noise,” she said softly, staring at the closet door. It was still shut, and the doorknob didn’t move. Overhead, the light flickered again. Nothing. Maybe she was imagining things. Paranoid at being caught. If she listened hard, she could hear her classmates giggling in the other room, waiting for them to emerge.

  She started to protest, but he bit her shoulder and pleasure crashed over her, and she didn’t protest when his hand slid back into her panties once more.

  * * *

  Looking back, she had been so very, very dumb. She should have guessed that Dane would have hidden a camera in that damn closet. Should have guessed that he’d want all his buddies to see that he’d gotten into curvy Miranda Hill’s panties and made her writhe against his hand in a closet. She hadn’t blown him, either, but no one would believe that from looking at the photos.

  And she should have guessed that he’d disappear as soon as the NHL came calling. Who was she to him? No one, it seemed, but a quickie in the closet.

  TWO

  A

  fter leaving Beth Ann’s salon, she headed over to her mother’s store, Hill Country Antiques. The store looked as ramshackle as ever, the wooden sign listing a bit too much on one side, windows dusty and full of clutter. Antiques stores came in different flavors—from austere and highbrow to cluttered and junky. Her mother’s store was d
efinitely on the junky side. More thrift and yard sale than actual antiques, it was a cornucopia of bizarre odds and ends that nevertheless managed to bring in a decent income for her mother. “Hi, hon,” her mother called when Miranda entered, the cowbell on the door clanging against the glass. “You’re just in time.”

  “Oh? In time for what?”

  “They had a storage unit sale over in Livingston, and Marilou picked up someone’s old unit for fifty bucks!” Her mother said, moving to the front of the store and sashaying past Miranda. She flipped the store sign to CLOSED. “I get to split everything in there with her, but we’ve got to clean it out before the end of the day. I could use an extra set of hands, too.”

  “I can’t,” Miranda said with a grimace, gesturing at her car. “I need to stop by the library and pick up my last check. Sorry.” It was a bit of a white lie, but she really didn’t want to go and spend the day picking through someone else’s junk. The last time her mother had bought a storage unit, they’d found nothing but endless rows of comic-book boxes, their contents eaten by mice. “I’m about to head out of town for a week or so.”

  “Out of town?” Her mother looked surprised. “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, just checking some stuff out in Houston,” Miranda lied. “But I wanted to let you know that I’m not going to be answering my phone for a few days. I’ll swing by when I’m back, okay?”

  “But—”

  She froze, waiting. In the past, any small thing that interrupted her mother’s daily routine would be met with crying, anxiety, and comments about Miranda’s reputation about town. She’d had a nervous breakdown when the pictures had hit the Internet nine years ago, and it had taken a lot of time and patience and support to get her mother steady again. Now that things were going well, Miranda was getting out of Bluebonnet once and for all. She knew Tanya was having a hard time adjusting to the fact that her daughter was finally leaving the nest, and things had been fragile for the past few weeks.

  “—who’s going to help me clean out the storage unit?”

  Thank goodness. Miranda leaned in and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll see if Beth Ann can send her little sister Lucy over. I’m sure she’ll help for a few bucks. Now, I’ve got to go, Mom. I’ll talk to you next week.”

  “’Bye, hon,” her mother said absently as they went out to their separate cars.

  Miranda got into her truck, waved at her mother, and backed out, heading toward the library. Well. That had gone better than she’d expected. She turned down Main Street and waited at the town’s only stoplight. Absently playing with her collar, she thought about her plans for this week. She’d need some camping clothing, should toss out the stuff in the fridge, maybe see if—

  A car honked next to her.

  Miranda glanced over, and immediately wished she hadn’t. Two men sat in the car, both a few years younger than her. She knew their families. Had seen them around town. Both were grinning at her in that way that told her they’d seen her half naked. Seen the photos.

  “Hey, Boobs,” one called with a leer. “I’ve got an overdue library book. Wanna come to my house and get it?”

  Next to him, the passenger began to pump his fist in front of his open mouth, mimicking a blow job.

  Cheeks flaring with heat, she turned away, just in time to hear both men erupt in laughter. The light turned green and she floored the pedal, surging forward and down the street.

  She couldn’t wait to be done with this town.

  “Remember, Dane. Hands off the clientele.” Colt said the words with a grin and gave the game controller in his hands a twist, staring at the TV screen. “This is our make-or-break moment, and I need you to have your head in the game.”

  “Thanks, coach,” Dane said sarcastically to his friend, stuffing a pair of spare socks into his bag. “Glad to have you riding my tail.”

  Colt glanced over at Dane, looking away from the TV screen for a brief moment. “I’d better be the only thing riding your tail this next week.”

  Ah, friends. If he didn’t like the guy so much, he’d be tempted to deck him. Dane ignored Colt’s gibes and double-checked his survival pack one more time as they waited in the Daughtry Ranch’s rec room before meeting the clients that would be gathering shortly. They were taking a few moments to unwind before being “on” for the rest of the week. And while Colt chose to play a video game to get in the right mind-set for the trip, Dane felt better looking over their gear one more time.

  The sounds of a cheering audience erupted from the television, and Dane’s head snapped up. Sure enough, Colt was playing a hockey video game. It set his nerves on edge, watching the pixelated players skate around the ice. It reminded him of his old life, which he didn’t appreciate as he was trying to start the new one. “Do you have to do that shit right now?”

  Colt didn’t look up from the screen. “Yes.”

  Dane snorted and moved to check his bag again, turning away from the screen. He didn’t need distractions right now; he needed to be ready. This inaugural training needed to go perfectly.

  First he double-checked the survival supplies he’d be bringing for the group: matches, flint, needles and thread, fish hooks and line, a compass, snare wire, a flexible saw, a medical kit, flares, and a utility knife. At Grant’s request, he’d also packed six military MREs and a satellite phone in case the corporate guys couldn’t hack it out in the wild. As the “wild” went, the Daughtry Ranch was pretty tame in comparison to where Dane and Colt had spent their survival missions, or the times that they’d roughed it off the grid, but it was perfect for the business. Hechecked his pack one more time. Dane felt comfortable viewing the small amount of survival gear, the familiar anticipation edging through his body and drowning out any lingering irritation from Colt’s joking.

  He lived for this. He loved it—pitting himself against the wilderness and using his skills to survive. It centered him. When he was out there in the wild, Dane could find peace in himself, no matter what was bothering him. No one but him, nature, the land…and six neophytes looking to him for direction, he added wryly. Still, he doubted they’d be able to take the enjoyment of the experience away from him. This was part of who he was now.

  And it was why he’d lived off the grid ever since he’d left hockey behind. He was a new man, with a new life, and he liked himself now. The challenge of living off the land appealed to him. The simplicity of a survival situation couldn’t be beat. Just you and nature. You didn’t need electricity or television or telephones to survive. All you needed was skill and perseverance. He liked that much better than modern society.

  He slung the light pack over his shoulder and gave Colt a friendly clap on the shoulder. “I assure you, man. The last thing I want to do is touch a woman right now.” Not when their business was just about to take off. “Some things are more important.”

  “I’m just making sure,” Colt drawled. “Everyone already thinks that your dick rules your business decisions. We need to prove them wrong if this has a hope of succeeding.”

  It irritated him that Colt was right. That everyone thought that his cock was in charge of his brain. Dane rubbed his jaw, grimacing at the thought. Back in his hockey days, he’d been a different person. Headstrong and reckless beyond belief, he’d played so hard and carelessly that he’d managed to score two serious concussions in a row, and when another man would have paid attention to the doctors and been more cautious, he’d gone back on the ice as soon as he’d had the okay…and walked right into concussion number three in a play-off game.

  Tensions had already been high at that point, and that particular concussion was a career-ender. He was just injured far too often, and he was a good player, but not a great one. The coaches didn’t want to take a risk on him. And then Samantha Kingston—the wife of the team’s owner—had approached him. She liked younger players. He’d turned her down, but she’d turned to the tabloids to salvage her wounded pride, and “Casanova Croft” was born. She’d used him and made hi
m look like a jackass, and it didn’t matter how good a player he’d been. He’d turned into “that creep who nailed the boss’s wife.” His contract wasn’t renewed, and a free agent with too many injuries was too big a risk for most teams to take on. Combine that with his tabloid notoriety, and no one would touch him.

  It hadn’t helped that his past was full of a string of C-list actresses who were interested in dating a professional athlete—the latest trendy fashion accessory. The tabloid notoriety—on top of his world crashing down on him—became too much. When he’d started getting offers for sex tapes, he realized just how fucked-up his life had become. He’d fled, with nowhere to turn. Colt had contacted him, invited him to take a monthlong survival course with him to clear his head. He’d gone reluctantly, expecting nothing but a month of no phone calls from anyone.

  Going on the survival trip had been the best thing to ever happen to him. Forced to use his wits and skills to survive…it had been life changing. Nothing had been easy—no shelter, no supplies, no showers. At first he’d hated it—and Colt—for dragging him out into the Alaskan wilderness. But then things had changed. He’d learned to like making things with his hands, trapping his own food. It gave him a feeling of intense satisfaction. Dane had discovered a new passion, one that surpassed the adrenaline of even the most exciting play-off game. When they’d finished the trip, Colt had suggested that Dane join him at his lodge in Alaska, completely off the grid. They’d lived there for a year—no electricity, no running water, no food storage—nothing except what they could catch and take care of on their own. It had been rough and incredibly difficult.

  It had been bliss.

  He would have kept living off the grid indefinitely—not exactly hiding inasmuch as keeping a low profile—if Grant hadn’t visited him and Colt in their cabin in Alaska to get away for a few weeks. Colt had invited him—the marine wasn’t much for chit-chat, but he knew Grant was struggling, even years after the death of his wife. Once in Alaska, the three friends had quickly fallen into an old, easy camaraderie. Though Grant didn’t share quite the same enthusiasm as Dane and Colt for wood smoke fires and catching game for dinner, the time spent roughing it at the cabin had given Grant an interesting idea. A survival business—run by the three of them. Colt and Dane could handle the trainings, and Grant would handle the business. They’d work for themselves and answer to no one. Neither Dane nor Grant needed the money, but the challenge of the business intrigued all three of them.